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Mok noticed the change in his reflection before anyone else did.
The mirror inside Thee Arseni’s private bathroom was too unforgiving – framed in black marble, lit from all angles. It caught everything: the faint bruise on his jaw from last week’s training, the little shadow where his hair refused to lie flat, and the way his shirt pulled across his chest when he rolled his shoulders.
He used to be all angles and sharp edges. Lanky. Flexible. Easy to tuck behind Rome’s back when things got ugly. Now the buttons of his black dress shirt strained just a little when he inhaled.
He tugged his sleeves down, eyes flicking over his own reflection. Broader shoulders. Thicker forearms. His waist wasn’t as narrow as it had been at eighteen, when Rome first yanked him into a dark hallway and kissed him so hard he forgot his own name.
Rome always liked him that way.
“Fuck,” Mok muttered under his breath, pressing his palm flat to his stomach. “What if he – ”
There was a quick double-knock at the door.
“Mok?” Thee’s voice floated in, dry and amused. “You okay in there?”
Mok jerked, nearly elbowing the sink. “Coming, boss.”
He took one more look at himself, jaw tightening. No matter how he adjusted his shirt, it still clung to the muscle he’d put on. Training with Thee’s men, hours in the gym, extra security duties – it wasn’t like he’d done it on purpose. His body had just…caught up.
What if Rome didn’t like this version?
It’d been two years.
Two years of calls at 3 a.m. from unknown numbers, Rome’s voice rough with fatigue and gunpowder. Two years of texts that came in at odd hours, photos of stray cats and city skylines and bloodied knuckles followed by, don’t freak.
Two years of almost saying I love you and swallowing it back, because Rome hadn’t said it first and Mok…Mok had never been brave in that way.
He smoothed his hair again, exhaled, and shoved the bathroom door open.
Thee was leaning against his massive oak desk when Mok stepped out, sleeves rolled to his elbows, dark tie loose, expensive watch glinting as he scrolled through something on his phone. He looked up, took one assessing glance at Mok, and arched a brow.
“You look like you’re walking into an execution.”
“Feels like it,” Mok muttered.
Thee’s mouth tugged into a knowing half-smile. “He’s just your little situationship, right? Nothing to be nervous about.”
Heat climbed up Mok’s neck. “We’re not – It’s not – ”
“Relax,” Thee cut him off, chuckling. “ I just know my baby brother. He’s been insufferable all week.”
Mok’s heart stuttered. “So he’s actually coming?”
“He landed an hour ago. Took longer than expected to clear a few…loose ends.” Thee’s gaze softened by a degree. “He wanted to walk in on one of your one-to-one staff meetings, but I told him no. I like my walls without bullet holes.”
Mok swallowed. His mouth suddenly felt dry.
He’d memorized Rome’s voice from a distance, the cadence of his flirting, the way he said Mok’s name like a prayer and a punchline. But seeing him again, up close –
The older Arseni’s eyes flickered over him, lingering just long enough on the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers curled slightly inward like he wanted to hide.
“What’s going on, Mok?” Thee asked, looking at his assistant, who was folding in on himself with worry and… anxiety
Mok glanced down at his hands. The calluses scattered across his palms weren’t new, but they were deeper now. Evident.
“When he left,” Mok said quietly, “I was…not like this.”
Thee’s voice gentled almost imperceptibly. “Mok.”
He didn’t look up.
“If he makes you uncomfortable,” Thee said, “I can always have him shot.”
Mok startled a laugh out of himself, weak but real. “You’re not funny.”
“Too bad. I live for your praise.”
Before Mok could respond, there was another knock, this time at the main office door. Three short taps, familiar in a way that made Mok’s skin prickle.
He went still.
Thee’s gaze flicked to the door, then back to Mok. A thousand things passed through that look – warning, fondness, something that might’ve been protectiveness.
“You good?” Thee asked, simple and direct.
Mok wasn’t sure. He nodded anyway.
“Come in,” Thee called.
The door opened.
Rome Arseni stepped inside with the easy arrogance of someone who’d long ago made peace with being the most dangerous person in the room.
He hadn’t changed.
Of course, he had, but in the first breath, all Mok’s brain could register was Rome.
Same height as Mok, black hair trimmed shorter at the sides, the top still messy in a way that looked deliberate. The sharp line of his jaw was dusted with a few days’ worth of stubble, making him look older, meaner. Tattoos he hadn’t had before swept up his neck, disappearing beneath the crisp collar of his black dress shirt.
He wore a suit, the kind that cost more than Mok’s yearly salary before he started working for Thee. The jacket was open, gun holster visible beneath it, matte-black metal hugging his ribcage. Gloves dangled from his fingers like a visor that has seen too much.
His dark blue-green eyes, which looked almost like the ill-lit universe – too bright to belong in this world, too sharp to be safe – swept the room and locked on Mok.
The air changed.
Rome’s mouth curved, and Mok saw it – the moment the mafia boss vanished and the boy who used to sneak snacks into Mok’s exams, who kissed him in stairwells, reappeared. He didn’t look at Thee. Barely acknowledged the heavy, armed silence hanging from the rafters.
“My Mok,” Rome said, voice dropping, rough with something that made Mok’s knees weak.
Mok’s throat closed.
“Wow,” Thee said dryly. “Great to see you too, little brother.”
Rome flicked him a glance, distracted. “Hi, Phi.”
“That’s all I get?” Thee arched a brow.
Rome’s eyes didn’t leave Mok’s face. “I sent you a very expensive bottle of whiskey last month.”
“You sent it to Mok’s apartment with a note that said ‘give this to my annoying brother.’”
“See?” Rome murmured. “Thoughtful.”
Mok made a small, helpless sound that might have been a laugh. His heart hammered against his ribs, too loud, too fast. Rome took him in from head to toe, eyes darkening as they dragged over Mok’s broader shoulders, his thicker biceps, the way his shirt stretched faintly over his chest.
Mok felt his face heating, subconsciously trying to hide. Instead, he stood there and went red.
Thee glanced between them, a smirk flickering. “I’ll give you two some time. Try not to break my desk. I actually use it.”
Mok’s eyes flew wide. “Khun Thee!”
Rome’s gaze sharpened, predatory and amused. “We could – ”
“Do not finish that sentence,” Thee warned. “And keep your hands where the cameras can’t see. HR nightmare.”
“We don’t have HR,” Rome reminded him.
“Exactly. And I’d like to keep it that way.”
He brushed past Mok on the way out, squeezing his shoulder briefly, almost reassuringly. “You know where the security cameras don’t reach,” he murmured. “Try to use that information responsibly.”
Mok wanted to disappear.
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Mok and Rome alone in the quiet office. Silence settled, thick and charged. Rome took one step forward. Then another. His eyes never left Mok’s, expression somewhere between hungry and disbelieving.
“You’re real,” he said softly, as if he didn’t quite trust it. “You’re actually – Fuck.”
He closed the distance in a blur, one hand coming up to cup Mok’s jaw. Mok sucked in a breath, every nerve ending flaring.
Rome’s palm was warm, a little rough, thumb sweeping over the hinge of Mok’s jaw like he was memorizing it. He leaned in, so close that Mok could see the flecks of gold in his irises.
“Hi,” Rome whispered, like a secret.
Mok’s voice came out smaller than he intended. “Hi.”
Rome’s eyes searched his face, frantic and tender all at once. “You changed your hair.”
“It grew,” Mok managed.
“I like it. More for me to hold.”
Mok’s heart tripped. Rome’s hand slid along his cheek, thumb brushing the curve of his ear before roaming down the line of his neck as if checking to make sure he is real and still here.
“You’re…bigger,” Rome went on, voice dropping another octave. “Prettier”
Mok flinched before he could stop himself.
Rome’s eyes snapped up. “Hey,” he said immediately, thumb moving to stroke the underside of Mok’s jaw, gentle now. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
Mok looked away, embarrassment clawing at his throat.
“In a good way,” Rome insisted. “Fuck, Mok, look at you.”
Mok swallowed. “I trained more. With your brother’s guys.”
“I can tell,” Rome murmured, gaze dropping to Mok’s chest again, appreciative in a way that sent heat pooling low in Mok’s stomach.
“Don’t – ” Mok said quickly, stepping back without thinking.
Rome’s hand fell. He froze, the easy grin wiped clean from his face. For a second, the mask of the mafia boss slipped back into place – a flash of calculation, wariness.
“Did I do something wrong?” he asked, too casual.
Mok stared at his shoes. “No. I just…” Just what? Just afraid that you won’t like me like this. Just scared that the version of me you’ve been holding onto in your head all this time is someone I can’t be anymore. Just –
“Mok,” Rome said quietly. “Talk to me.”
“Nothing’s wrong,” Mok cleared his throat and lied. “I’m just…still on duty.”
Rome’s mouth tugged into something wry. “Still using my brother as an excuse to avoid me, huh?”
Mok’s head snapped up. “I’m not avoiding you.”
“You won’t let me touch you,” Rome pointed out. “That’s a first.”
Mok’s face burned. “We’re in your brother’s office.”
Rome stepped closer anyway, crowding into his space without actually touching him. Mok suddenly had the sensation of standing on the edge of a cliff, wind rushing past his ears.
“That never stopped you before,” Rome murmured, breath warm against his lips. “Remember the warehouse in Bang Na? You almost climbed me like a tree while my brother was yelling at us through the comms.”
Mok made a strangled noise. “You’re exaggerating.”
“Am I?” Rome’s smirk softened. “You’ve been in my head every day for two years, baby. I remember everything.”
Baby. The word punched the air out of Mok’s lungs. Rome said it like he owned it – like it was something that had always belonged to him.
“Mok,” Rome said, and there it was again – that raw edge under the teasing. “I missed you. So much.”
The confession knocked something loose in Mok’s chest. He’d imagined this moment a thousand different ways: Rome sweeping him up, Rome kissing him breathless without a word, Rome acting like nothing had changed. He hadn’t prepared for simple honesty.
He swallowed hard. “You were busy.”
“Busy surviving,” Rome corrected. “Busy killing assholes who thought they could take our routes. Busy making sure the world you’re in stays stable enough that you can complain about my texting habits.”
“You never told me where you were,” Mok said before he could stop himself. “Sometimes I didn’t hear from you for weeks.”
Rome flinched. It was small, but Mok saw it.
“I couldn’t,” Rome said, guilt threading through his voice. “If someone traced my calls…”
“I know,” Mok said quickly.
“Do you?” Rome’s jaw clenched. “Because there were nights I wanted to call just to hear you breathe, and I couldn’t risk it. The last time I stayed on the line too long, someone put a bullet through the window I was standing next to.”
Mok’s blood ran cold. “You never told me that.”
“You would’ve freaked,” Rome said simply. “Then my brother would yell at me and take away my guns.”
“You have too many anyway,” Mok muttered automatically.
Rome’s smile flashed, brief and helpless. “See? I need you. You balance out my bad decisions.”
Mok’s chest tightened.
He shouldn’t do this here. Not with cameras, even if there were blind spots. Not when Thee could walk back in at any second. Not when his heart was thrumming like it wanted to break free and throw itself at Rome’s feet.
But Rome was here. Not a distorted voice over a burner phone, not a pixelated face on a video call that kept freezing, but warm and solid and right in front of him.
“Rome,” Mok said, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m still on the clock.”
Rome cocked his head. “Security detail?”
Mok nodded.
“For who?” Rome asked, even though Mok was pretty sure he knew.
Mok rolled his eyes. “Your brother. And now you, apparently.”
Rome grinned, slow and wicked. “Best news I’ve heard all week.”
“That’s not funny,” Mok snapped, even as his lips twitched.
“Baby, it’s perfect.” Rome leaned in, his breath ghosting over Mok’s mouth. “You’re glued to my side, and my brother pays you for it?”
“Don’t call me baby at work,” Mok managed, voice shaking.
Rome’s eyes softened. “Okay.”
Mok blinked, clearly shocked. “…okay?”
“I’ll call you something else then,” Rome murmured. “My Mok. My Suay. My heart. My – ”
“Stop,” Mok hissed, mortified.
Rome’s gaze flicked to his mouth, amused and dark. “You’re blushing.”
“Shut up.”
“Make me.”
Mok’s breath hitched.
For a heartbeat, they hung there – two idiots with two years of unresolved anything pressed between them, one armed to the teeth, the other armed with a security badge and too many feelings.
Then Rome exhaled. He stepped back, the look in his eyes shifting from playful to something steadier.
“Come home with me after this,” he said. Not a question. “We’ll talk.”
Mok’s stomach swooped. “Rome, we – ”
“It won’t be like before.” Rome’s voice was low, determined. “No interruptions. No phones. Just us.”
“Your condo’s probably a mess,” Mok tried, grasping at straws.
Rome’s lips quirked. “I cleaned.”
Mok almost laughed. “You don’t clean.”
“I hired someone who does,” Rome conceded. “Point is, there’s a bed. And a couch. And a kitchen counter. Plenty of places for you to sit and tell me why you’re flinching away from me.”
Heat surged under Mok’s skin for an entirely different reason.
“I’m not – ”
Rome held up a finger. “Save it. After my meeting with Phi, you’re coming with me. You’re technically my guard now, right? I feel very unsafe without you.”
Mok glared at him, but his heart wasn’t in it. “You’re the most dangerous person in this building.”
“Exactly. I need protection from myself.”
Mok huffed, defeated. “Fine.”
“Good.” Rome retrieved his gloves, tugging them back on with practised ease. The gesture reminded Mok all over again: his boyfriend was a man who killed for a living. “I’ll try not to start a shootout in my brother’s office. For you.”
Mok rolled his eyes. “I’d appreciate that.”
Rome’s gaze flicked back to him as he turned toward the door. “You’re still so beautiful, you know.”
Mok’s whole body went hot.
Rome didn’t wait for a response. He just smirked, pushed the door open, and strolled out like he hadn’t just set Mok’s world on fire.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
The meeting was a blur.
Mok stood behind Thee and Rome, slightly to the side, eyes scanning the room, every muscle on alert. The conversation was about territory and supply lines and some idiot in Pattaya who’d tried to undercut them. Rome leaned back in his chair, lazy and lethal, flirting with danger and paperwork alike. Thee rolled his eyes so often they might’ve gotten stuck.
But every couple of minutes, Rome’s gaze drifted. To Mok. A quick slide over his face, checking, confirming: still here. Still breathing. Mok pretended not to notice. His heart didn’t get the memo.
When the meeting finally ended, and Thee’s lieutenants filed out, Thee himself paused by his desk, looking between them.
“You’re taking him with you?” he asked Rome, nodding at Mok.
Rome’s brows knit. “Obviously.”
“Good,” Thee said. “Maybe he’ll keep you from bringing home stray corpses.”
“No promises,” Rome said lightly.
Thee’s gaze cut to Mok, serious now. “Call me if he’s being an idiot.”
“Hey,” Rome protested.
Mok swallowed. “I will, Khun Thee.”
Thee’s mouth quirked. “And Mok?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t let my pain-in-the-ass brother bully you into anything you don’t want. Situationship or not.”
Mok’s face burned. Rome made an outraged sound.
“Phi.”
“What?” Thee shrugged. “I’m just saying. You have value, Mok. More than he deserves, most days.”
Rome glowered. “I thought you liked me.”
“I tolerate you,” Thee said. But his eyes softened, just a little, when he looked at his brother. “Go home. Both of you. The world will still be fucked tomorrow.”
Rome’s jaw eased.”Okay, Phi.” Mok followed Rome out of the office, heart lodged somewhere in his throat.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
Rome’s condo hadn’t changed much.
Same floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, neon lights bleeding into the dusk. Same leather couch with a knife mark in the armrest where Rome had thrown something too hard. Same lingering scent of his cologne in the air – smoke and citrus, warm and sharp.
What had changed was the neatness.
There were no empty bottles on the coffee table. No stray bullets in little dishes on the counter. The kitchen was spotless, knives lined up in a block like they were normal kitchen tools instead of second-tier weapons.
“You actually did hire a cleaner,” Mok said, surprised.
Rome shrugged out of his jacket, tossing it over the couch. Tattoo ink peeked from under his rolled-up sleeves as he loosened his tie. “Told you. I wanted it nice for you.”
Mok’s heart thumped. “You didn’t have to.”
“Yes,” Rome said simply. “I did.”
He gestured vaguely toward the kitchen. “There’s food in the fridge. Phi’s guy stocked it. You hungry?”
“Not really.”
Rome studied him for a beat. “Water?”
“Sure.”
Rome grabbed two bottles from the fridge and padded back, handing one over. His fingers brushed Mok’s, lingering for a second longer than necessary. Sparks shot up Mok’s arm.
He cleared his throat. “You wanted to…talk.”
Rome nodded, sipping his water. Then he set the bottle down on the coffee table and turned back to Mok, expression more serious than he’d seen it in a long time.
“Sit,” Rome said, nodding toward the couch.
Mok obeyed, perching on the edge. Rome dropped down beside him, close enough that their knees brushed.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
City lights flickered outside, casting shifting shadows across Rome’s face. The tattoos on his forearm moved as he flexed his fingers, restless.
“I thought about you every day,” Rome said, finally breaking the silence.
Mok’s breath caught.
“Every day,” Rome repeated quietly. “In between trades and fights and…other shit. Didn’t matter where I was. There was always some part of my brain running through the list. ‘Did Mok eat today? Did Mok sleep? Did he remember to lock his door? Did he…’” He trailed off, jaw tightening.
“Did he what?” Mok asked, voice small.
Rome’s eyes met his, raw and unguarded. “Did he forget me.”
Mok’s chest clenched painfully. “I couldn’t.”
Rome huffed a humorless laugh. “That’s what I told myself. But two years is a long time. I saw things I shouldn’t have seen. Did things I definitely shouldn’t have done. Had a lot of time to think about how fucking stupid I was when we were eighteen.”
Mok blinked. “Stupid how?”
Rome picked at a loose thread on his pants, sudden nerves peeking through the mafia swagger. “You really want a list?”
“Yes,” Mok said. Then, quieter: “Please.”
Rome exhaled slowly, like he was steadying himself.
“Stupid like…making jokes instead of telling you how much I cared about you,” he said. “Using kissing and flirting to say what I was too scared to say out loud. Letting you walk around thinking we were in a – what was that word again?”
Mok swallowed, cheeks heating. “....situationship”
“Yeah,” Rome said, the word tasting bitter. “Like it was some casual, undefined thing. Like I hadn’t already picked out where in this condo I wanted to put your stupid plants when you moved in.”
Mok stared at him. “You – what?”
Roman shrugged, suddenly shy. “You like plants. I hate them. They’re messy, and they die when I look at them wrong. But I…like you.” He glanced up, then away. “So I figured I’d learn. Or make my guys learn.”
Mok’s head spun. “Rome – ”
“Let me finish,” Rome cut in, voice rough. “I’ve spent two years playing the big bad mafia boss, making people bleed when they look at my family or my business wrong. But every time I thought about you, I turned into – ” He gestured at himself, frustrated. “This. A fucking puppy.”
Mok bit back a smile despite the lump in his throat. “You are a puppy.”
Rome scowled. “I’m a terrifying criminal.”
“You say that, but you texted me thirty pictures of a cat last month because it sat on your car and I said cute to the first one,” Mok said.
“That cat was majestic,” Rome said defensively. Mok’s laugh came out choked. Rome’s expression softened at the sound.
“My point is,” Rome went on, “I get why you’d be hesitant. We never…defined anything. I didn’t give you the words. I thought actions were enough. Showing up when you called. Putting myself between you and any asshole with a gun. Giving you keys to this place.” He tapped his chest. “But I didn’t give you this.”
Mok’s breath quickened.
Rome’s eyes held his, no masks left now. “I love you.”
The world stilled.
Mok’s ears rang. He must’ve misheard. Rome didn’t say things like that. He implied them. He clung and kissed and protected and flirted himself into exhaustion, but he didn’t –
“What?” Mok whispered.
Rome’s mouth twisted like he expected to get shot. “That’s what I’ve been trying to say, you know. Every time I called you baby. Every time I sent you a picture of something stupid because it reminded me of you. Every time I didn’t say goodbye on the phone because I thought – ” His voice broke, just slightly. “ – if I said it, it would be the last time. I love you, Mok.”
Mok’s vision blurred.
“I’m sorry it took this long,” Rome said. “I’m sorry I let you think you were…temporary. Or negotiable. Or…” He sucked in a breath. “Or that I would ever stop wanting you because your body changed. You could shave your head and get tattoos of my face all over you, and I’d still – ”
Mok let out an incredulous, sniffly sound. “Why would I – ”
“ – I’d still want you,” Rome finished stubbornly. “I’d still love you. You understand?”
Tears spilled over before Mok could stop them. He scrubbed at his face, embarrassed.
“Hey,” Rome said softly, reaching out. He paused, hand hovering. “Can I…?”
Mok nodded, frantic. Rome’s palm cupped his cheek gently, thumb sweeping away the stray tears. The touch was as reverent as it was familiar.
“I didn’t just miss the old you,” Rome said, voice softer now, fiercer. “I missed you. All of you. I don’t care if you’re bigger or smaller or blonder or whatever. You’re still my Mok. You’re still the one who yelled at me for using a gun as a paperweight. The one who patched me up when I got stabbed and then scolded me for bleeding on your favorite hoodie.”
“You ruined that hoodie,” Mok hiccuped.
“I bought you three new ones,” Rome reminded him.
“They didn’t smell like you,” Mok blurted.
Rome froze. His thumb stilled on Mok’s cheek. “Yeah?”
Mok sniffed, nodding miserably.
Something like awe flickered across Rome’s expression. “You’re killing me.”
Mok let out a watery laugh that turned into another sniffle. Rome leaned closer, their foreheads almost touching.
“You think I’d stop wanting you because you’re not a walking bamboo stick anymore?” Rome asked quietly. “You’re strong now. You can tackle me if I’m being stupid. You know how hot that is?”
Mok’s ears went up in flames. “Rome – ”
“I like this,” Rome insisted, hand sliding down to Mok’s shoulder, fingers squeezing the muscle there like he wanted to prove it. “Fuck, baby. You feel solid.”
“Stop saying that,” Mok groaned.
“What, baby?” Rome teased, eyes glinting. “My suay baby? My very attractive, muscular baby, who learned how to chokehold people while I was gone? The love of my – ”
Mok surged forward and kissed him.
It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t graceful. It was just an explosion of pent-up longing, fear, love, two years of unsaid words pouring out all at once. Rome made a low, startled sound against his mouth, like he’d been punched and blessed in the same breath. Then he kissed back, hard.
His hand slid to the back of Mok’s neck, fingers threading into his hair, pulling him closer. Mok’s hands fisted in the front of Rome’s shirt, the expensive fabric wrinkling as he dragged him in like he wanted to climb inside his skin.
Rome’s mouth was familiar and new all at once. Softer from non-use, maybe. Hungrier. His lips moved against Mok’s like he was starved, like this was the first real thing he’d tasted in weeks.
He licked into Mok’s mouth, slow at first, testing, like he thought Mok might pull away again. Instead, Mok made a noise that could only be described as desperate and swung a leg over Rome’s lap, straddling him. Rome broke the kiss long enough to suck in a sharp breath. His hands clamped down on Mok’s hips reflexively, fingers digging into the firm flesh there.
“Fuck,” he rasped. “You’re – ”
“Don’t say bigger,” Mok warned, breathless.
Rome’s eyes flashed, dark and blown wide with desire. “I was going to say perfect.”
Mok’s heart did something unsafe.
He kissed him again, harder this time. Rome groaned into his mouth, tilting his head, one hand sliding up Mok’s spine, pressing him closer, closer, until their chests were flush and Mok could feel every line of Rome’s body beneath him.
It was messy and sweet and searing all at once. Rome kissed like he fought – with everything he had, no restraint, no exit strategy. Mok matched him, two years of lonely nights and half-finished texts burning away under the heat of Rome’s mouth on his.
Rome’s hands roamed, not greedy but reverent, mapping out the new terrain of Mok’s body. He traced the curve of his waist, the swell of his thighs, the broad line of his back, pausing occasionally like he was committing each discovery to memory.
Every time his fingers tightened appreciatively, every time he made a pleased noise low in his throat, another insecurity in Mok’s chest loosened its grip.
“You’re so fucking pretty,” Rome murmured against his jaw, lips trailing down to Mok’s neck. “Do you have any idea what it’s been like, trying to jerk off in shitty hotel bathrooms with the memory of you when the real thing is like this?”
Mok made a strangled sound that might have been his soul leaving his body. “Rome!”
Rome chuckled against his skin, breath warm. “What? Too honest?”
“Yes!”
“Too bad.” He nipped gently at Mok’s collarbone, sucking lightly until Mok gasped. “You’re stuck with me now.”
Mok shivered, fingers tightening in Rome’s hair. “You can’t just – say things like that.”
“Which part?” Rome asked, kissing his way back up to Mok’s mouth. “The jerking off or the stuck-with-me?”
Mok’s face felt like it might combust. “Both.”
Rome’s smile softened, even as his hands continued to stroke slow, soothing circles on Mok’s hips. “You didn’t answer me, you know.”
Mok blinked, dazed. “Answer what?”
“I said I love you,” Rome reminded him quietly, voice dropping again into that raw, vulnerable place. “Kinda hanging out here on a limb here.”
Mok’s breath caught.
He’d been so overwhelmed by the confession, by his own tears, by the spiral of insecurity, that he hadn’t said it back. Not properly. Not with the same naked finality Rome had given him.
Maybe there’d been hints, the way he clung, the way he laughed, the way he kissed like drowning. But Rome had spent two years thinking his actions weren’t enough. Mok wouldn’t make the same mistake.
He leaned back a little, just enough to see Rome’s face.
Rome was breathing hard, hair mussed, lips swollen, shirt rumpled from Mok’s hands. He looked like sin and salvation all at once, dangerous and stupidly soft as he watched Mok with something like hope and terror tangled in his eyes.
Mok cupped his face with both hands, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones, grounding himself.
“I love you too,” he said.
Rome’s pupils blew wide.
“I’ve been in love with you since you stole my lunch in high school,” Mok went on, words tumbling out now that the dam had broken. “Since you put bubble stickers on your gun to make me laugh. Since you fell asleep on my lap after a job and pretended you weren’t scared, I’d leave while you were unconscious. I – ” His voice wavered. “I never said it because I thought it would scare you away. Or make it real enough that it could be taken from me.”
Rome made a soft, wrecked noise.
“But it was real anyway,” Mok whispered. “Two years didn’t change it. You disappearing into your mafia shit didn’t change it. Me getting…bigger.” He swallowed. “It didn’t change it. I love you.”
Rome’s hands tightened on his waist like he was afraid Mok would vanish. “Say it again.”
Mok huffed a watery laugh. “You’re greedy.”
“Yes,” Rome said without shame. “Say it again.”
“I love you,” Mok repeated, steadier. He leaned in, pressing their foreheads together. “You absolute menace.”
Rome laughed, a sound halfway to a sob. “Third time.”
Mok smiled despite himself. “I love you, Rome.”
Rome surged forward and kissed him like he’d just been handed the world. This kiss was different. Less frantic, more consuming. There was the same heat, the same hunger, but now it sat on a foundation of something solid, something named. It made Mok dizzy.
Rome’s hands slid up under Mok’s shirt, palms dragging over his newly-built muscle, fingers splaying against his warm skin. Mok tensed for a second, old insecurities flaring – and then Rome made a low, reverent sound that melted them away.
“Fuck,” he breathed against Mok’s mouth. “You’re killing me. You feel so good.”
Mok shivered, the words sinking deep. “You really…like it?”
Rome leaned back just enough to look him in the eye, expression fierce. “I am obsessed with it. With you. With all of this.” He squeezed Mok’s sides, then trailed his hands up to his chest, thumbs brushing over hard planes. “If you’d looked like this when we were eighteen, I would’ve died on the spot. Dropped dead. Phi would’ve had to bury me.”
Mok snorted, the sound catching on a gasp as Rome’s thumbs accidentally grazed a sensitive spot. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m in love,” Rome corrected. “I’m allowed.”
Mok rolled his eyes and kissed him again to shut him up.
They lost track of time after that.
Kisses blurred together, slow and fast, sweet and filthy. Mok let himself be turned, pressed into the cushions, then hauled back into Rome’s lap, their bodies slicking and slotting together like they’d done this a thousand times before – but somehow it was new now. Softer on the edges. Sharper at the core.
Hands explored familiar paths with new reverence. Rome traced old scars, asking softly if they hurt. Mok found the newer ones on Rome, each one a silent story he promised himself he’d ask about later.
Rome whispered stupid compliments into his mouth, his hair, the side of his neck. Mok pretended to complain, but his heart catalogued every word, tucking them away like precious contraband.
At some point, they broke apart, panting, foreheads pressed together, sweat dampening their temples.
“Hey,” Rome murmured, voice hoarse. “You okay?”
Mok nodded, still catching his breath. “Yeah.”
Rome studied him, thumb rubbing lazy circles at the base of his spine. “You sure? Your brain isn’t doing that thing where it tells you I’m secretly disgusted or something?”
Mok opened his mouth to deny it, then closed it again.
Rome’s eyes softened. “Thought so.” He tipped Mok’s chin up gently. “Listen to me, Mok. There is nothing – nothing – about you that turns me off. I don’t love you in spite of your changes. I love you, full stop. Changes included.”
Mok swallowed, throat tight. “You’re very…dramatic.”
“I kill people for a living,” Rome reminded him. “Drama comes with the job.”
Mok snorted, the sound half a sob. “You’re an idiot.”
“Your idiot,” Rome said promptly.
Mok sighed, but his lips curled. “My idiot.”
Rome beamed, eyes going bright, puppy-soft for a moment before the alpha slid back in behind it, possessive and sure. His hands tightened on Mok’s hips.
“Good,” he said, tone dropping. “Now that we’ve cleared that up – ”
He pulled Mok down into another kiss, slower this time, deep and lingering. Mok melted against him, letting himself be kissed, loved, wanted without question.
Outside, the city buzzed, neon bleeding into the night, sirens wailing in the distance. Inside, Rome’s condo was its own world – a bubble built from shared history and new promises.
For the first time in two years, Mok didn’t feel like he was waiting for something to shatter.
He felt…home.
Rome broke the kiss just long enough to press a series of small ones along Mok’s jaw, his cheek, the tip of his nose.
“What are you doing?” Mok asked, voice sleepy with contentment.
“Catching up,” Rome murmured. “I’m two years behind on my Mok quota. It’s going to take a while.”
Mok rolled his eyes, but his chest ached in that good way. “We’ll have time.”
Rome’s hands stilled. He pulled back, searching Mok’s face. “Yeah?”
Mok nodded, heart steady now. “Yeah. I’m not going anywhere.”
Rome’s grin was blinding, equal parts smug and disbelievingly happy. “Good. Because if you tried, I’d just steal you back.”
Mok huffed. “You can’t kidnap your own boyfriend.”
Rome’s eyes went soft and sharp all at once. “Boyfriend.”
Mok realized what he’d said a second too late. “I mean – if you want – I don’t know if that’s – ”
Rome kissed him breathless, hungrily, literally trying to eat him. When he finally pulled back, they were both smiling like idiots.
“Yeah,” Rome said, resting his forehead against Mok’s again. “Boyfriend works for me.”
Mok’s heart felt too big for his chest. “Okay.”
Rome’s arms tightened around him, protective, possessive, all warm muscle and gunpowder and stupid, stupid love.
“Welcome home, Mok,” he whispered, picking him up easily despite Mok’s sounds of surprised protest and carrying him to his bedroom.
And for the first time in a long time, Mok let himself believe that it was true.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
Thee’s office was quiet except for the soft hum of the air conditioner and the faint tapping of his fingers on the keyboard.
It was past midnight. Most of the staff had gone home. The building’s security cameras showed looping images of empty hallways and bored guards. Thee skimmed through a report, eyes skimming over mentions of shipments, routes, and Rome’s latest controlled chaos.
His phone buzzed.
He glanced at the caller ID – and paused. Mok’s name flashed on the screen.
Thee frowned, a little instinctive spike of concern running through his chest. Mok almost never called this late unless something was wrong.
He answered immediately. “Mok?”
There was a beat of silence. Then – “Hey, Phi,” Rome’s too-cheerful voice came through.
Thee’s eye twitched. “You steal Mok’s phone now?”
“Technically,” Rome said, unbothered, “it’s joint property. What’s yours is mine, what’s mine is mine, what’s Mok’s is also mine.”
Thee pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m hanging up.”
“Wait, wait, don’t,” Rome laughed. There was a rustle in the background, something that sounded suspiciously like sheets. “I actually called for something important.”
Thee leaned back in his chair, suspicion sharpening. “If you broke him, I swear to God –”
“Wow, no faith,” Rome said. “For your information, Mok is perfectly fine.”
Faintly, in the background, Thee heard a muffled, mortified-sounding, “Don’t drag me into this, Rome,” followed by what was very clearly a pillow being thrown.
Thee sighed. “Define ‘perfectly fine.’”
Rome cleared his throat, suddenly sounding far too pleased with himself. “Well. He’s…alive. Happy. Very sore… but very relaxed.”
Thee dropped his pen, expression flattening. “I do not need details.”
“You asked,” Rome said innocently. “Anyway, that brings me to my very reasonable request.”
Thee braced himself. “Which is?”
“I need Mok,” Rome said. “Full-time. Uninterrupted. For seven days. So I am officially filing a leave request on his part.”
Thee stared at the phone. “You’re asking for a week of vacation. For my assistant. Who also happens to be the only person who can get me through a meeting without committing homicide.”
“Yes,” Rome said. “Because I am trying not to commit homicide. Or arson. Or both. And Mok being here helps with that.”
“That’s the worst justification I’ve ever heard,” Thee said flatly.
Rome hummed. “What about this one, then? He is currently –” he paused, like he was picking the right word, “ – indisposed.”
Thee’s eyes narrowed. “Indisposed how?”
Rome’s answer came far too quickly. “He can’t sit straight. Like at all.”
There was an indignant yelp somewhere behind him: “ROME!”
Thee closed his eyes and counted to three. “You’re telling me my employee cannot come in because you’ve made him too sore to walk properly.”
“I didn’t say walk,” Rome said, sounding utterly shameless. “You added that. But yeah. Also, in my defense, he insisted on –”
Thee cut him off before his night got worse. “Stop. Right there.”
Rome snickered. Silence settled for a moment, filled only with Rome’s soft breathing and another quiet rustle, like Mok was trying to wrestle the phone away. Thee exhaled, long and annoyed, even as his lips twitched.
“You know I could say no,” he said. “Mok is good at his job. I rely on him.”
“I know,” Rome said, and the flippancy eased, just for a second. “But I need him too, Phi.”
There was something in his tone that made Thee’s irritation ebb. Behind all the teasing and smugness, Rome sounded…peaceful. Softer than Thee had heard him in a long time.
Happy.
“He’s been working nonstop for you while I was gone,” Rome added, quieter now. “Let me steal him for a week. I’ll bring him back in one piece. Probably even more competent. Especially after some very…thorough inspections.”
Another strangled noise from Mok: “I hate you.”
“You love me,” Rome shot back, smug.
Thee let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He spun his chair slightly, looking out at the city lights beyond his window.
“Seven days,” he said finally. “No more.”
Rome’s delighted laugh crackled through the speaker. “Knew you loved me, Phi.”
“I don’t,” Thee said. “I love Mok. He deserves an occasional break from this job.”
Rome made a pleased, satisfied sound. “Then we’re on the same side for once.”
“Don’t make me regret this.” Thee opened his calendar and, with a few taps, blocked off Mok’s schedule. “If any urgent shit hits the fan, I’m calling him. Vacation or not.”
“You can try,” Rome said breezily. “But he’ll be very busy.”
“Rome.”
“Relax,” Rome said, softer again. “I’ll keep him safe. Satiated.”
Thee hesitated. Then he nodded, even though they couldn’t see each other. “You better.”
“I swear,” Rome said. “On all my very illegal holdings.”
There was another scuffle, and suddenly Mok’s voice came on the line, flustered. “Khun Thee, I’m so sorry, he took my –”
“It’s fine, Mok,” Thee cut in, a hint of warmth sneaking into his tone. “You’re off for a week. Don’t worry about work.”
Mok went quiet. “Really?”
“Really,” Thee said. “Consider it…paid suffering leave.”
Rome’s laughter exploded in the background.
“Rest,” Thee said, ignoring Rome entirely. “Eat. Sleep. Hydrate. Try not to let my brother manhandle you too much.”
“No promises!” Rome shouted.
Thee hung up on them. He stared at the phone for a moment, then shook his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his mouth.
“Indisposed,” he muttered, turning back to his reports. “Yeah. I know what that means. Maybe I should ask for a wheelchair.”
Outside, neon lights bled into the night. Somewhere across the city, his reckless little brother and his overworked assistant were tangled up in their own small universe, finally on the same page.
Thee sighed, picked up his pen again, and let himself feel a quiet, private relief.
Things were going to be fine.
THE END :)