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Kawi’s newest hobby is mentally kicking every person who’s deliberately touched Pisaeng when Pisaeng has given them no indication that they’re even allowed to speak to him. In the last three minutes, three horrifically audacious people have gripped, patted, or stroked Pisaeng’s bare forearm with a breathtaking lack of permission to do so, and Kawi is on his last nerve about it.
He’s been keeping a wall clock in his line of sight ever since he arrived, so Kawi knows he’s more than an hour away from a polite time to bow out. It doesn’t stop him from fantasizing about sprinting across the room and dragging Pisaeng by the sleeve to the parking lot.
“Stop staring at him,” Max smiles. He lifts his glass in a jaunty toast to the producer of a variety show he’s been trying to get Favorite L on for months. Kawi glances first at Max, then at the approaching producer and resigns himself to a long and sycophantic conversation for the sake of his band and his own career.
Kawi aims a longing stare at Pisaeng. “They’re touching him, Max.” He learned early on what constitutes as a “loud voice” when one is trying to keep one’s relationship a secret from the general public, but it’s always a struggle to stick to a consistent volume when emotions are running high.
Max says, “Mm.”
Most industry people already know Kawi has a boyfriend, if not who exactly it is—Kawi recognized a few knowing smiles from colleagues when he arrived with Fluke—but common courtesy has kept the relationship of Lead Singer Botkawi and Content Creator Pisaeng comfortably in the category of “wild if true” for everyone else.
Most fans ship Kawi with Fluke, but neither of them plays into it except onstage where it’s clear to most of the audience that it’s just for fun. Pisaeng insists he doesn’t mind, and Max’s only remarks on his boyfriend flirting with his best friend have been some flat version of, “I am not threatened by this in any way.”
And that’s because nothing threatens Max. Right now, a model has her hand splayed on Fluke’s chest while she leans close and laughs, and Max couldn’t look less interested. Kawi’s not even sure he can see her, his eyes are so precision-focused on Fluke, who beams at the attention like the Border Collie he is.
“Listen to me,” Kawi complains.
“Mm,” Max says again, sipping his sparkling water.
The producer calls out a cheery, “Max! Botkawi! Be with you in a second!” and pauses to put his arm around the shoulders of another executive who’s mid-laugh and furiously gesticulating with a half-finished gin and tonic.
Kawi chances one more look at Pisaeng, who’s subtly escaped the touchy-feely group and moved on to a less popular content creator Kawi doesn’t recognize. He’s safe for now.
“I’m just making sure he’s okay,” Kawi says, even though Max is just staring at him with profound disapproval. “He doesn’t always stand up for himself.”
“He’s twenty-six,” Max says.
“Twenty-six-year-olds can be not okay,” Kawi says.
“I know,” Max says passionately. “I’m looking at one.”
Kawi decides he doesn’t understand what Max could possibly mean by that. And it’s good timing, too, because the producer has just joined them, and Kawi has to don his perfected false smile and sell his band.
•
Kawi’s last straw is lip-reading Pisaeng tell a friend that someone tried to grab his ass on his way to the bathroom, and when the friend says, “Again?” Kawi starts hearing colors.
That helps Kawi convince Max of an acceptable excuse to leave: if they don’t, he’s going to create a gossip-worthy scene inspired by the worst romantic comedies he can think of.
“I hate you,” Max says. The impact couldn’t be less effective while he’s amicably steering Kawi by the shoulder through the crowds so Kawi can text Pisaeng to meet them out at Max’s car as soon as he can get away.
Kawi says, “Mm.” The color fuchsia sounds like the electric fence from Jurassic Park.
He and Pisaeng arrived separately, and they’re supposed to leave separately as well, but Kawi’s support for that plan imploded bit by bit with every hand that touched his kind and non-confrontational boyfriend.
Can’t they see he’s uncomfortable when they do that? Is that part of the appeal for them?
Once they clear the room, and they’re in the humid night air, Max says, “You’re going to have to learn to cope with Pisaeng’s popularity,” while he eagerly strips off his jacket and undoes the first two buttons of his shirt.
“I’m not jealous,” Kawi says, scowling. “I’m proud of him.”
To Kawi’s delight, Pisaeng is actually making more with his presence tonight. It’s because Favorite L splits their payment between the members, but that hasn’t hasn’t stopped Kawi from teasing Pisaeng about the wage gap ever since he saw the contract on Pisaeng’s phone screen.
“Someone’s finally getting the attention he deserves,” Kawi said, sprawling across Pisaeng’s shoulders like the spoiled kitten he becomes whenever they’re home. He mouthed the curve of Pisaeng’s ear idly and murmured, “Don’t forget about me when your star outshines mine.”
Then he laughed when Pisaeng hauled him off the couch; they found Pisaeng’s phone a few hours later where it landed in the kitchen sink.
“I didn’t say you were jealous,” Max says. “I’m saying you’re possessive.”
Kawi says, “I am not!” and then, “Okay, maybe—but not in an unhealthy way!”
They weave around the parked cars together, Kawi rushing to match Max’s long strides.
“Explain to me how possessiveness can be healthy,” Max says. “Use ten words or less.”
“It just is,” Kawi says. Max doesn’t need to know the complicated inner workings of his relationship with Pisaeng. (And he has no idea how to explain, “I want to gnaw their hands off,” in a mentally balanced way.)
Max rolls his eyes and aims his key to unlock his car doors. He just bought his first Nice Car with the spike in money they’ve all started earning, and Kawi appreciates Max’s cool slide into the driver’s seat with a grin. He takes the backseat and busies himself with organizing the stuff Max tossed back here: brochures from the travel show Favorite L just finished last week, travel documents, so many partially-finished water bottles—
“It’s a mess back here,” Kawi says. “Why don’t you ever clean it?”
“No one sits back there,” Max says. “The only reason you’re back there now is so you can sit with the boyfriend you’ve guilted into leaving an event he was enjoying.”
“He wasn’t enjoying it,” Kawi says.
“He was really excited about it when I talked to him this afternoon,” Max counters. “He’s just leaving because you asked him to. You really shouldn’t put him in positions where—”
The other backseat door opens and Pisaeng peeks in with a pleasant look of murderous exhaustion.
“If I have to go to another one of these this year,” he says, “I’m gonna buy a camper van and move to Chonburi.”
Kawi beams, “Pisaeng!” and then sticks his tongue out at the rearview mirror where Max is already giving Kawi a perplexed scowl.
“What,” Max says, the question mark silent.
“Told you,” Kawi says. He stretches his arms out toward Pisaeng and says, “C’mere,” in his most mature and adult voice.
Pisaeng smiles and does as he’s asked.
“I introduced you to so many functional adults,” Max sighs as he guides his seatbelt across his chest. ”What happened, Pisaeng?”
Kawi peers out the window into the dark and surveys the entirety of the lot with a falcon eye. When he’s confirmed for himself that there’s no one else around, he winds his arms around Pisaeng’s waist and rests his head on Pisaeng’s shoulder just like he’s wanted to all evening. The scent of Pisaeng’s hair alone—a tinge of apple with a hint of sweat—has Kawi closing his eyes and nuzzling against the hot, damp fabric of his shirt.
Pisaeng’s chest rumbles under Kawi’s cheek as Pisaeng loyally says, “Kawi’s functional.” When Kawi lifts his head to touch a kiss to his cheek, Pisaeng exhales a laugh and cups the back of Kawi’s neck, running his thumb up his nape and inspiring a whole-body shiver.
“Thank you,” Kawi sighs. He has no interest in what they’re talking about. He has an armful of Pisaeng and a long drive ahead, and he’s going to savor every second.
“Ick,” Max says. As he backs out of the parking space, he adds, “Did you tell your manager you were leaving, Pisaeng?”
“Uh.”
The car stops short.
“Oi! Max!”
“Are you serious?”
“Um. I’ll text her now.”
“You monsters deserve each other.”
•
Quarter of an hour later, a torrent of rain lashes Max’s car and the world shrinks to the blur of lights outside and the cozy darkness inside. Kawi drifts in and out, snuggled underneath Pisaeng’s arm, and he only catches snippets of the ongoing conversation between Pisaeng and Max. Something something politics, something something real estate, something something celebrity gossip.
Eventually, the angle of the car changes and the rain cuts off and Kawi squeezes Pisaeng’s waist with a sleepy noise because they’re finally home.
Max stops, presumably next to the elevator bank, and pulls the parking brake up. “Kawi, I’ll be here at eight tomorrow, okay?”
Kawi says nothing.
Pisaeng’s laugh warms his forehead. “Hey,” he whispers. “We’re home.”
Still saying nothing, Kawi only sighs through his nose and wriggles closer to Pisaeng.
Max’s silence is a screech, but Pisaeng only tucks Kawi’s fringe to the side and kisses his temple. “Kawi,” he says.
“All three of us know he’s awake and what he’s doing,” Max says. “Don’t you dare bridal-carry him, Pisaeng. He’s twenty-six years old.”
Pisaeng opens the door with his free hand, his other arm secure around Kawi’s back. “Thanks for the ride, Max,” he says.
Max makes a textbook-perfect groan. “Pisaeng, come on. You don’t have to work with him, but I do, and whenever you treat him like he’s five, you just make him five times as annoying.”
Kawi considers kicking the back of Max’s seat.
Pisaeng says, “Uh huh,” and eases out of the car and Kawi’s arms—a deeply distressing development—but then he’s unbuckling Kawi’s seatbelt and coaxing Kawi to make at least part of his own way out of the car.
Feeling agreeable, Kawi does, but he keeps his eyes closed for the sake of appearances.
“I want a bonus,” Max says. “Two bonuses. Kawi. And all the clothes they sent you for this event. Hear me?”
Kawi sees no issue with agreeing to any of that, but since Pisaeng’s lifted him into his arms, and Kawi gets to rest his face against Pisaeng’s throat, he’s not available for comment.
“Pisaeng,” Max says, more seriously, “promise me he’ll get enough sleep. I really will be here at eight.”
Pisaeng firms up his hold on Kawi as he closes the back door with his hip. “I promise,” he says. “I think we’re going directly to sleep.”
That’s what you think, Kawi thinks, smirking against Pisaeng’s throat.
Pisaeng squeezes him subtly.
Oh. He’s lying. Good.
“Whatever. As long as he’s conscious when I get here,” Max says. “Don’t call me for any reason before morning unless one of you needs the hospital. I’m going back to pick up my boyfriend from the event that you should both still be at.”
“G’night, Max,” Pisaeng says fondly. “Tell Fluke we’re sorry.”
“I’m not going to give either of you another thought until eight o’clock tomorrow,” Max says firmly.
Kawi peeks one eye open just in time to see Max’s wry grin completely undermining his acerbic delivery.
Then Max looks directly at him and jerks his chin up. “You’re a nightmare.”
Kawi grins and winks, watching with profound affection as Max’s car disappears back up the ramp and into the rain.
In the elevator, Pisaeng leans on the wall, letting it take the brunt of his weight and Kawi’s.
“Want me to get down?” Kawi asks his throat.
Pisaeng says, “You’re good,” and rests his chin on Kawi’s head. “I think Max thinks we’re codependent.”
“He called us unhealthy,” Kawi confirms.
“When? Tonight?”
“Mm. In the car. I spent the whole night annoyed because people kept touching you, so he thinks I forced you to leave the party.” He kisses Pisaeng’s throat twice and nips at his Adam’s apple. “Next time I’m gonna push someone off the roof.”
Pisaeng’s laughter sifts through Kawi’s fringe as the elevator doors open.
“I wasn’t really enjoying it,” Pisaeng says. Without so much as a breath of exertion, he carries Kawi down the hallway toward their apartment door. “Wanna grab my keys from my pocket?”
Kawi says, “Mm,” and contorts his torso in order to reach into the pocket of Pisaeng’s trousers. While he’s down there, he causes problems.
“I will drop you,” Pisaeng says.
“Liar,” Kawi grins. He places the key ring onto the outstretched index finger under his knee, then reaches his arms around Pisaeng’s neck to brace himself while Pisaeng moves one arm to unlock the door.
“Max would probably have an aneurysm if he saw you right now,” Kawi observes.
Pisaeng says, “He’s just jealous he can’t coordinate as well as me,” and pushes the front door open. “Applause, please.”
With his hands occupied, Kawi obligingly taps his head against Pisaeng’s jaw a few times, giggling.
“Weirdo,” Pisaeng says fondly. He shoulders past the door frame into the dark foyer of their apartment, kicking the door closed behind them.
“I have no hands free!”
“Neither do I, and I just got us into the apartment. Coordinate better.”
Kawi sticks his tongue out. It’s a calculated move, because he’s ready when Pisaeng takes his mouth in a kiss already three levels hotter than the quick goodbye kiss they shared this morning.
Kawi’s not sure whether or not Max knew about the cunning touches Kawi was executing during the drive. (Probably. He has a sixth sense for Kawi’s shenanigans.) For no other reason than to amuse himself, Kawi tried and succeeded three times in changing the rhythm of Pisaeng’s breaths against his skin, and Kawi considers every one of them a small prize leading up to this one: the grand prize of Pisaeng’s full, undivided attention.
Pisaeng finally lets him down, but it’s only to press Kawi against the nearest wall. Still in darkness, Pisaeng pushes his fingers between Kawi’s and lifts their hands over Kawi’s head, and when they kiss next, Pisaeng gathers both of Kawi’s wrists in one hand and pins them comfortably to the wall. While Kawi’s breath stutters, Pisaeng’s newly freed hand sneaks under the raised hem of Kawi’s dress shirt, callused fingertips scraping the goosebumps underneath.
Over the course of their relationship, Pisaeng has introduced Kawi to nearly all of his firsts, and this is one is no different: relentless shivers, one wave following the last.
The kiss turns a shade desperate on Kawi’s end. He’s helpless under Pisaeng’s body in a way that always feels inexplicably safe, and he tips his chin higher in a sign of trust. Kawi’s never tried to explain how he feels about any of this, but he’s written songs about sex with Pisaeng, and every one of them feels far, far too intimate and specific to ever share. He’s never even showed Pisaeng, and he will die instantly if Pisaeng ever finds out he’s written them.
When Pisaeng kisses him like this, all-consuming and almost gluttonous, Kawi can’t understand how else he’s supposed to feel but absolutely fanatic. Of course he’s obsessed with this man. Who wouldn’t be?
Kawi doesn’t realize he’s whining against Pisaeng’s lips and tongue until Pisaeng releases his wrists and picks him up instead. Automatically, Kawi wraps his legs around Pisaeng’s hips and shakes when Pisaeng grinds sinuously against him.
“You were jealous, huh?” Pisaeng whispers against his ear, his breath hot and damp.
Kawi grips the back of Pisaeng’s shirt in his fists, willing his hands to stop trembling quite so hard. Even after years of sex with the same person, Kawi has no idea how other people play it cool during sex. He’s quite literally just hanging on here, and he’s not equipped to feign indifference to Pisaeng’s effect on him.
Pisaeng says, “Cute,” and bites down on Kawi’s earlobe as he presses insistently against Kawi’s erection, and Kawi chokes.
If he had the vocal coordination right now, he’d accuse Pisaeng of attempted murder. (He’ll do it later.)
Wisely, Pisaeng catches on to Kawi’s very real plight and tones things down to a dull roar. Still holding Kawi up against the wall, Pisaeng softens their kisses one at a time until Kawi’s frenetic shivering becomes a resonant hum under his skin. When Pisaeng starts drawing his head farther and farther back, making Kawi arch his neck to chase his mouth, Kawi whispers, “Pisaeng,” against his lips, eyes half-lidded. There’s a world in the word, and Pisaeng gives in, rubbing his nose against Kawi’s cheek with his eyes closed.
“Love you too,” Pisaeng murmurs.
Kawi hides his face in Pisaeng’s shoulder. He’s positive Pisaeng felt his dick pulse, and he’s not going to face Pisaeng’s expression. Pisaeng knows what that does to him, and he weaponizes it constantly.
Pisaeng’s grin presses against Kawi’s neck. “Sorry,” he says. The liar. “Mm. You really should go to sleep soon.”
“You are a monster,” Kawi says, gaping. “Pisaeng!”
Unfortunately, Pisaeng claims to take his promise to Max seriously, and what ensues is fairly perfunctory showering with Kawi eyeing Pisaeng mutinously. He’s tempted to direct the shower spray into Pisaeng’s face, but he manages to hold himself in check in the hope that Pisaeng’s just messing with him.
Even up to brushing their teeth, though, Pisaeng just gives him innocent eyes and smacks a chaste and minty kiss to Kawi’s cheek on his way to bed.
Kawi almost bites his toothbrush in half.
He spits out the foam in the sink, leaves it for Morning Kawi to deal with, and smacks the light switch on his way out. He’s fully prepared to pounce on Pisaeng, but Pisaeng is cannier tonight.
An arm hooks around Kawi’s waist, dragging him into their walk-in closet where Pisaeng’s been lying in wait like a freak.
“You can’t call me weird,” Kawi tells him, laughing. “This is way weirder.”
Pisaeng gives him a smirk that exudes smugness, twining his fingers into Kawi’s wet hair as he tugs him close. “Pretty sure we’ve established that’s a mutual thing,” he says.
Kawi sighs with exasperation, twists his hand into the fabric of Pisaeng’s T-shirt collar, and kisses him. Persuasively. With tongue.
Judging by Pisaeng’s delighted laughter (bordering on malicious giggling), this was at least one of his goals for tonight.
Under normal circumstances, Kawi might be too tired from the event to do very much, and while he’s not up for full penetrative sex, his possessive streak has been engaged and he’s more than happy to go to his knees and make Pisaeng grip his hair at the roots and coat the back of his throat.
Only Kawi will ever get to hear Pisaeng sound like that.
He’s also the only one Pisaeng has ever wanted like this, the only one Pisaeng will ever want like this, and Kawi is simultaneously so proud but still so lost as to why. Whatever he’s doing, he’s doing it better than anyone else, at least.
Without the same urgency that’s been making Kawi’s skin electric, Pisaeng has the patience to take him to bed and take him apart, touching him and kissing him until Kawi’s beyond words and begging with sharp cries and entreating whines. He comes into Pisaeng’s mouth with a broken noise muffled by his own forearm, tears thick on his eyelashes.
Pisaeng strokes his side through the aftershocks, his hot cheek on Kawi’s stomach.
After Kawi calms down enough to complain, “We forgot a towel,” Pisaeng says, “You didn’t eat, did you? I can hear noises.”
Kawi tips his head down and Pisaeng tips his up and they grin at each other. The comfortable domesticity they’ve spent years building is a secret from the world, and even if there’s a day when that changes, this world is only for them.
Kawi takes Pisaeng’s hand from his thigh and kisses his knuckles one at a time. Then, sweetly, he says, “Make me omelet rice?” He’ll set his alarm for seven fifty, and whatever happens, happens.