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To let go is the greatest form of love, that’s what people always said. The poets said it. The saints said it. The ones who had survived heartbreak long enough to turn it into wisdom said it. Love, in its purest form was supposed to be selfless. It was supposed to know when to loosen its grip. It was supposed to open its hands and allow the beloved to walk away, to heal, to become something beyond the reach of your own wants.
Rome had heard those words his entire life.
He had never hated them more.
Because if letting go was love, why did it feel so much like dying? Why was it that the moment the words left his mouth, ‘if I’d known we would come to this, I wouldn’t have fallen in love,’ something inside him seemed to stop working?
The sentence barely existed before he wanted to drag it back. To tear it from the air. To rip it out of Mok’s ears before it could settle there but words were cruel things. Once born, they belonged to the world and those words had come from him. The weight of them sat in his chest like a stone. No, not a stone. Something alive, something with claws, something that wrapped itself around his ribs and squeezed.
Rome couldn’t breathe. Each inhale felt incomplete, as though his lungs had forgotten their purpose. As though the air itself had rejected him. Maybe that was what he deserved. Maybe this was the punishment.
Maybe this was what happened when someone chose to let go of the person they loved most.
The greatest act of love, they called it. The cruelest act of love, Rome thought.
Because there was something nobody ever spoke about. Something all those beautiful sayings conveniently left out.
You could let go of the beloved but a lover could never let go of love. That was impossible and that was the real tragedy.
The beloved could leave your arms. They could disappear from your sight. They could become a memory you carried through years and years of empty mornings. But love? It remained. It lived stubbornly beneath the skin. It nested itself in bones. It threaded itself through veins until removing it would require removing the heart that carried it.
And perhaps the sin was to deny it after it had already become part of you, to push away the person whose existence had rewritten the shape of your soul, to convince them that your hands no longer belonged around theirs when they still remembered every inch of their touch.
Rome thought that might be the kind of sin that followed a man forever because the very same day, before he had spoken these words, he had loved Mok with every piece of himself.
Not with words but with touch, with gentleness, with the careful reverence reserved for things too precious to risk breaking. He had held him as though he was fragile. Had brushed his fingers against his skin as though touching something sacred. Had memorized every breath, every scar, every sleepy smile. Had wrapped Mok in affection so completely that there was no corner left untouched by it.
He had loved him in tangible ways, physical ways, the ones that could be felt, the ways that lingered. He had poured devotion into every glance and every touch until Mok no longer had to wonder whether he was loved because he knew, because Mok could feel it.
And then Rome had taken all of that love and used the same mouth that whispered tenderness to push him away. That was the cruelty of it, that Mok had not even emerged from the warmth of being cherished before Rome shoved him into the cold. The haze of love was still around him. The memory of gentle hands still lived on his skin. The certainty of being wanted still rested in his heart and before those feelings had the chance to fade naturally, Rome had shattered them himself. The contradiction of it made him sick.
How could the same man who worshipped someone with such devotion become the one who broke them? How could the same hands that cradled become the hands that released? How could love transform into abandonment without changing its shape?
Rome didn’t know.
He only knew that every second after those words left him felt wrong. Like his body recognized a crime his mind was still trying to justify. Like something deep inside him was screaming. Like love itself had wrapped its hands around his throat and whispered: You can send him away but you will never be free of me, and that, Rome thinks, was the true punishment. To live with the love that remained long after he was forced to leave the beloved.
•
The conversation Rome had with Thee had left him completely raw and bare. He had told Thee to take his secretary back, as long as it meant keeping Mok safe.
The irony was that Mok would be safe anyway. Mok was strong, he knew how to figure things out and survive better than anyone else here could ever dream of. But love was a fragile dangerous thing. It made a person vulnerable. It forced you to constantly live in the shadows of what ifs.
Regret and guilt were two entirely different beasts and guilt was by far the bigger enemy. Rome might regret leaving Mok in Thee’s hands, but if something terrible were to happen while Mok stayed by Rome’s side, the guilt would devour him whole. It wouldn’t even spare his bones.
Telling Mok was going to be the most brutal thing Rome had ever done in his entire life. Ever since they were children, Rome’s only real wish had been to give Mok happiness in whatever form he could offer it. If Mok smiled, Rome was content. If Mok was safe, Rome could endure anything.
To deliberately hurt Mok was a thought Rome wouldn’t have even entertained under normal circumstances and yet, he had to let Mok know.
He should have just said it directly. He should have delivered the blow cleanly. But Rome was a greedy man, he was a selfish man. He had always been hopelessly greedy for whatever small piece of himself Mok was willing to let him have.
So, right before he spoke the cruelty, he let himself have Mok one last time.
Lately, Mok had finally started taking the initiative. He had grown comfortable enough to reach out, to touch Rome and to let himself be touched in return. So when they were alone in the bedroom, Rome didn’t hold back. He had pushed Mok down onto the bed.
Mok had let out a soft giggle and whispered, “Khun Thee and Peach are in the bedroom right beside us.”
Rome hadn’t answered. He had simply pressed Mok firmly against the mattress, sank into the warmth of his skin, kissed his neck and had slowly taken him apart.
He was particularly rough that day, though nowhere near as harsh as he was about to be when he finally pushed Mok away for good.
Rome sucked on Mok’s neck repeatedly, leaving dark bruised marks, thrusting into him with a heavy grunt each time. He was fighting a losing battle against his own tears, straining with everything he had not to break down and sob right then and there on top of him.
There was a desperate, almost punished edge to the way Rome moved that night.
It wasn’t soft and it certainly wasn’t gentle. The noise inside his head had reached a deafening pitch, a chaotic noise of everything left unsaid, everything falling apart and the inevitable clock ticking down to his departure.
And so he poured it all into the friction of skin, the heavy drop of his weight and the brutal, unforgiving rhythm of his body against Mok’s.
Every press was too hard, every grip on Mok’s hips tight enough to leave faint, purplish marks in the morning. Rome buried his face in the crook of Mok’s neck, his breathing ragged hot, driving into him with an intensity that bordered on selfish. He needed to drown out his own thoughts, yes, but deeper than that was a darker more possessive ache, he wanted to leave a mark.
He knew Mok. He knew the quiet walled off fortress Mok built around his heart and he knew that the moment he walked out that door, Mok would try to erase him mentally. Mok would rationalise it, bury the memories and act as though Rome had never been more than a passing shadow.
So Rome gave him something he couldn't rationalise away.
He took Mok ruthlessly, pinning him to the mattress, demanding every gasp, every arch of Mok’s spine, every moan that broke through the quiet room. He made sure the heat was suffocating, the pace unforgiving. He wanted Mok’s muscles to ache tomorrow. He wanted every breath Mok took for the next three days to drag a sharp, throbbing reminder through his lower back and thighs.
If Mok’s mind was going to force him to forget, Rome was going to make sure his body refused to let him.
Eventually Rome’s mind stopped registering actual words. All he could process were soft moans, quiet whimpers and Mok’s breathless murmurs, “Khun Rome, it hurts.”
Rome knew with absolute certainty that this physical pain didn’t hurt nearly as much as it would hurt when he would push Mok away.
He kept going, unable to stop. At one point, he buried his mouth against Mok’s skin and began whispering with every single thrust, “I’m sorry... I am so sorry... so sorry…”
In that moment, Mok assumed the apologies were just for the roughness, for the intensity of Rome’s body. He had no idea that those whispered words carried an entirely different, heartbreaking weight. Right then, the apologies felt comforting, a gentle, sweet balm in the middle of their intensity.
Only later would Mok realize how shallow those words really were, because his broken heart wouldn’t mend, even with hundreds of apologies.
Rome had buried his face deep into the curve of Mok’s neck, the desperate chant of apologies growing thicker and more desperate.
Eventually, Mok had reached up, wrapping his arms securely around Rome’s neck, his nails dragging across Rome’s skin and scratching his back as he held on tightly.
Rome welcomed the sting. He knew those scratches would leave lasting marks and he wanted them to stay. He wanted to carry the physical proof of Mok’s touch etched into his skin, right alongside the crushing weight of a love he was being forced to let go of.
•
Afterward, Rome cleaned Mok up with the same care he always had. If anything, he was more attentive than usual, lingering over every small task as though stretching time itself. When he was finally done, he pressed a soft kiss beneath Mok’s eye and told him he was going to take a shower, that Mok should rest a little longer. Then he left.
Mok watched him go with a small smile. It struck him as slightly unusual. Normally Rome would find some excuse to keep him close, would ask him to join him, tease him or simply refuse to leave the room for more than a few minutes. This time, however, he had walked away almost immediately. The thought lingered for a moment before Mok dismissed it.
Everyone had strange days. Not every unusual moment carried some hidden meaning.
Looking back, he would wish he had paid more attention.
When Mok eventually entered the bathroom, he found Rome standing motionless in front of the mirror. The room was warm but Rome looked cold. His gaze was fixed on the tattoo on his skin and there was something deeply unsettling about the way he stared at it. It wasn’t mere contemplation. It looked like resentment. Like he wished he could scrape it away, peel it from his body, erase it entirely. There was a violence in the expression that Mok had never seen directed inward before. Rome looked at his own reflection as though it belonged to someone he despised.
Mok didn’t really understand what was happening, he simply smiled and reached for a robe. He stepped forward automatically, intending to drape it around his shoulders and tie it closed for him. The gesture was so ordinary between them that he didn’t think twice about it. But before he could finish, Rome caught his wrist. Not roughly, not enough to hurt, but firmly enough to stop him. Then, with a small movement, he lowered Mok’s hand and moved it away.
The action was so unlike him that Mok froze.
It was nothing. Barely even a rejection. Yet it landed harder than it should have because Rome never pulled away from him. If anything, Rome was the opposite. Rome sought out his touch, leaned into it, cherished it. There had been times when Mok felt he could strike Rome and somehow still be thanked for placing his hands on him. So this tiny act of distance felt impossibly wrong.
Still, Mok let it go.
Then everything fell apart.
Rome told him he should leave with Thee.
For a moment Mok genuinely thought he had misheard. The words made no sense. Leave with Thee? Why? What could possibly have happened between one breath and the next to make Rome say something like that? Confusion crossed his face as he stared at him, “What did you just say?”
Rome hesitated. The silence that followed felt endless. He stood there staring at Mok, looking like a man preparing to walk into his own execution. Finally he spoke.
“I never thought I’d become Arseni’s leader. That’s why I fell in love with you.” The admission seemed unrelated at first, almost random, until he continued and said something so cruel to Mok’s heart.
“If I’d known it’d come to this, I wouldn’t have fallen in love”
The words hung in the air between them. It was the sentence that would haunt both of their lives forever.
The moment the words left his mouth, Rome felt something inside him tear. It was as though his own heart had turned against him. Every instinct in his body screamed to take it back, to swallow the sentence before it reached Mok, but it was too late. The damage had already been done.
Across from him, Mok went completely still. His breath left him in small trembling exhales. He stared at Rome as though he no longer recognized the man standing in front of him. Years of longing, years of devotion, years of fighting to reach this place together and now, when they had finally managed it, Rome was choosing to be the one who ended it.
Eventually Mok spoke up, “It must be nice being an heir to the lee family, whether to love or not you get to decide for yourself.” He admitted. It came out sharp and bitter.
The words struck Rome with devastating force because there was nothing in his life he had ever had less control over than loving Mok.
Then Mok delivered the final blow.
His voice had changed by then. The warmth was gone. The familiarity was gone. He said, “Fine. If that’s the boss’s order I’ll obey. I have no right to question it.”
Boss. Not Khun Rome. Not Rome. Not even Khun Kritdanai.
Not the man who had spent years loving him. Just a superior giving instructions. The title alone nearly broke him.
Rome felt his stomach drop. The room seemed to tilt around him. He knew what Mok was doing. He knew the distance being created with every word, every title, every deliberate choice to make them strangers again and the worst part was that he had caused it.
For one terrible moment he considered abandoning the entire plan. He imagined falling to his knees, confessing everything, begging Mok to forgive him, admitting that every word he had spoken was a sacrifice he hated making.
And if he stayed another minute, he would. So Rome turned and walked out. He left before Mok could see the tears gathering in his eyes. Before he could see his hands shaking. Before he could see the extent of the damage because if Rome had remained there even a little longer, he would have broken completely.
•
Six months. Six long, miserable months of silence. That was how long they had managed to stay away from each other. Six months of pretending distance was sustainable. Six months of waking up every morning and forcing themselves through another day without reaching for the person they loved most.
No one contacted the other. At first, Mok had been certain Rome would. He hadn’t expected Rome to come running back after a week or two. But eventually, surely, there would be something. A message, maybe a phone call or some stupid excuse to ask how he was doing, or maybe a visit disguised as business. Something small that would allow them to stand on the edge of the wound without reopening it completely.
But nothing came. Neither texts nor calls and never visits.
The silence stretched from days into weeks and from weeks into months until it became impossible to tell whether it was stubbornness, punishment or simply proof that Rome had meant every word he’d said that day.
Mok stopped waiting eventually or at least he became very good at pretending he had.
Then came Marn’s birthday. It wasn’t some grand celebration. There were no important guests,no reason for anyone outside the family to attend. It was simply a small gathering at home because Marn wanted it that way. Unfortunately, Marn had also insisted that Uncle Rome come.
The days leading up to the birthday were nothing short of hell.
Mok hated how nervous he became every time he thought about it. He hated how his stomach twisted at the mere possibility of seeing Rome again. He hated that six months later, the man’s existence still had this kind of power over him.
Everyone expected Rome to arrive on the morning of the birthday.
Instead, the bodyguards announced his arrival the night before.
The words had barely left their mouths before Mok felt his heart drop. He had been sitting in the living room with Thee, Peach and the children when the announcement came. The first thing he noticed wasn’t the bodyguards.
It was Thee and Peach immediately looking at him. As though they already knew exactly what was happening inside his chest. As though they could see the panic crawling up his throat.
Rome was outside. Rome was here.
The realization hit so hard that Mok stood before he was even aware of making the decision. Nobody stopped him or called his name. He simply turned and walked away as fast as he could without outright running, taking the stairs two at a time until he reached his room.
Only after the door shut behind him did he allow himself to breathe.
The rest of the evening passed in noise. He could hear it through the floorboards. People greeting Rome. Children laughing. The sound of wrapping paper being torn apart. Rome showing everyone the gifts he’d brought.
His voice drifted upstairs every now and then, and every single time it happened Mok felt his heart tighten painfully inside his chest.
•
Downstairs, Rome did everything expected of him. He smiled when spoken to, let the children climb all over him, handed out gifts and accepted thanks. But every few minutes his eyes drifted elsewhere.
Toward the staircase, the hallway, the doorways. Searching for someone he already knew wasn’t there. Eventually Thee noticed. After catching Rome glance toward the stairs yet again, he leaned back and said casually, “He ran upstairs the second he heard you were outside.”
Rome lowered his eyes briefly before letting out a quiet breath. “I expected it.”
The answer made Peach sigh. It was quiet for a moment before Peach said, “You can go see him, you know. If you want.”
Rome looked down at the glass in his hand, he seemed unsure what to say. As though the possibility had existed in his mind the entire evening and he had spent all his time avoiding it. Finally he nodded once. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Yeah, I think I’d like that.”
•
Mok was sitting on the edge of his bed when the first knock came. It was laughable how his entire body went rigid with one single knock. His hands immediately began to shake and his heart pounded so hard he could hear it.
The second knock came moments later. Then Rome’s voice followed. “Can I come in, Mok?”
And just like that, six months disappeared. Every bit of progress, every lie he’d told himself and every carefully constructed wall, just gone, like that. Like it was that irrelevant.
All these months Mok had convinced himself that he was okay, and so now when Rome spoke a single sentence, suddenly it felt like he was standing in that bathroom again, standing exactly where he’d been when his heart was shattered.
Mok closed his eyes. He considered staying silent and pretending he wasn’t even there or maybe that he couldn’t even hear him. But instead his body moved on instinct.
It always had where Rome was concerned.
Slowly, he walked toward the door. His hand hovered over the handle for several seconds before finally turning it.
The door opened and Rome stood there and with that, Mok immediately lowered his gaze.
He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t look at him. Not after spending months trying to stitch himself back together.
Mok’s eyes stayed fixed on the floor. Anywhere except Rome. The silence stretched between them and then Rome spoke softly.
“Would you not look at me?”
The question made something painful twist inside Mok’s chest.
No. He wouldn’t. Why should he? What right did Rome have to ask for that? What right did either of them have? Neither of them deserved it. Neither of them deserved the version of Rome that used to look at Mok like he hung the stars. Neither of them deserved the version of Mok that had once looked back the same way.
Without waiting for an answer, Rome stepped into the room. Only enough to cross the threshold still it was enough to make Mok panic. Yhe room suddenly felt too small. He needed air, so he immediately moved towards the door. If he stayed here another second he wasn’t going to be able to breathe but just as he passed him, Rome reached out and grabbed his wrist.
Everything stopped.
The contact lasted less than a second yet it felt like being struck because it was the same wrist.
The same one Rome had lowered six months ago.
The same one he’d gently pushed away before their lives were destroyed.
This time Mok reacted instantly. He yanked his hand away as though Rome had burned him. The force of it startled them both and they just simply stared at each other. Then Mok took a step back, his breathing was uneven, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
When he spoke, his voice was cold and painfully formal. The way it had been before they ever became anything to each other.
“Khun Kritdanai.” The title hit Rome harder than any insult could have. Mok swallowed before continuing. “Don’t ever touch me again.”
The words landed between them like a slammed door. Rome’s hand slowly fell back to his side. He looked like he wanted to say something, wanted to explain and maybe apologize but Mok couldn’t bear hearing any of it. Not now and maybe not ever. So before Rome could speak, Mok turned around and walked away because if he stayed one second longer, he was afraid he might look at him and if he looked at him, he was afraid he might forgive him and that, after months of teaching himself how to survive, was the one thing he absolutely could not allow himself to do.
•
The day of Marn’s birthday began with a knock on Rome’s bedroom door. Before Rome could even properly process the sound, the door had already swung open and two small figures came running into the room.
Marn led the attack while Mhok followed closely behind, both of them far too excited to care whether the man they were attacking was still asleep. A second later they had launched themselves onto the bed, causing the mattress to dip violently beneath their combined weight. “Wake up, Uncle Romeeeee!” Marn shouted at the top of her lungs.
Rome groaned dramatically, squeezing his eyes shut for a second before finally opening them. The sight that greeted him immediately pulled a smile from his face. It wasn’t the polite smile he gave strangers or the controlled smile he wore at meetings but something genuine and warm enough to soften every sharp edge of his features.
“It’s my birthday,” Marn announced before he could even speak, as though that alone explained why she was currently jumping on his bed at an unreasonable hour. “And we have to have breakfast together. It’s supposed to be a family breakfast so everybody has to come.”
Rome rolled onto his back and stretched, his muscles tired after the previous night’s travel. “Is that so?” he asked lazily.
Marn nodded with absolute certainty. “Yes. Everybody.”
Rome sat up slowly, rubbing a hand across his face before reaching over to ruffle her hair. “Well,” he said, his voice still rough with sleep, “whatever my little princess wants.”
The words had barely left his mouth when his eyes drifted toward the doorway and there, Mok stood quietly near the entrance, one hand still resting against the frame. Unlike the children, he hadn’t rushed into the room. He had simply remained where he was, watching the chaos unfold with the kind of distance he had worn ever since the day everything fell apart. Both of them didn’t look away.
The room remained full of noise. Marn was still talking. Mhok was laughing at something. Sunlight streamed through the curtains and yet somehow all of it seemed to disappear.
Mok felt something tighten painfully inside his chest. It wasn’t the sharp agony he remembered from the beginning. That kind of pain had eventually dulled into something quieter. Something that no longer knocked the breath from his lungs every day. But standing there now, watching Rome smile at Marn, watching him allow the children to climb all over him without complaint, watching him look so naturally at home surrounded by family, a different ache emerged.
Because suddenly Mok wasn’t mourning what they had lost. He was mourning what they never got to have. The thought arrived and settled heavily in his chest. Looking at the scene before him, he could picture a future that would never exist now. A future where he woke up beside Rome every morning. A future where small feet raced down hallways before sunrise and burst through a bedroom door with absolutely no regard for sleeping adults. A future where children climbed onto their bed demanding attention, demanding breakfast, demanding stories. He could almost see Rome pretending to complain while secretly enjoying every second of it. Could almost hear himself telling the kids to stop jumping before one of them got hurt. Could almost imagine reaching across the bed and finding Rome beside him.
The image hurt more than he expected because it was so ordinary that at one point it had felt possible. Just a life, a simple beautiful life that they had come close enough to touch before losing it forever.
Across the room, Rome was still looking at him and for one reckless second, Mok wondered if Rome could see it too. Whether he looked at Marn and Mhok and imagined the same impossible future. Whether he ever thought about the children they would never have, the mornings they would never share, the years they would never grow old together.
Whether losing those possibilities haunted him as much as it haunted Mok.
Then Marn grabbed Rome’s arm and started dragging him into another conversation, breaking whatever fragile connection had existed between them. The spell shattered immediately. The room became noisy again. The children resumed their endless chatter. Mok stared at the view for a second more, maintained eye contact for a second more before leaving the room.
•
The six months after he pushed Mok away taught Rome something he had never wanted to learn.
Not a single day passed in which he believed he had made the right choice.
People liked to talk about sacrifice as though it was noble. As though doing the difficult thing automatically brought peace. As though convincing yourself that something was necessary somehow softened the pain of it. Rome had discovered that none of those things were true. He understood why he had done it. He understood the logic behind it. Even understood the fear that had driven him to that bathroom and forced those words out of his mouth. But understanding did not make acceptance any easier. Every morning he woke up with the same emptiness sitting inside his chest and every night he went to sleep knowing it would still be there waiting for him tomorrow.
Because he loved Mok.
The truth was simple, he loved him.
He had loved him for so long that he no longer remembered where it had begun. Somewhere between childhood and adulthood, between friendship and longing, between wanting Mok near him and realizing he wanted him closer than anyone else had ever been. His entire life seemed filled with memories of reaching toward him, trying to get his attention and his trust. Trying to carve out a place for himself in Mok’s world. But then, after years of waiting, years of wanting, years of believing that perhaps life simply wasn’t meant to be that kind to him, Mok had finally let him in.
Losing something he had already touched, losing something he had already held in his hands was the cruelest thing ever.
For few months, Rome had known what it felt like to wake up beside the person he loved. He had known what it felt like to reach out and find Mok there, to have conversations that belonged only to them, to build routines around each other, to stop imagining happiness and actually live inside it. Life had finally stopped feeling like something he was chasing. For the first time, it had simply been his and then it was gone, all because love had made him vulnerable in ways he had never expected.
Rome could survive almost anything when it came to himself. The pain or violence or risk or any loss. None of it frightened him particularly. He had spent too much of his life around danger for that. But the moment that danger shifted towards Mok, something inside him broke. The position he inherited changed everything. It attached consequences to his existence. It turned his life into a threat. Suddenly every enemy he made became a potential threat to Mok. Every decision carried risks that no longer belonged solely to him. And Rome discovered that while he could tolerate almost any danger directed at himself, he could not bear the thought of Mok paying the price for loving him.
He had not pushed Mok away because he valued him less but he had pushed Mok away because he valued him too much.
If remaining by Rome’s side put Mok at risk, then Rome would choose distance because whatever selfishness existed within him, it wasn’t strong enough to gamble with Mok’s life.
He couldn’t do that to him, he couldn’t wake up every day knowing that the person he loved most was standing in the path of a bullet meant for him, he couldn’t look at Mok and ask him to stay anyway. So he left.
And then he spent six months paying for it. Every day followed the same pattern. He would wake up and think of Mok before he thought of anything else. A memory would appear uninvited. Then came the longing. The urge to pick up his phone to call or to text. To ask one simple question. How are you?
The desire became so familiar that it felt like breathing and every single time, before he could act on it, reality would arrive.
The memory of why he had done this in the first place and suddenly he was back where he started. Back at zero.
It happened so often that Rome began to think of it as a curse. Love would spend the morning pulling him toward Mok and fear would spend the evening dragging him away. He lived trapped between those two forces, never allowed to fully surrender to either. Unable to have him. Unable to stop loving him.
Some days he wondered whether this was simply punishment. The kind handed down by a universe with a cruel sense of humor.
Because Rome had broken two hearts that day.
Mok’s. And his own.
People always talked about heartbreak as though it belonged only to the person who was left behind. As though the one who walked away somehow escaped unscathed. Rome knew better. He carried the evidence every day. In the silence of his apartment, sometimes in the messages he never sent or in the empty space beside him when he woke up. In every instinct that still searched for Mok before remembering he no longer had the right.
Perhaps this was what he deserved. To spend the rest of his life wanting something he had once possessed. To know exactly what happiness felt like and then lose it.
Memory refused to let him forget the warmth of Mok’s hand, the sound of his voice, the way he smiled when he was genuinely happy.
And so Rome carried it all. A love he could not abandon. A person he could not have.
And a choice he would make again if it meant Mok remained safe, even though it killed him a little more each time he remembered why.
•
Marn’s birthday ended the way happy days often did, with the house gradually surrendering to silence. The cake had long been cut, photographs had been taken until Thee insisted they had enough to embarrass Marn for the rest of her life and dinner had stretched far longer than anyone had planned because every conversation seemed to lead into another. One by one, Marn’s friends had been collected by their parents, their laughter disappearing through the front door until only family remained. The balloons still floated lazily near the ceiling, ribbons and torn wrapping paper lay forgotten across the living room and half finished slices of cake sat abandoned on plates no one intended to return to.
By the time the clock downstairs struck midnight, the house had become almost unrecognizable from the chaos it had held only a few hours before.
Mok finally excused himself and climbed the stairs toward his room, every step feeling heavier than the last. The entire day he had felt strangely out of place. It wasn’t because Rome had spoken to him, he hadn’t. It wasn’t because Rome had followed him, he hadn’t. It was the quiet awareness that Rome’s eyes always seemed to find him anyway. Every room Mok entered carried the unbearable feeling of being seen. Every accidental glance across the house left something aching inside him. It exhausted him more than any amount of conversation could have.
More than anything, he wanted a shower. He wanted hot water, hot enough to drown out memory itself.
Once he was standing beneath it, he wished with a desperation that embarrassed him that it wasn’t merely water falling over his skin. He wished it were the River Lethe itself, that mythical river whose waters carried forgetfulness. If he could step into it and emerge without remembering Rome’s smile that morning, without remembering the warmth of his shoulder brushing against his during the photographs, without remembering what it felt like to be loved before it was taken away, he would do it without hesitation.
Just one more day, he kept telling himself. Tomorrow Rome would leave and everything would return to what it had been. The thought offered no comfort because he knew it wasn’t true. Rome’s presence hadn’t made him miserable. He had already been miserable before Rome arrived. Rome had simply reminded him that the wound had never healed.
After a long shower, Mok stepped out of the bathroom, drying his damp hair with a towel, and his footsteps stopped abruptly.
Rome was already inside the room. He sat quietly in the chair beside the window, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped together so tightly the knuckles had turned white. He looked like a man who had been sitting there for a long time, rehearsing words he no longer believed were enough.
Mok looked at him only briefly before walking toward the wardrobe, pretending Rome’s presence changed nothing, pretending his heartbeat hadn’t immediately forgotten how to remain steady. The silence grew heavier until Rome finally broke it, his voice low enough that it almost disappeared into the room. “Can I talk to you?”
Mok didn’t even look in his direction when he answered. “No.” The response came without hesitation, it sounded exhausted rather than angry.
Rome lowered his head for a moment before trying again. “Please. Just... please, Mok. I won’t keep you long.”
Mok remained silent. A silent action to show that he’s hearing.
Rome swallowed, his voice growing quieter still. “I’ve spent six months trying to tell myself that what I did was right.” A deep breath. “and I haven’t believed it for a single day. Every morning I woke up thinking about you. Every night I went to sleep wondering if you had eaten, if you were sleeping, if you were angry enough to hate me. I picked up my phone so many times that I stopped counting and every single time I put it back down because I remembered why I pushed you away in the first place. I kept telling myself that if I loved you enough, I’d stay away. I thought distance was the only thing I still had left to give you. I’ve felt miserable each and every day these past months.”
A humorless laugh escaped Mok before he finally turned around to face him. “I wonder why, Khun Rome.” he said, the bitterness in his voice so restrained that it hurt more than if he had shouted. “You made a decision for both of us and somehow expected only one of us to live with it.”
Rome opened his mouth, but Mok continued before he could interrupt. “I know why you did it. I knew that day, even if you never explained it. I know you thought your position would make me a target. I know you believed leaving me was the only way to keep me alive. I understand every reason you had.” He paused, lowering his eyes as though the next words were heavier than all the others combined. “What I can’t forgive is that you decided what mattered more to me. You decided that I wanted safety more than…” His voice caught, and he inhaled slowly before forcing the sentence to completion. “...more than your love.”
Rome’s breath left him in one sharp inhale, as though something inside his chest had been struck. He had spent months defending his decision to himself, building careful arguments around duty, responsibility, danger and sacrifice, yet not one of those arguments survived hearing those words aloud. Because Mok was right. Rome had never asked him what he wanted. He had simply decided.
Mok walked to the bed and sank slowly onto the edge of it, rubbing both hands over his face before speaking again. His voice had changed now. The bitterness remained, but beneath it lived something infinitely sadder. “I think it’s embarrassing,” he murmured. “I never really knew my own family. I grew up with yours. Your mother worried about whether I’d eaten. Your brother scolded me when I was reckless. Your house became the closest thing I ever had to parents, to siblings, to belonging somewhere.” He laughed softly, though it sounded nothing like laughter. “These last six months though... I don’t know why, but I kept wanting my own family. It’s strange. They abandoned me years ago and somehow I still found myself wishing I had a mother to call, or a father to ask what I was supposed to do. There are some questions only someone older than you can answer, right? Some hurts you’re too young to carry by yourself.”
His eyes lifted slowly until they met Rome’s. “You’d ask your brother for advice over the smallest things.” He stopped, taking another long breath before continuing. “Did you ask him when you were deciding to break my heart?”
Rome had thought nothing else could hurt more than hearing Mok say he had chosen safety over love. He had been wrong. That single question hollowed him out completely. He could only stare, unable to answer because any answer would have been inadequate beside the grief sitting in front of him.
Mok’s composure finally gave way. A tired sound escaped before he could stop it and he immediately covered his mouth as though ashamed of the sound. A single tear slipped down his face despite his attempts to wipe it away. “I feel like a child,” he admitted, his voice trembling. “I cried because I wanted my mom to hold me and I don’t even know what my mother looked like. I think... I think I just wanted someone to hold me. Maybe you. I wanted you to tell me everything would be alright, even if it was a lie. But you left. You left and I couldn’t even ask you for that.” Everything hurt. In that moment there wasn’t an inch of his body not burning up.
Rome crossed the room instinctively, stopping only when he stood close enough to see the tears on Mok’s face. His own eyes had long since filled with tears he no longer cared to hide. “I’m sorry,” The words breaking apart before they fully left his mouth. “I’m sorry…so sorry Mok.” He wanted to reach for him, to wipe away the tears he himself had caused, but he no longer knew whether he had earned the right to touch him. So he stood there instead, apologizing again and again, every apology sounding smaller than the last because none of them possessed the power to undo what had happened.
Mok listened quietly until Rome finally stopped. Only then did he lift his head, he stood up, his face exhausted.
“I heard your apology and I know your reasons,” Mok whispered. “And I understand.”
A little hope stirred inside Rome but then Mok continued. “I understand why you did it. But I don’t want to see your face.”
Rome closed his eyes. He felt it then, so suddenly it stole the air from his lungs, as though someone had reached between his ribs with bare hands, scooped his heart out without mercy and stabbed it over and over until there was nothing left to bleed.
Understanding, he realized then, was not the same thing as forgiveness. Sometimes the person you loved understood exactly why you broke their heart and that only made it hurt more.
Both of them stayed silent for a moment. The silence no longer felt hostile. It was simply heavy, burdened by too many things that language had failed to carry. They looked at each other without interruption, without embarrassment, without either of them attempting to look away first.
It was the kind of gaze that belonged to people who knew each other too well. Rome could still recognize every small change in Mok’s face, the exhaustion beneath his eyes, the slight tremble in his jaw whenever he was trying not to cry, the way he pressed his lips together whenever he was forcing himself to stay composed. Mok, in return, saw a Rome he had never imagined could exist. The confidence that had always seemed inseparable from him had worn thin. The shadows beneath his eyes were darker than he remembered and there was something defeated in the way he carried himself, as though the separation had bent his shoulders beneath a weight he had been unable to set down. They simply looked at one another and somehow that quiet exchange held more honesty than everything they had said that night.
The movement came so suddenly that it startled even Rome himself. Before he had the chance to think better of it, he was already on his feet, closing the small distance between them. His hand found Mok’s forearm almost instinctively, his fingers wrapping around it with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with the desperation behind the gesture. Mok flinched immediately. His first instinct was to pull away and he twisted his arm sharply, trying to free himself, but Rome held on, not tightly enough to hurt him but firm enough to ask him not to leave just yet.
And that contact alone made both of them painfully aware of how long it had been since they had touched each other.
“I have to go back tomorrow,” Rome said quietly, his voice sounding smaller than he intended.
“I know, Khun Rome.” Mok kept his eyes on the hand around his arm rather than the man holding it. “Let go of my arm.”
Rome swallowed hard, searching Mok’s face for something that might resemble permission, hope, or mercy. “Mok,”he whispered, almost pleading now, “can I….can I stay here with you tonight? Please.”
The request hung between them for several seconds. It wasn’t desire that filled the room, but grief. It sounded less like a man asking to share a bed and more like someone begging for one night beside a life the world hadn’t let him have.
Mok closed his eyes before opening them again. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm but every word seemed to cost him something. “No.” He gently pulled his arm free now that Rome’s grip had loosened. “No….no you can’t.”
The refusal wasn’t cruel. If anything, it was painfully kind because Mok knew that if he allowed Rome to stay, if he let himself fall asleep beside him for even one night, tomorrow would hurt all over again. So he stepped back, creating the distance Rome had spent months trying to convince himself was necessary.
The disappointment and hurt on Rome’s face was raw but he didn’t push any further. He took a steadying breath and continued, his voice tight.
“So you won’t let me back in? Even now, knowing what kept me away from you... why are you being so cruel to me, Mok?”
“Cruel?” Mok’s laugh was sharp but it was entirely devoid of humor. “You think I’m cruel? What you did to me was cruel. You left me all because you decided I was useless. You thought I couldn’t fight for myself?”
Rome went to open his mouth, but Mok spoke up, cutting him off.
“I could have fought your enemies right alongside you. More than you think. But you decided my worth for me.” Mok let out a ragged breath, his chest heaving as the words he’d buried for so long finally broke free.
Rome just stood there staring at him, stunned into momentary silence. “Mok, I-” Rome started, stepping forward.
“No. No, no, no,” Mok backed away, shaking his head frantically. “I don’t want to hear it. Get out.”
Before Rome could continue, “Get out.” Mok shouted, his voice cracking. “Don’t show me your face again. Don’t ever come back here.”
The rejection hit Rome like a physical blow, snapping something inside him. He knew Mok had very right to angry, but in that moment his own anger flared through his hurt, ugly and loud. “It’s my fucking house.” Rome yelled, the words so loud it made Mok flinch and step back.
Rome’s expression shifted the moment it registered. The anger disappeared almost as quickly as it had come, replaced by quiet disbelief because the look on Mok's face wasn’t annoyance, it was fear. It hit Rome all at once that this was probably the first time he’d ever frightened him. Mok had faced armed men without blinking but never in his life he had ever looked at Rome that way before.
“Okay,” Mok’s voice dropped into a strange calm. “You’re right. It’s your house. I’ll leave. I’ll leave.”
Mok turned on his heel and walked towards the closet, to grab something, anything.
This one movement stirred panic in Rome. He ran after him, grabbing Mok’s wrist. “I’m sorry, fuck, I’m fucking sorry, Mok.”
“Let go of me.” Mok thrashed against his grip, yelling and shoving at Rome’s chest with all the strength he had.
Rome on the other hand tried holding him, while Mok tried with his whole strength to push Rome away, the room devolving into a chaotic mess of screaming and desperation and then Rome lost control. “Fucking stop it Mok!”
One sentence that was said so loud that it might’ve echoed throughout the house.
Mok paused. The silence after the shout was deafening. He stopped fighting, but his eyes burnt with anger, tears, hurt and…. love. Alot of love.
Rome didn’t let go of his hold on Mok. “Stop. Stop behaving like this.”
One sentence, this one sentence made Mok jerk his body abruptly, out of Rome’s hold. “Like what?” he asked, his voice finally rising. “Like someone who finally understands he isn’t wanted? I don’t care, I don’t fucking care about you.”
Mok looked at him with eyes that were exhausted and hurt rather than angry. His breathing became increasingly uneven. Every inhale seemed to catch somewhere in his chest before finally escaping. His shoulders rose too quickly, his hands shook uncontrollably and the color slowly drained from his face.
“Okay,” Rome said immediately, raising both hands as though trying to calm a frightened animal. His own voice softened at once. “Okay. I’ll go. We don’t have to do this tonight. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
Mok didn’t answer. He only continued struggling to steady his breathing.
Rome hurried toward the bedside table, poured a glass of water with hands that were hardly steadier than Mok’s and returned carefully. He lifted the glass towards Mok’s lips. “Drink,” he spoke gently. “Just a little.”
Mok managed only a few small sips before turning his face away, still unable to catch a proper breath. Rome set the glass aside and without thinking, reached up to wipe the tears from Mok’s cheeks with the cuff of his own shirt. “Sleep,” he whispered, brushing away the sweat. “That’s enough for tonight. Sleep now.”
Mok didn’t look at him.
Rome lingered for another second before forcing himself to move. He had promised he would leave and he intended to keep that promise. He turned towards the bedroom door, each step feeling impossibly heavy, the whole time he tried to convince himself that distance was the kindest thing he could offer tonight.
He had barely reached the doorway when something struck the floor behind him. The sound echoed sharply through the room. Rome spun around. “Mok?”
Mok lay motionless beside the bed.
For one horrifying second, Rome’s mind refused to understand what his eyes were seeing. Then panic took over. He crossed the room in an instant, dropping to his knees beside him. “Mok!” His hands trembled as he lifted his shoulders, gently patting his face. “Mok, wake up. Mok!” There was no response. His skin felt frighteningly cold beneath Rome’s fingers and suddenly Rome’s voice tore through the house.
“P’Kian!” Another desperate shout followed before anyone answered. “P’Kian! Anybody, come here!”
In a minute, Thee and Peach came running, their footsteps echoing through the hallway. One look at Mok on the floor erased every question from their faces.
“What happened?” Peach asked, already kneeling beside Mok.
“I-I don’t know,” Rome answered, unable to hide the panic in his voice. “He... he just…call the doctor.”
Thee didn’t waste another second. The next several minutes blurred together. Mok was carefully lifted back onto the bed while Thee fetched blanket and Peach remained beside him, checking his pulse until the doctor arrived.
Throughout it all, Rome stood uselessly in one corner of the room, every attempt to help ending with someone gently moving him aside. He watched the doctor examine Mok, check his blood pressure, listen to his heartbeat, ask a few questions before finally looking up.
“His blood pressure has dropped because of stress,” the doctor explained calmly. “His body has simply reached its limit. Emotional distress, exhaustion, not eating properly, prolonged anxiety... together they can do this. He needs rest. Make sure he stays hydrated and don’t let him put himself under any more emotional or physical strain for the next few days.”
The words settled heavily over the room.
After giving a few more instructions, the doctor packed his bag and quietly excused himself. Mok slept peacefully now, though his face still carried traces of dried tears.
Thee remained standing near the foot of the bed for a long while before finally turning toward Rome. His voice was calm when he said, “When are you two going to stop doing this to each other?” Rome lowered his eyes, traces of shame shadowing his face.
“You keep calling it sacrifice,” Thee continued, “but all I see is two people making themselves miserable because each of them thinks suffering is another way of loving.” He looked toward the sleeping figure on the bed before looking back at Rome. “He needs you. Whether he wants to admit it today or not, he does. And you need him just as much. Stop deciding what’s best for him without letting him decide for himself. If he wants to stand beside you, let him. If you want to love him, then love him properly. Stop turning that love into punishment.”
Rome couldn’t answer. There wasn’t anything left to say. Thee sighed quietly before placing a hand on Rome’s shoulder. His voice softened when he said, “You’re not protecting him anymore. You’re only hurting both of you.”
With that, he walked out of the room.
Peach remained behind for another moment, his gaze resting on Mok with unmistakable affection before shifting toward Rome.
“You know,” he said gently, “His happiness has always had your name written all over it.” He continued quietly, “Give him that happiness. He deserves it and so do you. The two of you have spent your whole lives being pushed apart by circumstances you couldn’t control. Don’t become another circumstance. Don’t spend the rest of your lives doing to yourselves what the world has already done enough of.”
He squeezed Rome’s shoulder lightly before following Thee out, closing the bedroom door behind him.
The room became still once more. Rome looked at Mok for a long time. Then, with movements so careful they were almost hesitant, he slipped onto the edge of the bed beside him. He didn’t dare disturb his sleep. Instead, he lowered himself until his head rested gently beside Mok’s arm, one hand loosely wrapping around his wrist as though reassuring himself that he was still there.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered into the silence, so quietly that even he could barely hear the words.
Mok slept through the apology.
Rome stayed exactly where he was, holding onto him as though letting go, even for a moment might cost him everything all over again.
•
Sometime in the middle of the night, the room stirred back to life. It began with a quiet cough.
Rome’s eyes opened instantly.
Months apart had done nothing to erase the habit of waking at the smallest sound Mok made. For a brief second he looked disoriented, forgetting where he was, until his eyes found the familiar silhouette lying beside him. He pushed himself upright immediately, his heart still racing from the panic of earlier that night. “Mok?” he whispered. “Are you awake?”
Mok blinked slowly, his eyelids heavy with sleep. His throat felt painfully dry, every swallow scratching against it. “Water…” he murmured, the word barely audible.
Rome was already reaching for the glass before the sentence had fully left Mok’s lips. He slipped an arm carefully behind Mok’s shoulders, lifting him just enough to help him sit without straining himself. “Slowly,” he murmured, holding the glass against his lips. Mok drank in small sips before leaning back against the pillows with a quiet exhale. Rome set the glass aside and searched his face anxiously, unable to hide the worry etched across his own. “Are you alright?” he asked. “Do you need anything else?”
Mok didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he simply looked at him. The silence stretched between them, but unlike the silence they had shared only hours before, this one carried no anger. Rome sat motionless beneath Mok’s gaze, afraid that even speaking again might break whatever fragile peace had settled over the room.
Something softened in Mok’s expression. The tightness around his eyes eased and the rigid way he had held himself all evening finally began to loosen.
After a long pause, he spoke quietly. “Khun Rome…” Rome leaned closer at once. “I feel cold.” He drew a slow breath before adding, almost hesitantly-
“Can you hold me?”
For a heartbeat, Rome simply stared at him. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand the words. It was that he hadn’t allowed himself to imagine hearing them again.
“Yes,” he answered, the reply escaping him before he could stop it. “Yes, Mok. Of course.”
Mok shifted carefully toward the other side of the bed, creating just enough space for Rome to lie beside him. Rome moved with extraordinary caution, as though afraid one careless movement might cause Mok to change his mind. The mattress dipped beneath his weight before he settled behind him. Even then he hesitated, leaving enough room that Mok could pull away whenever he wished. His hand still in the air, worried if he’s allowed to touch or not. Mok understood the hesitation so he whispered slowly in a voice thick with sleep. “It’s okay.”
Only then did Rome allow himself to hold him properly.
Both of them didn’t speak immediately, the rhythm of their breathing gradually slowed until it almost matched, the room returning once again to silence. Then, unexpectedly, Mok shifted within Rome’s hold. He turned over slowly until they were facing one another, barely inches apart. Their foreheads rested together naturally, noses almost brushing, each breath warming the other’s face. In the darkness, they simply looked at one another. There was no urgency left between them, no argument waiting to be resumed.
Then Mok moved first.
It was the smallest movement imaginable. He leaned forward just enough for his lips to brush softly against Rome’s.
A featherlight kiss gone almost as soon as it arrived.
Rome remained perfectly still, as though afraid that moving too quickly might wake him from a dream. Then a long, shaky breath escaped him, one he hadn’t realized he had been holding. His hand lifted slowly, trembling slightly as it came to rest against Mok’s cheek, his thumb brushing gently across warm skin.
“Mine” he whispered with a smile that trembled around the edges. “Always mine.”
Mok’s eyelids were already growing heavy again but even half asleep, he mumbled, “Won’t let you go... I won’t,” his voice small and slurred with sleep, his fingers tightening around Rome’s hand without him even realizing it.
A second later, sleep took him completely. The last thing he felt before darkness settled was Rome’s palm cradling his cheek, warm and steady enough to convince even his sleeping mind that, for now, he wasn’t being left behind.
Rome, however, couldn’t find sleep. His eyes remained fixed on the ceiling, one arm still wrapped carefully around Mok as though he feared even the smallest movement might disturb him. The room was silent except for the occasional rustle of sheets and the steady rhythm of Mok’s breathing and for the first time in months, Rome allowed himself to simply think.
Tonight hadn’t convinced him that leaving Mok had been an act of cruelty. If he were forced back into that moment six months ago with the same fear, the same dangers surrounding his name, and the same certainty that someone would use Mok to get to him, he knew he would still have chosen Mok’s safety over his own happiness. That truth hadn’t changed. Loving Mok had always meant wanting him alive before anything else. Rome had never been afraid of losing himself. He had only ever been afraid of losing Mok. If his position, his enemies and the life he had inherited placed a target on the man he loved, then of course he had panicked. Of course he had tried to remove Mok from the line of fire. Any version of the future where Mok wasn’t breathing was one Rome simply couldn’t survive.
But tonight had shown him another truth.
Protecting someone and deciding for them were not the same thing.
Mok had never been asking for a life without danger. He had been asking to stand beside the man he loved. Rome had spent months believing that love meant carrying every burden alone, when perhaps love also meant trusting the other person enough to carry it with you.
Mok hadn’t been angry because Rome wanted him safe. He had been hurt because Rome never gave him the chance to choose that life for himself.
Rome let out a slow breath and tightened his embrace, careful not to wake him. There was so much left unsaid between them. So many apologies, not for loving him enough to protect him, but for believing he had to protect him alone. There were promises still waiting to be made, conversations they had avoided for too long, fears they would have to face together instead of separately. None of it would disappear by morning. The dangers attached to Rome’s name wouldn’t vanish overnight and neither would the fear that had lived inside him for months. But fear no longer deserved to make decisions for them.
Tomorrow, he would tell Mok exactly that.
He would tell him that he is still terrified. He would tell him that every time Mok walked out of his sight, a part of him would probably always worry.
He would tell him that if danger came, they would face it together this time, not because Rome had stopped wanting to protect him but because protecting him no longer meant pushing him away.
For now, though, none of those conversations belonged to tonight. Tonight, they were together and that was enough. That was everything.