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Chay is so engrossed in his video game that it takes him a while to notice what Kim is up to.
He glances up reflexively when Kim wanders between the bathroom and the bedroom, not consciously aware of what’s caught his eye. He belatedly registers that Kim has left the door open, and the bright bulbs of the mirror lights are on in the bathroom. He’s still not really paying attention, though he looks up again when Kim crosses back to the bathroom.
Kim might be carrying something, but Chay’s eyes are on the hem of his shirt as it flutters in his wake. The shirt is one of Chay’s favorites, oversized and soft. Kim usually wears it with the sleeves rolled up and only a few buttons fastened in the front, which gives Chay an eyeful of his throat and collarbones.
He’s not ashamed to admit that’s the primary reason he looks up the next time Kim leaves the bathroom. He’s rewarded not only with Kim’s collarbone, but also a tantalizing glimpse of his navel as the shirt billows open at the bottom. There can’t be more than three buttons actually done up and keeping the shirt on his shoulders. Maybe two.
Chay is still only half-paying attention - and most of that attention is on buttons and skin - but a few observations eventually click into place. Kim is warming up. He must have been at it for a while, since he’s progressed from low notes to high. Chay is now so used to living with a singer that he tunes out anything vocal that isn’t pitched like a question. It generally fades into background noise, especially when Kim is in another room.
Kim is warming up, the makeup mirror lights are on, and he’s wearing a shirt he can shrug out of without messing up his hair. Chay waits for Kim to drift back out of the bedroom one more time to confirm that he’s clipped his hair back from his face, and then he pauses his game and goes to investigate.
Chay has spent actual hours poking around in Kim’s jewelry cases, asking about this ring or that bracelet—not to mention the dedication with which he’s studied close-up photos of Wik’s concert accessories. He still hasn’t seen most of the options Kim has strewn across one side of the counter, piled in little treasure heaps to narrow down the final selection.
“Insta live?” Chay guesses. He’d know if Kim had anything major scheduled, but sometimes Kim decides to be impulsive. For a Kim-definition of the word, anyway, which means considering an idea from several angles and then immediately, meticulously plotting out its execution.
“Mm.” Kim seems like he’s in a good mood, so this is probably a victory performance, rather than a mandatory appearance he’s been maneuvered into by his manager. That theory is proven correct when Kim says, “You can tell your brother I’ve found the source of his shipping container problem.”
Chay doesn’t fully understand Kim’s involvement with the mafia. Kim insists it’s non-existent, except that he always knows everything that’s going on. Sometimes - most of the time - he knows it better than Chay’s brother does, and Hia’s the one running a mafia family.
Chay tries to take it in stride. The most important thing is that Kim isn’t trying to hide those different aspects of his life anymore. He’s invited Chay to be part of all of them.
“You could tell him yourself,” Chay reminds him.
Kim hasn’t styled his hair yet, so Chay feathers his hands through it, letting the soft strands fall between his fingers. Kim doesn’t stop getting ready, but he tilts his head back into Chay’s hands.
“He’ll be grumpy. He’s been trying to track this down for months.”
“So you want him to be grumpy at me instead,” Chay accuses, smiling at Kim in the mirror.
“He’s never grumpy at you,” Kim says. This is patently untrue, but Chay gets what he means. It won’t sting coming from Chay the way it seems to when Kim sticks his nose in minor family business.
Chay watches Kim make quick work of his makeup in the mirror. “Your hair’s getting long,” he observes, running his fingers through it again.
“You like it that way.”
Chay pauses to turn that statement over a few times. “Are you growing it out for me?”
He’s still getting used to this kind of thing. Kim doesn’t seem comfortable with making grand romantic statements the way Chay does, unless they’re couched in song lyrics. He doesn’t treat Chay to helicopter rides or yacht trips like Chay’s heard about from his brother.
He makes small declarations instead, like the guitar pick threaded onto a leather thong around his wrist, where it will be obvious when Kim strums the guitar strings.
Kim’s gaze meets Chay’s in the mirror for a second. Chay feels warmth bloom in his stomach even before Kim repeats, “You like it.”
“I like you,” Chay says in return, unable to help himself. He combs a few strands of hair back from Kim’s face and studies the effect. “How are you going to style it?”
Kim shrugs. It’s almost casual enough to fool Chay into missing another romantic gesture. “You can do it, if you want.”
Chay had surprised himself, early in their relationship, by how possessive and territorial he feels about Kim. He likes having a visible claim on Kim, even if it’s something no one else knows about. Maybe especially then, when it’s a secret between them. Kim and Chay know, and that’s enough.
Kim, for his part, hadn’t seemed surprised at all. He’d set some ground rules on hickeys and PDA, and otherwise lets Chay do whatever feral, hungry thing his brain wants when he knows Kim is going to make public appearances.
Kim leans back slightly, pressing into Chay’s hands. Chay gathers up handfuls of thick, dark hair, and watches Kim’s eyes go heavy and hooded in the mirror. The warmth in his belly heats up a little.
“Comb?” he prompts. He could get it himself, but it’s nice to have Kim offer it up instead, so Chay can keep looking at him. “What are you going to wear?”
Chay isn’t a fashion expert like Tankhun, but that’s not important. He knows all of Wik’s looks, and he knows the parts of himself that Kim puts on display, and the ones he tries to hide.
Kim could probably list his entire wardrobe by designer label and collection, but he describes his clothes for Chay in color and texture. He nudges a pair of earrings, a necklace, several bracelets, and a handful of rings out of the tangle of jewelry for Chay’s inspection.
Chay pulls Kim’s hair back into a ponytail, which it’s barely long enough to do. He chases a few short, loose strands until he gives up and just lets them fall. He encourages a few more to join them so it looks intentional rather than haphazard.
Kim looks a little older than he usually does when Chay’s finished, sharp-edged and soft at the same time. It’s not the neatest hairstyle, but Chay realizes what he’d wanted when he checks the overall effect in the mirror.
It looks like Wik. It also looks like Kim.
“All done,” he proclaims. He sets down the comb and sticks his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie so he won’t keep messing with it. He wants to ask if it’s okay, but Kim trusts him. Chay will trust himself, too.
Kim raises his eyebrows playfully and asks, “Are you sure?”
Chay thinks at first that there must be something wrong with the ponytail—that Chay’s accidentally tangled a necklace chain in it, or left a clip in, or something—but then Kim tilts his head. Chay’s eyes drop automatically to the way his shirt collar pulls open across his chest.
There are only two buttons done after all, Chay notes distractedly.
Then the hungry, feral thing in his brain remembers that Kim is about to go on camera, and that other fans are going to be talking about him and looking at him.
“Can I, um…?” Chay asks, without taking his eyes off the exposed vee of Kim’s chest.
Kim taps a spot on his sternum. “Collar line will be here,” he says, which is all the encouragement Chay needs to turn Kim around and pin him against the bathroom counter. His hands bunch in Kim’s shirt, ready to push the soft fabric out of his way so he can leave a mark on Kim that only the two of them will see.
Chay checks over Kim’s hair one more time. “You like it?” he asks, just to be sure.
“I like you,” Kim answers, and runs his thumb over the dimple that appears when Chay smiles.