Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The morning sun poured through the windows of their shared apartment, golden light dancing across the hardwood floor and two very different sets of belongings.

Wik’s side of the room was loud — posters of rock bands, a guitar leaning lazily against his chair, and yesterday’s outfit still draped on the back of it. Kim’s side? Quiet. Neat. A shelf of stacked books, color-coordinated folders, and a small succulent that Wik gifted him and somehow hadn’t died yet.

Kim adjusted his tie in front of the mirror, hands smooth and practiced. He was already dressed, hair combed, bag packed. Wik, shirtless and still brushing his teeth, peeked from the bathroom.

“Going early again?” Wik’s voice was muffled through foam. “You’ll make the other office slaves look bad, baby bro.”

Kim didn’t look back. “I’m older by three minutes.”

“And I’m cooler by three galaxies,” Wik grinned, flashing a foam-covered wink. “You really don’t wanna skip work and come watch me perform tonight?”

Kim grabbed his ID badge and turned, shy eyes soft behind his glasses. “I don’t like noise.”

Wik leaned in dramatically, arms spread. “But you like me, don’t you?”

“I tolerate you.”

Wik gasped like he was stabbed. “Rude! My own twin!”

Kim smiled — barely — but it was there. It was always like this: Wik pushing, Kim retreating, but never too far. They moved in opposite rhythms, like yin and yang, chaos and calm. And somehow, it worked.

Kim worked under Kinn, a cold but respected CEO. He kept to himself, never got involved, never spoke unless needed. But Wik… Wik was loud, magnetic, and always in trouble. He played guitar in bars, flirted like it was oxygen, and came home late — or not at all.

Still, every morning, Kim would check if Wik got home safe. And every night, Wik would text him:

“I’m alive. Don’t miss me too much 😘”

---

That morning, as Kim was about to leave, he paused by the door. Wik looked up from strumming his guitar, eyebrows raised.

“Don’t stay out too late,” Kim said softly. “The club yesterday… you said someone was following you.”

Wik’s smirk faltered, just for a second. “I can handle it.”

“I know,” Kim replied, reaching for the doorknob. “Just don’t make me worry.”

Wik watched him leave. His smile returned, but it was gentler now. “He acts like a kitten,” he muttered to himself, “but he’s the one guarding me.”

Later that day…

Kim’s world was all order. Spreadsheets, reports, cold hallways, and Kinn’s watchful eyes. Every step he took was calculated. Every sentence rehearsed.

“Kim,” Kinn’s voice snapped him from his screen, low and clipped. “Join me in the meeting room. Now.”

“Yes, sir,” Kim replied, adjusting his glasses quickly and following behind.

Kinn often called on Kim. Not because he needed him — but because he liked how calm Kim was, how unshaken. Yet lately, Kim had started to feel something shift in the way Kinn looked at him. Longer stares. Closer steps. He didn’t know if he liked it, but… his heart reacted.

---

Wik’s world was lit in neon and pulsing with bass. That evening, he strummed his guitar lazily during soundcheck, half-listening as the bartender flirted with him and half-watching the crowd trickle in.

“Big night?” the bartender asked.

“Every night’s big when I’m on stage,” Wik winked, flipping his pick between his fingers. His charisma was effortless — his tongue even sharper than his eyeliner.

But when he scrolled through his phone and saw a message from Kim —

“Be safe tonight. Let me know when you're done.”

Wik's expression softened.

People saw him as wild. Untouchable. But Kim… Kim saw past that. Kim always did.

---

Midnight

Wik stumbled in, smelling like smoke and sugar, voice a little hoarse from shouting over music. Kim was still awake, sitting on the couch with a blanket around him and tea in his hands.

“You waited?” Wik blinked, surprised.

“You said you’d be back before midnight.”

“It’s 12:07. Wow, you really timed me?”

Kim just stared. Wik laughed, walking over and plopping beside him.

Kim handed him the tea without a word.

They sat there — chaotic performer and quiet staff — in silence, the kind that didn’t need filling.

“Thanks,” Wik said finally, blowing on the tea. “For always being my home.”

Kim looked down at his own cup, cheeks pink.

“You too.”

-

The TV played quietly in the background — some rerun of a drama neither of them were watching. Wik was stretched out, head resting against the back of the couch, eyes closed, sipping the warm tea Kim made. Kim stayed beside him, scrolling through work emails, occasionally glancing over.

It was always like this: no loud thank-yous, no dramatic hugs. Just showing up. Just being there.

“You know…” Wik mumbled, eyes still closed. “You should come to the club one night. Watch me play. Might loosen that stiff neck of yours.”

Kim chuckled softly. “And see you flirt with strangers? No, thanks.”

Wik opened one eye. “Jealous?”

“Disgusted.”

“Same thing, really.”

Kim shook his head but didn’t deny the smile playing at his lips. “What if one day you flirt with someone who doesn’t laugh it off?”

Wik looked thoughtful for a beat. “Then I guess I’d stop laughing too.”

Kim paused. That was unusually… sincere. But before he could say anything, Wik sat up suddenly, pointing at the screen.

“Hey — that guy!” he said, motioning toward a news segment showing a suited man stepping out of a black car. “That’s your boss, right? The cold mafia one.”

Kim sighed, adjusting his glasses. “He’s not mafia. He’s a businessman.”

Wik narrowed his eyes. “He owns six buildings, three security firms, and moves like he has a gun under that tailored suit. He’s something.”

Kim didn’t answer. His fingers tightened slightly around the phone.

Wik grinned. “Oh my god. You like him.”

“I do not.”

“You do.” He leaned in, teasing. “You’ve got a thing for powerful men who could ruin your life.”

Kim stood abruptly. “I’m going to bed.”

“Blushing!” Wik laughed, flopping back down. “My baby twin is blushing!”

Kim didn’t respond, but the faint redness in his ears spoke for him.

As Kim closed his bedroom door, Wik settled in under the blanket Kim left behind, holding the now-empty mug to his chest.

“…he deserves someone gentle,” Wik whispered to himself.

Chapter Text

The club was alive, vibrating with sound and heat. Lights stung in flashes — blue, pink, red — and the crowd moved like one living thing. But Wik stood apart on the small stage, bathed in spotlight, guitar slung low, smile sharper than his eyeliner.

He didn’t need to try. The crowd already wanted him.

He strummed the last chord of his set and leaned into the mic, voice low and playful.

“Break’s in ten. Try not to miss me too much.”

Laughter. Whistles. A few phone numbers slid onto the stage. Wik collected none.

He hopped down, grabbing a towel and making his way toward the bar — until he felt it.

A gaze.

Heavy. Focused.

Wik turned.

Across the room, tucked into a velvet booth like a king watching his kingdom, sat a man in all black — crisp shirt, unbothered expression, whiskey in hand. Handsome. Dangerous.

Wik raised an eyebrow.

The man raised his glass in return.

Wik didn’t break eye contact as he made his way over.

“Didn’t know they served wolves in suits here,” Wik said, leaning on the edge of the table.

The man smirked. “Didn’t know they let pretty boys with sharp tongues carry guitars.”

Wik’s lip curled. “You talk like someone used to people kneeling.”

Vegas chuckled, slow and low. “Only when they want to.”

Wik sat down across from him without being asked. “And you are?”

“Vegas.”

“Figures. You sound expensive.”

“And you sound dangerous,” Vegas replied, eyes dropping to Wik’s lips, “but I’m willing to risk it.”

Wik’s smirk faltered for half a second. There was something in Vegas’s eyes — not just flirtation, but calculation. Like he already knew things he shouldn’t.

“And you are?” Vegas asked in return.

“Wik,” he said simply, letting the silence hang.

Vegas swirled the ice in his glass. “Wik… you sing like you’ve been broken, but talk like you broke someone else first.”

Wik blinked. That was… accurate. Too accurate.

He leaned closer, voice lowering. “Careful. You might fall for me.”

“I already did,” Vegas said. “The moment you walked on stage.”

Their knees brushed beneath the table.

The air shifted.

Wik led Vegas through a narrow side‐exit behind the club, the pulsing bass muffled now, replaced by their racing hearts. Vegas pressed him gently against the graffiti-scrawled wall, hooded eyes dark with need.

Wik’s breath caught when he saw just how well-endowed Vegas was—thick and substantial, curving with promise in the dim light. He swallowed hard, cheeks flushing. Vegas’s smirk widened.

“Go on,” Vegas murmured, voice low. “Show me how much you want it.”

Wik slid to his knees, fingers brushing the base of Vegas’s shaft through the fabric. When he finally lifted the hem of Vegas’s shirt and freed him, he gasped—every inch felt like a challenge, and his mouth watered.

He took Vegas’s length into his hand first, fingertips tracing that powerful weight. Vegas hummed, leaning back against the wall. Encouraged, Wik leaned in, lips parting around the head, warm and slick. The heat was immediate—Vegas’s cock filled his mouth, thicker than anything Wik had ever tasted. Vegas’s breath hitched.

Wik closed his eyes, focusing on every inch he could take, sliding down until just the head brushed his lips. Vegas steadied him by the shoulders, guiding the pace. Wak’s tongue flicked teasing circles where the head met the shaft; Vegas’s grip tightened on his hair, a soft groan escaping him.

Moments later, Vegas’s hand found Wik’s hair at the nape, fingers threading through his strands. He lifted Wik’s head, and their eyes met—dark desire reflected in both. Wik rose to his feet, breathless, forehead resting against Vegas’s. They kissed—slow, deep, urgent—Vegas’s hand cradling the back of Wik’s skull as if both comforting and claiming him.

Vegas pulled back just enough to whisper, lips brushing Wik’s ear, “I’ll see you next weekend.”

Wik nodded, chest heaving. He pressed one last kiss to Vegas’s lips before slipping away into the street’s shadows, already craving their next encounter.

Wik returned home late — again — but this time, there was a different energy in the air. His grin stretched wide, his shirt wrinkled, and his voice humming a lazy tune as he kicked off his boots by the door.

Kim sat on the couch, glasses on, a book half-read in his lap. He didn’t even look up. “You're late.”

“I had a good reason this time.”

Kim sighed. “You always say that.”

Wik plopped down next to him, practically buzzing.

“Kim,” he began, nudging his brother’s leg with his knee. “I met someone.”

That got Kim’s attention. He looked up slowly, suspicious. “…Another fan?”

Wik shook his head, eyes sparkling. “Nah. This one was different. He wasn’t falling over himself. Just… watching. All dark and quiet, like a villain in a drama. But hot. Like, intimidatingly hot.”

Kim narrowed his eyes. “You’re describing a red flag with good bone structure.”

“Exactly!” Wik said proudly. “He had this aura, bro. Suited up. Voice like gravel. Sharp smirk. And — oh my god — you won’t believe the size of his—”

Kim shot up, face flushed. “That’s enough.”

Wik blinked, then grinned wickedly. “What? I was just going to say his… hands.”

Kim turned even redder, slapping his book shut. “You were not.”

“I totally was.” Wik leaned back, hands behind his head. “But since your innocent little ears can’t handle it…”

Kim muttered under his breath, flustered, trying to act unaffected as he marched toward his room. “You’re impossible.”

Wik called after him, teasing, “You should be proud of me, you know! I didn’t fall for another dumb flirt! This one might actually ruin my life!”

Kim peeked back, deadpan. “You say that like it's romantic.”

Wik winked. “In my world, it kinda is.”

Kim rolled his eyes, but as he shut his door, his lips twitched in a reluctant smile. No matter how much Wik annoyed him, his happiness was always a little contagious.

-

Wik stood in the kitchen moments later, still grinning to himself as he poured water and leaned against the counter, replaying the kiss. Vegas’s lips. The way he whispered “I’ll see you next weekend” like it was a promise carved in stone.

Wik bit his bottom lip.

He barely knew the man. Didn’t even get a last name. But his body remembered everything.

From behind the hallway wall, Kim peeked out of his room, pretending to look for tea bags.

“You’re humming,” Kim said.

“I’m happy,” Wik replied without turning.

“That’s… rare.”

Wik chuckled. “He was rare.”

Kim stiffened slightly, grabbing a mug. “He?”

Wik turned to face him, face innocent but voice full of mischief. “What? Surprised I swing both ways?”

“I knew that,” Kim said quickly, too quickly.

Wik stepped closer. “You okay, baby twin? You’re flushed again.”

Kim looked away. “It’s just hot in here.”

“Mmhmm.”

Wik handed him the mug with a knowing smirk and whispered, “He had huge—”

“Wik!”

Kim almost dropped the mug, slapping a hand over his brother’s mouth.

Wik laughed so hard he nearly doubled over, holding his stomach. Kim stormed away again, muttering, “You’re disgusting.”

“And you’re adorable,” Wik called after him.

---

Elsewhere…

Vegas sat in the backseat of his black car, head resting against the tinted window. The city lights blurred into streaks as they passed.

He was quiet. Unmoving. Still tasting Wik’s lips.

His fingers curled slightly, remembering the warmth of Wik’s mouth around him. The wildness behind his flirty charm. The gasp. The way he looked up with those wide, wicked eyes.

He never cared about singers. Never stayed after a quick thrill.

But something about that twin with a sharp tongue kept tugging at his mind.

“Wik,” Vegas murmured to himself.

He smirked.

“I want more.”

Chapter Text

Wik sat at the edge of the stage, guitar in hand, body relaxed but eyes—restless.

The lights in the club were low, the crowd buzzing. He sipped from his drink in between verses, the lime tang burning just enough to keep him grounded. His lips curled into an easy smirk for the crowd, but his gaze flicked again to the door.

Still no sign of him.

Vegas said next weekend.

It was next weekend.

Wik’s fingers paused on the strings for half a second before finishing the song. Applause. Whistles. Flirty eyes from the front tables. He gave them his usual wink, his signature, but his mind was still stuck on the smirk, the deep voice whispering "Next weekend."

But maybe it was just a line.

Wik knew how that worked. Hell, he’d used that line a hundred times himself.

He took another drink, a little harder this time.

After the show, a guy approached—tall, handsome, sharp jawline and bold eyes. “You sing like sin.”

Wik smirked, lips slow. “And you look like trouble.”

“One night?” the guy asked, fingers trailing the curve of Wik’s wrist.

Wik didn't hesitate. Vegas didn’t show.

So he let himself drown in someone else’s mouth.

Meanwhile 

The dinner was elegant—private hall, soft jazz, champagne flutes. Kinn didn’t do casual. When the company hit its monthly target, he wanted the staff to remember who made their success possible.

Kim, one of the youngest team analysts, stood out—but not intentionally. He avoided eye contact. Wore neutral colors. Stayed quiet.

But Kinn noticed. Always did.

“Kim,” Kinn’s deep voice broke his thoughts. “Come sit near me.”

It wasn’t a suggestion.

Kim obeyed, inwardly sighing. “Yes, Khun Kinn.”

He sat beside him, rigid. Kinn poured him wine himself. That alone made a few heads turn.

“You’re good with numbers,” Kinn said lowly, his voice barely audible over the clinking of cutlery. “But terrible at looking relaxed.”

“I wasn’t hired to relax,” Kim replied coolly.

Kinn smirked, swirling his drink. “Touché.”

Their eyes met for a second too long. Kim looked away first, his pulse annoyingly loud.

Kinn leaned closer, his breath near Kim’s ear. “You always follow orders this obediently?”

Kim’s spine straightened. “Only when it comes from my boss.”

“Good,” Kinn murmured. “Then don’t leave early tonight.”

Kim bit his lower lip, heart racing.

“Understood.”

--

The dinner dragged past ten. People laughed, toasted again, but Kim had already stepped away, reaching for his coat.

He thought he could leave quietly.

“Kim.”

He froze.

Kinn stood a few steps away, wine still in hand, jacket off, sleeves rolled.

“You’re leaving without saying goodbye to your boss?”

“I thought the event was over…” Kim turned, adjusting his collar. “Didn’t want to interrupt.”

Kinn chuckled low, stepping closer. “You think I wouldn’t notice?”

Kim looked down, hands tightening. “I didn’t mean it like that—”

“Come,” Kinn interrupted. “My driver will take you home.”

Kim hesitated. “I can take a cab.”

“I didn’t ask,” Kinn said flatly.

The silence between them stretched. Kim’s breath caught, cheeks heating. Something about the authority in Kinn’s tone left no space for refusal.

“…Alright.”

Kinn opened the door himself, nodding to his driver. “Take Kim home. And drive carefully.”

As Kim slid into the leather seat, Kinn leaned in slightly. His scent—cologne and smoke—lingered.

“Next time, stay a little longer,” he said quietly. “I don’t like being ignored.”

The door shut before Kim could answer.

His heart thudded the entire ride home.

--

As soon as Kim stepped into the apartment, he kicked off his shoes, and sank into the couch with a sigh.

He didn’t know why Kinn’s words clung to him. That voice. That closeness.

His fingers tapped the screen.

Kim: Where are you? Come home fast.

He stared at the message before sending a follow-up.

Kim: Please.

Ten minutes later, his phone buzzed.

Wik: That fat dick didn’t come. God, I hate it.

Another message followed almost immediately.

Wik: But I got laid anyway. 🥴 So not a total loss.

Kim rolled his eyes, cheeks flushing.

Kim: TMI.

Wik: What? You asked.

Kim: No, I said come home fast.

Wik: Aw, you miss me already?

Kim didn’t reply. Instead, he tossed the phone beside him, burying his face into a pillow.

He didn't want to think about Kinn. Or Wik’s adventures. Or the fact that something about tonight made his chest feel too tight.

And yet…

Kinn’s voice echoed again: “Next time, stay a little longer. I don’t like being ignored.”

--

The jingle of keys at the door made Kim quickly sit up and compose his face. He even wiped his cheeks, just in case that stupid blush hadn’t fully faded.

Wik stepped in, still smelling like smoke, leather, and someone else's cologne. He looked like he had fun—but not the kind that filled his heart. Just a distraction.

“You look like you cried,” Wik said the moment he saw Kim.

Kim scoffed. “I didn’t.”

“You blushed then?” Wik raised an eyebrow, tossing his jacket over the chair. “What happened, boss gave you a bonus or a blowjob?”

“Wik!” Kim’s voice cracked into a scandalized pitch.

Wik cackled, flopping down next to him and nudging his arm. “Tell me. Did tall, dark, and dangerous finally admit he wants you?”

Kim shot him a glare. “You’re disgusting.”

“You’re deflecting.” Wik leaned closer, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Was Kinn there?”

Kim didn’t answer, and that was all Wik needed.

“Oh my God,” Wik gasped, wide-eyed. “He was! What’d he do? Did he look at you again like he wants to pin you to the table and—”

“Shut up!” Kim covered his face. “You’re worse than porn.”

Wik grinned, victorious. “So he did look at you like that.”

Kim lowered his hands, his voice softer now. “He… said I should stay longer next time.”

Wik blinked. The teasing died down, just a little.

“And how’d that make you feel?” he asked, voice less mocking now.

Kim looked away. “Like I was… wanted.”

Wik didn’t say anything right away. Then he reached over and messed up Kim’s hair.

“You are, idiot.”

Kim slapped his hand away, but the corners of his lips twitched.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

Wik leaned back. “I’m just saying… if he keeps looking at you like that, and you keep blushing like a schoolgirl, I’m calling dibs on being your maid of honor.”

Kim threw a pillow at his face.

-

Wik caught the pillow, laughing.

But his voice turned softer. “You really like him, huh?”

Kim didn’t answer at first. He stared at the flickering candle on the coffee table, barely melted at the top. “I don’t even know what this is.”

“You don’t need to know everything to feel something,” Wik said. “Maybe he doesn’t either. Maybe that’s why he looks at you like he’s trying to figure it out.”

Kim swallowed. “But I don’t trust it. People like him... don’t want people like me.”

Wik leaned forward, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “You’re not just some side character, Kim. You’re the whole damn story. And anyone who gets close to you knows that—Kinn included.”

Silence filled the space for a moment.

Then Kim mumbled, “He kept looking at my lips when I was talking.”

Wik grinned, wide and knowing. “Of course he did. You got those kiss-me-but-I'll-bite-you lips.”

Kim turned red. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re in love.” Wik pointed a finger at him dramatically. “Just wait, one day I’m gonna walk in and find you two making out against that wall.”

Kim stood abruptly. “Okay, go shower, you stink like sin.”

Wik stretched with a wink. “Sin smells like good sex. Wouldn’t know, huh?”

Kim threw another pillow.

But deep down, his mind wandered back to Kinn.

The weight of his gaze.

The way his voice softened only when he spoke to Kim.

He hated how much he remembered every detail.

Chapter Text

Night after the celebration in Major mansion 

The clinking of glasses and laughter still echoed faintly in Vegas’s ears as he entered the main estate. The party at Kinn’s had been polished, successful—of course it was. Kinn stood tall, beside his father, sealing the deal for the steel contract with effortless charm.

Vegas barely had time to close the door behind him when a sharp voice cut through the silence.

“You embarrassed me.”

Before he could react, Gun’s hand came down hard across his face. A brutal slap that left Vegas’s cheek burning red.

“Look at Kinn!” Gun shouted, his voice thunderous with rage. “They achieved the target, they got the deal of steels—and what about us? Nothing!”

Vegas staggered slightly, blinking through the sting, but said nothing.

“Do you enjoy being second?” Gun snarled, grabbing Vegas by the collar. “You enjoy watching them shine while we fade into shadows?”

Vegas’s voice was low, tight with fury he couldn’t let out. “I did everything you asked.”

“You weren’t enough!” Gun spat. “You never are.”

That one cut deeper than the slap.

Gun pushed him back roughly. “Fix it, Vegas. Or don’t bother calling yourself my son.”

He stormed off, leaving Vegas alone in the cold silence of the hallway, breath ragged, jaw clenched.

A drop of blood welled at the corner of his lip.

And all he could think was—no matter how hard he tried, he’d always be chasing a ghost.

A ghost named Kinn.

-

The night air was thick with silence. Kinn stood alone on the balcony of the estate, cigarette between his fingers, the faint ember glowing in the darkness. The celebration had ended. The guests were gone. And for once, he had a moment of stillness.

He didn’t hear the footsteps. He only heard the sound of shattering glass.

CRASH.

Kinn winced, pain shooting through his arm as the bottle of whiskey exploded against it. Shards rained down, and a deep gash split his skin. Blood pooled quickly, hot and bright in the moonlight.

He turned sharply—eyes meeting a familiar fire.

Vegas stood there. Breathing hard. Unblinking. Jaw clenched so tightly it looked like it might snap.

“What the fuck, Vegas?” Kinn growled, clutching his arm.

“You want to know what the fuck?” Vegas hissed, stepping closer, voice low but venomous. “You sit here smoking like a king, like you didn’t just destroy everything.”

“I didn’t destroy anything,” Kinn said coldly.

“You took everything!” Vegas shouted. “The deal. The power. The glory. And you stood beside your father while mine humiliated me like garbage.”

Kinn’s jaw tightened. “So this is about your daddy issues?”

Vegas laughed bitterly. “No. This is about you. It’s always been you. You get handed everything while I bleed for scraps.”

“You think I haven’t bled too?” Kinn snapped. “You think I haven’t lost?”

“You don’t know loss, Kinn,” Vegas spat. “Not like I do. Not when your father still looks at you with pride.”

He stepped even closer, their faces inches apart now, the tension crackling between them like fire and gasoline.

Vegas’s voice dropped. “One day, I’ll take everything from you. And you’ll know what it feels like to be me.”

He turned and walked away, leaving Kinn standing there, blood dripping from his arm, cigarette crushed underfoot—his breath shallow, eyes burning not from pain, but something darker.

Rage.

Or maybe... fear.

The street was glowing with warm streetlights and chatter from nearby vendors. Kim had taken a detour, deciding to walk home from the subway. His phone buzzed, but he didn’t check it. He was too lost in thought.

Then he froze mid-step.

Across the road, standing near a cake shop window, was a woman—elegant, laughing, her fingers intertwined with a man’s. Her smile was radiant, carefree.

Kim’s chest tightened.

He knew that face.

Even after all these years, even after he forced himself to forget—he knew.

Mom.

He couldn’t move.

She looked... happy. Genuinely happy. The man beside her kissed her cheek, and she giggled softly, like a teenage girl in love.

Kim stepped forward.

His feet felt numb. The city around him blurred.

He stood just a few meters away, staring—waiting. Maybe she’d look up. Maybe she’d feel something. Anything.

She didn’t.

She walked past him, arm linked with the man, not sparing him a glance.

Not knowing.

Not recognizing.

Kim stood frozen in place.

Tears silently gathered at the corners of his eyes.

Not a word. Not a sign.

Just like that, she disappeared into the crowd—again.

---

Later, at home...

Kim entered the apartment, barely shutting the door behind him. Wik called out from the kitchen, laughing about some video he saw.

But Kim didn’t answer.

He walked straight into the living room, dropped his bag, and collapsed onto the couch.

Silent.

Heavy.

Wik turned. “Hey... what happened?”

No answer.

Kim’s knuckles tightened.

Then, quietly, almost like a whisper—he said, “I saw her.”

Wik’s smile faded. “Who?”

Kim’s voice cracked. “Our mother.”

Wik froze.

Kim buried his face into his hands. “She was happy. She looked... like she moved on. Like we never even existed.”

---

Flashback:

The festival was loud—music, laughter, lights blinding in every direction.

But for two small boys, it was a nightmare.

Screaming.

Panic.

People pushing, pulling.

“Kim!!”

“Wik!!”

Hands separated them from their mother. And then... nothing.

They waited. Hours turned into night.

Nobody came.

Days later, a woman from a local orphanage found them curled up near a garbage bin, eyes puffy, holding onto each other.

She took them in.

Raised them.

Loved them, maybe not the same, but enough.

But when she and her husband died in an accident when they were eighteen, Kim and Wik were left again—alone.

Kim worked two jobs to keep them afloat. Never letting Wik see him cry.

Never allowing himself to break.

Kim’s voice cracked. “You know what hurts the most? Not just that she left us… but that maybe she left because of me. Because I wasn’t… normal.”

Wik pulled back just enough to look into his brother’s eyes, holding Kim’s face gently. “Kim, don’t ever say that again.”

“But—”

“No,” Wik interrupted firmly. “You were born different, yes. You were born with something rare. But that doesn’t make you a mistake. It makes you extraordinary. And if she couldn’t see that, that’s her failure, not yours.”

Kim’s lips trembled. “Then why do I still feel ashamed?”

“Because the world can be cruel,” Wik whispered, brushing a tear off Kim’s cheek. “But I don’t care what the world thinks. I see you for who you really are—and I don’t have any problem with you, Kim. Not one.”

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Kim’s temple, his words low but full of meaning.

“People who truly love you will see your heart, not what’s between your legs. And if they don’t? Then they never deserved you in the first place.”

Kim closed his eyes, letting that warmth sink in. Wik wasn’t just his brother—he was his anchor. The only one who had never let go.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Kim whispered.

Wik smiled softly. “You’ll never have to find out.”

Chapter Text

The crowd pulsed with energy as neon lights streaked across the club. Wik stood under the spotlight on the small stage, microphone in hand, voice raw as he sang a slow, aching song—one that didn’t match the wild beat of the club, but no one dared interrupt him.

His eyes were half-lidded from the shots he’d downed, the taste of whiskey lingering on his tongue. The song ended, applause echoed faintly, but Wik stepped down without acknowledging it.

He returned to his seat at the bar, tossing back another shot. His phone buzzed—he ignored it.

Then the air shifted.

He felt it before he saw it.

Vegas.

Leaning casually near the entrance, draped in a black shirt like sin in human form. Their eyes met for a split second.

Wik's jaw tightened.

He turned his gaze away, as if Vegas was no more than a shadow on the wall. Picking up his drink, he walked toward the dance floor—not to dance, just to disappear into the crowd.

Behind him, Vegas’s smirk faltered.

Wik didn’t look back.

Vegas didn’t let the rejection sit.

His jaw clenched, eyes burning as he followed Wik into the crowd. The beat of the music drowned everything but his own pulse hammering in his ears. He shoved past bodies until he finally reached him—Wik, leaning against the wall near the back hallway, trying to light a cigarette with shaking hands.

Vegas didn’t say a word.

He grabbed Wik’s wrist, yanked him back into the shadows.

Wik startled, “Vegas—”

But before another word could leave his lips, Vegas crushed his mouth onto his. It wasn’t gentle. It was messy, heated, rough—months of tension, regret, and frustration pouring out in that one kiss. His hand pinned Wik’s waist to the wall, the other tangled in his hair.

Wik gasped against him, fists twisting into Vegas’s shirt—but he didn’t resist.

When they finally broke apart, panting and disheveled, Wik licked his lips, eyes dark with something dangerous. He smirked, low and cocky.

“Didn’t know you missed me that bad,” he teased, voice husky.

Vegas’s jaw ticked, but before he could say anything, Wik leaned closer, mouth brushing his ear.

"Then stop looking like you want to kill me and just… fuck me."

The words hit like gasoline to a flame.

Vegas’s grip tightened, eyes narrowing, breath growing heavier.

And this time—he didn’t hold back.

-

The city lights blurred outside the car windows, neon reds and blues dancing across the leather seats as silence hung thick in the air.

Vegas sat with legs spread, one hand lazily stroking Wik’s thigh while the other tapped the window. “Stop the car,” he said to the driver.

The man obeyed without question.

“Buy condoms,” Vegas ordered flatly.

The driver blinked but nodded, stepping out quickly.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Vegas pounced. His mouth was on Wik’s, hands dragging him in by the collar, biting down on his lips until they were red and swollen. Wik climbed onto his lap, straddling him in the dim car, kissing him breathless, hands threading through his hair and tugging hard.

Wik broke the kiss, panting, and pulled out his phone with trembling fingers, texting Kim.

 “Something came up. I’ll be late.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. The second the message sent, Vegas snatched the phone and tossed it aside, pulling Wik in again—this time slower, deeper.

By the time the driver returned and awkwardly handed over the small black packet, Vegas’s fingers were already teasing beneath Wik’s waistband.

“Hotel,” Vegas said gruffly. “Now.”

The door barely shut before Vegas shoved Wik against it, mouths crashing again in desperation.

Clothes came off in pieces—shirt buttons popping, pants kicked away, shoes barely making it off before Vegas pushed Wik onto the bed.

“Spread your legs,” Vegas growled, kneeling between them.

Wik obeyed, heart hammering. Vegas kissed down his chest, tongue flicking over his nipples before he made his way lower, licking along Wik’s thigh, smirking when he saw him twitch.

“Fuck… Vegas,” Wik groaned, gripping the sheets.

Without warning, Vegas took him into his mouth, slow and deep, tongue swirling around the tip before sucking hard. Wik moaned, hips bucking slightly, but Vegas pinned him down with one hand, keeping control.

“Stay still,” he whispered, voice thick with hunger.

Then he went lower—licking down, teasing his entrance with slow, wet circles of his tongue before pressing in.

“Shit—ah! Vegas—!” Wik arched, body trembling, thighs shaking around Vegas’s head.

Vegas was relentless—eating him out with deep, filthy strokes, moaning into him while one hand slid up to finger him, slick and slow. One, then two fingers pushed in, curling just right.

Wik was a mess—panting, gasping, leaking.

“Please—fuck—Vegas—I need you inside.”

Vegas pulled away, eyes dark.

He ripped open the condom, rolled it on, and guided himself against Wik’s hole.

“You ready?” he asked, voice low.

Wik nodded desperately. “Do it—now—fuck me.”

Vegas pushed in, inch by inch, stretching him slow but deep. Wik’s back arched, a sharp cry leaving his throat.

“F–fuck—you’re big—!”

Vegas groaned, gripping his thighs, then started thrusting—deep, hard, unrelenting.

Each snap of his hips made the headboard rattle. Wik’s moans grew louder, more desperate.

“Vegas—Vegas—yes, yes, right there—!”

Sweat dripped down their bodies. Vegas leaned down, kissing him rough as he fucked him harder.

Wik was close—so damn close—he could barely think. His cock was leaking, untouched, rubbing against Vegas’s abs with every thrust.

“I’m—I’m gonna—fuck—Vegas—I’m gonna come—fuck, fuck—!” Wik cried out, body convulsing.

Vegas wrapped a hand around his cock, stroking him fast.

Wik came hard—his body shaking, back arching off the bed, cum shooting over his chest and stomach.

Vegas bit his lip, hips stuttering before he growled into Wik’s neck, coming inside him.

They collapsed, tangled and gasping—Vegas still buried deep, holding Wik close as both of them shook from the release.

Chapter Text

Kim was sipping his morning coffee when he heard the door creak open. He turned just in time to see Wik limping inside, trying not to wince.

Kim’s brows furrowed instantly.

“Why are you walking like that? Are you okay?”

Wik gave a half-smirk, eyes a little dazed from the long night. “Yeah… just sore.”

Kim’s concern deepened. He rushed to the fridge, yanked it open, and pulled out the ice pack. He didn’t even give Wik a chance to protest—he pushed him onto the couch and handed it over.

“Did someone hurt you?” Kim asked seriously, his tone sharp.

Wik bit his lip, holding back a laugh. “Hurt in a good way.”

Kim blinked, then rolled his eyes hard enough to see the past.

“I didn’t need that image this early in the morning.”

Wik just chuckled, settling back with the ice pack between his thighs.

Kim muttered under his breath, “I swear to god, one of these days, you’re going to walk in here broken.”

Wik smirked, “Worth it.”

-

Kim placed the ice pack gently on Wik’s lower back, his brows still furrowed with concern. “Seriously, Wik… why are you walking like a wounded deer?” he asked again, voice soft but accusing.

Wik winced and leaned on the counter for support, biting back a smirk. “I told you... it’s the good kind of pain.”

Kim narrowed his eyes. “Good kind? What the hell does that even—?”

And then it clicked.

Kim straightened, staring at him.

“…Don’t tell me,” he said slowly, jaw tightening. “You were out the whole night, came back limping, and now you're talking about ‘good pain’?”

Wik didn’t answer. Just smiled—cheeky, lips swollen, a faint bruise on his neck visible under his hoodie.

Kim grabbed the ice pack again and gently whacked Wik’s shoulder with it.

“You slut.”

Wik laughed. “You love me.”

Kim sighed, muttering under his breath as he walked away, “Not when you’re dripping sin all over my kitchen floor.”

Wik grinned, dragging himself to the sofa, still sore but glowing. “Still worth it.”

Kim called out from the other room, “Don’t sit on my couch naked!”

---

---

It had been three days since the night of the dinner party.

Three days since Kim had seen Kinn.

The office felt colder without his presence—quieter. Everyone moved efficiently, but something was missing. Kim could feel it under his skin like a hum. Restlessness.

That morning, as Kim flipped through documents near the reception, he caught a glimpse of a familiar figure entering the building.

It was Kinn.

But not the usual Kinn in his crisp suits and cold authority.

Today, he wore a plain black T-shirt and dark jeans. Casual. Unbothered. But the moment Kim’s eyes landed on his arm, his breath caught.

A faint bandage peeked from under the sleeve, stitched along the same spot where the glass had cut him.

Kinn…

Kim didn’t say anything.

He watched as Kinn walked past, greeting no one, not even making eye contact. Straight to his office. Doors shut.

Later that afternoon, Kim got a call from a junior staff member. “Boss Kinn asked you to bring the signed steel contract file to his office.”

With a nod, Kim took the file and headed up.

He knocked.

“Come in,” Kinn’s voice said from the other side.

The room was dim, curtains half-drawn. A faint trace of cigarette smoke lingered in the air.

Kim stepped in, handing the file. “Here’s the contract.”

Kinn took it wordlessly. His fingers brushed Kim’s as he received the file.

There was a pause. Then, softly—

“You’re wondering about this, aren’t you?” Kinn lifted his arm slightly, letting the sleeve shift just enough to show the fresh stitches.

Kim’s jaw clenched. “I didn’t ask.”

“But you wanted to,” Kinn said with a small, tired smile. “It was just an accident. Nothing to worry about.”

Kinn leaned back in his chair, eyes fixed on Kim’s retreating figure.

“Wait,” he said, voice smooth but firm.

Kim stopped instantly and turned. “Yes, sir?”

Kinn’s lips curled. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

Kim’s eyes widened slightly. “No, sir. I’ve just been busy handling your pending tasks.”

Kinn stood slowly, walking toward him, the soft sound of his footsteps making Kim tense. He stopped close—too close. Kim didn’t dare lift his eyes.

Kinn tilted his head, watching him.

“You really don’t look at me when I’m not in a suit?”

Kim’s brows furrowed. “Sir?”

“Do I need to wear something flashier to get your attention?” Kinn smirked.

Kim’s ears turned red instantly. “That’s not… I would never—I mean, that’s not appropriate, sir.”

Kinn chuckled, his tone teasing. “You really are too obedient sometimes, Kim.”

“I’m just doing my job.”

Kinn stepped a little closer, lowering his voice. “What if I said I like it when you're this obedient?”

Kim’s breath caught. His gaze stayed down, but his hands gripped the file tighter. “Sir, please…”

Kinn smiled at the response—subtle, flustered, but never running.

“Go,” he said finally, almost amused. “Before I say something truly inappropriate.”

Kim turned quickly, murmuring, “Yes, sir,” before hurrying out the door.

Kinn watched the door close, then whispered to himself with a smile,

“So easy to tease… but so damn hard to ignore.”

--

The next day, Kim brought another file into Kinn’s office. He placed it carefully on the desk, bowing slightly.

“All signed, sir.”

Kinn glanced at the file, then at Kim. “You always look so serious when you’re working.”

Kim kept his eyes on the desk. “I try to be efficient.”

“Efficient… and handsome,” Kinn murmured casually.

Kim froze. “Sir?”

Kinn smiled, standing up and circling behind him slowly. “I’m just wondering,” he said near Kim’s ear, “do you ever smile when I’m not around?”

Kim’s breath hitched, but he stayed still. “I don’t think that’s relevant to the work, sir.”

Kinn chuckled. “You always say ‘sir’ so properly. Makes me want to ruin that composure a little.”

Kim's face turned crimson. “I–I don’t understand…”

“You do,” Kinn said, stepping back with a smirk. “That’s the best part.”

Kim turned slightly, swallowing hard. “Is there anything else, sir?”

Kinn gave a soft laugh. “No, Kim. But next time, smile a little. I’d like to see that.”

Kim nodded once and walked out, heart racing—his hands slightly trembling.

Behind the closed door, Kinn muttered to himself,

“That boy’s going to drive me insane.”

Chapter Text

The ballroom glittered with chandeliers and laughter. Tables were lined with expensive dishes, glasses clinking, and guests fawning over the bride and groom.

But at the far corner, Vegas sat stiff in his chair, jaw tight, swirling the untouched drink in his glass. Beside him, Macau slouched low, tugging at the suffocating collar of his suit.

“This is boring,” Macau muttered, glaring at the smiling crowd. “Do we really have to sit here and pretend we’re happy?”

Vegas’s smirk was sharp but empty. “Pretend is what we’ve been doing all our lives, little brother. One more night won’t kill us.”

Macau leaned closer, voice dripping with bitterness. “Look at him, standing there like the perfect groom. Acting like we don’t even exist.” His eyes flicked toward their father, hand resting proudly on his new bride’s waist. “It’s like mom never mattered. Like we never mattered.”

Vegas’s grip on his glass tightened until his knuckles whitened. He finally threw it back, the burn of alcohol barely numbing the sting in his chest. “That’s because to him… we don’t.”

For a moment, silence hung heavy. The music, the laughter, the congratulations—it all felt like nails scratching inside their heads.

Macau let out a humorless laugh. “Then why are we even here?”

Vegas leaned back, eyes narrowing at the stage where their father raised a toast. “Because he wants to parade us around. Show the world that even his bastard sons are in line.” His lips curved into a cruel, dangerous smile. “But one day, Macau, he’ll choke on the very image he’s trying so hard to polish.”

Macau looked at him, the corners of his own mouth twitching. “That sounds like a promise.”

Vegas smirked, tapping his brother’s glass with his own. “Damn right it is.”

The speeches dragged on, applause echoing through the hall like mockery. Vegas’s eyes stayed sharp, dark, burning with something more dangerous than boredom.

Macau leaned closer, whispering through clenched teeth, “If mom were alive, she’d never stand here smiling for him.”

Vegas’s jaw tightened. He didn’t look at his brother, but his hand brushed Macau’s under the table, grounding him. “I know. That’s why we don’t smile either.”

The waiter came by, offering champagne, and Macau shook his head. Vegas took two flutes anyway, handing one to him.

“To surviving this circus,” Vegas muttered, raising his glass.

Macau smirked, the bitterness in his smile mirroring his brother’s. “And to the day we don’t have to.”

They clinked glasses again, but their eyes weren’t on the newlyweds. Their gaze lingered on each other—two sons left in the shadows of a man who only claimed them when it suited him.

Then, as the music picked up and couples moved to the dance floor, Vegas leaned in, his voice low enough that only Macau could hear:

“Stay sharp. A night like this isn’t just for celebration. It’s for deals, politics, and enemies watching.”

Macau’s eyes flicked around the room—politicians, businessmen, mafia heads—all clapping, laughing, masking their fangs with smiles. He swallowed hard.

Vegas’s smirk returned, dangerous and amused. “But let them watch. I’m not here for him, or his bride. I’m here to remind them the minor family isn’t finished yet.”

Macau tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “And how exactly do you plan to do that, brother?”

Vegas only sipped his drink, gaze fixed on the crowd like a predator marking prey. “You’ll see.”

-

The hall glittered with chandeliers and shallow laughter, but Vegas’s expression never softened. He sat back in his chair, swirling the champagne like it was poison.

Macau noticed the tension in his brother’s jaw. “Vegas… don’t. Not here.”

Vegas smirked, low and dangerous. “Why not? It’s the perfect stage.”

When his father raised a toast to his new bride, all eyes turned to the couple. Vegas stood abruptly, his chair screeching against the marble floor. The crowd stilled, whispers rising.

He lifted his glass. “A toast,” he announced, voice sharp. “To my father… who always knew how to replace people as easily as business deals.”

Gasps rippled across the room. The bride stiffened, his father’s eyes darkened.

Macau tugged at his sleeve. “Vegas, enough—”

But Vegas ignored him, stepping forward. “Let’s all hope this one lasts longer than his promises to his sons.”

The glass shattered as he dropped it onto the floor, champagne splashing across the expensive rug. Silence, thick and heavy, swallowed the hall.

His father’s hand twitched, rage barely contained. “Vegas.”

Vegas only smirked, eyes cold. “Relax, father. I’m only celebrating… in my own way.”

He turned, grabbed Macau’s arm, and walked out without looking back. The tension he left behind was electric—every guest whispering, every enemy watching, exactly as he wanted.

Outside, under the night sky, Macau exhaled shakily. “You’re insane.”

Vegas lit a cigarette, eyes glinting in the flame. “No, little brother. I’m reminding them who I am.”

---

The reception was over hours ago, but the sting of Vegas’s outburst still lingered like smoke.

Vegas barely stepped into the study when his father’s voice cracked through the silence.

“Do you think this family is your stage?!”

Before Vegas could answer, a sharp backhand caught his face. His cheek burned, the metallic taste of blood spreading across his tongue. He smirked anyway, defiance flashing in his eyes.

“Look at yourself,” his father growled, pacing, veins bulging in his neck. “Kinn holds the empire, Kinn seals the deals, Kinn has the future. And you—my own son—humiliate me in front of everyone.”

Vegas wiped the blood from his lip, his tone cold. “Maybe if you looked at me once in your life, you’d see I can do more than humiliate you.”

His father slammed his fist against the desk, the wood cracking. “Don’t talk back. You’re nothing but a shadow. And that’s all you’ll ever be.”

Macau lingered in the doorway, frozen, his fists clenched. He wanted to step in, but fear sealed his lips.

Vegas’s smirk wavered, just for a heartbeat, but then he laughed—low, bitter. “Then I’ll make sure my shadow swallows your precious empire whole.”

The words hung in the air like poison. His father’s face twisted with fury, but Vegas turned on his heel, dragging Macau out with him.

In the hallway, Macau whispered, “Why do you always provoke him?”

Vegas lit a cigarette with trembling fingers, hiding the shake in his hand. His smirk returned, sharp as a blade. “Because one day, little brother… he’ll regret underestimating me.”

Next day 

The office buzzed with flowers, chocolates, and red ribbons on desks—everyone had received something, except Kim. He stayed quiet, head down, organizing files on his desk like usual.

When his phone pinged with a message from his boss, his heart skipped.

 Kinn: My office. Now.

Kim walked in with the file pressed to his chest, bowing slightly. “Sir, you asked for—”

Kinn was leaning casually against his desk, no tie, sleeves rolled up, a faint smirk playing on his lips. A small bouquet of white roses sat in a crystal vase behind him.

“Do you know what today is, Kim?” Kinn asked, voice low and teasing.

Kim blinked. “It’s… Friday, sir.”

Kinn chuckled, stepping closer, his cologne sharp and intoxicating. “Friday, yes. But also Valentine’s. Didn’t get anything?”

Kim lowered his gaze, embarrassed. “No, sir. I don’t… expect things like that.”

Kinn reached behind and plucked a single rose from the vase, holding it out. “Then consider this from me. My staff should not go home empty-handed.”

Kim’s fingers trembled as he accepted the flower, cheeks burning. “Th-thank you, sir.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Kinn murmured, leaning just enough to brush close to Kim’s ear. “You might owe me something in return.”

Kim stiffened, nodding quickly, obedient. “Yes, sir.”

Kinn grinned. “Good boy.”

Most of the staff had already left. The floor was quiet, only the faint hum of the city outside filling the silence. Kim stayed back at his desk, reviewing reports. He thought his boss had gone home, but the door to Kinn’s office creaked open.

“Kim,” Kinn’s voice cut through the stillness.

Kim stood instantly, bowing slightly. “Yes, sir?”

Kinn leaned on the doorway, jacket slung over his shoulder, the loosened tie hanging from his pocket. “Why are you still here? Don’t tell me you’re working late on Valentine’s.”

“I… had to finish the reports,” Kim answered softly, avoiding eye contact.

Kinn smirked, stepping closer until he leaned over Kim’s desk. “Dedicated. I like that. But you know, there are better things you could be doing tonight.”

Kim’s cheeks turned pink. “Sir… I—”

Kinn tilted his head, eyes sharp but playful. “Do you always blush this easily? Or is it just when I’m close?”

Kim swallowed, clutching the file in his hand tighter. “You’re teasing me, sir.”

Kinn chuckled, low and amused. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m serious.” He reached out, adjusting Kim’s tie with deliberate slowness, his knuckles brushing Kim’s throat. “I gave you a rose, didn’t I? You haven’t told me how you plan to repay me yet.”

Kim’s voice came out barely a whisper. “H-how do you want me to repay you, sir?”

Kinn’s smile widened, eyes glittering. “Good question. I’ll let you think about it.” He let his fingers linger at Kim’s collar before pulling back, leaving the air heavy with suggestion. “Don’t make me wait too long, Kim.”

Chapter Text

Vegas had him riding hard, hand clamped tight around Wik’s throat, cutting off just enough air to make every moan sharper, more desperate. Wik’s body shuddered as he slammed himself down, thighs burning, chest heaving, eyes rolling back from the mix of pain and pleasure.

“Fuck, Wik,” Vegas groaned, voice low and vicious. “Look at you. Can’t even breathe but you’re still bouncing like a needy slut.”

Wik gasped, nails raking down Vegas’ chest, leaving angry red lines. “D-Don’t stop—please—”

Vegas smirked, tightening his grip, forcing Wik to choke on his words. Then—crack—his palm came down on Wik’s ass, the sharp sound echoing. Wik screamed out, the sting shooting through his body, clenching around Vegas so tight it made him curse.

“That’s it,” Vegas growled, spanking him again, harder this time, until his skin turned hot and red beneath his palm. “Moan louder. Let the whole house know who’s fucking you this way.”

Wik cried out his name, riding faster, tears streaming from the intensity. Vegas spanked him again, alternating between squeezing his ass and slapping it, each strike making Wik jolt and tighten. Vegas leaned up, mouth brushing his ear, voice cruel. “You like it when I break you down like this? You want me to ruin you?”

“Yes! Yes—fuck—ruin me!” Wik sobbed, head dropping forward, sweat dripping down his neck.

Vegas’ free hand slid up, tangling in Wik’s hair, yanking his head back so he could see the wrecked expression on his face. “Pathetic,” he spat, thrusting up hard enough to make Wik scream. “You’d let me fuck you bloody if I asked, wouldn’t you?”

Wik moaned so brokenly it made Vegas groan deep in his chest. Another slap landed, harder, making his ass sting and throb. Vegas alternated—thrust, slap, choke, thrust, slap, choke—until Wik was trembling, voice cracking with every cry.

Vegas’ grip on his throat pulsed, releasing and tightening, keeping him on the edge of air. Wik’s body started to collapse forward, but Vegas held him up, forcing him to keep riding. “Don’t you dare stop,” he hissed. “You’ll take every inch until I’m finished with you.”

Wik obeyed, barely holding himself together, thighs shaking violently, ass stinging raw, throat bruised and sore. His orgasm tore out of him sudden and hard, spraying between their stomachs as he screamed, body clenching desperately around Vegas.

Vegas snarled, fucking him through it, slamming up into him with savage thrusts. His hand left Wik’s throat just long enough to land a brutal slap on his raw ass, making him jolt. Then with a final guttural groan, Vegas spilled inside him, grinding him down onto every inch.

They collapsed together, Wik trembling violently, body covered in sweat and tears, his ass red and marked, throat bruised with Vegas’ fingerprints. Vegas kissed the corner of his mouth roughly, smirking against his lips.

“You’ll be limping for days, Wik,” Vegas whispered darkly, voice a low growl. “And every step will remind you—you’re mine.”

Wik, breathless and broken, could only moan weakly, clinging to him, knowing Vegas meant every word.

-

Kim sat in his office, staring at his phone for the hundredth time. His thumb hovered over Wik’s name, the screen flashing No response. His chest tightened with every unanswered call, every message left unread.

It had been half a day since Wik left. Normally, Wik always texted when he was home, always picked up Kim’s calls. But now—nothing. The silence gnawed at him, a slow dread curling in his gut.

“Where the hell are you…” Kim muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair, pacing. He tried calling one of Wik’s friends—no one knew. Another, the same answer. It felt like his entire world was shrinking, suffocating him.

The phone slipped from his hand when the floor began to rumble. At first, just a subtle vibration—but then the entire office shook violently. The desk rattled, chairs toppled, books and files cascaded from the shelves. The ceiling lights swung dangerously.

“Shit—” Kim tried to rush toward the door, but a loud crack split the air as part of the ceiling gave way. The impact knocked him to the floor, a sharp pain shooting through his shoulder. Debris pinned him down, the dust thick in his lungs. He coughed violently, trying to push the weight off, but his body was weak, trembling.

The building groaned under the force of the quake, every second stretching into eternity. Kim’s vision blurred, his head spinning. He clawed at the floor, panic crashing into him—not just from the quake, but from Wik’s absence. What if something’s happened to him? What if I never see him again?

His strength gave out, his body collapsing, his eyes fluttering shut as darkness pulled at him. Just before he lost consciousness, he thought he saw movement through the haze—strong arms pulling the rubble away.

“Kim! Stay with me!”

A familiar voice, sharp and commanding, cut through the chaos. His blurred vision caught sight of Kinn’s face, sweat streaking down his temple, eyes burning with urgency.

Kim tried to speak, his lips parting, but only a weak rasp escaped. Then everything faded to black as Kinn lifted him from the wreckage, carrying him out of the collapsing office.

The first thing Kim registered was the steady beep, beep of the heart monitor beside him. His throat was dry, body aching, but the moment his eyes fluttered open, his heart dropped.

“Wik…” he whispered, voice cracking. His trembling hand fumbled for the phone on the bedside table, but it wasn’t there.

“Don’t.”

Kim’s eyes snapped to the chair beside the bed. Kinn sat there, jacket off, sleeves rolled to his elbows, dried dust still smeared along his shirt from the rescue. His sharp gaze softened when their eyes met.

“You’re awake,” Kinn said, relief hidden beneath his usual stern tone.

Kim tried to push himself up, ignoring the pain shooting down his ribs. “Wik—did he call? Did he come here? Did anyone say anything?” His voice rose, urgent, desperate.

Kinn leaned forward, pressing him gently but firmly back against the pillows. “Calm down. You just survived a building collapse. You need to think about yourself right now.”

But Kim shook his head violently, tears pricking his eyes. “No, you don’t understand. He left yesterday afternoon. He always messages me, always picks up when I call. But now—nothing. It’s noon the next day,Something’s wrong.”

Kinn’s brows furrowed.

“Who is he?” Kinn asked flatly. “This… Wik?”

Kim’s lips trembled. He wanted to explain, wanted to scream that Wik wasn’t just anyone—but the words stuck in his throat. All he managed was a broken whisper: “He’s my brother .”

Kinn leaned back, studying him in silence for a moment. Then, without another word, he pulled his phone from his pocket, dialing swiftly. His voice was sharp, commanding. “Get me information on someone. Name: Wik. Find him. Now.”

When he hung up, Kim turned his face away, tears slipping down the corner of his eyes.

“You almost died today,” Kinn said quietly, softer this time. “And the first thing you think about is him.”

Kim shut his eyes tight, chest heaving. “Because if he’s gone… then what’s the point of me being alive?”

The room fell into silence. Kinn stared at him, unsettled, his jaw tightening—but he said nothing. Instead, he sat back in the chair, eyes never leaving his brother, already waiting for the answers his men would bring.

-

The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the air conditioner. Wik lay sprawled across Vegas’ chest, his cheek pressed against warm skin, breathing slow and steady in sleep. His legs tangled lazily with Vegas’, body still sore and marked from the night before.

Vegas wasn’t asleep. His sharp eyes lingered on the ceiling, one hand stroking idly down Wik’s spine, the other cupping his ass possessively. His fingers traced the faint bruises blooming there before squeezing firmly.

Wik stirred with a soft, sleepy sound, his body instinctively pressing closer. When Vegas’ hand began to knead his ass, slow and deliberate, Wik let out a low moan against his chest.

“Mm… Vegas…” Wik’s voice was husky, half-dreaming, half-pleading.

Vegas smirked, tilting his head to look down at him. “Still so sensitive,” he murmured, thumb brushing over the marks he’d left. He gave another squeeze, harder this time, making Wik jolt and whimper.

“You’re mine even when you sleep,” Vegas whispered darkly, leaning down to kiss his damp hair. His hand slid lower, fingers teasing at the edge of Wik’s thighs, stroking until Wik’s breathing quickened.

Wik shifted, hips rocking slightly against him, another moan spilling from his lips. His eyes fluttered open, glassy and dazed, as Vegas’ hand gripped him again.

“Awake already?” Vegas teased, his voice low, dangerous. “Or maybe you just can’t resist me, even in your dreams.”

Wik bit his lip, trying to hide his reaction, but the soft sounds escaping him betrayed every bit of pleasure Vegas was coaxing out of him with just a touch.

Wik’s eyes snapped open at his own words — “I need my phone.” He shoved his hand under the bedside drawer, fingers fumbling until he found it. Airplane mode off. Screen lit. Unknown number flashing. He almost didn’t think — he answered.

“Hello?”

A calm, slightly breathless voice came through. “Are you Wik?”

“Y-yes, I’m Wik.” His heart was already thudding in his throat.

“There’s been an earthquake. Your brother’s been brought to the hospital — he’s safe, but he’s scared and asking for you. Please come quickly.”

The world narrowed to that single sentence. Wik’s mouth went dry. “Which hospital? Where is he?” His voice cracked.

“City General,” the voice replied. “He’s stable. We’ll keep him under observation. Come as soon as you can.”

Wik’s fingers trembled as he ended the call. His chest was tight, breath shallow. Kim… hospital… earthquake. The words replayed like a scream in his head.

Who is it? 

Vegas noticed the panic, his jaw tightening. “

“my brother ,” Wik choked, shoving on his clothes hurriedly. “He’s at City General. I—I have to go.”

Vegas didn’t hesitate. “Get in the car.”

The ride was fast, too fast. Vegas’ hand gripped the wheel hard, veins straining against his skin, but he didn’t say much. Wik sat curled against the door, phone clutched tight in his lap, staring at the passing streets as if every second might be too late. His knee bounced, chest heaving with every breath.

When they screeched to a stop in front of the hospital, Wik fumbled for the door handle, heart hammering.

Vegas reached out, catching his wrist before he could run. His eyes were unreadable, but his voice was steady. “Go. Find him.”

Wik met his gaze for half a heartbeat, lips trembling. He wanted to say something—thank you, don’t leave, wait for me—but his throat locked. All he could do was nod quickly before tearing away and rushing toward the entrance.

Vegas stayed in the driver’s seat, engine still running, watching the figure of Wik vanish through the sliding doors. His fingers drummed against the wheel, jaw clenching. He didn’t follow. He never did.

-

Kim sat upright in the hospital bed, an IV in his arm, the steady beeping of the monitor his only company. His phone was useless — no messages, no calls back from Wik. His chest ached more from fear than from the bruises left by the earthquake.

Every time the door opened for a nurse or doctor, his head snapped up, hope burning for a moment before fading again. His palms were sweaty, restless fingers twisting the sheets. Where are you, Wik… why haven’t you come?

The seconds dragged like hours. He thought of the rubble, the dust choking his lungs, the moment he thought he’d die — and yet, what terrified him more was the thought of losing Wik without knowing why.

Finally, the door creaked open again. This time, it wasn’t a nurse.

“Kim—”

The voice broke, shaky and raw.

Kim’s head snapped toward the doorway. Wik stood there, breathless, hair messy, his clothes thrown on in a rush. His chest rose and fell like he’d run the whole way inside.

For a moment, Kim just stared, unable to process it — and then his eyes flooded, lips trembling.

“Wik…”

In two strides Wik was at his bedside, dropping to his knees, clutching Kim’s hand tight against his chest. “I’m here. I’m sorry—I didn’t answer, I didn’t—” His voice cracked, guilt spilling with every word. “I should’ve been here sooner.”

Kim’s fingers curled weakly around his, tears slipping down his cheek. “I thought I lost you…”

“No,” Wik whispered, shaking his head fiercely, pressing Kim’s hand to his lips. “Never. I’m right here.”

, Kim let out a shuddering breath and leaned forward, forehead pressing against Wik’s, shoulder  holding on as if letting go would mean losing him all over again.

-

Chapter Text

The door to Kim’s room swung open just as Wik was still crouched at his brother’s bedside. Kinn stepped inside, stopping dead in his tracks.

For a second he thought the stress and the dust were messing with his head. His eyes flicked from Kim lying pale in the bed to the man kneeling beside him. Same cheekbones. Same mouth. Same eyes. But the clothes, the hair, the energy — completely different.

Kinn’s breath caught. “…Kim?”

Wik turned his head, confusion flashing in his eyes. “Huh?”

Kinn blinked hard, trying to steady himself. “What… what is this? How are you here and there at the same time?”

Kim reached for his brother’s hand, his voice still hoarse. “Kinn… this is my brother.”

Wik stood slowly, still holding onto Kim’s fingers. “I’m Wik. His twin.”

Kinn’s eyes darted between them, still looking unsettled. “Twin?”

“Yes,” Wik said flatly, a touch of protectiveness creeping into his tone. “We’re twins. Same face, different life. He’s the office one, I’m the troublemaker. You’ve only ever met Kim.”

Kim squeezed Wik’s hand weakly, adding, “He didn’t know, Wik. I… never told anyone at work.”

Kinn’s jaw clenched, but the tension in his shoulders eased a little as the pieces fell into place. He stepped closer to the bed, still staring at Wik as if he was looking at a ghost. “You two really…” He exhaled, a low, incredulous laugh escaping. “I thought my head was playing tricks on me.”

Wik tilted his head, a small smirk tugging at his mouth. “Now you know. There are two of us.”

Kinn looked from one twin to the other, his expression unreadable. “I see that.”

Kim had dozed off again, the sedative from the IV making his eyelids heavy. The monitor beeped steadily. Wik sat in the chair next to the bed, scrolling through his phone but glancing up at his brother every few seconds.

The door opened quietly. Kinn stepped in, no jacket this time, sleeves rolled up, a faint bandage still wrapped around one wrist from the rescue. His eyes went straight to Wik.

For a long moment neither of them spoke. The air between them felt charged, like two predators circling.

Kinn said finally, his voice low. “Wik.”

Wik looked up, expression neutral but his posture defensive. 

Kinn moved closer to the bed but stopped on the other side, keeping the monitor between them. “You don’t look like him,” he murmured. “Not really. Same face, different eyes.”

Wik smirked faintly. “Different life will do that.”

Kinn’s gaze didn’t waver. “He never told me about you.”

“That’s because you’re his boss,” Wik shot back quietly. “Not everything needs to be office gossip.”

Kinn’s lips curved slightly at the edge. “He’s more than just an employee to me.”

Wik’s smirk slipped a little, but he didn’t look away. “Yeah, I’ve noticed.”

Silence stretched between them again, heavier this time. Kim stirred in his sleep, making both men glance down at him. Wik brushed a thumb over Kim’s hand protectively.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to him,” Wik said, still looking at Kim.

Kinn’s eyes flicked back to Wik. “Neither am I.”

L

The ward had gone quiet. The only sound was the low hum of machines and the occasional squeak of a nurse’s shoes on the polished floor. Kim slept soundly behind the door.

Wik stepped out into the corridor to get some air. He leaned against the wall, arms folded, eyes fixed on the vending machine at the end of the hall but not really seeing it.

Footsteps approached. He didn’t have to look to know who it was.

Kinn stopped beside him, hands in his pockets. For a long moment, neither spoke. The silence was different this time—less like a standoff, more like a pause neither of them knew how to fill.

Finally, Kinn said quietly, “He’s going to be okay.”

Wik gave a short nod, still staring straight ahead. “I know. I just… don’t like seeing him like that.”

Kinn’s jaw flexed. “Me neither.”

That made Wik glance at him. The man beside him looked nothing like the untouchable boss Kim described at home. There was a faint bruise on his cheek, his hair was a mess, his shirt still creased from the chaos. He looked tired. Human.

“Why did you go back in for him?” Wik asked, not accusing—genuinely curious.

Kinn exhaled slowly. “Because I couldn’t stand the thought of him being buried in there. Not him.” His gaze dropped to the floor, a muscle jumping in his jaw. “He’s not just another name on my payroll.”

Wik studied him for a moment, then softened a little. “You care about him.”

Kinn met his eyes, and for the first time his voice lost all its usual smoothness. “I do.”

Something in Wik’s posture eased. He looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. “Then… don’t hurt him. He’s been hurt enough.”

Kinn didn’t answer right away. He just looked at the closed door of Kim’s room, then back at Wik.

“I’m not planning to,” he said quietly. “And if you think I’m lying… watch me.”

Wik nodded once. For the first time since they’d met, the edge between them dulled a little. Two men standing in the same corridor, bound by the same person.

The alley smelled of rain and exhaust. Vegas stood under the lamplight like a wound you couldn’t stop staring at—hands jammed in his pockets, jaw working. He hadn’t come to talk. He’d come to spit.

“He should’ve burned in that building,” Vegas muttered, eyes on the dark glass of Kinn’s tower that loomed down the block. “Kinn should’ve died under those beams. They all deserve it.” His voice was low and cramped with hatred.

Wik slipped into the doorway, tired and tense, and didn’t even bother pretending surprise. “You’re dramatic tonight.”

Vegas snapped his head toward him. “I’m tired of being second. Tired of being the one who does everything and gets scolded for not doing enough.” He swallowed. “One day I’ll prove who I am. I’ll make them notice. I’ll make them fear us.”

Wik let a small smile play at one corner of his mouth. “Sounds like a plan.”

They moved inside. The apartment was dark except for the glow from the street. Wik caught himself in the mirror and then froze—Vegas’ face was closer now, and he could see fresh marks along Vegas’ cheekbone, angry and red.

“Hey,” Wik said softly, reaching up. “What happened? Did someone get careless?”

Vegas’s hand flexed where it rested on the back of a chair. He didn’t answer at once. When he finally spoke, his voice was clipped and almost proud. “Gift from pa. Reminds me not to be soft.”

Wik raised an eyebrow, amused and dangerous in the same breath. “That’s one way to collect souvenirs.”

Vegas stepped closer until there was no air between them. “I’m going to show them who Vegas is. They’ll remember my name.”

Wik smirked, slow and satisfied. He bumped his shoulder against Vegas’. “Then prove it.”

Vegas’ mouth curved for the first time all night—half-smile, all menace. He nodded once. “Soon.”

Wik gave a quiet laugh and nodded back. “Good. I’ll stand behind you.”

They let the silence sit between them, two kinds of fire coiled and waiting.

Chapter Text

Kim sat up in bed, IV still in his arm. The hospital was quieter now, the corridor lights dimmed. He stared at the single lily on his bedside table — the one he’d bought for Kinn before the quake. Somehow it had survived the collapse.

The door opened softly. Kinn stepped inside, a paper bag in his hand. He’d changed out of his dusty clothes, but the cut on his jaw was still visible.

“I thought you’d be asleep,” he said quietly.

Kim shook his head. “Couldn’t.”

Kinn set the bag down. “Brought you food. Hospital meals are awful.”

Kim’s lips curved faintly. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.” Kinn sat in the chair next to the bed, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. For a moment, neither spoke.

“You scared me,” Kinn said finally, voice low. “When I pulled you out… you weren’t breathing right.”

Kim’s throat tightened. “I didn’t know you went back for me.”

Kinn looked at him then, all his usual smoothness gone. “Of course I went back for you.”

Kim’s fingers twisted in the sheet. “Why?”

Kinn hesitated. He could have said something casual, but instead he leaned in closer, eyes searching Kim’s. “Because you’re not just my employee, Kim. You’re the first person who’s made me feel like more than just Kinn The Boss.”

Kim’s heart skipped. “Sir…”

Kinn gave a small, self-mocking smile. “Always so formal. Even now.” He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from Kim’s forehead, fingers lingering. “I know this isn’t the place or the time. But after today, I don’t want to keep pretending.”

Kim swallowed hard, his pulse loud in his ears. “Pretending what?”

“That I don’t want you.” Kinn’s voice was quiet but steady. “That I don’t think about you when you’re not in my office. That when I gave you that rose it was just for show.”

Kim blinked, eyes wide. “It… wasn’t?”

“No,” Kinn said simply. “It was me trying to say I like you, in the only way I know how.”

The room went still. Kim’s hand trembled slightly on the sheet. He whispered, “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say yes,” Kinn murmured, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “Say you’ll let me try.”

Kim looked at him, cheeks burning, but for once he didn’t look away. “I… like you too. I was just scared.”

Something softened in Kinn’s eyes. He took Kim’s hand gently in his, squeezing it. “Then don’t be.”

Kim’s lips curved into a shy, small smile. “Okay.”

Kinn exhaled a laugh, relief flickering across his face. “Okay,” he echoed, thumb brushing over Kim’s knuckles. “We’ll take it slow. But no more pretending.”

Kim nodded, still shy but steady now, his hand warm in Kinn’s.

Soft winter light slipped in through the blinds. The hospital ward was quiet except for the low beep of Kim’s monitor. He was half-sitting up in bed, the colour finally starting to return to his face. Kinn was in the chair next to him, jacket off, sleeves rolled up, looking nothing like the mafia heir or the boss from the office. He was handing Kim a cup of warm tea, their fingers brushing for a second too long.

They weren’t talking; they were just… there. The silence between them was warm, not awkward.

The door clicked.

Wik stepped in, a plastic bag of breakfast in his hand. He froze at the sight: his usually reserved brother blushing faintly, his boss sitting close enough to touch.

Kim looked up, startled. “Wik… you’re early.”

Wik’s eyes flicked from Kim to Kinn and back again, eyebrows arching. “Oh, am I interrupting something?”

Kim’s ears went red. “No! He was just… bringing tea.”

Kinn leaned back in the chair, unbothered. “I thought he shouldn’t drink hospital coffee,” he said mildly. But there was the ghost of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

Wik walked over slowly, setting the food down on the bedside table. He studied them for a beat, then smirked. “Right. Just tea. On Valentine’s week. At dawn. Totally normal.”

Kim groaned and covered his face with one hand. “Wik…”

Kinn didn’t deny anything. He simply stood, straightened his sleeves, and said to Wik, “I’ll be back later. Make sure he eats.” Then he looked down at Kim and, for a brief second, his expression softened. “Rest.”

When he left, the room seemed to exhale. Wik plopped into the chair Kinn had vacated, turning to his brother with a grin. “So… your scary boss sits at your bedside at seven in the morning with tea. Want to tell me what’s going on?”

Kim hugged the cup to his chest, looking away.

“Uh-huh,” Wik drawled, leaning back. “Looks like it’s finally getting simple.”

The hospital smell was gone, but the memory of it still clung to Kim. He sat on the edge of his bed, hair damp from a shower, turning Kinn’s lily between his fingers. In the next room he could hear Wik moving around, opening and shutting cupboards, humming tunelessly.

Kim took a deep breath and walked out to the living room. Wik was sprawled on the couch, scrolling on his phone. He looked up when Kim appeared.

“What’s with the serious face?” Wik asked.

Kim sat opposite him, hands in his lap. “I wanted to tell you something,” he said quietly.

Wik raised an eyebrow but stayed silent.

“I…” Kim hesitated, then forced himself to go on. “I like Kinn. It’s not just work anymore. I don’t know what happens next, but I didn’t want to keep it from you.”

For a second, Wik just stared at him. Then he huffed a small laugh. “About time you admitted it. I was starting to think I’d have to drag you into his office myself.”

Kim blushed, but smiled faintly. “What about you?” he asked softly. “You should… have someone too.”

Wik’s smirk faded a little. He leaned back, eyes going distant. “Yeah. I should.”

Kim tilted his head. 

Wik gave a small, sad smile, looking down at his phone. “I don’t even know what we are. Whatever it is… it’s messy. Some days I think he wants me, some days I’m just a way for him to burn off anger. It’s not like what you have.”

Kim reached across the table, touching his brother’s hand briefly. “You deserve better than ‘messy.’”

Wik shrugged, forcing a crooked grin. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just not built for the kind of normal you want.”

Kim’s fingers tightened slightly. “You are. You just haven’t found it yet.”

Wik’s eyes flicked up at him, something soft in them for a heartbeat before the mask slipped back into place. “We’ll see,” he muttered.

The two of them sat there in the quiet for a while, the TV murmuring in the background — two very different lives, two very different loves, but still side by side.

The underground garage smelled of oil and metal. Vegas stood by his car, cigarette burning low between his fingers, phone buzzing unanswered in his pocket. He looked like a man coiled too tight.

Wik’s footsteps echoed as he came down the ramp. He’d left his guitar at the club; he’d told himself he was only coming here for it. But he stopped dead when he saw Vegas.

“You’ve been ignoring me,” Wik said quietly.

Vegas flicked the cigarette away and turned, eyes shadowed. “You’re better off if I do.”

Wik folded his arms. “Then why did you tell me to come here?”

For a moment Vegas didn’t answer. Then he reached out, brushing his thumb across a fading mark on his cheek. “Because you’re the only one who ever looks at me and doesn’t see Kinn’s cousin.”

Wik blinked at him. “What do you see when you look at me?”

Vegas’s mouth twisted into something between a smile and a grimace. “A bad idea I can’t stop touching.”

Wik’s throat tightened. He stepped closer anyway. “You don’t have to keep hurting yourself to prove something, you know.”

Vegas laughed once, bitter. “That’s the only language anyone ever taught me.”

“Then learn a new one,” Wik said. His hand brushed Vegas’s knuckles, tentative but steady. “With me, maybe.”

For a heartbeat the garage was silent except for their breathing. Vegas’s gaze dropped to where Wik’s fingers touched his. He didn’t pull away.

“Careful,” he murmured. “I ruin everything I touch.”

“Maybe I’m not so easy to ruin,” Wik murmured back.

Vegas’s eyes lifted to his, something raw flickering there before he hid it behind his usual smirk. “We’ll see.”

He opened the passenger door of his car. “Get in. No clubs tonight. I want to show you something.”

Wik hesitated, then climbed in. For the first time, Vegas didn’t drive to a hotel or a back room; he steered out of the city, toward the coast, away from the noise, the fight, the mess.

Vegas drove without saying much, headlights carving a path through dark country roads. The city lights fell away until there was only black sky and the sea of stars above them.

After nearly an hour, he turned off onto a narrow lane lined with old banyan trees. At the end of the lane sat a sprawling, crumbling mansion half-hidden by vines. The iron gates were rusted but still bore the crest of the Theerapanyakul family.

Wik stared out the window. “This is yours?”

Vegas killed the engine. “Was. My grandfather built it. Nobody lives here now. Too many ghosts.”

He got out and pushed the gates open. Wik followed him inside, crunching over gravel until they stood on the cracked marble steps. Through the broken windows, moonlight fell across dust-covered furniture and faded paintings. It was beautiful in a way that hurt.

Vegas walked slowly through the hall, his fingers brushing the banister. “I used to hide here when I was a kid. Before… everything. Nobody knew. It was the only place I felt like I could breathe.”

Wik watched him, seeing for the first time not the cocky cousin or the dangerous man from the clubs, but a boy who had once hidden himself away.

“I wanted you to see this,” Vegas said, his voice quieter now. “You’re the first person I’ve brought here.”

Wik stepped closer, his hand finding Vegas’s. “Why me?”

Vegas turned, eyes glinting in the moonlight. “Maybe because you don’t look at me like I’m a weapon.”

For a heartbeat neither of them moved. Then Wik reached up and cupped the side of Vegas’s face, thumb brushing the faint bruise there. “You don’t have to be one with me,” he murmured.

Vegas’s breath hitched. He didn’t smirk this time. He simply leaned in, pressing his forehead to Wik’s. The mansion was silent except for the sound of their breathing.

Wik tilted his head slightly. Vegas’s lips brushed his once, hesitant, almost questioning. Wik closed the distance, kissing him back — slow, deep, nothing like the frantic nights in back rooms. It was a kiss that tasted of dust and ghosts and a tiny spark of hope.

Vegas’s hands slid to the back of Wik’s neck, holding him there for a moment longer before they broke apart.

“This place…” Wik whispered.

Vegas looked past him at the faded walls. “It’s where I remember who I was before they turned me into this.”

Wik squeezed his hand. “Then maybe you should come back here more.”

Vegas gave a soft, incredulous laugh and leaned in to steal another quiet kiss.

Chapter Text

Night had already fallen by the time Wik returned to Vegas’ place. The city outside was quiet, as if even the streets were still recovering from the quake.

Vegas was sitting on the couch, one arm resting along the backrest, a book open but clearly unread. When the door opened, his eyes flicked up immediately.

Wik stepped inside slowly, tired but calm. “He’s okay,” he said softly, setting his bag down. “Kim’s fine. Just a few bruises.”

Vegas nodded once, closing the book without looking away from him. “Good.”

Silence filled the space — not heavy, but comforting. Wik sank down beside him, leaning back against the couch, his head tilting toward Vegas’ shoulder. For once, Vegas didn’t move away.

“You didn’t have to wait,” Wik murmured.

Vegas gave a quiet hum. “Didn’t feel like sleeping.”

Wik smiled faintly, eyes half-closed. “You worry more than you admit.”

Vegas didn’t reply — just reached out, sliding a hand through Wik’s hair, slow and absentminded. His fingers brushed against the back of Wik’s neck, grounding, steady.

Neither of them spoke for a long time. The only sound was the faint hum of the night outside — crickets, the occasional passing car. Wik’s breathing slowed, the exhaustion finally catching up to him.

“Vegas?” he mumbled, already half-asleep.

“Hm?”

“Thank you… for driving me there.”

Vegas’ hand paused for a moment, then resumed its gentle rhythm. “You don’t have to thank me,” he said quietly. “Just sleep.”

Wik’s lips curved into a soft, sleepy smile before his breathing evened out. Vegas glanced down at him — peaceful now, eyes shut, lashes brushing his cheek — and something in his chest loosened.

He leaned back, exhaling slowly, fingers still in Wik’s hair. For once, the world outside could fall apart, and Vegas didn’t care.

Because in this small, quiet space, everything felt still.

Kim sat on the hospital bed, already dressed, his wristband removed. The room still smelled of antiseptic, but the tension had faded. A nurse had just stepped out after confirming his discharge.

His phone buzzed in his hand. One new message.

Wik: “I’ll come late. Please rest. Don’t wait for me.”

Kim stared at the screen for a moment, his lips pressing into a thin line. A quiet breath left him — not disappointment, but something like a soft ache. He locked the phone just as the door opened.

Kinn stepped in, holding the discharge papers. “Everything’s done. Let’s go.”

Kim nodded and stood, moving carefully. Kinn stayed close without being obvious about it, as if shielding him without drawing attention to the fact.

The drive was silent — not awkward, just still. Kinn glanced at Kim a few times, but Kim kept his gaze out the window, watching the city pass by slowly.

When they arrived, Kinn followed Kim inside. The door opened to a space that didn’t match Kim’s cold, public persona at all. The apartment was quiet, filled with soft colors, plants by the window, books stacked neatly, a blanket resting over the couch as if someone had just napped there.

Kinn paused at the entrance, eyes tracing everything. “This… is yours?”

Kim set his keys down. “Yes.” His voice was calm, almost small in the quiet room.

Kinn stepped further in, his eyes lingering on a ceramic cup sitting on the coffee table — still warm, like it was recently used.

He didn’t comment. Instead, he walked to the couch and sat. Kim followed, lowering himself beside Kinn, his body relaxing the moment he sank into the familiar cushions.

“You designed this place yourself?” Kinn asked, eyes still moving around, trying to understand Kim in this softer light.

Kim hesitated, then nodded. “It’s the only place I can breathe.”

Kinn’s gaze returned to him, steady. “You scared everyone, Kim.”

Kim’s eyes stayed forward, on the window where the evening light cast a golden glow over his plants. “I’m fine now.”

Silence settled again — quiet, but not empty. Kinn leaned back, watching him carefully. In that stillness, Kinn realized… he had never seen this version of Kim. This calm. This vulnerable. This human.

“From now on,” Kinn said softly, voice steady with conviction, “no matter what happens… you will be safe. With me. I promise you, Kim… I won’t let anything hurt you again.”

Kim’s breath hitched. His eyes slowly lifted to Kinn’s, unsure, searching—like he wanted to believe but was terrified to.

Kinn leaned closer, his expression softer than Kim had ever seen. “I love you,” he said, as if it were the simplest truth in the world. “I love you… not because you’re my employee, not because of a friend … but because you’re you. Because when I look at you, I see the person I want to protect for the rest of my life.”

Kim’s eyes filled instantly. His throat tightened, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Why?” he asked, tears trembling in his lashes. “Why… did you fall in love with me?”

Kinn didn’t hesitate. His thumb softly wiped the tear that escaped down Kim’s cheek.

“Because you’re strong, but you still feel everything deeply. Because you tried to carry pain alone when you didn’t have to. Because even when you push people away… your heart still hopes someone will stay.”

He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Kim’s forehead—long, warm, grounding.

Kim closed his eyes, tears slipping silently. Kinn wrapped his arms around him, pulling him into his chest. Kim didn’t resist. His body relaxed into Kinn’s hold, his own arms slowly coming up to hold Kinn back—desperately, quietly, as if afraid to let go.

“In my arms,” Kinn murmured against Kim’s hair, “you never have to be scared again.”

Kim’s voice trembled, barely audible.

“Don’t leave me.”

“I won’t,” Kinn promised, tightening the hug. “Not in this life. Not in any life.”

And in that silent, gentle embrace, the chaos of the world finally faded—for both of them.

Chapter Text

Hi everyone,
I’ve decided to stop this story for now — I tried, but the ideas and mood just aren’t clicking.
You’re welcome to create your own version if you’d like (please give credit).
Thanks for understanding and for reading. 💜