Dominate Showbiz: Media Tycoon Discovered My Talent-Chapter 71: I Don’t Need a Chocolate Hug

"Well, it’s just us now. Will you please tell me what actually happened to you?" Kaija asked, her tone hesitant, fingers wrapped around the hot cup of chocolate she’d just made herself.

She sat on the stool by the kitchen counter, eyes fixed on the golden-eyed man sitting on the couch in the living room.

The shirt he was wearing was still drenched with sweat, his eyes blank and lifeless, staring down at some empty space on the floor between his feet, as if his mind were still trapped in a different dimension. The chocolate she’d made for him still sat untouched on the counter’s surface, waiting.

Said he’d fallen asleep, yet looked that frightened? She wasn’t stupid enough to buy such a clumsy lie.

At her question, Antony snapped out of his trance, his gaze lifting to her in a daze. "It’s... it’s just..." Some scattered words slipped out, but he quickly bit down on his lip, steadying his voice back into its usual monotone. "It’s my bad sleeping habit. I like to fall asleep in enclosed spaces. It’s more comfortable."

Her eyes narrowed over the rim of the cup. "Oh, really?" she asked, raising a brow. "Then why did you ask me to stay? I thought there was something you wanted to share but didn’t want to say in front of the receptionist."

Antony fell quiet, his gaze dropping to the floor once more. There was something he wanted to share.

He wanted to tell her he wasn’t the freaky type who just randomly passed out in a wardrobe for a nap. He wanted to tell her that, although he had come back early from the festival that afternoon to get changed before heading to the concert hall to meet her, one single message from his damned half-brother had sent his entire system spiraling into a full-blown panic attack.

"Make sure you don’t dirty my eyes with your filthy face today, stray."

He hadn’t even saved Max Kosonen’s name in his contacts, but his brain had involuntarily memorized the number by heart, purely out of defense mechanism.

The phone had trembled in his shaking hands until the trembling became so uncontrollable he couldn’t grip it anymore and threw it violently against the wall. The poor thing had ended up somewhere behind the TV shelf, while its owner rushed into his bedroom in utter panic.

Overtaken entirely by survival instinct, he yanked the wardrobe doors open, threw himself beneath his neatly hung clothes, and pulled the doors shut — all done carefully and swiftly, without making a sound. His body was much bigger now, his limbs much longer than before, and this wardrobe wasn’t even half as spacious as the one his mind remembered. But it didn’t matter.

As long as it could keep him hidden and shielded long enough, until that boy whose silver eyes gleamed with cruel delight and whose smile was more vicious than all the sick torturing games he’d orchestrated went away, he would stay put in absolute silence and patience.

He buried his head into his lap, legs folded tight, shoulders still shaking uncontrollably as he tried to keep his ragged breaths from spilling out too loudly.

A little while later, the oxygen level in the enclosed space dropped. His head grew light, his body loosening as he leaned against the inner wall, gasping laboriously for air, but his mind kept telling him to hold on a little longer, to be strong.

The whispering thoughts didn’t last. Before he knew it, his consciousness had left him.

"Hey," Kaija’s voice suddenly came from above, calm and gentle, cutting into the stream of his recollection. "If you don’t want to say anything, it’s fine."

Startled, he lifted his head, only to see Kaija looking down at him with concern on her face and a steaming cup in her hand.

"Try it," she murmured, holding the cup out toward him. "I made yours a tiny bit sweeter, and it’s still warm, so it’ll taste like a good hug. It will make you feel better."

His gaze landed on the cup, and his hand reached up hesitantly to receive it. He brought the warm cup to his nose, eyes fluttering shut as he took in the comforting aroma.

But instead of bringing it to his lips, he set it down on the coffee table in one decisive motion. In the next, his hand shot up, gripping firmly around her right arm as he pulled her down onto the couch. Before she could react, she had already stumbled forward and landed in his arms, his face buried in her chest.

"Instructor?!" she squealed in fright, her entire body frozen from shock. Though Antony had initiated physical contact many times by now, her brain had become too used to staying mindful and alert toward his little phobia.

"I don’t need a chocolate hug." The words fell into her chest, muted and broken, his arms tightening around her waist. When he lifted his face toward hers, his eyes had softened, their corners glistening as if on the verge of breaking into tears. "Can I have... a hug from you," he breathed, "please?"

At once, her shoulders eased. Her hands slid down his back as she pulled him into a gentle embrace, allowing his face to sink into the warmth of her chest once more.

The way Antony had pleaded to her just now, along with that soft, yearning look on his face, they all reminded her of that night in his office, when not only had he cried in front of her without even trying to hold anything back, but he’d also asked her to touch his face a little longer. And that, to her, meant he was desperately in need of a hug at this very moment. Truly, painfully in need of it.

She patted him gently, then ran her hands up and down his back to soothe him. No redundant words were needed. What he needed most right now was some time to calm down. After a while, she felt his body begin to loosen in her arms, his tense muscles relaxing.

"Thank you," he murmured softly into her chest, savoring the warmth he never knew existed. "Thank you... for staying."

A quiet sigh slipped out of her as she slid a hand up the back of his neck, her fingers running through his soft hair, stroking him gently. "You know what, Instructor?" she asked. Her voice came low, though the steeliness in her tone was unmistakable. "I’m not the type who enjoys prying into other people’s lives or what they’ve been through, but I need to tell you this. Seeing you like this, it bothers me tremendously."