Chapter Text
The first time Rome noticed it, he almost missed it entirely.
They were in his study late one evening, a rare quiet night when the demands of the empire had momentarily loosened their grip. Rome was sprawled on the leather sofa, scrolling through his phone, while Mok sat at the small desk by the window, reviewing some reports Rome had insisted could wait until morning. Mok, of course, had ignored him and worked anyway.
Rome had been half-watching him, as he always did, mesmerized by the way the lamplight caught the sharp line of Mok's jaw, the focused furrow of his brow. Mok was so absorbed in his work that he didn't notice Rome's lingering gaze. That was fine. Rome could look at him forever.
After some time, Mok set down his pen and stretched his neck, a rare crack in his perfect posture. Rome watched as he reached for a magazine that had been sitting on the corner of the desk—one of those travel publications that sometimes found its way into the compound, left by staff or maybe even his father's old collection.
Mok flipped through it absently, his expression haven’t changed, that same calm mask he wore for everything. Then he stopped.
Just for a second. A brief pause.
Rome's eyes narrowed, curious now. From his angle, he could see the page Mok was looking at: a spread of colorful houses clinging to a cliffside, overlooking a deep blue sea so clear it looked painted. The Amalfi Coast.
Mok stared at it for perhaps three seconds. His face didn't change—it never did—but something in his eyes shifted. A tiny flicker. The barest softening around the edges. For Mok, that was the equivalent of jumping up and down with excitement.
Then he turned the page and kept flipping, his expression already back to neutral, as if it had never happened.
But Rome had seen it.
He filed it away in his mind, in the special folder labeled Mok that had more entries than all his business files combined.
*****
The next few weeks became a careful dance of deception.
Rome, who was usually upfront about everything with Mok—sometimes annoyingly so—found himself keeping secrets for the first time. It was oddly thrilling. And exhausting.
"I have some extra work to handle tonight," Rome said one evening, pressing a kiss to Mok's forehead as they finished dinner. "You should go to bed early. Get some rest."
Mok's eyes narrowed slightly. "I'll work with you. I have reports to finish anyway."
"No." Rome's voice came out sharper than intended, and he softened it immediately, cupping Mok's face in his hands. "No, love. You've been working nonstop. I mean it. Go to bed. Rest."
Mok studied him for a long moment, those dark eyes searching for something Rome was desperately trying to hide. Then, finally, he gave a small nod. "Fine."
Rome waited until Mok was safely in their bedroom before slipping into his home office. He pulled up his laptop and began the real work: researching flights, hotels, the best times to visit, the hidden gems that guidebooks didn't mention. He wanted this to be perfect. He wanted Mok's eyes to light up that way again, but for real this time.
An hour in, he realized he needed help.
He buzzed for his right hand, a man named Arkhom who had served his father for years and now served him with the same loyalty. Arkhom appeared in the doorway, broad-shouldered and expressionless.
"Sir?"
"Come in. Close the door." Rome gestured to the chair across from his desk. "I need your opinion on something."
Arkhom sat, his posture rigid, waiting.
Rome turned his laptop screen to show a photo of a cliffside hotel in Positano. "What do you think of this? For a romantic getaway?"
Arkhom stared at the screen for a long, painful moment. Then he said, flatly, "It's a hotel."
Rome waited. Arkhom offered nothing else.
"Yes. I can see that it's a hotel. Is it... romantic?"
Arkhom's brow furrowed slightly, as if Rome had asked him to solve a complex mathematical equation in his head. "It has windows."
"Windows," Rome repeated slowly.
"And a door." Arkhom added, as if this was a significant selling point.
Rome pinched the bridge of his nose. "Arkhom, have you ever been in love?"
"No, sir."
"Have you ever wanted to be in love?"
"I want to be efficient, sir. Love is not efficient."
Rome stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing. He couldn't help it. The absolute sincerity in Arkhom's voice was too much. "Okay. Okay, you're dismissed. Thank you for your... input."
Arkhom stood, looking slightly confused but relieved to be released. "Sir." He paused at the door. "The windows are... nice. Very clear."
Rome was still chuckling after the door closed. Clear windows. Romantic. Sure.
He needed backup.
*****
Peach picked up on the third ring, his voice cheerful despite the late hour. "Rome? Everything okay?"
"Yeah, everything's fine." Rome leaned back in his chair, spinning a pen between his fingers. "I need your help with something. But I need you to keep it quiet, especially from Kian."
"Oh?" Peach's interest was clearly piqued. "Sounds mysterious. I'm in. What's going on?"
"I'm planning a trip for Mok. A surprise. And I have no idea what I'm doing."
Peach laughed softly. "Rome Kritdanai Arseni, admitting he doesn't know something? This must be serious. Okay, tell me everything. What's the occasion?"
"No occasion. I just... he looked at a picture of the Amalfi Coast a few weeks ago. For like, three seconds. But the way he looked at it..." Rome trailed off, running a hand through his hair. "I want to take him there. I want it to be perfect. Every detail."
"Amalfi Coast," Peach repeated, and Rome could hear the smile in his voice. "That's beautiful. Okay, let's start with timing. When are you thinking?"
They talked for nearly an hour. Peach was a goldmine of information—he'd been to Italy multiple times with Thee, and he remembered every romantic spot, every perfect restaurant, every hotel with a view that would make someone's breath catch. Rome took notes furiously, asking questions, circling back to details, making sure he understood.
"Thee is going to be so jealous that I'm helping you and not him," Peach said eventually, a teasing note in his voice. "He's been sulking all evening that I'm on the phone so long."
Rome grinned. "Tell him I said sorry. Actually, no—tell him I said he should be grateful. I'm keeping you busy so you miss him more."
"You're evil. I'll text you those hotel links. And Rome? He's going to love it. Mok, I mean. He's going to love it because you planned it."
The words settled somewhere warm in Rome's chest. "Thanks, Peach. Really."
"Anytime. Now I have to go soothe my very dramatic husband. Goodnight."
Rome hung up just as his phone buzzed with a new message from Peach: a link to Anantara Convento di Amalfi Grand Hotel. He clicked it and immediately understood why Peach had sent it.
It was perfect. Converted from a 13th-century convent, perched on a cliff overlooking the sea, with terraced gardens and views that seemed to go on forever. It was the kind of place that felt like another world—quiet, beautiful, timeless.
This was it. This was the place.
*****
The next few weeks were a masterclass in secrecy.
Rome threw himself into planning with the same intensity he brought to business deals, but this was different. This was personal. He arranged the private jet, made the itinerary, coordinated with hotels and restaurants and tour guides. He did it all himself, refusing to delegate even the smallest task.
It meant late nights in his office, long after Mok had gone to bed. It meant pretending to work on deals that didn't exist, fabricating meetings that never happened. It meant, most painfully, leaving Mok's warm body in their bed night after night, pressing kisses to his sleeping face, and forcing himself to walk away.
Every time, it got harder.
One night, about three weeks into the planning, Rome was particularly absorbed. He'd just finalized the booking at the Amalfi hotel—the best suite, with a private terrace overlooking the sea—and he was buzzing with excitement. He wanted to tell Mok so badly it was a physical ache.
Instead, he called Peach again.
"You're going to ruin my marriage," Peach said by way of greeting, but he was laughing. "Kian literally just asked if I'm having an affair with you."
Rome snorted. "An affair? With you? Peach, I love you, but I also love my dick attached to my body. Mok would have it mounted on his wall if I even looked at someone wrong."
Peach cackled. "Fair point. He is terrifying."
"Terrifying and mine. Now help me, I'm losing my mind over restaurant choices."
They talked through the final details—a private boat tour along the coast, dinner at a restaurant carved into the cliffs, a day trip to Capri. Peach made suggestions, Rome took notes, and by the end, the itinerary was complete.
"Thank you," Rome said, and meant it. "I owe you."
"You owe me nothing. Just send pictures. And maybe don't call so late for a while? Kian is giving me the silent treatment, and honestly, it's kind of cute but also annoying."
Rome laughed. "I'll text next time."
He hung up and leaned back in his chair, staring at the completed itinerary on his screen. It was done. Everything was ready. In two weeks, he would take Mok to Italy, to the place he'd dreamed of, and he would watch those three seconds of longing stretch into days of happiness.
His phone buzzed. A message from Thee:
Stop stealing my wife. I'm sleeping alone tonight because of you. I hope you're happy.
Rome typed back: Extremely. Tell Peach I said thanks again.
Thee's reply came instantly: I hate you.
Rome was still smiling when he finally turned off his laptop and made his way to the bedroom. He moved quietly, not wanting to wake Mok, but as he slipped under the covers, he felt a small shift beside him.
"Rome?" Mok's voice was soft, sleepy, barely above a whisper.
Rome's heart clenched. "Yeah, love. It's me. Go back to sleep."
But Mok was already turning, his hand reaching out to find Rome's chest in the dark. His eyes were barely open, heavy-lidded and hazy with sleep, and he looked so impossibly young and soft that Rome felt something crack open in his chest.
"Did you finish?" Mok mumbled. "Your work?"
Rome lifted a hand to stroke Mok's hair, pushing it back from his forehead. "Mhm. Almost done. Getting there."
Mok's brow furrowed slightly, even in his sleepy state. "You don't have to wake up every time like this," Rome whispered, leaning in to press small, gentle kisses to Mok's forehead, his eyelids, the tip of his nose. "Just sleep. Or am I being too loud? Did I wake you up?"
He tried to keep his voice light, but there was a note of worry underneath. The last thing he wanted was to disturb Mok's rest.
Mok shook his head slightly, a small movement against the pillow. "No. It's not like that." His voice was still that soft, sleepy whisper, and Rome wanted to bottle it and keep it forever. "Just... I worry. If everything is okay."
Rome's hand stilled in his hair.
"You don't tell me anything," Mok continued, his words slightly slurred with tiredness but no less sincere. "And I respect that. I know there are things you can't share. Things you have to handle alone." He paused, his hand tightening slightly on Rome's chest. "But I don't want you to be the only one dealing with it. That's why I can't sleep without you."
Rome stopped breathing.
For a long moment, he just stared at Mok in the dim light filtering through the curtains. Mok, who never said what he felt. Mok, who guarded his emotions behind walls of efficiency and professionalism. Mok, who was lying here in the dark, half-asleep, worried about him.
His Mok.
Something exploded in Rome's chest—a fierce, overwhelming rush of love so powerful it almost hurt. He wanted to gather Mok up and hold him so tight they fused together. He wanted to tell him everything, show him the plans, take him to Italy right now, this instant, forget the waiting.
Instead, he pulled Mok closer, wrapping his arms around him and burying his face in his hair.
"I'm okay," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. "I'm okay, love. I promise. Everything's fine. I just have some things to handle, but it's all good. You don't have to worry."
Mok made a small sound against his chest, something between acknowledgment and contentment. His body relaxed, curling into Rome's warmth.
Rome pressed kiss after kiss to the top of his head, breathing him in. "Go to sleep," he murmured. "I'm here now. I'm not going anywhere."
Within minutes, Mok's breathing evened out, his body going heavy with sleep. Rome held him through it, staring at the ceiling with a determination burning in his chest.
He was going to give Mok the world. Every place he'd ever wanted to see, every experience he'd ever dreamed of. He was going to spend the rest of his life making sure Mok knew, every single day, how loved he was.
Two more weeks. Two more weeks of secrets and late nights and walking away from this bed.
And then Italy.
And then forever.