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“Surely you’d prefer something more comfortable? Less… harsh?”
Kim grits his teeth, resisting the urge to clench his fists.
“How many times do I have to say it? I am not taking it off,” he growls, and the wardrobe department collectively sighs.
The collar had appeared around Kim’s neck a few weeks ago, and had become as much a part of him as his leather jacket and bad attitude.
“But, P’Wik.”
A particularly brave assistant steps forward– she must be new, because why else would she be foolish enough to keep pressing the issue?
“We’ve designed this whole concept around light colours and a softer aesthetic, and–”
Kim fixes her with a withering stare and she shrinks back apologetically.
The head stylist shoots her a pitying glance– clearly she hasn’t yet learned that nothing short of a natural disaster can change Kim’s resolve once he’s made up his mind on something.
“Then you’ll just have to rethink the concept,” he says flatly, slamming the door to the board room behind him as he leaves.
Arch follows him out, sighing in exasperation.
“I don’t want to hear it,” Kim snaps. The collar chafes at his neck but he ignores it, glaring at Arch.
“As your manager I want to give you hell for being so stubborn,” Arch says tiredly. “But as your friend, or at least someone who would consider themself your friend, I just want to know what’s going on. This is the third meeting you’ve walked out on this week, and the makeup people are days away from a mental breakdown if you keep snapping at them any time they get close enough to do their jobs. Is everything okay? It can’t be comfortable wearing that every day, surely?”
His eyes flick to Kim’s neck questioningly.
Kim clenches his jaw. No one seems to understand that the collar isn’t supposed to be comfortable: it’s meant to bother him and pull on his skin and hurt him in as many ways as it can.
Nobody understands that he likes it.
No, not likes it. He needs it.
“It’s fine,” Kim mutters irritably. “It’s not your concern.”
Arch raises his hands in surrender, used to dealing with Kim’s volatility.
“Fine, I won’t ask,” he relents. “But you’re really going to make them redesign their entire wardrobe over this? We film in a week.”
Kim rolls his eyes.
“They can keep their damn concept,” he says, holding in a hiss as the collar presses against his windpipe. “I’ll wear this underneath, it’ll be fine. We can say it’s to provide contrast or some other excuse– people will love it.”
Arch sighs again.
In the end the shirts are far too low cut to even try hiding the collar, so the stylists do their best to work around it and not ask any questions.
Kim ignores the hushed whispers of the crew which cut off suddenly as he walks past, putting all his focus on filming the music video. Let them think he’s unapproachable, a diva, whatever– they don’t matter to him.
The collar digs into him every time he turns his head to react to his co-stars’ performance, but he doesn’t outwardly react.
Inside, though, he is purring with satisfaction.
The thick black collar takes the internet by storm, his album sales breaking his previous record in only a few days. The collar becomes the unofficial symbol of the comeback and Kim wears it to every concert and fan meet, smiling emptily while trying not to scream at the fans who show him their own variations on it.
You have no right to be wearing that, he wants to yell.
But he just nods along like a bobblehead as his fans continue to preach about his cleverness, the collar cutting into him with every nod.
Reviews praise the ingenuity of pairing a song about freedom with the juxtaposition of a symbol of ownership, and Kim exhales a mocking laugh as he reads their far-fetched theories and analyses.
“In yet another stroke of genius from the costume designer, the collar serves as an example of the responsibilities which chain us to the ground while we yearn to be free,” one writes. “Wik’s wistful lyrics complete the picture of a man struggling to find his place in the world while reality is constantly knocking.”
Kim closes the computer and takes a deep breath, stretching his shoulders. The collar protests as his neck muscles flex, pressing uncomfortably into his skin.
Chay’s face appears in his mind, tears streaking down his face as Kim walks away from him.
“Have you ever loved me?” he asks, his voice so heartbreakingly fragile.
Kim’s fists clench and he tilts his head to the side, exhaling sharply as the spikes inside the collar break skin.
This is how it has to be.
Chay stands in the dark wings of the theatre, watching as Kim performs his newest song for an audience of rabid fans. Despite the incessant screaming, Kim looks at home on the stage, his hair falling in his eyes as he plays the guitar.
Seeing Kim perform like this is a nice change. He doesn’t know Chay is watching, as Chay pretended his university was having an open house that he had to attend. After he surprises Kim they’ll go for dinner and maybe a movie before Kim drops him off outside the main family house.
They’ve been taking their relationship slowly ever since Chay came back into his life, doing their best to act like a normal couple despite their lives being far from ordinary. Kim has been slowly getting better with handling affection, but he insists on maintaining strict boundaries and spending nights apart.
It’s a little disheartening that Kim still shrinks back from him when he tries to initiate anything more than holding hands, but Chay will wait for as long as it takes for Kim to feel comfortable.
Kim ends his song with a flourish, the audience losing their minds as he leans forward to take a drink of water.
His shirt moves, showing off the collar. It stands out against his white shirt, its neckline cut revealingly low to draw attention to it.
Chay feels a prickle of displeasure; he appreciates the message of the comeback, but he does not enjoy seeing Kim in something that denotes him as belonging to someone other than him.
Even if it is just a prop.
As Kim turns his head to address the crowd, Chay frowns.
A thin line of blood is tracing its way down Kim’s neck, small enough that the audience likely won’t notice it.
But Chay certainly does.
He gestures for Kim’s manager, all the while unable to tear his eyes away from the blood which has started to disappear under Kim’s shirt collar.
“Everything okay, Chay?” Arch asks quietly.
It’s not like Chay to interact with anyone during Kim’s performances, much preferring to devote his full attention towards his boyfriend.
“I thought you cared about Wik,” Chay hisses, a hint of venom in his words.
Arch’s brows furrow.
“I… do?” he says questioningly. “Of course I care about him, you know I do.”
Chay clenches his fist, willing himself to stay calm.
“Then why are you making him wear something that’s hurting him?” he demands. “I understand the collar is the focal point of the comeback, but you couldn’t have given him something more comfortable if you’re going to make him wear it all the time? He’s bleeding , and nobody seems to care at all!”
Arch takes a proper look at Kim and swears under his breath, raking his hand through his hair.
“We should talk,” he finally says to Chay, gesturing to the green room.
Chay hesitates for only a second, just long enough to notice how Kim brushes his hair over his neck, covering the blood from sight.
The door to the green room closes softly behind them and then they’re alone, Kim’s voice piping faintly through the speaker on the ceiling.
Arch rubs his forehead, looking a lot older than he is.
“Look, I’m as concerned as you are,” he says, stress evident in his voice. “He just showed up to the studio one day with the collar on, and snapped at anyone who asked questions. The collar wasn’t even supposed to be in the music video– we wanted to use pearls or diamonds or something like that. We spent half the day trying to convince him to take it off, but he reacted so badly that we figured it would be less hassle to just incorporate it into the concept.”
Anger gives way to worry as Chay takes in Arch’s words.
“How long- how long has this been going on?” he asks, the words feeling like dust in his mouth.
Arch chews on his lip as he thinks.
“It’s been at least a month,” he says slowly. “I just assumed… I don’t know what I assumed, to be honest. Just that it wasn’t my business. But this is the first time I’ve seen blood.”
Chay absorbs this information in a stunned silence. Kim has been wearing the collar for a month?
He wracks his brain, trying to remember any instances of noticing it.
Kim had had an affinity for high necked shirts since they got back together, but Chay had assumed that was just part of the boundaries he was so firm on maintaining.
But things were making a lot more sense, loathe though Chay was to admit it. Kim’s caginess around physical touch. His refusal to share a bed. The look he got in his eyes whenever Chay referenced their time before the breakup, gone before Chay could say anything.
He had been so blind, so naively happy to have Kim back in his life that he had brushed off the warning signs which had been tugging at his brain for weeks.
Because it didn’t make sense! Kim wouldn’t take orders from someone he didn’t respect, which was a very short list of people. Korn was dead, and Kinn would never make him do something like this. But that only leaves one option, and Chay feels sick to his stomach at the thought of accepting it.
Kim is choosing to wear the collar, to cause himself pain.
The question is why?
Tinny applause breaks Chay out of his reverie and he blinks.
“Thank you for telling me, Arch,” he hears himself say, sounding a lot calmer than he feels.
Arch nods at him, gesturing to the door.
“It sounds like he’s finishing up, do you want to come with me, or…”
He trails off uncertainly.
Chay hoists a fake smile onto his face.
“I’m just going to wait here, I think,” he says, only somewhat successfully masking how hollow he feels.
Arch shoots him a sympathetic glance and disappears through the door without another word, leaving Chay alone with his scattered thoughts.
Hardly a minute passes before the door is pushed open roughly.
Kim freezes in the doorway, a towel pressed against his neck. The collar is stark against his skin, mocking Chay proudly.
“Chay?”
Chay tries to smile at him, but he feels it flicker and die halfway to his face.
“I thought you had a thing at university?” Kim asks cautiously, noting Chay’s expression.
“I wanted to surprise you,” Chay says, his forced cheer continuing to fail him. “Is your neck okay?”
“It’s fine,” Kim says immediately, like it’s a knee jerk reaction.
Chay takes a step towards him. “Can I…?”
Kim backs up so quickly he almost collides with the door.
“Please don’t,” he says softly.
Fear is not an expression Chay has ever seen on Kim, and it scares him almost more than the collar does.
Didn’t we promise not to keep things from each other anymore? he wants to ask. Didn’t you look me in the eye and promise there’d be no more secrets?
“Okay,” is what he says instead, the word heavy on his tongue.
They drive to Kim’s in an uneasy silence, Chay’s leg bobbing anxiously from the passenger side. Kim wants to touch him, to reassure him, but he’s not sure if the advance would be welcome.
This was not how Chay was meant to find out. In an ideal world Chay wouldn’t have found out at all, but the world has never failed to throw Kim off his stride at every possible moment.
Chay barely spoke a word to him after the green room, trailing behind him like a ghost as he changed and put away his equipment for the night. But he could feel Chay’s gaze on him the whole time, practically burning into him.
A small, tiny part of Kim is elated that Chay has found out about the collar: finally, he’ll be able to stop wearing those damn turtlenecks he hates so much.
But what if he doesn’t understand?
The collar is for him, after all– a dedication to Kim’s devotion to him and repentance towards the past, all in one.
But it’s not just for him, either. Sometimes he thinks it’s the only thing that keeps his feet on the ground, when the world gets too overwhelming.
They pull up to Kim’s apartment, and Kim can no longer put off the conversation.
It’s funny, how something as trivial as a counter island can make the distance between them feel like miles. Chay stares at him across the island, his face pinched in what Kim can only describe as a confused anger.
“So…”
Kim trails off feebly. How the hell does he explain this?
Sorry for making you worry, I just like hurting myself? Wearing a collar is how I keep myself from going insane?
Any reasonable person would run away from that conversation without hesitation.
But, as always, Chay comes to his rescue.
“Would it be easier if you answer my questions, instead of trying to explain?” he asks, his fingers tracing the patterns of the marble countertop absently.
Kim nods, the collar digging into his neck. Chay notices, and his mouth twists unhappily.
“Are you wearing this willingly?” is his first question.
“I am,” Kim says without hesitation.
“Doesn’t it hurt?”
“It does.”
Kim braces himself for the question he knows is coming next.
“Then why are you wearing it?”
Chay looks at him so genuinely, like he wants nothing more than to understand.
Kim takes a deep breath, the words that have been circling his head for weeks finally seeing the light.
“I have to feel pain if I want to truly be forgiven.”
Chay’s fingers pause on the marble.
“To be… forgiven?” he repeats slowly.
Kim nods again.
Chay’s voice is quiet; dangerously so. “Forgiven for what?”
Well, there’s no getting around it now.
“For what I did to you.”
Chay’s face falls.
“Why would you say that?” he asks, frustration lining his words. “I forgave you for everything months ago, you know I did!”
Kim clenches his fist under the island, his nails digging into his palm.
“No, Chay,” he says as calmly as he can. “Not forgiveness from you– forgiveness from me.”
Chay stares at him blankly.
“Forgiveness from you,” he echoes.
The conversation is going about as well as Kim expected, and he can see the annoyance building in Chay as his body language shifts.
“You should never have forgiven me for the shit I put you through,” Kim says in a rush, suddenly desperate to make him understand. “Everything I did was to manipulate you and hurt you, to get close to you without caring about your feelings. I deserve to hurt a thousand times worse for what I did to you, to feel pain any time I think about the pain I caused you.”
Chay is shaking his head in horror but Kim presses on, his words tripping over themselves in their need to be heard.
“Hurting like this is the only way I can learn, don’t you see?” he pleads. “If I don’t suffer for my choices, how can I be sure I won’t make the same mistakes?”
“Korn taught you that, didn’t he,” Chay says flatly.
Kim winces.
“It wasn’t… just because of that,” he mumbles, his manic energy abandoning him as quickly as it came.
He clears his throat, avoiding Chay’s eyes.
“I like wearing it. I- I owned the collar already, before everything happened.”
There’s no sound of disbelief; Chay doesn’t walk away in disgust like Kim had feared.
“Okay,” he says gently, taking Kim’s hand and guiding him to the sofa. He perches across from Kim, intertwining their fingers and resting his head on his knees.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Chay asks. “I’ve not– I don’t have any experience with this sort of thing.”
A tendril of guilt curls in Kim’s stomach. Of course he doesn’t have any experience; Kim had stolen the chance for Chay to explore his interests, just like he had stolen so much from him–
“Whatever you’re thinking, stop,” Chay interrupts him, nudging him with his foot. “I can tell you’re overthinking again.”
Kim exhales a small laugh, and Chay smiles faintly.
“You know me too well,” Kim says, and Chay’s face falls.
“Do I?” he says quietly. “Then why didn’t I notice you’ve been hurting?”
A new wave of worry washes over Kim.
“You can’t blame yourself, Chay, not for this.”
“How can I not?” Chay asks bitterly. “I knew something was off, but I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to change things, not when they were finally working out for us.”
“I went out of my way to hide it from you,” Kim confesses, although he’s sure Chay has figured that much out. “There’s nothing you could have done to change my mind.”
Chay frowns.
“If I had forgiven you sooner, would you still be wearing that?”
At last, a question Kim can answer without hesitation.
“Yes,” he says unflinchingly. “This is my penance for what I did to you, regardless if you forgave me or not. I would have worn it if you forgave me right away, and I would have worn it even if you never forgave me. It is my burden to bear, to remind me of the consequences of my actions.”
“And does my opinion not matter to you?” Chay asks, steel in his voice. “Did you honestly think I wouldn’t care that my boyfriend is making himself bleed in the name of forgiveness? Did you think I wouldn’t worry?”
Kim quails under Chay’s tone, the collar biting into his skin yet again as he shrinks back against the sofa. He can feel a drop of blood trailing down his neck again and Chay’s eyes fixate on it, his breath catching in his throat.
“Wait here,” he orders, and Kim stays rooted to the sofa as Chay disappears, reappearing a few seconds later with the first aid kit they keep under the bathroom sink.
He catches Kim’s wary expression and raises an eyebrow.
“You’re going to tell me to leave you alone, aren’t you?”
“You shouldn’t have to take care of me,” Kim mumbles, embarrassed.
Chay exhales loudly, thumping the first aid kit on the pillows rather aggressively.
“How many times do I have to tell you, I want to take care of you,” he says, taking a seat beside Kim again. “It isn’t a burden to look after someone you love.”
“But I’m not worth it,” Kim protests.
Chay takes Kim by the chin so he’s forced to make eye contact.
“You don’t get to make that decision,” he says firmly.
Kim swallows, his skin buzzing.
“Okay,” he concedes, letting Chay tuck his hair behind his ear. When Chay reaches for the collar, though, he flinches back.
“Please,” Chay says softly, and how can Kim say no to him?
He bows his head obediently, Chay’s hands ghosting over his shoulders lightly before settling at the back of his neck. The buckle comes apart smoothly, and Kim inhales lightly as the spikes are pulled from his skin for the first time in days. He didn’t always sleep in it, but on days that were particularly bad he wouldn’t bother to remove it, the collar pressing against the pillows and into his neck reassuringly.
He can tell from the stubborn set in Chay’s jaw that he’s trying not to cry as he takes in the myriad of wounds on Kim’s neck, some a faded pink while others are beaded with fresh blood from where the spikes had pulled out of his skin.
The collar lies abandoned on the floor and Kim stares at it as Chay starts cleaning his injuries, feeling strangely detached from the sharp sting of the disinfectant. The spikes glint up at him, dried blood flaking off the worn leather onto the ground.
“I’ve had it for years,” he finds himself saying, to break the silence which is threatening to overwhelm him.
Chay stills for just a moment before continuing his task. He’s giving Kim the space he needs to talk about it, and Kim is once again reminded of Chay’s neverending graciousness.
“If I fucked up a deal, or if a mission went bad, I could put it on and it would help me feel more in control of the situation,” he continues. “Nobody questioned anything; they just assumed I’d been out fighting or something like that when they saw the scratches. And I was careful to make sure no one saw me wearing it, until…”
The words die in his throat. Until I fucked up the worst I ever have, and then it didn’t seem to matter who saw it.
“How does it make you feel in control?” Chay asks, but there’s no judgement in his voice, only curiosity.
Kim thinks about the answer as Chay starts bandaging his neck, carefully brushing his hair away from the adhesive.
“It’s… comforting to wear,” he says slowly. “I can always feel it, and it’s something I’ve chosen to put on myself. It’s like reminding myself that I’m in control of my life, regardless of the shit I have to do for other people.”
For my family hangs in the silence between them.
“I don’t like seeing you in it,” Chay confesses quietly.
The buzzing under Kim’s skin gets worse, and he doesn’t realize he’s shaking until Chay pauses what he’s doing and cups Kim’s face lightly.
“I don’t mean that I’m not open to the idea in general,” he amends, ensuring eye contact once again. “But I don’t like that you didn’t tell me, because I’ve spent weeks resenting the idea that you belong to someone else.”
Kim blinks. “What?”
“Seeing you in that collar…” Chay pauses, biting his lip. “I’d be more than happy if you want to keep wearing one, but it can’t be that one.”
He gestures to the collar on the floor.
Kim bites back the instinctive reaction to protest, to insist that everything is fine.
Chay must notice, because his eyes soften as he finishes bandaging Kim’s neck.
“Can I tell you what I think?” Chay asks softly.
Kim hums his assent.
“I think you want someone to think for you,” Chay says. “Someone who wants what’s best for you, and someone who won’t let you hurt by yourself.”
Kim’s mouth is dry. “Yes, please.”
Chay kisses his cheek, gathering the supplies from the first aid kit.
“We’ll talk about it more tomorrow, okay?” he asks. “Come on, let’s go to bed.”
“You’re staying?” Kim asks, surprised.
Chay shrugs, as if the answer is obvious. There’s a stubborn set to his jaw, like he expects Kim to challenge him on this.
But Kim is too tired to enforce his usually strict rules, weariness creeping through his bones and into his soul.
He follows Chay into the bedroom without a word, allowing himself to be wrapped tightly in the comforter before drifting into an uneasy sleep.
He sleeps fitfully, strange creatures hunting him across his dreams and into awareness. They keep reaching for him, no matter how many times he bats their hands away and growls at them to stop.
He wakes with a start, the bedsheets tangled around his legs. The curtains are still drawn, but he can tell the sun is high in the sky from the stubborn sliver of sunlight which trails up the bedroom wall. The bandage Chay applied pulls at his neck, tangling with his hair.
He doesn’t feel well rested; if anything, he feels more tired than he did before the events of last night, his exhaustion running bone deep.
His hand wanders to Chay’s side of the bed, seeking his warmth.
But the bed is empty; the mattress is cold and firm, no sign anyone has slept on it for hours.
There is a second of panic: a primal fear, followed by the numbness of understanding.
Kim’s hand fists the sheets as he accepts his worst fear has come to fruition.
Chay has left.
He had known from the start that Kim was fucked up, but last night had been too much, even for someone as understanding as Chay. He had realized just how pointless it was trying to mend something so thoroughly shattered.
So he’d lain in bed beside Kim, fighting off the revulsion he felt from being so close to him. And then when Kim was asleep he walked out. There was no chance of confrontation, no messy breakup.
And why wouldn’t he leave like that, vanish without a trace? Kim had done the same to him– it was only right that their second try ended as brusquely as their first one.
Kim had broken his word about not keeping secrets. He deserves this.
But comprehending the outcome doesn’t change how painful it feels.
His breathing stutters and he reaches for his neck, tearing off the bandages and relishing in the sharp sting of his hair being ripped out. He claws at his neck blindly, relying on the familiar pain to distract him from his emotions.
But it doesn’t distract him anywhere near as much as it usually does, it just hurts.
For the first time in years, he has to bite back tears.
He grits his teeth. He won’t cry. No, he’ll do what he does best and turn his pain inwards until it begs to be released, whereupon he’ll bleed or burn or do whatever it takes to feel normal in his skin again.
Chay closes the front door, slipping off his shoes and placing the shopping bag on the coffee table.
The apartment looks as undisturbed as when he’d left a few hours ago: the blinds are still drawn, the bedroom is still dark, and Kim’s coffee mug remains untouched in the drying rack.
Chay frowns. Kim can’t still be sleeping, can he?
It was clear last night had taken a toll on him, both physically and mentally. He was still sleeping when Chay had gotten up, but he’d looked so exhausted the night before that Chay tried his best to leave without disturbing him.
He likely had a meeting he’d forgotten about. That must be it: Arch had sent him an exasperated text and he’d flown out of the house before having time to do anything.
Chay sighs fondly, pulling the blinds open. Sunlight streams into the room, glinting off the sharp points of the collar which still lies on the floor in front of the sofa.
He resists the urge to chuck it off the balcony. Only barely, though.
How could Kim stand to wear something like that? To face the world day after day, while wearing something which caused him such pain?
After their talk Chay had spent nearly an hour on BDSM forums and websites, reading up as best he could on the topics of which he knew so little. He had always had a passing interest in bondage and handcuffs and the like, but without anyone to practice with he had filed them away in his head for a later time.
But seeing Kim in a collar, learning he wants to be shown off and display his ownership to the world… it had certainly sparked something in Chay. He wants everyone to know that Kim is his, but the collar on the floor will not be the one that does so. No, that collar is going into the trash as soon as Kim agrees to throw it out.
Chay’s stomach rumbles, distracting him from his thoughts.
The fridge is nearly empty though, nothing but a few condiment bottles and an orange on the shelves.
Chay pulls out his phone and sends Kim a quick text, asking him what he wants to do for lunch.
A sound comes from the bedroom and Chay pauses. Had he just heard… a text tone?
Surely, he’s mistaken. Kim never goes anywhere without his phone, insisting that he needs to be constantly available in case something happens. Which, Chay had learned, is a valid possibility when your family is the mafia.
He sends another message tentatively, listening intently.
There’s no mistaking the sound: a goofy quack, set up as a joke when Kim had left Chay alone with his phone for a minute.
Chay pokes his head into the bedroom, his eyes straining to adjust to the darkness.
Even though the room is dim, he can see the bed is empty, the blankets crumpled haphazardly at the foot of the bed.
“P’?” he asks cautiously.
A small noise from the small space between the wardrobe and the wall draws Chay’s attention. His heart drops when his eyes adjust enough for him to see it’s Kim, wedged tightly in the corner and curled up in a ball.
“P’!” he exclaims, but Kim flinches at the noise, trying to make himself even smaller.
Chay takes an involuntary step forward.
“Kim?”
Kim lets out a soft whine and that’s all Chay needs before he’s across the room, kneeling in front of him.
He looks like a cornered animal, his eyes darting wildly around the room. The bandages around his neck are gone, fresh blood streaking down the side of his face.
“Baby, what’s wrong?” Chay asks softly, reaching for Kim’s hands.
He recoils in shock: Kim is freezing , small shivers wracking his body as he lets out trembling breaths.
Kim’s face falls at the action, the small light of hope in his eyes extinguishing, replaced by what Chay can only interpret to be a primal fear.
He tries to stand, to reach the bed, but Kim reaches out and grabs him, his fingers feeling like an icy vise on his wrist.
“Please stay,” Kim begs, raw terror in his voice. “Don’t leave me; I- I can’t–”
He cuts himself off, shaking his head so erratically that Chay worries he’s going to accidentally hurt himself more.
“I’ll- I’ll do better, I promise,” he pleads. “I’ll do anything you want, as long as you stay here.”
His hand drifts back towards his neck but Chay gently pulls it away, kissing his knuckles gently.
“Okay, okay,” he says reassuringly. “I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.”
He traces Kim’s cheek and Kim nuzzles into his hand, closing his eyes.
“You did, though,” Kim says quietly, and Chay winces as the puzzle pieces connect in his head.
Hadn’t he just promised Kim to stay with him, only to be gone when he woke up?
Frustration and self-loathing battle for a place in his heart, but he pushes them aside in favour of focusing on Kim.
“You’re right,” Chay murmurs, stroking Kim’s cheek. “I left without telling you, and I shouldn’t have. Can you ever forgive me?”
Kim’s eyes crack open.
“I would forgive you for anything.”
Chay isn’t comforted by the response: Kim still doesn’t sound like himself, his usual sharpness replaced with a vulnerability that he doesn’t seem fully aware of.
He reaches for the bed with his free hand and pulls the blankets off roughly, taking the softest one he can access and wrapping it around Kim tightly. He’s still trembling, seemingly uncontrollably, his hands gripping the blanket tightly as he stares into space.
Chay wracks his brain to try and remember anything he had read from the half-asleep Google search the night before.
“Hey, look at me,” he says gently, waiting for Kim’s eyes to flick to his. “Thank you for letting me give you a blanket. You’re so good for keeping still.”
Some of the clouds in Kim’s eyes seem to clear as he drinks in Chay’s words.
“I’m so proud of you for telling me what made you feel like this,” he continues, moving his hand to stroke Kim’s hair. “Next time I promise I’ll tell you, or leave a note or a text or something, so you don’t have to worry.”
Kim’s hands twitch.
“Does that mean… you’ll stay?” he asks, his voice still shaky.
Chay smiles softly, his heart breaking at the uncertainty in Kim’s voice.
“Of course I’m staying. I love you, after all.”
The tension drains from Kim’s body and he slumps, almost hitting his head against the wall before Chay manages to put his hand between them.
He pulls Kim onto his lap and hugs him tightly, noticing with relief that he’s stopped shivering quite so much.
They sit on the floor in silence as Chay runs his fingers through Kim’s hair soothingly, gently untangling the knots which have gathered at the base of his neck while being mindful of Kim’s injuries. Kim calms down after a few minutes, burrowing his head in Chay’s shoulder.
“Are you mad at me?” Kim finally asks, his voice quiet. “After- after yesterday, I thought you’d had enough of me.”
He avoids Chay’s eyes again, like he’s scared to see Chay’s reaction.
Chay kisses his forehead. Kim’s eyes meet his, bewildered.
“I was never mad,” Chay promises. “I was scared to see you hurt, and I didn’t react the way I should have, and I’m sorry.”
Kim tilts his head curiously. “Why are you sorry for that? It can’t be easy, learning your boyfriend is a freak.”
Chay’s hands tighten around Kim.
“You are not a freak,” he says, intensity seeping into his voice. “Why would you ever think that?”
Kim laughs bitterly. “How could I not be? What kind of sick bastard likes being in pain all the time?”
“I want to tie you up when we have sex,” Chay says plainly. “Do you think that makes me a freak?”
“No, but–”
“Then why do you think you’re a freak for what you’re into?” Chay interrupts. “Everyone has kinks P’; you’re not a bad person because you like pain.”
Kim absorbs Chay’s words in silence for a few minutes as Chay continues to stroke his hair.
“Can I get up for a second, to open the curtains?” Chay finally asks.
Kim’s breath catches, fear crowding his expression once more as his fingers wrap around Chay’s forearm tightly.
“It’s okay, I’m not going anywhere,” Chay reassures him soothingly. “Do you trust me?”
“Always,” Kim answers instantly, relinquishing his grip on Chay's arm.
Chay keeps up a steady stream of conversation as he stands, pulling the bedroom curtains open to reveal the midday sun.
Kim squints against the light, shielding his eyes.
Chay stands in front of Kim, blocking enough of the sun that he can blink the spots from his eyes.
“I got you something,” he says, chewing at his lip. “But it’s in the living room; can you come with me?”
Kim nods, climbing to his feet. Or he tries to, anyways–he barely makes it two steps before he stumbles into Chay.
“Baby, how long have you been sitting there?” Chay asks gently.
“Not that long,” Kim mumbles.
Chay can tell it’s a lie, but he doesn’t push the matter.
Sighing fondly, he lifts Kim into his arms, ignoring Kim’s faint protests. He puts Kim down on the sofa, kissing him delicately on the top of his head.
He hands Kim a paper bag, his own nerves starting to make themselves known.
“It’s okay if you don’t like it,” he says immediately, before Kim has time to even open it.
“Chay, I’m sure I’ll love it,” Kim refutes, reaching into the bag.
His expression flickers between shock and joy as he pulls the collar from the bag, holding it reverently like he’s afraid it will disappear.
It’s a simple design, dark brown leather embossed with a small wavy pattern. Kim runs his fingers along the pattern and Chay smiles, having done the same thing himself at the shop. The leather is soft and worn, a welcome contrast to the inflexible black leather of Kim’s previous collar.
“Chay, I…” Kim clears his throat. “Are you sure?”
Chay nods. “Until we can get one custom made, at least. But only if you’re okay with it!”
“Of course I’m okay with it,” Kim says. “Put it on me?”
Chay eyes the wounds on his neck warily but obliges after a moment, delicately placing the collar around his neck. The O-ring sits lightly over Kim’s sternum, and he sighs with satisfaction.
He clicks the lock in place on the back of the collar, and he feels Kim’s sharp inhale.
“I have the only key,” Chay whispers into Kim’s ear, hoping the knowledge comforts him.
Kim shudders excitedly, eyes widening as Chay slips the key onto a delicate silver chain and places the chain around his neck.
“If you want it tighter we can do that, but only if I’m around, okay?” Chay says, finally taking a proper look at Kim.
He has to mentally restrain himself at the picture of Kim looking at him so adoringly, sunlight glinting off the O-ring whenever Kim takes a breath.
Kim pauses, the happiness in his eyes dimming a little.
“This isn’t enough of a punishment,” he protests faintly.
Chay once again fights off the urge to reassure him that no punishment is necessary. If this is what Kim needs to heal, he’ll do practically anything to ensure it happens.
“If I say this is enough, then it is enough,” he says, his tone leaving little room for argument. “You can’t take the collar off without my permission, isn’t that enough?”
“But–”
“You wouldn’t be disobeying me, would you?” Chay asks.
He can practically see the anxiety drain out of Kim, replaced with a fierce joy.
“No,” he whispers.
Kim trusting Chay enough to let him be in control is an enthralling feeling, and it rushes through his veins, his blood turning to liquid fire.
“You look so good in a collar,” he mutters, lightly tugging on the O-ring until Kim leans forward obligingly. “Especially now, wearing something I bought you.”
Kim’s face flushes.
“Do you know how good it’s going to feel when people see you wearing this?” Chay continues quietly, his lips brushing against Kim’s ear. “What people will say when they realize the collar isn’t just for your album?”
Kim’s breathing quickens at the implications, and Chay smiles wickedly.
“They’ll say you’re beautiful. Perfect. Mine. ”
Chay punctuates each word with a kiss, feather light against Kim’s cheeks.
“Forever,” Kim agrees, closing the distance between their lips.