There aren't many people that Cyrus allows into this place. It's the sanctuary he's built for himself against the chaos of his life and his job, safe from almost all comers. Family, of course, is different (is always different), but even his grandmother would call ahead before she let herself up here.
The door is open for Stephen, however. It's always open for Stephen.
The place is huge, of course; high-ceilinged, sleekly decorated, an open floor space divided mostly with glass. Every piece of furniture in the place has a designer's name attached to it. It says something, that this is Cyrus Reagan's most private place - that he didn't arrange it this way to impress anyone, but because he could. Because there was no reason he shouldn't.
Cyrus stands as the door swings open. He'd been on the couch-- reclining, even, in clothes that do not in any way resemble a suit, his feet bare (which is fine, even at this time of year-- the floors are heated). There's an Avox standing to attention in the nearest corner, but she might as well be a part of the furniture.
He smiles as Stephen comes in, a broader, easier smile than he wears during his workday (and more natural than any he's worn in some weeks).
"Stephen! Welcome home."
It's a little ironic. This isn't Stephen's home anymore; of course it isn't. They both know that. But it was, for a while, right? That counts, right?
He'll step toward Stephen-- because things have been a little strange between them lately, a little distant, but surely not so changed that Cyrus can't hug his brother.
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The door is open for Stephen, however. It's always open for Stephen.
The place is huge, of course; high-ceilinged, sleekly decorated, an open floor space divided mostly with glass. Every piece of furniture in the place has a designer's name attached to it. It says something, that this is Cyrus Reagan's most private place - that he didn't arrange it this way to impress anyone, but because he could. Because there was no reason he shouldn't.
Cyrus stands as the door swings open. He'd been on the couch-- reclining, even, in clothes that do not in any way resemble a suit, his feet bare (which is fine, even at this time of year-- the floors are heated). There's an Avox standing to attention in the nearest corner, but she might as well be a part of the furniture.
He smiles as Stephen comes in, a broader, easier smile than he wears during his workday (and more natural than any he's worn in some weeks).
"Stephen! Welcome home."
It's a little ironic. This isn't Stephen's home anymore; of course it isn't. They both know that. But it was, for a while, right? That counts, right?
He'll step toward Stephen-- because things have been a little strange between them lately, a little distant, but surely not so changed that Cyrus can't hug his brother.