By Connie Tian
Present Time
And there he stood.
Tall and proud, so rigid that the steel-boned tower behind him looked curved in comparison. Everything about him was perfect. Calculated. There was not a single hair or breath out of place. His perfection made him imperfect, an alien to other people. People either flocked to or shied away from this imperfectly perfect man.
“His parents are immigrants,” some jealous aristocrats would whisper, desperate to drag this man down to their level. The whispers are true. Yet just one look at this man’s flawless etiquette and high cheekbones and distinguished nose turned listeners away, scoffing at the “ridiculous conspiracies.” The only evidence of his “dirty” pedigree was that he spoke with his hands, having grown up mimicking his parents doing so to aid their speech. How ironic that despite acting the most noble out of the nobles, he was the most alien.
And that’s what he wanted. Everything, from his carefully gelled hair to his perfectly composed facial expressions was meticulously crafted.
Having grown up in a struggling family at the bottom of the social ladder, he always felt like he was destined for more. He climbed his way through the academic, economic, and social ladder of his society, and became the youngest ever CEO of XXX, the company that practically ruled the world. He only attended social settings to make connections to handle business, and never did anything that wouldn’t assist him in his ambitions. Straightforward. The words leisure or romance did not exist in his vocabulary. What the upper echelons of society’s standards demanded, he was.
Yet.
He had no idea why he kept it. There it lay, something so light yet feeling so heavy in his pocket. It represented something that went against his entire being that he’s worked so hard to construct, but for some reason he found it...endearing. His lips curled up just the tiniest bit at the edges when recalling the circumstances around how he got it. He should have been embarrassed, carrying around this scrap of paper, as if he cared. What he couldn’t tell anyone was that he went on a date last night.
A date with a man.
He wasn’t gay, but the weight of that thought lay heavy in his mind like the number in his pocket.
Yesterday
He always internally complained about how the characters of television shows were useless in times of crisis. He’d scoff and criticize how the main character should have run instead of freezing in fear when facing a machete-holding maniac. If he were on a plane about to crash, he’d follow protocol instead of yelling in fear like a simpleton. It’s simply the most logical way to construct the best chance for survival.
Yet, here he was, at the top of the famous XXX Ferris wheel of XXX for his PR team, feeling his heart swinging back and forth against his ribs just like the sashaying cabinet he was sitting in. It was as quiet as the silence that pervaded the hall when the French minister’s son revealed her engagement with the Austrian president’s daughter. Why did it have to stop when I’m at the top? It’s not going to drop down. It’s designed against it. It’s fine. What are the chances of—but what if it does? Sweat dripped down his chin as he tried his best not to look down. When are we going down? This pause feels too long to be normal. It’s fine. I’m sure I’m just overreacting. The cabinet will start descending any second now. If anyone peered in at the moment, they wouldn’t have noticed anything off. He looked as composed as ever, the sweat being contributed to the heat. However, internally, he was struggling to maintain such an appearance. You are better than this. The statistics of a Ferris wheel accident is—it’s fine.
It was easy to judge strangers freezing in fear in a terrible situation, but now that he was in one, fear clung to him like magnets on metal. Eyes darting around, he noticed a red emergency button at the top of his cabinet. With trembling hands, he pressed it once. Twice. Thrice. And again. And again. Why is no one responding? Why aren’t we going down?! Fine lines of tension stood stiff on his face as he tried his best to appear calm. To be calm.
A beat.
He was just about to slump down in pure exhaustion and terror before the speaker next to the red button produced a click! followed by a:
“Hello?” a male voice asked, sounding concerned.
His entire body jolted up in relief as he responded back, “H-hello.” Later, he would be disappointed in himself for the stutter, but for now, he was ever so grateful.
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