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The Arseni mansion sat on Victoria Peak, white stone catching the first light of morning, gardens spilling down the hillside toward the harbor below. Rome had been born in this house. Had learned to walk in its long hallways. Had grown from child to teenager to man within these walls, surrounded by staff who knew him and parents who expected things from him and the weight of a legacy he never asked to carry.
He stood at his bedroom window and watched the sun rise.
Six weeks. Mok had been back for six weeks now.
Forty-two days of seeing him at breakfast. Forty-two days of passing him in hallways, of sitting across from him in meetings, of feeling his presence like a low hum beneath everything else.
Forty-two days of wanting something he could never have.
Rome pressed his palm flat against the cool glass and let himself feel it. Just for a moment. The ache that lived in his chest, constant and familiar, sharpened now by proximity. For three years, while Mok was in Thailand, Rome had learned to live with the dull version of this pain. The missing. The wondering. The lying awake at night and imagining what Mok was doing, whether he ever thought of Rome, whether the distance hurt him too.
It hadn't. Rome was sure of that now. Mok had returned out of duty, because Rome had asked and Mok's sense of obligation ran deeper than anything else. Not because he had missed Rome. Not because being apart had been difficult.
The pain was Rome's alone. It always had been.
He watched the harbor come to life below. Boats moving through the water. The city waking up, all those millions of people starting their days, none of them aware of the young man standing in his window trying to remember how to breathe.
Today would be like yesterday. Like the day before. Like every day since Mok came home.
Rome would go downstairs. He would eat breakfast across from Mok and pretend not to notice the way Mok held his chopsticks, the way he tilted his head when listening, the way his hands moved with such ease control. He would attend meetings and review documents and play the role of heir to the Arseni empire.
And through all of it, he would keep his feelings locked away. Hidden so deep that no one would ever find them. Not his parents. Not the staff. Not Mok himself.
This was the life Rome had chosen. Or rather, the life that had been chosen for him by a heart that refused to want anything reasonable.
He turned away from the window and began to dress.
The dining room was quiet when Rome arrived.
Mok stood by the windows, as he always did, his back straight and his hands clasped behind him. He wore dark trousers and a white shirt, simple and well-fitted, nothing that drew attention. That was Mok's way. He moved through spaces without demanding to be noticed, existing in the background, watching everything.
Rome noticed anyway. Rome always noticed.
"Good morning." He kept his voice casual as he crossed to his chair. Light. Easy. The voice of someone who wasn't fighting a war inside his own chest.
Mok turned "Good morning, Khun Rome"
Their eyes met for a moment. Less than a second, really. Nothing significant. But Rome felt it like a touch, like Mok's gaze had physical weight, pressing against his skin.
He looked away first. He always looked away first.
"Did you sleep well?" Rome reached for the coffee pot, needing something to do with his hands.
"yes"
"Good"
Silence settled between them. Rome poured his coffee and watched the steam rise, curling and dissipating in the morning air. He could feel Mok's presence without looking. Could have drawn a map of exactly where Mok stood, how his weight was distributed, which direction he was facing.
This was what loving someone did to you. It made you hyperaware. Made you catalogue every detail, every movement, every breath. Made you build a library in your mind of someone else's existence, constantly adding new entries, never running out of space.
Rome had been building this library for years. It was vast now. Overflowing.
He took a sip of coffee and pretended his hand wasn't shaking.
His father arrived exactly at seven o'clock.
Papa Arseni moved through the world with the certainty of a man who had never been denied anything. He nodded acknowledgment to Rome, a brief glance at Mok, and took his seat at the head of the table. A staff member appeared immediately with his preferred tea.
"The Chen meeting is confirmed for next Tuesday," Papa arseni said without preamble. "Old Chen himself will attend."
"I know." Rome set down his cup. "Mok briefed me on the security arrangements yesterday."
"Good." Papa arseni's eyes moved between them, assessing. "You'll both be present. Rome as the family representative, Mok as his protection. Old Chen will expect to see strength."
"Understood, Father."
Papa arseni nodded and returned his attention to the documents beside his plate. The conversation was over. Rome ate his breakfast in silence, acutely aware of Mok still standing by the windows, of the space between them that felt like miles.
His mother arrived late, as she often did, elegant in silk and pearls. She kissed Rome's cheek, acknowledged Mok with a small nod, and took her seat. The meal continued in the quiet rhythm Rome had known his entire life.
Normal. Ordinary. A family breakfast like any other.
Except Rome couldn't taste his food. Couldn't focus on his father's occasional comments about business. Couldn't think about anything except the man standing fifteen feet away, close enough to touch if Rome crossed the room, impossibly out of reach.
When breakfast ended, Rome escaped to his study as quickly as dignity allowed.
The study had been his grandfather's once, then his father's auxiliary office, now Rome's own space. He had made it his over the past year, adding books he actually read, replacing the heavy drapes with lighter ones that let in more sun. It wasn't much, but it was something. A small claim of ownership in a house that sometimes felt like it belonged to everyone but him.
He sat at his desk and stared at the documents he should have been reviewing.
The words blurred before his eyes. He wasn't seeing contracts and proposals. He was seeing Mok by the window, morning light catching the sharp lines of his profile. He was hearing Mok's voice, quiet and controlled, saying "Good morning, Khun Rome" like it meant nothing, like those three words didn't land in Rome's chest like stones.
This was pathetic. Rome knew it was pathetic. He was the heir to one of Hong Kong's most powerful families, and here he sat, unable to concentrate on basic paperwork because his bodyguard had looked at him for half a second at breakfast.
But knowing something was pathetic didn't make it stop.
A knock at the door.
Rome straightened, shuffled papers, tried to look busy "Come in."
Mok entered.
Of course it was Mok. Rome should have known from the knock itself, from the particular rhythm of knuckles against wood. He had catalogued that too, somewhere in his endless library. The way Mok knocked. Firm but not aggressive. Controlled, like everything else about him.
"Master asked me to deliver these." Mok approached the desk, a folder in his hands. "Additional notes for the Chen meeting."
"Thank you."
Rome reached for the folder. Their fingers didn't touch. There was no reason for them to touch. But Rome was aware of the space between their hands, the inch of air that separated his skin from Mok's, and he felt that awareness like heat.
Mok released the folder and stepped back. The professional distance reasserted itself, the invisible boundary that Mok maintained at all times.
He should leave now. There was no reason for him to stay. Rome would review the documents, Mok would return to whatever duties occupied him, and they would see each other again at lunch or dinner, continuing the endless cycle of proximity and distance.
But Mok hesitated.
It was a small thing. A moment of stillness before turning to go. Most people wouldn't have noticed. Rome noticed everything.
"Is there something else?" Rome asked, keeping his voice neutral.
Mok's expression was unreadable. It always was. Those dark eyes gave nothing away, revealed nothing of what moved under. Rome had spent years trying to read that face, searching for cracks in the composure, for hints of something more.
He rarely found them.
"No," Mok said "Nothing else."
He turned and left.
Rome sat alone with his father's documents and the ghost of Mok's presence lingering in the air.
The days passed.
Rome learned to measure time by moments rather than hours. The moment at breakfast when Mok turned and their eyes met. The moment in the hallway when they passed each other and Rome caught a trace of Mok's scent, soap and something herbal. The moment in meetings when Mok shifted slightly and Rome felt the movement in his peripheral vision like a disturbance in the air.
These moments were all he had. Small fragments of proximity that he collected and hoarded, examining them later when he was alone, trying to extract meaning from nothing.
It was torture. It was also the closest thing to happiness Rome knew.
He threw himself into work. There was plenty of it. The family business was a living entity, constantly demanding attention, constantly requiring decisions. His father was grooming him to take over, testing him with increasing responsibility, watching to see if Rome would rise to meet expectations or crumble under them.
Rome rose. He always rose. Failure was not something the Arseni family permitted.
But no matter how much he worked, no matter how many contracts he reviewed or meetings he attended or decisions he made, there was always a part of his mind that remained fixed on Mok.
Where was Mok right now? What was he doing? Had he eaten lunch? Was he tired? Did he ever think about Rome when they were apart, or did Rome only exist for him as a job, a responsibility, a person to be protected rather than known?
The questions haunted him. He had no answers. Would probably never have answers.
And still he couldn't stop asking.
One afternoon, Rome found himself in the library.
He had come looking for a book. Something about shipping regulations, dry and practical, a text his father had recommended. But the library was dim and quiet, afternoon sun filtering through half-closed curtains, and Rome found himself drawn to the window instead.
The garden spread below, all those carefully maintained flowers and hedges, the fountain his grandmother had installed decades ago. Rome had played there as a child. Had hidden behind rosebushes, had climbed trees he wasn't supposed to climb, had been young and careless in ways he could barely remember now.
Mok had been there too, sometimes. After he arrived. A teenage boy assigned to protect two wealthy children, serious and watchful even then. Rome remembered trying to include him in games, trying to get him to smile, frustrated by the quiet reserve that seemed impenetrable.
He was still frustrated. Nothing had changed except the shape of his frustration, the reasons behind it.
"I thought I might find you here."
Rome turned. Mok stood in the doorway, a shadow against the hallway light.
"Were you looking for me?"
"Master wants an update on the security arrangements before dinner."
"Right," Rome didn't move from the window "I was just taking a break."
Mok entered the library, his footsteps quiet on the thick carpet. He stopped near one of the bookshelves, maintaining that careful distance he always kept.
"You've been working long hours lately."
"There's a lot to do."
"That's not what I meant."
Rome looked at him. Mok's face was half in shadow, his expression difficult to read. But there was something in his voice, something that sounded almost like concern.
"What did you mean?"
Mok was quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was softer than usual.
"You don't take care of yourself. You work until late, wake up early, skip meals when you think no one is watching. It's not sustainable."
"Are you lecturing me?"
"I'm observing." Mok's eyes met his. "It's my job to observe you."
There it was again. His job. Everything came back to that, to duty and responsibility and the role Mok had been assigned. Not affection. Not choice. Just obligation.
Rome felt something twist in his chest. He looked away, back to the window, to the garden where nothing expected anything from him.
"I appreciate your concern." His voice came out flatter than he intended. "But I'm fine."
"You're not."
The bluntness surprised him. Rome turned back to find Mok watching him with an intensity that made his pulse stutter.
"I've known you since you were child," Mok said "I know when you're fine and when you're pretending to be fine. You've been pretending for weeks."
Rome stared at him. The library felt smaller suddenly, the walls pressing in. Mok had never spoken to him like this. Had never pushed past the professional distance to say something so personal.
"What do you want me to say?"
"I want you to tell me what's wrong." Mok took a step closer. Still not close enough to touch, but closer than he usually allowed. "I want to help."
Help. As if anyone could help with this. As if Rome could explain the impossible weight of loving someone who didn't love him back, of wanting someone who stood right in front of him and might as well have been on the moon.
"Some things can't be helped," Rome said quietly.
"That's not true."
"It is for this."
Mok studied him. Rome felt exposed under that gaze, felt the walls he had built trembling, threatening to crack. He wanted to look away but couldn't. Mok's eyes held him in place, dark and deep and searching.
"You know you can trust me." Mok's voice was barely above a whisper. "Whatever it is. Whatever is weighing on you. You can tell me."
I love you.
The words pushed against Rome's teeth, demanding to be spoken. He felt them there, tangible as stones, ready to fall from his mouth and shatter everything.
He swallowed them back.
"It's nothing," he said. "Just stress. The Chen meeting. Taking over more responsibilities. Normal things."
Mok didn't look convinced. But he nodded, stepping back, letting the distance return.
"If you ever want to talk." He paused at the door. "I'm here."
Then he was gone.
Rome stood alone in the library, his heart pounding, his hands shaking where he had pressed them against his thighs to keep them still.
That had been close. Too close. He had almost said it. Had almost let the truth spill out like blood from a wound.
He couldn't let that happen again.
That night, Rome stood on his balcony and made himself a promise.
The city spread below, all those lights, all that movement. Hong Kong never slept. Never rested. It just kept going, relentless and indifferent, swallowing everything in its path.
Rome felt small against it. Insignificant. A single person with a single heart, carrying a weight no one else could see.
He gripped the balcony railing and spoke to the darkness.
"I will not tell him."
The words hung in the night air. Rome felt their weight settle on his shoulders.
"I will not put this burden on him. I will not make him uncomfortable, or obligated, or aware of something he never asked to know. I will love him in silence. I will want him from a distance. And I will never, ever let him see."
His voice cracked on the last word. He took a breath. Steadied himself.
"This is my choice. My responsibility. He doesn't deserve to carry my feelings on top of everything else he carries. So I won't give them to him. I'll keep them here." He pressed a hand to his chest, feeling his heart beat against his palm. "Locked away. Hidden. Mine alone."
The city lights blurred before his eyes. He blinked rapidly, refusing to let tears fall.
"Even if it hurts. Even if it kills me slowly. I will not burden him with this."
He stood there for a long time, watching the city, feeling the weight of his promise settle into his bones.
This was the life he had chosen. Or rather, the life that had been chosen for him by a heart that refused to be reasonable.
He would endure it. He had no other option.
The days continued.
Rome kept his promise. Kept his distance. Kept his face neutral and his voice light and his hands carefully away from any accidental contact.
He stopped looking at Mok so much. Trained himself to focus on documents, on conversations, on anything else when the urge to stare became too strong. He counted to ten before responding to anything Mok said, giving himself time to ensure his voice wouldn't betray him.
It worked, in a way. The sharp edges of his longing dulled slightly, buried under routine and discipline. He still wanted. Still ached. But the ache became manageable. A chronic condition rather than an acute crisis.
This was surviving. Rome had learned to survive.
But surviving wasn't the same as living.
He noticed it in small ways. The flatness of his own voice when he wasn't careful. The way food had lost its taste, experiences their color. He went through the motions of his life, played his role, met expectations. But something vital had drained out of him, leaving only function where feeling should have been.
Mok noticed too. Rome could tell by the way Mok looked at him sometimes, that searching gaze that seemed to probe under the surface. By the way Mok hovered slightly closer than usual, as if ready to catch Rome if he fell. By the questions Mok didn't ask but clearly wanted to.
Rome gave him nothing. Smiled his empty smile. Said he was fine. Built his walls higher every day.
This was the cost of silence. Rome was willing to pay it.
One evening, nearly two months after Mok's return, Rome sat alone in his study.
The hour was late. The house was quiet. Everyone else had gone to bed, leaving Rome with his work and his thoughts and the persistent ache that never quite went away.
He should sleep. He knew he should sleep. But sleep meant lying in the dark with nothing to distract him from his own mind, and Rome wasn't ready for that yet.
A soft knock at the door.
Rome's heart jumped before he could stop it. He knew that knock. Had memorized its rhythm years ago.
"Come in."
Mok entered, a tray in his hands. Tea and small cakes, the kind the kitchen prepared for late-night work sessions.
"You missed dinner." Mok set the tray on the corner of Rome's desk. "I thought you might be hungry."
Rome looked at the tray. At the careful arrangement of food, the steam rising from the teapot, the evidence of thought and care.
"You didn't have to do that."
"I wanted to."
Something in Mok's voice made Rome look up. Mok was watching him with an expression Rome couldn't read, something softer than his usual neutral mask.
"Why?" The question came out before Rome could stop it.
Mok was quiet for a moment. His eyes moved over Rome's face, searching for something.
"Because you matter." The words were simple. Quiet. "Because watching you hurt yourself with overwork and neglect is not something I can do without response."
Rome felt his throat tighten. He looked away, back to the papers on his desk, anywhere but Mok's face.
"I'm not hurting myself."
"You are." Mok stepped closer. Close enough that Rome could feel the warmth of him, could catch that familiar scent of soap and herbs. "You're disappearing, Rome. Piece by piece, day by day. And I don't know why, but I know it's happening."
Rome. Not Khun Rome. Just Rome.
His name in Mok's voice, stripped of formality, intimate and raw.
Rome closed his eyes. He felt the walls trembling, the careful control threatening to crack. Mok was too close. Too perceptive. Saw too much.
"Please don't."
"Don't what?"
"Don't look at me like that. Don't ask questions I can't answer. Don't..." His voice broke. He stopped, took a breath, tried to steady himself.
"Don't what?" Mok asked again, softer now.
Rome opened his eyes. Mok was right there, close enough to touch, his dark eyes filled with something that looked almost like pain.
"Don't make me want to tell you things I can't say."
The words fell between them like stones into water. Ripples spreading. Silence expanding.
Mok didn't move. Didn't speak. Just stood there, watching Rome with that terrible intensity, seeing things Rome had tried so hard to hide.
Finally, Mok stepped back.
"Eat something." His voice was rough. "Get some sleep. We have the Chen meeting in the morning."
He left without waiting for a response.
Rome sat alone with his tea and cakes and the echo of words he should never have spoken.
He had said too much. Again. The walls were crumbling no matter how hard he tried to maintain them.
And the worst part was, some small traitorous part of him was glad.
Sleep came eventually, shallow and restless.
Rome dreamed of nothing he could remember. Woke before dawn with an ache in his chest and the ghost of something on his lips that might have been a name.
He lay in the darkness and thought about the day ahead.
The Chen meeting. His father would be watching. The old families would be judging. Rome had to be sharp, focused, the perfect image of an Arseni heir prepared to take on the family legacy.
And Mok would be there. Standing beside him. Close enough to touch.
Rome pressed his hands over his eyes and tried to quiet his racing heart.
He could do this. He had to do this.
The alternative was unthinkable.
The morning of the Chen meeting, Rome woke with a headache.
It pressed behind his eyes, dull and persistent, the kind that came from too little sleep and too much thinking. He lay in bed for a moment, staring at the ceiling, letting himself feel the weight of his own body against the mattress. Heavy. Tired. Running on something other than rest.
The sun was barely up. Gray light filtered through the curtains, soft and uncertain. Rome could hear the distant sounds of the household stirring, staff beginning their routines, the mansion coming slowly to life around him.
He should get up. Shower. Dress. Prepare himself for the day ahead.
Instead, he pressed his palm over his eyes and thought about last night.
Mok's voice. The way he had said Rome's name without the title, stripped bare, intimate in a way that had cut straight through Rome's defenses. The way he had stood so close, close enough that Rome could feel the warmth radiating from his body, could have reached out and touched him if he had been brave enough or stupid enough to try.
Don't make me want to tell you things I can't say.
Rome had said that. Those exact words. And Mok had heard them, had processed them, had left without asking what Rome meant.
But he had to know. Mok was too smart, too observant, too skilled at reading people not to have understood what Rome was really saying. The question was what he would do with that understanding. Whether he would create more distance, pull back, rebuild the professional boundaries that Rome had been slowly eroding.
Whether he would look at Rome differently now. With discomfort. With pity. With the careful neutrality of someone who didn't want to encourage something unwanted.
Rome's chest ached at the thought.
He forced himself out of bed.
Breakfast was tense.
Or maybe that was just Rome, reading tension into every silence, every glance, every moment that passed without words. His father discussed the meeting agenda between bites of congee. His mother made comments about the weather, the garden, inconsequential things that filled the air without requiring response.
Mok stood by the window.
Rome didn't look at him. Kept his eyes on his plate, on his father, on anything else. He could feel Mok's presence like pressure against his skin, constant and inescapable, but he refused to acknowledge it.
This was the new strategy. If he couldn't control what he felt, he could control where he looked. Could starve his longing of the fuel it craved. Could get through this day without making things worse than he had already made them.
"Rome."
His father's voice cut through his thoughts. Rome looked up, startled.
"Yes father?"
"I asked if you've reviewed the final briefing materials."
"I have." Rome straightened in his chair, pulling himself together. "Chen's primary concern is the shipping route consolidation. He wants assurance that his family's historical territories won't be affected."
"And what assurance will you give him?"
"That we're interested in partnership, not acquisition. That consolidation benefits everyone by reducing overhead and increasing efficiency. That his family's position will be strengthened, not diminished."
His father studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Good Remember, Old Chen values respect above all else. He's spent sixty years building his position. He won't respond well to anyone who seems to dismiss that."
"I understand."
"I hope so." His father returned to his congee. "This meeting matters, Rome. The Chen family's support would be significant."
Rome nodded and said nothing. He knew what this meeting meant. Had been preparing for it for weeks. Had studied Old Chen's history, his preferences, his known associates and likely concerns. He was ready.
Or he would be, if he could stop thinking about the man standing fifteen feet away.
The car ride to the meeting was silent.
Rome sat in the back seat, reviewing notes on his tablet, trying to focus on the information he would need. Mok sat beside him, a careful distance between them, his eyes on the passing city.
The silence was different than usual. Heavier. Weighted with things unsaid.
Rome wanted to break it. Wanted to say something, anything, to dispel the awkwardness that had settled between them since last night. But every word he thought of felt wrong. Too casual. Too formal. Too obviously an attempt to pretend nothing had happened.
So he said nothing. And Mok said nothing. And the city scrolled past the windows, all those lives and stories and dramas that had nothing to do with the two of them, trapped in their small bubble of tension.
Finally, as they approached the meeting location, Mok spoke.
"Are you ready?"
Rome looked up from his tablet. Mok was watching him with that unreadable expression, giving nothing away.
"Yes."
"You seem distracted."
"I'm fine."
Mok held his gaze for a moment. Something flickered in his eyes, too fast to identify. Then he nodded and looked away.
"I'll be positioned near the main entrance. If anything feels wrong, give me the signal and I'll extract you immediately."
"I know the protocol."
"I'm reminding you anyway."
There was an edge to Mok's voice that Rome hadn't heard before. Something that sounded almost like frustration. Or worry. Or both.
Rome opened his mouth to respond, but the car was slowing, pulling up to the building where the meeting would take place. There was no more time for conversation.
He tucked his tablet away and straightened his jacket.
Time to be the heir his father expected.
The meeting went well.
Old Chen was exactly what Rome had expected. Ancient and sharp, with eyes that had seen decades of Hong Kong's shadows. He listened more than he spoke, asked questions that probed without being aggressive, nodded at answers that satisfied him.
Rome played his role carefully. Respectful but not subservient. Confident but not arrogant. He spoke about partnership and mutual benefit, about the changing landscape of their industry, about the advantages of adapting to new realities rather than clinging to old ways.
Old Chen watched him throughout. Assessing. Measuring.
At the end of the meeting, the old man rose slowly from his chair. Rome rose with him, offering a respectful bow.
"You are not your father," Old Chen said.
Rome kept his expression neutral. "No, I'm not."
"Your father was a hard man. Effective, but hard." Old Chen's ancient eyes studied Rome's face. "I see something different in you. Whether that's strength or weakness remains to be seen."
"I hope to prove it's neither. Just a different approach to the same goals."
"Hmm," Old Chen considered this. "We will speak again, young Arseni. I make no promises. But I am not opposed to further conversation."
It was more than Rome had hoped for. More than his father had expected. Rome bowed again, deeper this time.
"Thank you for your time. I look forward to our next meeting."
Old Chen nodded and turned away. His assistants flanked him as he walked toward the exit, moving with the careful pace of age.
Rome stood alone in the conference room for a moment, letting the tension drain from his shoulders.
He had done it. The first step, at least.
Mok was waiting outside the door.
His eyes swept over Rome the moment he emerged, checking for signs of distress or danger. It was automatic, instinctive, the response of someone trained to protect.
Rome felt it like a touch. Wished it meant more than it did.
"Everything went well?"
"Better than expected." Rome fell into step beside him as they walked toward the exit. "Chen wants to meet again. That's more than my father thought we'd get."
"Good."
They walked in silence through the building's lobby, past security checkpoints, out into the bright afternoon sun. The car was waiting, driver ready, everything in order.
Mok opened the back door for Rome. Their eyes met briefly as Rome slid inside.
"Thank you," Rome said.
Mok nodded and closed the door.
Such a small interaction. Meaningless, really. The kind of thing that happened a dozen times a day. But Rome felt it settle into his library of moments, another entry in the endless catalogue of Mok's existence.
The car pulled away from the curb. Rome leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes.
He was exhausted. The meeting had required focus, energy, the constant performance of being someone confident and capable. Now that it was over, he felt hollowed out. Empty.
"You did well khun rome."
Rome opened his eyes. Mok was watching him again, that searching gaze that saw too much.
"Thanks."
"I mean it. The way you handled Old Chen. The respect you showed without being weak. It was impressive."
Rome blinked. Mok didn't give compliments often. Didn't offer opinions on things that weren't directly related to security.
"I was just doing what needed to be done."
"That's what makes it impressive. You made it look natural."
Something warm spread through Rome's chest. He looked away, afraid of what his face might reveal.
"It's easy to be someone else in a meeting. Everyone's wearing masks anyway."
"Is that what you were doing? Wearing a mask?"
The question cut deeper than Mok probably intended. Rome felt it land in the place where all his hidden things lived, the vault he had built to contain everything he couldn't say.
"Aren't we all?"
Mok was quiet for a moment. When Rome glanced back at him, his expression had shifted. Something more open. More uncertain.
"Maybe," Mok said softly "Maybe we are."
They didn't speak again until they reached the mansion.
Rome's father was pleased.
It showed in small ways. The slight relaxation of his shoulders. The approving nod when Rome reported on the meeting. The glass of whiskey he poured for them both, a rare gesture of celebration.
"Old Chen doesn't agree to second meetings lightly," papa arseni said, swirling his drink. "You've made a good impression."
"I tried to be what he needed to see."
"That's politics." His father took a sip. "Knowing what people need and becoming it. You have a talent for that."
Rome didn't feel talented. He felt tired. The whiskey warmed his throat but did nothing for the exhaustion pressing down on him.
"What happens now?"
"Now we wait. Chen will reach out when he's ready. In the meantime, continue building relationships with the other families. Show them the same respect you showed him."
"And if Chen decides against us?"
"Then we find other paths." His father eyes hardened slightly. "There are always other paths, Rome. Never become dependent on any single alliance."
Rome nodded. He had heard this lesson before, in different forms. The Arseni family survived by being adaptable, by never putting all their weight on one bridge.
He finished his whiskey and excused himself.
That night, Rome dreamed.
He was in the library, surrounded by books that stretched up into darkness. Mok was there, standing by the window, moonlight turning him into a shadow.
In the dream, Rome crossed the room. There was no hesitation, no careful distance. He moved until he was close enough to feel Mok's breath on his face.
"Tell me," Mok said "Tell me the things you can't say."
Rome opened his mouth to answer.
But no words came out. He tried to speak, tried to force the truth past his lips, but there was only silence. Mok watched him struggle, his expression sad, disappointed.
"If you won't tell me," Mok said, "how can I know?"
He started to turn away. Rome reached for him, desperate, his hand closing on empty air.
He woke with a gasp.
The room was dark. Silent. His heart was pounding, his shirt damp with sweat.
Just a dream. Just a dream.
But the ache in his chest felt real. Felt permanent. Felt like something that would never go away no matter how many nights he spent alone, reaching for someone who wasn't there.
A week passed.
Then two.
The routine continued. Breakfast, meetings, work, dinner. Rome performed his role with increasing skill, growing into the position his father had prepared him for. The negotiations with the old families progressed. Chen reached out for a second meeting, then a third. The network of alliances expanded, strengthened.
Rome should have been proud. Should have felt accomplished.
Instead, he felt like he was watching his own life from a distance. Going through the motions. Existing without truly living.
Mok was always there. Beside him in meetings. Across from him at meals. A constant presence that Rome craved and dreaded in equal measure.
They didn't talk about that night in the study. Didn't acknowledge the words Rome had spoken, the vulnerability he had shown. It was as if it had never happened, erased by mutual unspoken agreement.
But something had shifted between them.
Rome felt it in the way Mok looked at him now. Longer glances. More frequent. The weight of attention that used to feel like surveillance now felt like something else. Something Rome was afraid to name.
He caught Mok watching him at breakfast, dark eyes tracking Rome's movements as he reached for the coffee pot. He noticed Mok standing closer than usual during meetings, close enough that Rome could feel the warmth of his body. He saw the way Mok's hands tightened on his tablet when Rome laughed at something, a small tension that hadn't been there before.
Or maybe it had been there all along, and Rome was only seeing it now because he was looking for it.
That was the danger of wanting something too much. It made you see things that weren't real. Made you interpret ordinary actions as signs of reciprocation. Made you build hope out of nothing.
Rome knew this. Knew he was probably imagining things.
But he couldn't stop watching. Couldn't stop cataloguing. Couldn't stop adding to his library, entry after entry, building a case for something that would probably never exist outside his own mind.
One evening, three weeks after the first Chen meeting, Rome found himself alone with Mok in the garden.
It was late. The household had quieted. Rome had come outside to escape the suffocating weight of his own room, needing air, needing space, needing to feel something other than the constant ache that lived in his chest.
He hadn't expected to find Mok there.
But there he was, sitting on the stone bench by the fountain, his face turned up toward the stars. He looked different in the moonlight. Softer. Less guarded. Almost peaceful.
Rome stopped at the edge of the path, unsure whether to continue or retreat.
Mok turned his head. Their eyes met across the dark garden.
"I didn't mean to interrupt," Rome said.
"You're not interrupting" Mok's voice was quiet. "I was just thinking."
"About what?"
A pause. Then, unexpectedly, "About you."
Rome's heart stuttered. He told himself it meant nothing. That Mok thought about him because protecting Rome was his job. That there was nothing personal in the statement.
But his feet were already moving, carrying him across the garden to where Mok sat. He stopped a few feet away, close enough to talk quietly, far enough to maintain some semblance of safety.
"What about me?"
Mok was silent for a long moment. His eyes moved over Rome's face, searching for something.
"You've changed since I came back. And I'm trying to understand why."
"Changed how?"
"You're quieter. More careful. You hold yourself at a distance, even from your own family." Mok's gaze was steady. "You weren't like this before I left for Thailand."
Rome felt exposed. Seen in a way he had been trying to avoid.
"People change. I'm taking on more responsibility. It requires a different kind of presence."
"That's not what I mean."
"Then what do you mean?"
Mok stood. The movement brought him closer, close enough that Rome could see the texture of his shirt, the shadow of stubble on his jaw.
"Something is hurting you," Mok said softly "I've watched you try to hide it for weeks. You think you're succeeding, but you're not. Not from me."
Rome's throat tightened. He wanted to look away, to escape that piercing gaze, but he couldn't move.
"Some things can't be helped," he said. The same words he had used before, in the library, a lifetime ago.
"You keep saying that." Mok took another step closer. "But you never explain what you mean."
"Some things can't be explained either."
"Can't? Or won't?"
The question hung between them. Rome felt the walls trembling, felt the truth pressing against his chest, demanding release.
He could tell Mok now. Could open his mouth and let the words fall out and finally, finally end this torture of silence. Could say I love you and watch Mok's face change, watch understanding dawn, watch everything between them transform into something new.
Or watch it shatter completely.
That was the risk. The possibility that haunted him. Mok might not feel the same. Probably didn't feel the same. And once the words were spoken, they could never be taken back. The careful balance they had maintained for years would be destroyed, replaced by awkwardness at best, distance at worst.
Rome couldn't survive that. Couldn't survive losing Mok entirely.
So he did what he always did. He retreated.
"It's late," he said, stepping back. "We should both get some sleep."
Mok's expression flickered. Disappointment? Frustration? Rome couldn't tell.
"Rome."
The name, without the title, stopped him in his tracks.
"What?"
Mok looked at him for a long moment. His mouth opened slightly, as if he was going to say something. Then it closed again.
"Nothing," he said finally "Goodnight."
He walked past Rome toward the house, close enough that their shoulders almost touched. Close enough that Rome caught a trace of his scent, soap and herbs and something underneath that was just Mok.
Rome stood alone in the garden, surrounded by flowers and moonlight and the crushing weight of everything he couldn't say.
Sleep didn't come that night.
Rome lay in his bed and stared at the ceiling and replayed the conversation over and over. Mok's face in the moonlight. The way he had said Rome's name. The almost-something that had hovered between them before Rome pulled away.
What would have happened if he had stayed? If he had answered Mok's questions honestly? If he had taken that final step and closed the distance?
He would never know. Had chosen not to know. Had retreated to safety rather than risk destruction.
It was the right choice. The responsible choice. The choice that protected them both from the consequences of Rome's unwanted feelings.
But lying there in the dark, alone with his thoughts, Rome couldn't make himself believe that.
All he could feel was the ache. Constant. Deepening. A wound that would never heal because he kept reopening it every time he saw Mok's face.
This was his life now. This was what he had chosen.
The thought should have brought acceptance. Instead, it brought only exhaustion.
The days that followed were strange.
Something had changed between Rome and Mok. The tension was different now. More charged. Less comfortable. Every interaction felt weighted, every silence filled with words neither of them spoke.
Rome caught Mok watching him more often. Or maybe he was just paying more attention, seeing things that had always been there. Either way, he felt observed. Studied. Like Mok was trying to solve a puzzle and Rome was the missing piece.
It made Rome nervous. Made him hyperaware of every movement, every expression, every word that left his mouth. He was constantly editing himself, constantly monitoring, constantly afraid he would slip and reveal something he shouldn't.
The effort was exhausting.
At the same time, something else was happening. Something Rome was afraid to acknowledge.
Mok was changing too.
The careful distance he usually maintained seemed to be shrinking. He stood closer during meetings. Sat nearer at meals. Found reasons to be in the same room as Rome, reasons that didn't always make sense.
Once, passing in the hallway, their hands brushed.
It was an accident. Had to be an accident. Just a moment of careless proximity, bodies moving past each other without enough space.
But Mok didn't pull away immediately. His fingers lingered against Rome's for a fraction of a second, warm and solid, before breaking contact.
Rome spent the rest of the day thinking about that touch. Analyzing it. Trying to determine if it meant something or nothing.
Probably nothing. Definitely nothing.
But his skin remembered the warmth anyway.
A month after the first Chen meeting, Rome's world fell apart.
It started as an ordinary day. Breakfast with his parents. A morning meeting with shipping partners. Lunch at his desk, reviewing documents while Mok stood nearby.
In the afternoon, his father called him into the main study.
"We've received intelligence," his father said, his voice grim. "Someone has been talking to our competitors. Sharing information about our negotiations. The Chen discussions specifically."
Rome felt cold. "Who?"
"We don't know yet. But the leak is significant. Old Chen is reconsidering his position. He believes we can't protect our own secrets."
"We can find out who's responsible. We can fix this."
"Perhaps." father's eyes were hard. "But trust, once broken, is not easily repaired. This could set us back months. Years."
Rome's mind was racing. Who could have accessed the Chen negotiations? The circle had been small. His father. Himself. A handful of trusted advisors.
And Mok.
Mok, who attended every meeting. Who saw every document. Who knew everything about the family's business dealings.
No. The thought was absurd. Mok had been with them for years years. His loyalty was absolute. He would never betray them.
But someone had.
The investigation that followed was brutal.
Rome watched his father tear through the organization, interrogating staff, reviewing communications, searching for the source of the leak. The mansion felt like a war zone, tense and suspicious, everyone looking at everyone else with doubt.
Mok was questioned along with the rest. He answered calmly, provided information where he could, submitted to the process without complaint.
Rome hated it. Hated seeing Mok treated like a suspect. Hated the implication that someone who had dedicated his life to the Arseni family might have turned against them.
But he couldn't intervene. Couldn't show favoritism. Could only watch and wait and hope the truth came out quickly.
It did. Three days later, his father called him back to the study.
"We found him. One of the junior analysts. He had gambling debts. Someone offered to pay them in exchange for information."
Rome felt a wave of relief so strong it almost made him dizzy."I'm glad it's resolved."
"It's resolved, but the damage is done. Chen is nervous now. It will take time to rebuild his confidence."
"I'll handle it."
"See that you do."
Rome left his father's study and went looking for Mok.
He found him in the garden.
Mok was standing by the fountain, exactly where Rome had found him that night weeks ago. The moon was just rising, casting long shadows across the stone paths.
Rome approached slowly, not wanting to startle him.
"Mok."
Mok turned. His expression was neutral, but there was something tired in his eyes. The investigation had taken a toll on everyone.
"Khun Rome"
"I wanted to tell you. They found the leak. It wasn't anyone in our inner circle."
Mok nodded slowly. "I know. master informed me."
"Good." Rome stopped a few feet away. "I'm sorry you had to go through that. The questioning. Being treated like a suspect."
"It was necessary. Anyone with access had to be investigated."
"But you shouldn't have been included. Your loyalty isn't in question. It never was."
Mok was quiet for a moment. His eyes searched Rome's face.
"You seem very certain of that."
"I am certain. I've known you my entire life. You would never betray this family."
"How do you know?"
The question was soft, almost a whisper. Rome felt it land in his chest like a weight.
"Because I know you." He stepped closer, closing some of the distance between them. "Because you've dedicated your life to protecting us. Because when I look at you, I see someone who would die before breaking his word."
Mok's breath caught slightly. Rome saw it. Catalogued it.
"You see all that?"
"I see more than that." The words came out before Rome could stop them. "I see everything about you. I've been seeing you for years."
Silence fell between them. Heavy. Weighted.
Mok's expression shifted. Something cracked in his careful mask, something raw and unguarded appearing.
"Rome."
His name. Just his name. But it sounded different now. Fragile. Uncertain.
"Don't," Rome's voice shook. "Don't look at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you're finally seeing what I've been trying to hide."
Mok took a step closer. Close enough that Rome could feel the warmth of his body. Close enough that it would take almost nothing to touch.
"What have you been hiding?"
The question hung in the air. Rome felt his heart pounding, felt the walls crumbling, felt everything he had worked so hard to contain threatening to spill out.
He should lie. Should deflect. Should find some excuse and retreat to safety like he always did.
But he was so tired of hiding. So tired of pretending. So tired of carrying this weight alone.
"You know what I've been hiding." His voice was barely a whisper. "You've known for weeks. Maybe longer."
Mok's eyes widened slightly. His lips parted.
"Say it." Mok's voice was rough. "I need to hear you say it."
Rome looked at him. At this man he had loved for so long, standing before him in the moonlight, asking for the truth.
And for the first time in his life, Rome decided to be brave.
"I love yo,." The words fell from his lips like a confession. "I've loved you for years. I've loved you so long I can't remember what it felt like not to love you."
Mok stood frozen. His face was unreadable, his body still.
Rome felt terror rising in his chest. He had done it. Had finally said the thing he had promised never to say. And now he would have to face the consequences.
"I'm sorry," he said quickly, stepping back. "I shouldn't have said that. I'll understand if you want to request a transfer. I'll make sure it doesn't affect your position with the family. I just..."
"Rome"
Mok's voice cut through his rambling. Rome stopped.
"Stop talking"
Rome opened his mouth to say something else, to apologize again, to fill the terrible silence with words.
Mok kissed him.
It was soft at first. Tentative. Just the press of lips against lips, gentle and questioning.
Rome stood frozen, unable to believe what was happening. Mok's mouth was warm. His hand had come up to cup Rome's face, fingers light against his jaw. He tasted like tea and something sweeter.
Then Rome's brain caught up with his body, and he was kissing back.
His hands found Mok's waist, pulling him closer. The kiss deepened, became something hungrier. Years of longing poured through Rome, all that wanting finally finding an outlet, and he kissed Mok like he was drowning and Mok was air.
Mok made a sound against his mouth. Something between a sigh and a groan. His other hand came up to grip Rome's shoulder, anchoring them together.
They stood like that for a long moment, tangled in each other, the garden silent around them except for the soft sound of the fountain.
When they finally broke apart, Rome was breathing hard. His heart was racing. He felt like he might fly apart at any moment.
Mok's hand was still on his face, thumb tracing gentle circles against his cheekbone.
"How long?" Rome asked, his voice shaking.
Mok understood the question.
"Years," His voice was rough. "I've loved you for years."
Rome stared at him. The words didn't make sense. Couldn't make sense.
"You never said anything."
"Neither did you," Mok's lips curved slightly "We're both very good at hiding."
Rome laughed. It came out broken, halfway to a sob.
"I thought I was alone. This whole time, I thought I was the only one."
"So did I," Mok's thumb brushed against Rome's cheek, catching a tear Rome hadn't noticed falling "I watched you suffer and I thought it was the job, the responsibility, the pressure. I never imagined it was me."
"It was always you," Rome leaned into Mok's touch "It's only ever been you."
Mok pulled him close again. Not to kiss this time. Just to hold. Arms wrapped around Rome, solid and warm and finally, finally his.
Rome buried his face in Mok's shoulder and let himself feel it. The relief. The joy. The overwhelming disbelief that this was actually happening.
They stood together in the garden for a long time.
Rome lost track of the minutes. They passed like water, unmarked and unimportant. All that mattered was the warmth of Mok's body against his, the steady rhythm of Mok's breathing, the reality of being held by someone he had loved from a distance for so many years.
The moon climbed higher. The fountain murmured its endless song. The city hummed below them, millions of lives continuing while Rome's world remade itself entirely.
Eventually, Mok pulled back just enough to look at him.
His face was different now. The careful mask had fallen away completely, leaving something open and vulnerable in its place. Rome had never seen him look like this. Had never been allowed to see.
"I wasted so much time," Mok said quietly "All those years of watching you, wanting you, telling myself it was impossible."
"We both did."
"I should have been braver."
"So should I," Rome reached up, touching Mok's face the way he had imagined doing thousands of times. His fingers traced the line of Mok's jaw, the curve of his cheekbone, learning through touch what he had only known through observation "But we're here now. That's what matters."
Mok leaned into his hand. The gesture was small, trusting, so unlike the guarded man Rome had known for years.
"What happens tomorrow?"
The question held weight. Rome understood what Mok was really asking. What happens when the sun rises and we have to face reality? What happens when your parents notice? When the staff whispers? When the world we've built threatens to crumble around us?
Rome didn't have answers. Didn't know how they would navigate the complications ahead. Their world was not kind to love like theirs. His family, his position, the expectations that pressed down on him from every direction. None of it would make this easy.
But looking at Mok now, feeling the warmth of him, the solid reality of him, Rome found that he didn't care about easy.
"Tomorrow we figure it out together," He let his thumb brush across Mok's lower lip, marveling that he was allowed to do this now "Whatever comes, we face it. Not alone anymore."
Mok's eyes glistened. He blinked rapidly, looking away for a moment.
"I've been alone for a long time," he said softly "Even surrounded by people. Even in this house. I never felt like I truly belonged anywhere."
"You belong with me." Rome turned Mok's face back toward him. "You always have. I was just too scared to tell you."
Mok smiled. It was small, barely there, but it transformed his face. Made him look younger. Made him look free.
"Not anymore," he agreed.
Rome kissed him again.
This kiss was different from the first. Slower. Deeper. There was no desperation in it, no fear that it might end at any moment. Just the quiet certainty of two people who had finally stopped running from each other.
Mok's hands slid up Rome's back, pulling him closer. Rome went willingly, pressing into the embrace, letting himself be held in a way he had never allowed before. He had spent so long being strong. Being careful. Being the heir everyone expected him to be.
In Mok's arms, he could just be Rome.
The kiss went on and on. They traded breaths, traded touches, traded years of longing in the silent language of lips and hands. Rome felt something unknotting in his chest, some tension he had carried for so long he had forgotten it was there.
When they finally broke apart, both of them were trembling slightly.
Mok pressed his forehead against Rome's. Their breath mingled in the small space between them.
"I love you," Mok whispered "I don't think I'll ever get tired of saying that."
"Good" Rome's voice was rough. "Because I don't think I'll ever get tired of hearing it."
They stood together in the moonlit garden, foreheads touching, hands intertwined. The fountain sang its quiet song. The stars wheeled overhead, indifferent and eternal.
Tomorrow would bring complications. Questions. Challenges they couldn't yet imagine.
But tonight, there was only this. Two people who had loved each other in silence for years, finally brave enough to speak.
Two hearts that had yearned across an impossible distance, finally close enough to touch.
Rome closed his eyes and let himself feel it. The peace. The rightness. The overwhelming relief of being known, truly known, by the person he loved most in the world.
For the first time in longer than he could remember, he felt like he was home.
THE END