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When he got the call, his fingers went stilled on the rose stems. The thorns pressed into his thumb and a bead of red welled up on his skin.
His mother's voice crackled through the phone, loud and insistent over the chatter of the market in the background. "You are twenty-eight, Por. Twenty-eight. You can't just sit in that shop all day talking to plants. You are going. I already told my friend you would be there."
"Ma, I don't have time for a blind date."
"You’ll make time. Nit's friend's son owns that new cafe. He's young, polite, and karound twenty-five. Didn't you say you like younger guys? At least go and order something. I didn't raise a man who can't keep his word."
Por pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at the ceiling of his shop. The scent of cut stems, wet dirt, and bruised petals filled the air. He looked down at his dirt-stained apron and the floral tape wrapped around his knuckles. He didn't want to go. He wanted to finish the funeral wreath on his table, and go home to his quiet apartment.
But his mother didn't raise a man who couldn't keep his word, and she certainly didn't raise a son who could say no to her either.
Forty minutes later, Por pushed open the glass door of the cafe. A small brass bell chimed overhead. The place smelled like fresh espresso, melted butter, and baked goods. It was annoyingly charming.
He spotted the guy immediately, sitting at a corner table by the window.
The guy wore a loose yellow silk shirt, unbuttoned at the collar with silver, almost half-rectangle frame glasses that sat perfectly on the bridge of his nose. His hair was down, falling softly around his face, brushing his cheekbones. He looked like a puppy. A very expensive, well-groomed golden retriever puppy who was currently staring at the menu like it held the secrets of the universe.
Por's plan was simple. Sit down, drink one coffee, talk about the weather or something, make an excuse about an early morning delivery, and leave.
Then the guy looked up.
His eyes caught the light from the window. He saw Por standing awkwardly by the door, and his whole face changed. A wide, bright smile spread across his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes behind those silver frames. It was pure, so pure that Por felt the thorn prick on his thumb with something that makes his heartbeats faster.
He forgot about the funeral wreath or the excuse he had rehearsed. He forgot about everything except the way the guy's eyes lit up when they landed on him.
"P'Por, right?" The guy stood up, his chair scraping softly against the floor.
"Kub." Por's voice came out rougher than he intended. He cleared his throat. "Aham, Hi."
"I'm Teetee. Please, sit down. I ordered you a latte already. Auntie said you like sweet things." Teetee gestured to the seat across from him, still wearing that wide smile.
Por sat down. He meant to act disinterested, pretend like his mother had dragged him here kicking and screaming. But his heart goes soft when teetee started to talk about the cafe, how he had burned the first batch of croissants this morning and how the stray cat that always meowed near the cafe refused to eat anything but the premium tuna.
Por just watched him, the way his hands moved when he talked, fluttering through the air. The way his hair fell over his glasses and he had to keep pushing it back. He laughed at his own jokes which were slightly too loud but so real.
By the time Teetee was explaining the difference between single-origin and blended espresso, Por realized he was smiling.
When the cafe closed around them and Teetee had to flip the sign on the door, they walked out onto the street. Under the Bangkok humid night where they both stood under the neon signs, Teetee asked if they could do this again.
Por said yes without any hesitation.
Two weeks later, afternoon sun poured through the shop windows and cast warm lights across the concrete floor. Por stood at his workbench in the back, wrapping green floral tape around a bouquet of white roses. A half-finished order for a wedding sat beside him, and lilies and baby's breath waited in buckets by his feet. The fan overhead clicked back and forth, pushing the thick air around him.
His personal phone buzzed on the counter. Unknown number.
Por set the bouquet down, wiped his hands on his apron, untied it, and dropped it on the counter. He answered almost immediately after picking up. "Hello?"
Nothing. Just dead air. No breathing or background noise.
Por's posture changed. The soft florist persona vanished into thin air. He straightened his spine and squared his shoulders. He walked out the back door into the sweltering alley.
A black van idled by the dumpsters with its headlights off and its engine humming low. Por didn't hesitate. He walked to the sliding side door, pulled it open, and climbed inside. The interior was pitch black. Two guards sat in the back with him, faces forward, saying nothing.
The van pulled into traffic and drove for forty minutes. It left the city and turned onto a dirt road that snaked into dense forest. The sounds of Bangkok faded, replaced by the hum of tires on dirt. Trees pressed in on either side, thick and green, blocking out the sun.
The van stopped at a compound of gray concrete and razor wire, its floodlights off in the daytime. Por followed the guards inside. The room was cold, lit by harsh fluorescent lights that buzzed overhead. The temperature drop hit him like a wall after the humidity outside.
Lady Shadow sat at the head of a steel table. She was older, sharp-eyed, wearing her usual red lipstick. Her real name was classified, so everyone just called her Lady Shadow.
"Agent Blue," she said. "Have a seat."
Por sat. The metal chair was freezing against his back. "Who's the target?"
Lady Shadow slid a manila folder across the table. "He inherited the Nimitparkpoom empire two years ago after his father died. He's been running the drug corridors out of the eastern seaboard. The police can't touch him, but we can."
Por leaned back and crossed his arms. He had never failed a mission, not once since he chose to be an agent. "Consider it done. Just point me at him."
Lady Shadow didn't react to his confidence. She opened the folder and turned it around.
Por looked down, and the air left his lungs.
It was Teetee. But not the Teetee who blushed when he talked about his favorite coffee beans. The man in the photo had his hair styled up, slicked back from his face. The silver glasses were gone, and his eyes weren't soft. He wore a perfectly tailored black suit, and his hands were clad in leather gloves that were wet with something dark.
Blood.
He looked like a predator, nothing like the man Por had been kissing in the back of a cafe after hours.
Por stared at the photo, his mind trying to force the two images together—the man in the yellow silk shirt laughing at his own jokes, and the man in the blood-soaked leather gloves. They didn't fit. They wouldn't fit.
"Do you know this man?" Lady Shadow asked. "If you have a prior connection, I will assign someone else."
Say yes. The voice in Por's head screamed at him. Tell her you know him. Let someone else pull the trigger.
But if Por admitted he knew him, Lady Shadow would investigate. She would look into Teetee's cafe. She might send someone who wouldn't hesitate, someone who wouldn't care that Teetee laughed like a golden retriever when he was happy, someone who wouldn't care that Por had spent the last two weeks learning the weight of Teetee's hand in his.
"No," Por said. The word tasted like copper. "I don't know him."
Lady Shadow stared at him, her eyes narrowing. "You look pale, Blue Moon."
"I'm just.. not feeling well. Just a headache. I'll take the mission."
Lady Shadow nodded slowly. She handed him a USB drive with the mission brief, the target's patterns, and the drop point, along with a thick document of Nimitparkpoom family history, known associates, supply routes, and safe houses.
Por took it all. His hands were forced to be steady.
The drive back to the city was quiet. Auau, Lady Shadow's assistant and Por's only real friend in the agency, was the one driving him back to the shop. The golden hour light filtered through the windshield and cast warm stripes across the dashboard.
"Hey," Auau said, glancing at Por in the rearview mirror. "You sure you're good? You look like you have seen a ghost."
"I'm fine." Por rested his head against the cool glass of the window.
"You sure? Because you've been staring at that folder for twenty minutes and you haven't blinked once."
Por forced his fingers to relax. "It's just a lot of information."
Auau didn't look convinced, but he let it go. "Alright. Get some sleep, man. You look wrecked."
The car stopped in front of the flower shop. The afternoon light had shifted, turning the storefront windows into panels of amber and gold. The open sign was still flipped from that morning. Por hadn't locked up. He'd just walked out when the phone rang.
"Thanks for the ride. Bye, friend."
"Take care, bro."
Por pushed open the front door and stepped inside. The shop was warm, and the smell of roses washed over him. It usually calmed him down, but today it made his stomach turn.
He heard movement at the back table and froze.
A figure stood with his back to him, working on the unfinished bouquet Por had left on the counter hours ago. His hands were careful, adjusting the white roses and wrapping green tape around the stems. The baby's breath had been added, and the lilies were trimmed. He was finishing it.
Por knew that back. He knew the width of those shoulders and the way they shifted weight from one foot to the other when focused. He knew the silver watch glinting on that wrist.
He couldn't call out. He couldn't move. He had just accepted a contract to put a bullet in this man's head.
The figure heard his footsteps and turned around.
Teetee with his hair down again, soft and messy, falling into his eyes. The silver glasses perched on his nose, and he wore an oversized beige sweater with the sleeves pulled down over his hands, the fabric swallowing him up. When he saw Por, he smiled.
Wide and bright and painfully genuine.
He was sunshine. He was a puppy. He was nothing like the photograph.
Por stood rooted to the floor, unable to hide the affection, the terror, and the crushing guilt. It was all there, plain on his face.
"Hey, why are you just standing there?" Teetee tilted his head.
Por blinked and snapped himself out of it. "Nothing. I was just not feeling well."
Teetee dropped the bouquet onto the table, the tape rolling off the edge and hitting the floor. He crossed the distance between them in two quick steps, his sneakers squeaking on the tile, and pressed the back of his hand to Por's forehead. His brow furrowed, and the concern on his face was real and agonizing.
A man this sweet and caring was a mafia boss? Por wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't seen the blood on those leather gloves himself.
"You're warm," Teetee said, frowning, his hand moving to cup Por's cheek. "And you look like you haven't eaten."
"I'm fine, Tee."
"No, you're not." Teetee grabbed Por's wrist with a firm grip. "Come on. I'm taking you out."
"Teetee, the shop—"
"I'll lock it. Give me the keys."
Por handed them over without thinking. Teetee flipped the open sign to closed, turned off the back lights, and pulled Por out into the late afternoon. The sun hung low and orange over the rooftops.
Teetee's sleek black sedan was parked out front. He opened the passenger door for Por, waited until Por sat down, then jogged around to the driver's side. Por fastened his seatbelt, his mind running through escape routes and contingency plans as he tried to figure out how he was going to pull the trigger in a few weeks. He didn't ask where they were going.
Teetee started the engine and pulled into the street. "You need fresh air," he said, his eyes on the road. "I'm taking you somewhere you can breathe."
Por turned his head and looked out the window. Power lines passed, then temples, then high-rises, then stray dogs sleeping on sidewalks. He looked at everything except Teetee.
Teetee noticed. He glanced at Por's profile—the tight set of his jaw and the way his fingers drummed restlessly on his own knee. He didn't ask questions or push. He just reached over and turned on the stereo.
Their shared playlist hummed through the speakers, soft acoustic songs they had added together filling the silence between them. Por's fingers stopped drumming as he watched the city thin out, tall buildings replaced by wide sidewalks and tall trees and the smell of faint rain on concrete. The sun dropped toward the horizon, turning the sky into streaks of tangerine and pale pink.
Teetee's thumb tapped the steering wheel in time with the music while his other hand stayed on the gear shift, close enough that Por could reach out and touch it. Por didn't.
They drove for twenty minutes in that silence, the air between them thick with everything Por couldn't say. Every unsaid word pressed against his ribs, making it hard to breathe. Teetee's presence beside him was a weight and a comfort all at once, and Por hated how badly he wanted to lean into it.
Teetee parked at Suan Luang Rama IX Park. He got out, walked around the hood, and opened Por's door. Por stepped out into air that was different here—the sounds of the city far away, replaced by birdsong and the rustle of leaves.
Teetee offered his hand, and Por took it. Teetee's fingers laced through his, warm and solid.
They walked into the park, the path leading them toward the large lake in the center. The sky was orange and purple at the horizon, the last light stretching out over the water. The park was quiet, just a few joggers in the distance and families packing up picnic mats. Light filtered through the trees in shifting patterns of shadow and warmth.
They stopped at the railing overlooking the lake. Por leaned his elbows on the metal and looked out at the glassy surface, disturbed only by the ripple from a fish or a bird landing. Teetee stood beside him, their shoulders almost touching, his thumb tracing absent circles on the back of Por's hand.
The sun sat on the edge of the treeline, bleeding color across the sky.
Por watched it, trying to hold onto everything—the warmth of Teetee's hand, the solid weight of Teetee's shoulder brushing against his own, the way the light caught the silver frames of Teetee's glasses. He tried to memorize the exact shade of orange on the water, the exact pressure of Teetee's thumb on his skin, the exact sound of Teetee breathing beside him.
Because in a few days, he was going to have to aim a sniper at this man's head.
After that day, Por lived two lives.
By day, he was Por the florist. He went on dates with Teetee, trying new restaurants and walking through the park again and again. They lay on Teetee's couch watching movies neither of them paid attention to. Por learned that Teetee couldn't cook anything except pasta and toast, that he talked in his sleep and mumbled things about coffee shipments and someone named Blake, that he had a small scar on his left palm he never explained.
By night, Por was Blue Moon. He stalked Teetee's every step, following him from a distance to track his patterns and memorize his routes.
The two lives bled into each other until Por couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. He learned things he wished he hadn't. Teetee's father had been shot in front of him when Teetee was twenty-three, and the men who did it were still alive and still doing business because Teetee hadn't figured out how to kill them without starting a war. Teetee hated every part of the empire he'd inherited, but he didn't know how to leave. The organization would eat him alive if he tried.
Forced, Lady Shadow had said.
Por learned that Teetee visited his mother's grave every Sunday, brought white roses, and stayed for exactly seventeen minutes.
The mission clock ticked down as their relationship grew stronger, and Por felt himself splitting in half.
One week before the mission, Teetee showed up at the flower shop in person holding a single red rose. "Let’s go on a date tomorrow night," he said. "In my cafe. Just the two of us."
Por said yes.
The cafe was closed when Por arrived. The lights were low, just the warm glow from pendant lamps over the counter. The tables had been pushed aside to make room for a single table in the center of the room with two plates, two wine glasses, and a small vase holding a single red rose.
Teetee stood in the open kitchen with his back to Por, stirring something on the stove. He wore a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, his hair falling into his eyes. He hadn't noticed Por yet.
Por leaned against the doorframe, chin resting on his hands, watching. The muscles in Teetee's back moved beneath the thin fabric of his shirt as he stirred, and Por found himself tracing the line of his spine with his eyes. Teetee's shoulders were tense—the kind of tension Por had learned to read, the kind that meant he was focusing and trying to get something right. He moved with precision, tasting from a spoon, adding salt, tasting again.
The smell hit Por, some garlic, butter, seafood and his stomach growled in response.
Seafood carbonara. His favorite. He had mentioned it once, weeks ago, and Teetee had remembered.
"You're staring," Teetee said without turning around.
"How do you always know?"
"You breathe loud when you're hungry."
Por laughed, the sound low and quiet in the empty cafe. "I'm not hungry. I'm admiring."
Teetee turned. His face was soft in the low light, his cheeks flushed from the stove, a smear of sauce on his jaw. He smiled, wide and bright and so full of warmth that Por felt it hit his chest like a physical thing.
"Admiring what?"
"You."
Teetee's smile faltered for just a second, his eyes searching Por's face before he looked down at the pan and stirred again. But Por could see the pink spreading across his cheeks.
They finished eating. The plates were empty, the wine glasses drained, and the candles on the table had burned down to small pools of wax. Por sat back in his chair, full and warm and almost peaceful despite the weight pressing on his chest.
Teetee stood up and started clearing the plates, but instead of taking them to the kitchen, he set them on the counter and came back to the table. He didn't sit down. He stood in front of Por, close enough that Por had to tilt his head back to look at him.
"P'Por," Teetee called out.
Something in his voice made Por's stomach tighten, not in a bad way but that felt like standing at the edge of a high place, looking down.
"Yeah?"
Teetee reached out and took Por's hands, pulling him up out of the chair. They stood facing each other, the table between them gone, nothing separating their bodies except a few inches of warm air.
"I've been thinking," Teetee said.
"Dangerous."
Teetee laughed, nervous, his fingers squeezing Por's. "I know we haven't—I mean, we never really—" He stopped, took a breath, started again. "I want to ask you something officially. But I'm scared you'll say no."
Por's heart was pounding, and he could feel it in his throat, his temples, the tips of his fingers where Teetee was holding them. "Ask me," he said.
Teetee looked at him for a long moment, his dark eyes searching Por's face. Then he let go of one of Por's hands and reached into his pocket. When his hand came back out, he was holding a small red rose. It was made of silk, carefully crafted, the petals slightly imperfect in a way that made it clear someone had made it by hand.
"I made this," Teetee said, his voice quieter now. "It took me like twelve tries. The first eleven looked like sad cabbages. But this one—" He held it out to Por. "This one I thought was good enough to give you."
Por took the rose. His fingers were trembling, and he didn't try to hide it.
"I know we're not—" Teetee swallowed. “I haven’t asked you and I know we haven't put a name on us. And I don't want to pressure you or make you feel like you have to—"
"Tee."
Teetee stopped. Por stepped closer, closing the last few inches between them, close enough to feel the heat of Teetee's body and smell the coffee and carbonara. "What are you asking me?"
Teetee's throat moved, his eyes bright and almost wet. "I'm asking if you want to be my boyfriend. I want to call you my boyfriend. I want to hold your hand in public and introduce you to people as my boyfriend. I want to wake up next to you and know that you're mine and I'm yours." He paused, his voice dropping even lower. "I want to love you out loud, P'Por. I wanna make us boyfriends."
Por stared at him, the silk rose warm in his hand pressed between their bodies. "Yes," he said.
Teetee blinked. "What?"
"Yes. I want to be your boyfriend and hold my hand in public. I want to wake up next to you and be yours." He was crying now. He didn't know when he had started, but there were tears on his cheeks and his voice was breaking but he didn't care. "I want to love you out loud too. I want everyone to know. I want—"
Teetee kissed him. Soft and shaking, his hands cupping Por's face and his thumbs wiping away tears as their lips moved together. It tasted like wine and promises.
When they pulled apart, Teetee was crying too. "Okay," he whispered, his forehead resting against Por's. "Okay. Good. That's good."
Por laughed, wet and wobbly. "You're such an idiot."
"Your idiot."
"Yeah." Por kissed him again, quick and soft. "My idiot."
They stood there for a long time, holding each other in the empty cafe, the silk rose crushed between their chests. Por's mind was screaming at him— you're going to kill him, you have a mission—but he pushed it down. Just for tonight, he wanted to be Por. Just Teetee's Por. Not Blue Moon or an assassin. Just a man who had been asked to be someone's boyfriend and had said yes.
Por pulled back first, just enough to look at Teetee's face. His boyfriend's face. The word felt strange and wonderful in his head. Boyfriend.
"The pasta," Por said.
Teetee blinked. "Hmm?"
"It was perfect.." Por's voice was still thick from crying. "I’m glad to know you remembered."
Teetee's smile was wobbly and bright , too big for his face. "Of course I remembered. I remember everything you tell me."
Por made a sound he didn't mean to make, something between a groan and a sigh, and Teetee's grin stretched wide across his face.
"You know it's good," Por said.
"I know. I just like hearing you say it."
They sat back down, though neither of them moved to their original chairs. Por ended up beside Teetee instead of across from him, their thighs pressing together under the table, their shoulders brushing every time one of them moved. The wine glasses were empty, but neither of them reached for the bottle.
Por was hyperaware of every point of contact—the brush of Teetee's knee against his, the way Teetee's fingers curled around his wine glass, the way Teetee licked a drop of sauce from his lower lip. Por had cream on his lip. He didn't notice. He was too busy watching Teetee watch him.
Teetee reached across the small space between them, and his thumb wiped the cream from the corner of Por's mouth. Then he brought his thumb to his own lips and sucked it clean, slow, his eyes never leaving Por's.
Por's breath caught. Teetee's tongue flicked out just once, and Por felt it like a touch on his own skin.
He lunged. The table shifted between them, wine glasses wobbling and plates clattering, but Por didn't care. His hand fisted in the front of Teetee's shirt, pulling him close, and his mouth found Teetee's like a drowning man.
Teetee met him halfway, one hand gripping the back of Por's neck and the other bracing against the table to keep them both from falling. The kiss was messy and desperate, full of wine and carbonara. Teetee's tongue slid against his, and Por groaned into his mouth.
"P'Por," Teetee murmured against his lips.
Por answered by biting his lower lip, just hard enough to make Teetee gasp. "Don't talk."
"Okay."
"Just—"
"I know."
The cafe had a back room where Teetee rested when he worked late. A narrow bed against the wall, clean sheets and a small nightstand with a lamp.
But tonight it was different.
Por noticed the moment Teetee carried him through the doorway. The overhead light was off and the room was glowing. Small candles flickered on the nightstand and the windowsill and their light was warm and soft. The air smelled like roses and something underneath that was sweet and warm. Vanilla, maybe sandalwood. Por couldn't tell but it was everywhere, settling into his skin with every breath.
And there were roses placed around the room in random spots. One on the pillow. One on the nightstand beside the candles. One on the small chair by the door with their petals slightly unfurled like they had been placed hours ago and left to open.
Por's chest went tight. Teetee had planned this. The candles and the rose scent filled the air. He had prepared this room for tonight on the chance that Por would say yes.
"You did this?”
Teetee's arms tightened around him. He didn't answer but Por could feel the way Teetee's pulse jumped against his wrist where his hand rested on Teetee's neck.
"Do you like it?" Teetee asked quietly.
Por looked at the roses on the pillow and the way the whole room smelled like his shop and Teetee's cologne mixed together. "Yeah," he said, his voice rough. "I like it."
Teetee smiled. A small, nervous and so genuine that Por wanted to kiss it right off his face.
So he did.
Por grabbed the front of Teetee's shirt and pulled him down, and their mouths met in the middle. Messy and open and desperate, Por's fingers tangled in Teetee's hair and pulled him closer until Teetee made a sound against his lips that Por felt all the way down to his bones.
Teetee pressed him against the doorframe and rolled his hips forward, and Por felt Teetee hard against him through their clothes. The friction made him gasp and his head fell back against the wood, and Teetee mouthed along the exposed line of his throat with his teeth grazing and his tongue following. Por's hips jerked forward on instinct, chasing the pressure and wanting more.
"Tee."
"Let me drop you on the bed." Teetee said it against his collarbone, his breath hot and damp on Por's skin.
He carried Por to the bed and laid him down slowly, so carefully, like Por was something that could break. The sheets were softer than Por expected and they smelled like that same sandalwood vanilla scent filling the room. Teetee had done all of this for him. For their first night.
Then Teetee stood over him with his knees on either side of Por's hips and looked down. The candlelight painted everything gold. Teetee's hair was a wreck from Por's fingers, falling across his forehead in messy strands, and his lips were swollen and wet. His eyes were dark behind the silver frames and he was looking at Por like he was trying to memorize every detail of this moment.
Por reached up toward Teetee's face and his fingers found the temple of the glasses, but he hesitated. He looked at Teetee through the lenses, at the way the candlelight caught the frames and reflected tiny gold squares back at him. The glasses softened Teetee's face and made him look exactly like the man Por had fallen in love with at this very cafe weeks ago. He wanted to keep them on. He wanted Teetee to keep looking at him through those lenses. He wanted this to be the man from the cafe and not the man from the photograph.
Por let his hand drop. "Leave them on."
Teetee's mouth curved. "Okay."
Teetee leaned down and kissed him again, slower this time and deeper. His hands slid under Por's shirt and his fingers spread across his stomach, as Por shivered at the touch. Teetee's hands were warm and slightly rough and they moved across Por's skin with the gentleness that made his breath catch. Like Teetee was learning him and he wanted to know every inch of Por by touch alone.
"I want to feel you," Por whispered against Teetee's mouth. "All of you. Please."
Teetee pulled back just enough to look at him. His eyes searched Por's face through the silver frames, looking for hesitation, looking for permission. Por gave him everything. He let Teetee see the want and the need and the terrifying depth of what he felt, all of it laid bare in the candlelight.
"Ter," Teetee said softly.
"Please."
Teetee sat back on his heels and pulled his shirt over his head in one fluid motion. Por's hands found him immediately, tracing the lines of his collarbone and the curve of his shoulder and the small scar on his ribs where the skin was slightly raised and different in texture. Por ran his fingertip over it.
"What's this?" Por asked.
Teetee looked down at where Por was touching and something flickered across his face, there and gone. "Just a old scar from 2 years ago."
Por didn't push. He leaned up instead and pressed his lips to the scar, and Teetee shuddered above him with a full-body tremor that Por felt against his mouth.
Then Teetee was undressing him, slow and deliberate, his hands sliding over every inch of skin he uncovered. He pulled Por's shirt over his head and dropped it somewhere behind him, and his mouth found Por's shoulder, his chest, the inside of his wrist where the pulse beat close to the surface. He kissed each spot like it deserved its own attention, like every part of Por's body was worth the time it took to reach it, and Por lay there trembling under the weight of all that tenderness.
Por's hands found Teetee's belt and fumbled with the buckle, his fingers clumsy and too eager. Teetee reached down to help and their hands tangled together in the awkwardness of it. Teetee kicked his pants off the rest of the way, and then his hands were at Por's waistband with his thumbs hooking under the fabric and pulling down slowly while his eyes stayed on Por's face through those silver frames.
Por lifted his hips to help. The cool air hit his skin for a brief moment before Teetee's hands were on him again, and then nothing existed except the warmth of Teetee's palms and the way Teetee was looking at him like he was something worth savoring.
They lay together skin to skin and Por could feel everything. The heat of Teetee's body pressed against his. The weight of Teetee's thigh slotted between his own. The hard line of Teetee's cock against his hip and his own against Teetee's stomach. Their chests rose and fell togetherer, and Por could feel Teetee's heartbeat through the place where their ribs touched, steady and strong and just a little too fast.
Teetee's hand moved to Por's face and his thumb traced the line of Por's jaw, and he kissed him again. Slow and deep with his tongue sliding against Por's, and Por opened for him and let him in and let him take whatever he wanted. Por's eyes were open and he could see Teetee's face right there, so close that the frames pressed lightly against his cheekbone when they moved.
"Drawer," Teetee said against Por's mouth, his voice rough and low. "Nightstand."
Por reached over and pulled the drawer open. Inside was a bottle of lube and a strip of condoms, still in their packaging, unopened. Fresh. Bought for this. For tonight. Teetee had planned this down to every last detail, had prepared this room and these sheets and these supplies on the hope that Por would end up here in his arms. The thought made Por's chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with how much this man had wanted him, had been ready for him, had been waiting for him.
Por grabbed the lube and a condom and pressed them into Teetee's hands without breaking the kiss.
Teetee shifted and knelt between Por's legs. He poured lube onto his fingers and warmed it between his palms, then looked at Por with an expression that was equal parts desire and tenderness. The glasses had slipped slightly down his nose from all the movement, and Por reached up and pushed them back into place without thinking. Teetee blinked at him in surprise and then smiled that wide bright smile that made Por's chest ache.
"Tell me if it's too much," Teetee said.
Por nodded.
Teetee's hand moved between Por's legs. One finger pressed against him and then pushed in, slow and steady. The stretch was unfamiliar and Por's breath caught in his throat while his hands gripped the sheets beneath him as his body adjusted.
"Ah."
"Okay?" Teetee asked, his voice careful and controlled like he was holding himself back from something much rougher.
"Mmm." Por exhaled slowly and forced his body to relax. "Keep going."
Teetee moved his finger with gentle patiemnce and watched Por's face for every flicker of sensation. Por could see Teetee watching him through the lenses, could see the way his eyes tracked every shift of Por's expression and every hitch in his breathing. Being seen like that, so thoroughly and so carefully, made Por's skin flush hot.
Then a second finger stretched him wider and Por's hips shifted off the bed, pressing into the touch instead of away from it. The discomfort was fading, replaced by something else, something that made his pulse quicken and his breath come faster.
"Mmh. More," Por said.
Teetee added a third and curled his fingers, searching, and when he found the spot that made Por's back arch off the mattress and a broken sound tear out of his throat, he pressed against it with deliberate precision.
"Tee. Ah, right there."
"Here?" Teetee asked, pressing again.
"Yes. Right there, don't stop, please. Ngnh."
Teetee didn't stop. He kept his fingers there and pressed and rubbed in a slow relentless rhythm, and Por's legs fell open wider with his heels digging into the mattress and his hips rolling to meet Teetee's hand. The sounds filling the room were wet, mixed with Por's broken breathing and the small desperate sounds he couldn't keep inside. Teetee watched him the entire time with his eyes dark behind the frames and his lips parted, his own breathing ragged like just watching Por fall apart was enough to undo him.
Por's hand found his own cock and stroked in time with Teetee's fingers, and the combined sensation was too much and too fast and too good. He could feel it building and coiling tight at the base of his spine, and he tried to warn Teetee but the words wouldn't form properly.
"Tee. I'm, ah... I'm going to... Tee, I can't. Mmh. I'm..."
Teetee's fingers pressed harder and deeper right against that spot, and Por's hand moved faster on himself, and then it hit him. His whole body went taut and his back arched clean off the mattress, and he came with a sound that was halfway between a moan and a sob.
"Ah. Tee. Nngh."
The orgasm tore through him in waves. He felt the first stripe of come hit his own stomach and then the next one went higher, splashing across Teetee's jaw and his cheek, and then right across the lenses of those silver half-rectangle frames.
The come hit the glass and spread, thick and white, obscuring one of the lenses completely and streaking across the other. It dripped slowly down the frame and caught in the corner where the lens met the temple, and Teetee blinked through the mess with a look of pure astonishment on his face. His mouth was open and his fingers were still inside Por, still curved against that spot, and he seemed to have forgotten entirely what his hands were doing.
Por stared at him. At Teetee's face and the come dripping down the frames and the way the candlelight caught the wet streaks on the lenses and turned them golden. Teetee looked ruined. He looked wrecked in a way that had nothing to do with his own pleasure and everything to do with the fact that Por had just come all over his face and his glasses and he hadn't even flinched.
Por reached up with his hands still trembling from the orgasm and found the temples of the glasses and pulled them off Teetee's face. Slowly and carefully, like he was handling something precious. He folded them and set them on the nightstand beside the candles, and then he looked at Teetee without the barrier of glass between them for the first time tonight.
Teetee's eyes were bare now. Wide and dark and wet at the corners. Without the frames his face looked different, younger and more vulnerable. The come was still on his cheek and his jaw and he hadn't wiped it away. He was just looking at Por with those unguarded eyes, and Por could see everything. The desire and the tenderness and the raw aching want that Teetee usually kept hidden behind those frames.
"Ter," Teetee said, and his voice was wrecked.
Por pulled him down and kissed him. Tasted himself on Teetee's lips and on Teetee's jaw and on the corner of Teetee's mouth. Teetee groaned against him, low and rough, his fingers finally sliding out of Por, and Por whimpered at the loss but didn't stop kissing him.
"Mmh. Don't... don't stop touching me."
"I'm not going anywhere," Teetee said against his mouth.
Por pulled Teetee down on top of him and wrapped his legs around Teetee's waist, and felt Teetee's cock slide against his slick open entrance.
"Inside," Por said against Teetee's mouth. "Now. I need you inside me."
Teetee reached for the condom and tore it open with shaking hands and rolled it on. He coated himself with more lube while Por watched his face the entire time, watching the way Teetee's brow furrowed in concentration and the way his jaw tightened when his own hand wrapped around himself, the way his eyes kept flicking back to Por's face like he needed to make sure Por was still there.
"Look at me," Por said.
Teetee looked into his eyes as he pushed in slowly. Inch by inch, giving Por's body time to adjust and to open and to take him. His jaw was tight and his arms trembled where he braced them on either side of Por's head, and Por could see how much effort it took him to hold back. The stretch was intense and overwhelming, and Por felt every inch of it, the pressure and the fullness and the way his body opened around Teetee like it had been made for this.
"Ah. Mmh."
"You okay?" Teetee's voice was strained and barely controlled.
"Yeah. Yeah, just... Mmh. Slow, slow."
Teetee stopped. His arms shook and a drop of sweat rolled down his temple. "Tell me when."
Por breathed through it. The fullness and the stretch and the way his body was opening and clenching around Teetee in alternating waves. After a moment the pressure shifted into something else, something his body wanted instead of fought against.
"Okay," Por breathed. "Move."
Teetee pulled back and thrust in, slow and deep, and the sound Por made was somewhere between a gasp and a sob.
“Tee."
Teetee did it again and found a rhythm, steady and deliberate with each thrust pressing deeper than the last. The bed creaked beneath them and the headboard tapped against the wall in a soft regular beat that matched the rhythm of their bodies. The candles flickered with each movement and their light shifted across the walls, and the scent of roses and sandalwood filled the air around them.
"Harder, please."
Teetee's hips snapped forward. Por's back arched off the mattress and his nails dragged down Teetee's back.
"Ah! Tee. Right there, again. Mmh."
Teetee groaned against his neck, low and rough. He did it again and again, each thrust pushing the air from Por's lungs and replacing it with something hotter, something that made his vision blur and his toes curl against the sheets.
"Ah. Tee."
"I know," Teetee gasped. "I've got you."
Teetee shifted his angle and pressed Por's knee up toward his chest, and the new depth made Por's mouth open on a silent cry. His body clenched around Teetee on instinct, and Teetee groaned with his rhythm stuttering for a moment before he recovered and drove back in harder.
"Ah. Fuck. Tee, right there, don't stop. Mmh. Don't stop."
"I won't," Teetee said, his voice rough and breathless. "I won't."
The pleasure was building again. Por could feel it coiling low in his stomach and tightening with every thrust, every drag of Teetee's cock against that spot inside him. His hands fisted in the sheets and his heels pressed into the small of Teetee's back. He was close, and Teetee could tell because his rhythm changed and became faster and more urgent, and his hand moved between their bodies to wrap around Por's cock.
"Tee. Ah. I'm close, I'm... Mmh."
"Me too," Teetee gasped. "Ter. Ah. I'm..."
That was when it hit him.
The pleasure was still building and still climbing, but it was the other thing that broke him first. The guilt and the terror and the desperate consuming love that had been crushing him from the inside out for weeks. It crashed over him all at once before he could stop and he started to cry.
His face crumpled and his chest heaved with tears streaming down his temples into his hair, and he couldn't stop it. He couldn't hold it back anymore. Every kiss and every touch and every whispered word of love was a betrayal, and the weight of it finally crushed him.
Teetee stopped moving. His hand stilled on Por's cock and his arms wrapped around Por instead, pulling him close, and his face was pure panic.
"Hey, hey. Don't cry." Teetee's voice was ragged and breathless. "What's wrong? Did I hurt you?"
Por shook his head. The sobs kept coming, each one tearing out of him like something that had been locked away for too long, something that had outgrown its cage and could no longer be contained.
"Ter, if it's too much, you can take Tee." Teetee's voice cracked on the words and his own eyes went bright and wet. "It’s ok. We don't have to keep going."
"No. No, don't... don't leave." Por grabbed Teetee's wrist and held on tight, his fingers pressing into the skin. "Please."
"Then what's wrong? Tell me what you need."
Por looked up at Teetee through the blur of tears. Teetee's face was stricken and terrified and desperate to fix something he couldn't understand. No glasses and no barrier, just those bare dark eyes looking at Por with so much love it hurt to witness. And Por couldn't tell him. He couldn't explain that the man holding him was the man he was supposed to kill and every thrust, every kiss and every whispered word was a betrayal wrapped in pleasure.
"Hold me," Por said, his voice breaking. He pressed his forehead against Teetee's and closed his eyes, and the tears kept falling, wet on both their faces now. "Hold me so tight I can't think. Just... love me harder until all the sadness washes away."
Teetee's expression cracked. Something behind his eyes gave way, and he looked at Por with a tenderness so fierce it was almost violent. He lowered himself onto his elbows and pressed his chest against Por's and wrapped his arms around Por's back and held him. Held him like he was trying to fuse their bodies together, like he could close the distance between them until there was no space left, until they were one body and one heartbeat and one breath.
He started moving again. Slow at first, then deeper and harder. Each thrust was a declaration and said what his words couldn't. He held Por so tight their ribs pressed together, and Por could feel Teetee's heart hammering against his own and could feel the tremor in every muscle of Teetee's body, could feel how much Teetee was holding back and how much he was giving at the same time.
"Ah. Tee. Mmh."
"I love you," Teetee whispered against Por's ear, his voice rough and broken and so, so tender. "I love you, I love you, I love you."
"Tee. Ah. I love you too, I... I love you."
Por buried his face in Teetee's neck and cried. He cried because this man inside him and holding him and loving him was the man he was supposed to kill, and he couldn't do it.
And Teetee held him through all of it. He moved inside Por with a devotion that bordered on worship, and he held him, whispered I love you like it was the only word left in his vocabulary, like if he said it enough times it could protect Por from whatever was hurting him this much.
"Ter. I'm close, I... Nngh."
"Me too. Tee. Please."
Teetee's rhythm broke and his hips stuttered and his arms tightened around Por, and he pressed deep and stayed there with his face buried in Por's neck and a low groan grinding out of him.
"Ah. Ter.."
Por came moments later with his body clenching around Teetee and his nails raking down Teetee's back and his vision going white, a sob tearing out of his throat.
They didn't let go. Teetee stayed inside him and stayed wrapped around him and stayed pressed against him like he was afraid Por would dissolve if he moved. Por's arms were locked around Teetee's neck with his legs still tangled with Teetee's and his face pressed into the curve of Teetee's shoulder where the skin was damp with sweat and tears.
The candles had burned down to small pools of wax by now, their light dimmer and softer, casting long shadows across the walls. The scent of roses and sandalwood was mixed with something else now, something heavier and more intimate. The room smelled like them.
It was quiet except for their breathing, slowly evening out, slowly returning to something like normal.
"Whatever it is," Teetee said finally, his voice rough and wrecked against Por's skin, "we'll figure it out."
Por closed his eyes and held him tighter.
Por woke to the feeling of fingers tracing patterns on his back. The light through the window was pale and early, just barely morning. He was still tangled with Teetee, their legs intertwined, Teetee's arm heavy across his waist.
He was clean. Teetee must have washed him up sometime in the night, carried him to the bathroom and back while Por slept. The thought made his chest tight.
He looked at Teetee's face, still asleep. His lips were slightly parted, his lashes dark against his cheeks, his hair a disaster spread across the pillow in every direction and falling into his eyes. The morning light caught the moles scattered across his face—one under his eye, one on his cheekbone, one near his jaw.
Por touched them, feather-light. He traced the line of Teetee's nose, and before he could stop himself, he pressed the tip of his finger to the tip of Teetee's nose.
"Beep," he whispered.
Teetee's lips curved into a smile, though his eyes stayed closed.
Por's hand froze. "You've been awake this whole time?"
Teetee's eyes opened, dark and warm and full of something that made Por's heart stutter. "Maybe."
"How long?"
"Long enough to know you're cute when you think no one's watching."
Por buried his face in Teetee's chest, his ears burning. "You could have said something."
"And miss you beeping my nose? Never."
Teetee rolled them over, pinning Por beneath him, and started kissing him—his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, his chin, his jaw. Everywhere. Por squirmed and laughed, pushing at Teetee's shoulders.
"Tee, you haven't brushed your teeth."
"I don't care."
"Tee—"
"I'm eating you for breakfast."
"Teeeeeeeeeeeee nooooooo—"
But Por was laughing, really laughing, the kind of laughter that came from somewhere deep and made his stomach hurt. Teetee was laughing too, his mouth pressed against Por's neck, his body warm and heavy and present.
They ended up forehead to forehead, breath mingling, their smiles fading into something softer.
"I love you, Ter," Teetee said.
Por's heart stopped.
"Love you too, Tee."
"No. Say 'Por rak Tee.'"
Por's mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. "Por rak teerak."
The word slipped out before he could stop it. Teerak. My love.
Teetee went completely still.
"What did you just call me?"
Por could see it—the way Teetee's eyes were getting bright, the way his throat moved when he swallowed. He was about to cry. Por knew because Por felt the same thing building in his own chest.
"That was a free trial," Por said quickly. "If you want to subscribe, you have to pay."
Teetee stared at him. Then he laughed—wet and shaky, barely a laugh at all. "How can I pay you?"
"Pay me with lots and lots of kisses. And love Por a lot."
Teetee's face crumpled. He kissed Por, hard and desperate, and Por could taste the salt of tears. They were both crying now, holding each other like the world was ending, and maybe it was. Maybe it already had.
When they finally stopped, Teetee pulled back and wiped Por's cheeks with his thumbs. "Tee didn't know little Phi would be such a cry baby."
Por side-eyed him, pouting. "You're saying that like you didn't cry."
Teetee laughed. "But you're Phi. Nong Tee cried because he's still young. Phi cried because Phi loves Tee so much. Right?"
Por side-eyed him harder.
Teetee just grinned.
And for a moment, Por forgot. He forgot about the photograph and the blood and the mission. He forgot about Lady Shadow and the gun and the countdown.
Then he remembered, and the weight of it crushed his chest.
"Hey." Teetee's smile dropped. He cupped Por's face in his hands. "Hey. Don't cry. I'll stop teasing."
Por shook his head. "It's not—"
He couldn't finish. Teetee pulled him close and held him, tight and warm and patient, asking no questions.
"I've got you," Teetee said into his hair. "Whatever it is, I've got you."
Por closed his eyes.
Three days before the mission, Por told Teetee he was going to Singapore.
"Business," he said, standing in Teetee's kitchen and watching Teetee make coffee. "There's a supplier. New roses. I need to see them in person."
Teetee didn't look up from the espresso machine. "How long?"
"Four days."
"Four days." His voice was neutral, but Por saw his jaw tighten.
"I'll call you every night."
"I know."
"When I get back, I'm all yours. No work. No shop. Just us."
Teetee turned. His face was soft, but his eyes were sad in a way Por didn't understand. "Just us," he repeated.
"Just us."
Teetee crossed the kitchen and pulled Por into a hug, tight and almost desperate. "Come back safe."
"I will."
Teetee drove him to the airport. He watched Por check in, go through security, and walk toward the gate. Por turned once to wave.
Teetee waved back.
Por disappeared into the crowd.
He didn't get on the plane. He walked to the bathroom, changed clothes, pulled on a cap, and walked back out through arrivals. He called a car and gave an address on the other side of the city.
Blue Moon went to work.
The ship port was a maze of stacked containers—rust-red and blue and gray, lit by harsh security lamps that hummed overhead. The air smelled like diesel and salt and something rotting in the water, and somewhere in the distance, a foghorn called out into the night.
Blue Moon lay prone on top of a stack of containers thirty feet up, his sniper rifle braced against a sandbag. His eye pressed to the scope, and the crosshairs tracked across the warehouse floor below.
Tee stood in the middle of a clearing between containers with his hair up, slicked back from his face. He wore a black suit, a black shirt, a black tie, and leather gloves. No glasses. His face was empty and cold, nothing like the man who had kissed Por's tears away three days ago. He was giving orders to his men, his voice too low for Por to hear, but the authority in it was unmistakable.
This was Red Sun.
Por's earpiece buzzed. "Blue Moon, confirm visual." Lady Shadow's voice, flat and professional.
Por's finger rested on the trigger guard, his eye not leaving the scope. "Visual confirmed."
"Take the shot."
"Copy that."
He shifted his aim, and the crosshairs settled on the back of Tee's head. His finger found the trigger.
Tee looked up.
Not at the warehouse or at his men. Up. Directly at the container stack. Directly at Por.
Por's breath stopped.
"What the—"
His earpiece buzzed again. "What's happening up there?"
No.
"Why aren't you taking the shot?" Lady Shadow's voice was sharper now.
He knows.
"He knows I'm here," Por breathed.
"What? Talk to me, Blue Moon."
"He’s fucking knows I'm here."
Tee was still looking up, still staring directly at Por's position. His mouth moved, and Por read his lips.
Found you.
Por scrambled backward, pulling the rifle off its bipod, collapsing the stock, shoving it into the bag. His hands were fast, but not fast enough.
Tee's men were already moving.
Gunfire cracked through the night. Bullets pinged off the containers around Por, sparks flying in the darkness, the whine of ricochets singing past his ears. He grabbed the bag and ran.
He jumped from the container stack to the next one down, his boots hitting metal with a clang. He ran, leaped, landed, and ran again. The containers blurred past—red, blue, gray, rust—as bullets chased him, chewing divots out of the metal at his heels.
He dropped to the ground between two stacks and ran down the narrow corridor, turning left, then right. His lungs burned, his legs burned, the bag slapping against his back.
Dead end. Three containers blocked his path. No way over. No way around.
Por stopped.
"Drop the bag and your weapons."
The voice came from behind him, cold and familiar.
Por closed his eyes.
He dropped the bag. He pulled his sidearm from his hip holster and set it on the ground, then his knife, then his backup knife. His earpiece was still buzzing—Lady Shadow's voice, distant, saying something he couldn't hear anymore.
"Turn around."
Por turned.
Tee stood ten feet away with his hair up, his black suit, his leather gloves, and no glasses. His face was hard and expressionless, the eyes that usually crinkled when he smiled now flat and dark, scanning Por's face like he was reading a document.
His men flanked him, guns raised and trained on Por's chest.
Tee stepped closer, his head tilting in that same puppy head tilt Por had seen a hundred times. But now it looked different. Now it looked like a predator sizing up prey.
His expression shifted—confusion, then recognition, then something Por couldn't name.
Tee raised his hand, and his men lowered their guns, exchanging confused glances. He stepped closer, until he was inches from Por, and his hand rose. His fingers found the edge of Por's mask—the black cloth that covered everything except his eyes.
He pushed it down to Por's chin.
"Ter," Tee said.
His voice was soft and surprised, almost the same voice that had said I love you into Por's hair. His hand cupped Por's chin, tilting his face up like he couldn't believe what he was seeing.
Por closed his eyes.
Tee chuckled, low and hollow. When he spoke again, his voice was different—still soft, still almost gentle, but with something sharp underneath. "So. Are you here to kill me?" A pause. "Agent Blue Moon."
Por opened his eyes.
"I knew someone had been following my every step," Tee continued. "It's surprising to know it's you."
Por couldn't look at him. Couldn't look at the eyes that had watched him over coffee, over carbonara, over morning light.
"Look at me, Blue Moon."
Tee's hand tightened on Por's chin, forcing his head up.
Por looked.
"Blake," Red Sun said without turning. "Give me your gun."
One of his men stepped forward and handed over a pistol. Tee took it, looked at it, then at Por. Then he held it out.
"If you want to kill me, kill me right here, Ter." His voice cracked on the last word, just slightly, just enough for Por to hear. "I would die happily in your arms."
Por stared at him, disbelief and horror and something that felt like anger twisting in his chest.
Tee tucked Por's hair behind his ear, and his fingers brushed the earpiece still lodged there.
The signal crackled through. "Blue Moon. Can you hear me? I'm sending backup. Stay where you are."
Por's face drained of color. Backup. If backup came, Tee would die.
Tee noticed the change in his expression. "What's wrong?"
"They're coming for you," Por said, too fast, too desperate.
Tee smirked. "Well then. You should hurry up and kill me. I want to die in no one's arms but yours."
He took Por's hands and wrapped them around the gun, pointing it at his own chest. "Hurry."
Por thought about pulling the trigger, out of anger and grief or the sheer impossibility of this moment. How could Tee stand there with Por's hands on a gun pointed at his heart and smile?
He couldn't pull the trigger.
The earpiece buzzed again. "Blue Moon. Backup in three minutes."
Por looked at Tee, and his eyes said everything his mouth couldn't.
Tee understood.
"Blake," Tee said. "Tell everyone to cover us from the backup."
Blake didn't hesitate. He nodded and started barking orders.
Por reached up, tore the earpiece from his ear, dropped it on the ground, and crushed it under his heel.
Tee watched him, that smirk still playing at the corner of his mouth. He offered his hand. "Shall we? I know a way out."
Por took his hand.
They ran.
Gunfire erupted behind them—Tee's men engaging the backup. Por didn't look back. He ran with Tee's hand in his, Tee's gun in his other hand, the container port blurring past in streaks of rust and shadow.
Tee led him through gaps Por hadn't seen, between containers, under pipes, through a drainage culvert that smelled like standing water and rust. They emerged on the other side of the port, where a black car waited with the engine running.
Tee shoved Por into the passenger seat, ran around to the driver's side, and started the car. They tore out of the port just as more headlights appeared in the rearview mirror.
Por watched them shrink and disappear around a corner.
He didn't say anything. Neither did Tee. The only sounds were the engine, their breathing, and the distant wail of sirens that neither of them acknowledged.