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Charn is dreaming.
He knows he’s dreaming. He knows the mud cold below his knees, the way his shirt is soaked, the lightning that makes the air taste metallic.
There’s two bodies. His mother, soaked in blood, pale and lifeless, and a man crumpled beside her.
Charns blood freezes. He should be used to this dream. The frantic breathing, the helplessness, the way the zip tie digs into his wrist as he struggles.
There’s never been a man before.
Charn shuffles closer, and the begging starts, unbidden. His voice is high and sharp, calling for his mother over and over.
The man’s dark hair is matted with blood, and he’s wearing a pair of muddy converse. He manages to nudge the man’s shoulder enough to see the line of his face in the next flash of light.
It's Tinn.
Charn screams then, raw, his throat shredded by the outpouring of emotion.
Tinn shouldn't be here. He can't be here.
The wound on his back spasms and Charn sobs, his begging turning to pleas for Tinn; don't leave me, not you too, you're all I have left.
He wakes with a start, freezing cold, muscles tight. He has to see Tinn. He has to touch his skin, make sure he’s warm and alive.
Charn reaches across the bed, searching for Tinn, and he finds cold skin. He snatches his hand away, and in the icy moonlight, he sees it’s dark with blood.
He panics— no, no, this can't be real —and when he turns his head to look at Tinn, his husband, his life, he’s drowning in a sea of red stained across their sheets.
Charn screams Tinn’s name. His body is frozen, torn between pulling Tinn into his arms or dragging himself away, so he can't see the blood pooling around him.
He reaches out, his hand shaking, maybe to take his pulse, maybe he’s not gone yet, maybe Charn can save him—
Then a loud, panicked, “Charn!” drags him back.
He’s disoriented and nauseated, head spinning, throat raw. When his body slows down enough for him to realize he’s sitting up, he immediately leans over the side of the bed and retches.
The tension in his body is painful, joints creaking as he tries to hold himself together. He can feel the tears tracking down his cheeks, and gentle hands on his body.
The touch grounds him further, and he hears a soft voice repeating over and over to counter the pained cries. “Charn, baby, it's okay. You're safe.”
He collapses into himself, curling towards the voice, the hands, before he realizes it's his broken voice crying for Tinn.
He’s here. Charn is crushed to his chest, Tinn's heartbeat thudding against Charn’s ribs, his lungs expanding, and Charn tears at the thin t-shirt wanting to bare skin and muscle under his hands.
Tinn gets the idea and pulls it over his head, and Charn is pulled back against his warmth. The silk of his skin against Charn’s cheek, the firm muscles under his hands, warm, alive, makes Charn sob. He can't hear anything but the blood rushing in his ears and Tinn's steady heartbeat.
It takes him a while to calm down enough for Tinn to arrange them more comfortably, Charn’s head still on his chest, his body caged between Tinn’s thighs. His breathing is evening out, matching the rise and fall of Tinn’s chest.
Tinn is holding him tightly, and Charn hears him whispering, “You're safe, in bed with me, in our bedroom.”
Charn shudders, and takes a deep breath. He sits up a little, enough so he can face Tinn, who immediately cups his cheek with a warm palm.
“You were there,” Charn starts, but his voice immediately breaks into coughs. Tinn hands him water, helping him sit up to drink. He finishes the glass. Tremors are still wracking through his body.
Tinn strokes his hair, and says softly, “You don't have to tell me if you don't want to.”
Charn shakes his head. “It was the same dream I always have.” Tinn nods. “But this time, you were there. In the village.” Even thinking of it makes Charn feel sick. He clenches his teeth. “Then I woke up in our bed. You were dead. Again. And I couldn’t save you this time either.”
Tinn’s other hand flies to his face, cradling his jaw. “I’m right here Charn. Look at me.”
Charn shivers, remembering Tinn’s beautiful features sticky with blood. For the first time that night, with great difficulty, he looks Tinn in the eye. Tinn’s expression is one full of concern, but when Charn meets his eyes, he smiles.
Charn leans in and kisses him, to assure himself Tinn is really here, holding him. He’s crying, gasping into the kiss, and Tinn is kissing him back so carefully, guiding him, letting him take what he needs, reassuring him.
After a moment he rests his forehead against Tinn’s, eyes closed. The tears are drying on his skin, tight and itchy.
Tinn asks, “Can I get you cleaned up?”
Charn nods, and Tinn guides him to the bathroom, and doesn’t let him go even when they're both under the hot spray.
He’s shaking a little, trying to replace the sensation of icy rain and mud with warm water, the smell of soap, and cool tiles below his feet. His shoulders slowly relax, the tension in his exhausted body finally releasing.
Charn sinks into Tinn's arms, and rests his head on Tinn’s broad shoulder. Tinn strokes his nape, with his other arm tight around his waist.
Charn runs his palm over his eyes, and is only half surprised that they’re damp with tears. There’s a cold, tight knot of fear that this isn't real sitting heavily in his chest. Tinn's voice is blending in with the sound of the shower, a soft mantra of, “You’re with me Charn. I won't let anything happen to you. I’m here, I’m safe.”
But Charn is just so tired. He’s tired of everything. He’s tired of being held hostage again and again in his own mind, by his own fear. Losing Tinn would be the end for him. It would shatter what little faith he had. He knew that if he lost Tinn, he would follow him, wherever that road led, death or otherwise.
His chest is going tighter and tighter, the icy knot expanding, and then Tinn’s voice is firm in his ear, “Charn, breathe with me baby.” He’s placed Charn’s palms on his chest, taking exaggerated breaths, and Charn mimics him, until the sound of the shower comes back, the feeling of skin below his palms, and Tinn comes into focus through the haze of panic.
“Tinn,” His voice is weak. Pitiful. Tinn runs his fingers through Charn’s damp hair, moving it out of his face. He kisses his forehead and says, “You’re okay, sweetheart.” Tinn’s voice is steady. His heartbeat is steady under his palms. Charn counts the beats until he can meet Tinn’s eyes.
Tinn has beautiful eyes. They betray his every emotion, the duality of his kindness to his fierce temper. All Charn can see in his eyes right now is love, clear and calm.
Tinn is his clear skies, his sunlight after the monsoon.
Charn takes a deep breath. The look in Tinn’s eyes manages to untangle the knot in his chest further. He has no idea how Tinn puts up with him. “I’m—” he falters. Scrubs his face. “Can we get out of the shower?” Tinn nods without hesitation.
They dry off quietly, Charn is too tired to dig around in his vanity, even for a moisturizer.
In the soft light of the bedroom, they dress. Charn catches Tinn’s wrist when he goes to grab a clean t-shirt. “Can you lie on-top of me?”
Tinn smiles. “Of course.”
Charn settles himself into the bed, under the comforter. He hears Tinn shuffle, feels the mattress dip, the comforter lift, and then the full press of Tinn’s weight on top of him.
It’s luxuriously heavy. He can feel Tinn’s heartbeat over his. Tinn's breath ruffles his hair as he settles himself into position. His strong arms fold over Charn’s, and they breathe together. It's grounding and comforting—Charn could feel himself relaxing, muscles softening. Tinn’s chest is expanding in time with his. Safe. Alive.
It’s hard to believe he deserves to be treated with kindness or that he's worthy of the love of a man like Tinn.
Tinn’s soft laugh drags him out of his thoughts, “I can feel you thinking, you know.” he says. Charn huffs. Tinn squeezes his hands where they’re laced together, and kisses his shoulder.
This was what he needed. He’s safe under Tinn, from himself and his quicksilver emotions. The sadness settles with every breath they share, the fear drains with every thud of Tinn’s heart. Tinn’s warmth is chasing away the shame that clings to his skin, every nuzzle into his hair, every kiss to his temple replacing the shame with love.
“How’re you feeling?” Tinn asks. His voice is a low vibration over Charn’s back. It tickles a bit.
“Better,” Charn whispers. “A little longer?” Tinn shifts his weight, letting Charn take a deeper breath in, before settling himself again. Tinn replies, “As long as you need, Charn.”
Charn drifts. He focuses on the sensations until all he feels is tired. He wants to put his head on Tinn’s chest and have his hair pet.
He taps Tinn’s hand, and he lifts off Charn, and flops beside him on the bed. Tinn arranges the pillows a bit, and then Charn is curled up on Tinn’s chest, ear over his wonderful, alive, heart.
The fingers carding through his hair lull him further, and he snuggles closer, eyes closing.
***
When he opens his eyes again, gray morning light is filtering into the room. Tinn is still asleep, and Charn is thankful for the moment of quiet. They’ve migrated to their standard sleeping positions—Tinn on his stomach, with an arm over Charn, who is curled against his ribs, tucked as close as he can be, and a leg thrown over Tinn’s thigh.
He feels better. Tinn was always good at pulling him back to even ground. Charn’s emotions have always felt too big for his body, too intense, too much. A win in court, an insult against his family, a night too deep in his own thoughts, and he would spiral. Tinn matches his intensity so easily, willingly sharing the enormity of his emotions and letting them wash over him as he gently reeled Charn back to center before he slipped off the edge.
There’s a lingering jittery exhaustion, but that was to be expected. He relaxes into Tinn’s embrace, and lets his mind wander.
He doesn't often have nightmares—when he was younger, and the pain was fresh, there would be weeks of restless nights. This time it was stress induced, but even that was rare.
The first time Charn woke up in the middle of the night to Tinn screaming, he was relieved. He knew how to deal with this. He held Tinn close, comforted him with soft words and touches, made him a hot drink, and promised him he would be here when Tinn woke up. Tinn had melted against him, trusting him completely, in a new, terrifying way.
He confessed to Tinn the next morning that he had awful nightmares, just like Tinn’s, and he didn’t sleep well for months after his mother died. Tinn had simply pulled him into his lap and promised to take care of Charn if or when another dream like that happened.
There was a soft understanding between the two of them—a peaceful night was a luxurious experience. They purchased a new mattress together, softer pillows, and nice sheets. No matter how late of a night they had, they would take care of each other.
Charn stretches, joints popping, and burrows himself under the blankets and into Tinn's warmth to sleep for a bit longer.
***
Later that morning, as they're making breakfast, Charn shatters his coffee mug on the kitchen tile. He’d jumped when the toaster came up, and now he’s staring at the mess, frozen.
Tinn puts his hands on his shoulders and guides him out of the kitchen, and sits him down. He’s cradling Charn’s shaking hands in his own.
“I think you should stay home.” Tinn is kneeling in front of him, talking low. Charn looks away and tries to pull his hands out of Tinn’s grip, but he knows Tinn is right. He can’t work like this.
He nods, while eyeing the mess in the kitchen. Tinn stands and kisses the top of his head. “Go get dressed, baby. I’ll make you another coffee.”
Charn goes. Tinn teased him about his morning routine, but Charn loves it.
He puts on his morning playlist and starts his stretches, letting the tension melt away as he moves through the poses. Charn grabs a hydrating mask, settles himself in favorite chair, and meditates—or at the very least, he lets his mind drift and settle. He showers, shaves, and starts his skincare routine. Usually around now, Tinn would wander into the bathroom and bring him a coffee or some fruit, and sit on the counter to chat with him while he applies his creams and serums.
Charn heads into the closet, hesitates at his rack of loungewear, before opening the dresser on Tinn’s side of the closet, and stealing an oversized t-shirt and a pair of his sweats.
Going through the familiar motions help ground him further, and by the end he feels solidified back into his own body.
He wanders back into the living room and Tinn greets him from the couch.
Charn grabs a blanket off the back of a chair, and wraps it around them both as he sits beside him. Tinn slides his arm over his shoulder, and Charn is tucked against him, safe. He tucks up his knees under the blanket too.
“You never have nightmares that bad.” Tinn asks, as he leans his head onto Charn. “Is something going on?”
Charn shugs. Tinn’s thumb is rubbing over the scar on his arm. He tilts his head up for a kiss and Tinn smiles as he indulges him, before handing him his coffee.
He warms his hands as he filters through the week, his caseload, the sweet surprise date night, and something clicks.
Tinn had picked him up from the office at the same time his new client was leaving—a client that Charn really didn’t want Tinn anywhere near.
This man’s case was weird. He’d come to Charn as a victim of a seemingly cut and dry assault case, but the first meeting was shadowed by such a strange disregard for the incident that it made Charn suspicious. There was definitely something more going on under the surface.
Tinn had been waiting in the foyer, chatting with Charn’s new assistant, when he clearly caught the man’s eye. Tinn was asked out often enough that Charn could usually roll his eyes and tease him about it later, but this time, the client’s reaction had been aggressive and unwarranted.
He left without it escalating too far, but the way he’d looked at Tinn like he was a piece of meat had alarmed Charn. The interaction was so blatantly at odds with the stack of files in his office. Maybe he was a little over protective of Tinn, but it still didn’t make sense.
Tinn had taken him back to his office and spent a very thorough half hour reassuring him he was fine. He brought him to dinner (his favourite street vendor) and then took him to the movies like it was a first date. No wonder he’d forgotten all about it.
Charn unfurls himself from his blanket cocoon and murmurs, “Wait here,” to Tinn. He goes to the office and grabs his stack of folders for this case and hauls them to the living room, dumping them on the coffee table.
“Tinn, my darling, you signed an NDA from the office didn’t you?”
Tinn was already sorting through the folders. “The one we signed at the wedding? I signed something a while ago at the office. Was that it?”
“Do you…read the documents I ask you to sign?”
Tinn keeps flicking through highly confidential police records. “Nope.”
Charn is going to murder his wonderful husband.
“You should always read the legal documents you're signing,” he deadpans.
Tinn looks up at that. “You’re my lawyer.” His lips quirk up in a smile. “Why would I bother?”
Charn rolls his eyes in defeat, and sits back down beside Tinn and stares at the sea of papers.
“What’s this code mean?” Tinn is rifling through the court case records for Charn’s client, and points to a series of letters and numbers.
Charn frowns. “Case didn’t go to trial, mishandling of evidence”
Tinn runs his finger down the page. “This one?”
“Police interference, new investigation required.”
There’s dozens of lines of charges, all coming to a halt before a verdict. Judges throwing the case out, evidence tampering, mistrial, everything.
And his new client is the aggressor in every single one.
Tinn is frowning, skimming the one of the testimonies attached. “Charn, why would he need a lawyer like you? Seems like he’s more than capable of getting himself out of trouble.”
Charn opens another folder—a damages claim against his client. The person who filed the claim had declared himself the victim.
“Darling, can you find me the interview with this case number?” Charn asks as he digs through a stack of files for his client's interview he transcribed last week.
Tinn hands it to him, and leans against his side to read over his shoulder.
The testimonies are almost identical.
Charn grins. Tinn’s comments, the interviews, the cases that never went to trial all fall into a neat, orderly line. Crisp, clear paths forward. He can feel the thrill of solving it, solving it with Tinn, a sparkling sensation over his nerves, in his fingertips, and he can hardly contain how overjoyed he is.
He pushes Tinn back against the couch and straddles his thighs, taking his face in his palms.
Tinn paws at his waist, and Charn punctuates his thoughts with a kiss to Tinn’s face. “How are you so clever?”
Tinn shrugs.
“Tinn,” Charn says, ecstatic, “He’s trying to use me.”
That makes Tinn laugh. “How?”
Charn wraps his arms around Tinn’s neck. “He wants to intimidate his victims. Clearly his methods of getting away with it are starting to fail, so now he needs to set a precedent. He needs a lawyer that won’t lose.”
Tinn looks up at him, his eyes wide, and asks, “He’s using his victims' cases against them?”
Charn nods. He’s smiling so wide it stings.
He’s worked hard to keep his reputation as unbeatable. Now, he can take a bit more pride in his wins, knowing that more often than not he’s helping someone, using the law that he loves so much to fight against injustice. Tinn didn’t always agree with his approach to getting there, but the more he learns about the barriers to fairness, to equality in society, the more he is willing to compromise.
Charn leans back, and Tinn’s hands fly to stabilize him as he grabs his pen and a pad of paper off the table and settles into Tinn’s lap. Propping the notepad on his shoulder, he starts writing. Tinn sighs and gets comfortable.
This isn't the first time Charn has shoved him down on the couch and used him as a desk, grumbling about how this case doesn’t make sense, and asking Tinn what he thought.
Charn watches him close his eyes. Charn grins and kisses him, quick and teasing, and Tinn smiles and squeezes his waist.
He gets to work. Tinn makes sure Charn doesn’t tip them both off the couch when he turns and grabs documents to reference, and occasionally offers his thoughts to Charn’s musing.
After he figures he has gleaned everything he can from the documents he brought home, and considering he can't grab his phone, he stacks everything up and to the side, and leans into a yawning Tinn.
“All done?” Tinn asks.
Charn nods. “For now, until I make some phone calls in the office tomorrow.”
Tinn stretches, and then wraps his arms around Charn’s torso tightly, and stands.
Charn yelps, clinging to him, and Tinn walks them to the bedroom and tosses him onto the bed. He lands in the middle of the fluffy comforter, and Tinn crawls into bed after him.
Charn is trying to look dignified, but Tinn reaches for him and digs his fingers into Charn’s side, and he breaks into peals of laughter. Charn manages to get his hands under Tinn’s shirt, and then Tinn is giggling and trying to dodge, and they’re both trying to pin each other to the bed.
They're both out of breath when Charn straddles Tinn’s waist and pins his wrists. Tinn is still laughing, his eyes sparkling, and Charn adores him.
He leans down and kisses his cheeks, over his brow, his nose, and Tinn squirms, before Charn ends on his lips, softly, a quiet thank you .
Tinn rolls them over, because Charn could never really pin him, and kisses him again, a little deeper. “Later,” he murmurs into Charn’s mouth. He then flops to the side and says, “I'm exhausted.”
Charn laughs. “You didn't bring me in here to ravish me?”
“No,” Tinn says. “I brought you in here to get some sleep.”
Charn pulls Tinn closer, cuddling his big puppy who nuzzles into his neck with a sigh. His mad dog, who refuses to leave Charn’s side. Since they met, Tinn has quietly and consistently told Charn he wasn’t alone. He reassured him that he would help Charn, they could solve things together, and that he wouldn’t leave him if it was difficult.
They would figure this out together too. Charn finds Tinn’s left hand in the tangle of limbs and kisses his wedding ring.
Tinn makes a soft, questioning hum. “My mad dog,” Charn says, determined, “We have another case to solve.”