Work Text:
Still pretty?
The morning sun filtered gently through the tall windows of the little flower shop, painting golden streaks across the wooden floor. Chay moved carefully between the racks of tulips and orchids, his hands deftly trimming stems and arranging blooms into small, perfect bouquets. The quiet hum of the city outside seemed far away in the cozy space, the faint scent of lavender and roses weaving through the air.
Kim sat at the small table by the window, a notebook open in front of him, a pen in hand, but mostly he was just watching. Chay hummed softly as he worked, and Kim felt that familiar, fluttering warmth in his chest. It had been years since their wedding, but moments like this—simple, quiet, ordinary—made him fall in love all over again.
“You left these on the counter again,” Chay said, holding up a small sticky note with neat handwriting. Kim grinned sheepishly. “You like it, don’t you?”. “I do,” Chay admitted, tucking the note into his apron pocket before setting a vase of fresh daisies on the counter. “I just… feel like you leave them more for me than for anyone else.”.
Kim’s smile softened. “Maybe I do.” He leaned back in his chair, rubbing at the corner of his eye. “You make it easy to want to keep reminding you how much I love you.”. Chay’s shoulders lifted in a little shrug, a quiet, modest gesture that only made Kim love him more. He crossed the floor and lowered himself into the chair across from Kim, resting a hand over his. “You don’t have to remind me. I know. Every day, in the way you look at me, the way you make the tea exactly how I like it… I know.”.
Outside, a customer stepped into the shop, but neither of them moved immediately. They lingered in that comfortable, quiet intimacy, hands clasped across the table, the air between them warm and steady.
Later, when the shop quieted again, Chay closed the register and followed Kim to the cozy apartment they shared above the shop. It smelled faintly of cinnamon from the candle Kim always left burning in the living room. They kicked off their shoes at the door, laughing as Chay tried—and failed—to keep his socks clean after a spill of water from a potted plant.
Dinner was simple, made together in silence, punctuated with little jokes and shared glances. Afterwards, Kim sank onto the couch, leaning against Chay’s shoulder as he scrolled lazily through his phone. Chay rested his chin atop Kim’s head, his arm draped securely around him.
It wasn’t glamorous, and it wasn’t dramatic. But it was theirs. And for Kim, that quiet, steady love—the kind that had survived years, music careers, mafia shadows, and everything in between—was the most beautiful thing in the world.
The next few days passed in a gentle rhythm. Mornings were for coffee and small notes left on the counter for each other, afternoons for the quiet bustle of the flower shop, and evenings for walks through the city streets, hand in hand, listening to music or laughing at little things neither would usually admit aloud.
Kim found himself lingering a little longer in the kitchen, watching Chay prepare breakfast. Sometimes Chay would reach for the milk or stir the eggs, and Kim’s heart would flutter at the ease of it, the way their routines had become intertwined. He still caught himself marveling at how lucky he was—to have someone so steady, so patient, so effortlessly attentive.
And at night, the apartment became their private world. Kim would curl up against Chay on the couch, resting his head on Chay’s shoulder as they watched old shows or played quiet music. The familiarity was comforting, but there was always an undercurrent of something more intimate—small touches that spoke volumes: Chay’s hand brushing along Kim’s side, Kim pressing closer into Chay when he felt especially loved or safe.
It had taken Kim time to accept his own desires in their relationship. His father’s rigid, outdated ideas about what it meant to be “manly” had left scars. The thought of being the receiving partner—of giving up control—had once felt shameful. But with Chay, everything was different. The trust they’d built, the respect Chay showed him, had turned what used to feel like vulnerability into a source of happiness, even delight. Kim loved being at the receiving end, relishing in Chay’s guidance and gentle insistence.
And though he sometimes let himself imagine taking the lead if Chay asked—which was rare—he knew this balance worked for them. Chay loved him without question, and Kim cherished the freedom to surrender completely, to let Chay take care of him in every sense. It was quiet, it was steady, and it was theirs.
Even in this calm, perfect life, there was a little thrill in those private moments, a spark that reminded Kim of the passion and depth of their bond. The world could be peaceful and ordinary, but behind closed doors, it was still electric.
Weeks drifted by in the quiet, comfortable rhythm of their life together. Chay’s flower shop hummed with gentle activity during the day, the scent of roses and jasmine blending with the faint clatter of watering cans and chatter of customers. Kim spent mornings in bed a little longer, enjoying the rare luxury of rest, or working on music in small bursts before joining Chay for breakfast.
Chay’s bond with his older brother Porsche was a constant warmth in his life. The two of them shared a quiet, enduring friendship that went beyond family duty—they were soft and gentle with each other, able to be completely themselves without fear of judgment. Visits between the brothers were filled with easy laughter, shared meals, and moments of closeness that felt like home. Porsche, married to Kim’s older brother Kinn, often came by with Kinn, and the four of them would linger in the living room long after dinner, talking about everything from business to music.
When Chay and Porsche were alone, their bond was even more tender. Hugs lingered, hands brushed in casual comfort, exchanged with the warmth of absolute trust. They were best friends in the deepest sense, their connection quiet but unbreakable. Watching Chay interact with Porsche in this way made Kim’s heart swell; it reminded him of how love could be patient, gentle, and grounding.
Kim’s relationship with his own brothers, Kinn and Khun, was different. Distance had always existed, the result of a childhood that had never been full of affection or tenderness. Over the years, things had improved—there were dinners, greetings, and moments of genuine care—but Kim still carried a subtle wariness in their presence. He and Kinn could talk business or family matters with a sense of obligation, but the intimacy and warmth that Chay shared with Porsche felt almost foreign. Still, he valued the connection deeply, grateful for the bonds they had managed to nurture despite everything.
Back at home, Kim and Chay’s world remained their own little universe. Evenings were a mixture of quiet domesticity and soft intimacy. Kim loved to curl against Chay, feeling the press of Chay’s hand along his side or the warm weight of his shoulder. Sometimes Chay would rest his chin atop Kim’s head, the gesture small but filled with love, grounding Kim in a way that had taken years to accept and fully trust.
Their sexual dynamic, too, was a reflection of that trust. Kim reveled in being the receiving partner, a role he had once feared and resisted because of his father’s rigid expectations of “manliness.” Now, under Chay’s tender guidance, it had become one of the things that made him feel safest, most cherished.
Every glance, every touch, every laugh and whispered word was a quiet affirmation of the life they had built together: calm, loving, and deeply secure. It was a life built on trust, care, and enduring love—a life Kim had once thought he might never deserve, and one he now clung to with all his heart.
The apartment was warm when Kim came back, arms full of grocery bags and his gym bag slung across his shoulder. He kicked the door shut with his heel, his body loose and pleasantly tired from the workout. The faint sound of music drifted through the living room—bright, catchy, polished—and he smiled to himself. Chay always had something playing when he was alone.
But when he walked into the living room, the sight made his smile widen even more. Chay was curled on the couch, knees pulled up, eyes wide with excitement as he sang along to the song playing on the TV. His whole face was lit up, his body moving unconsciously to the beat, and Kim felt the familiar tug in his chest—the same one he’d felt since the first time he’d ever seen Chay smile like that.
“What’s all this?” Kim asked lightly, setting the groceries down on the counter. Chay’s head whipped around, eyes bright. “Babe, come here! You have to see this.” He patted the space beside him eagerly, then reached out to grab Kim’s wrist as soon as he was close enough. “Sit, sit, sit!”.
Kim let himself be tugged down, chuckling as Chay all but shoved him onto the couch. “Alright, alright, what’s got you so excited?”. Chay turned back to the screen, pointing. “This guy—he’s incredible. His voice, his stage presence—just look at him!”.
On the TV, a young man in his mid-twenties commanded the stage with a smooth, practiced ease. His voice was rich, his lyrics soulful, and his style—dark clothes, sharp features, a hint of mystery—was uncannily familiar. Kim’s breath caught before he could stop himself.
Chay was practically bouncing. “He just debuted last year, but he’s already huge. And listen—” He sang along with the chorus, pitch-perfect and bright, his hand gripping Kim’s arm like he wanted to anchor him to this excitement. “Doesn’t this sound amazing?”. Kim smiled faintly, eyes glued to the screen. “He’s… good.”.
Chay didn’t notice the shift in his tone. “Good? He’s amazing! Wait, there’s more.” He quickly queued up another music video, this one moody and artistic, the idol sitting at a piano in a way that made something in Kim’s chest twist. Chay leaned forward eagerly, his eyes never leaving the screen. “I watched his interviews too—he’s humble, funny, a little shy, you’d really like him, Kim.”.
Kim nodded slowly, the weight in his chest tightening as Chay’s words echoed. You’d really like him.
But all Kim could think was how much the young idol looked like a reflection of his younger self—sharp edges, haunting lyrics, the kind of energy that had once made crowds scream his name. Only now, Kim was in his mid-thirties, his skin a little less smooth, his body not as effortlessly lean, his eyes lined with years of late nights and hard choices.
He glanced at Chay, at the way his husband’s entire face glowed with excitement, and something in him knotted with fear. He wanted to laugh it off, to tease, to kiss the corner of Chay’s smile and let it go—but the insecurity was already blooming hot and heavy in his chest, impossible to ignore.
Chay turned to him, eyes shining. “Isn’t he great? Doesn’t he remind you of… I don’t know, a little bit of Wik in the early days?”. Kim’s heart lurched. He forced a smile, swallowing hard. “Yeah… something like that.”. And though he kept his arm wrapped tight around Chay’s shoulders, pressing a kiss into his hair as if nothing was wrong, the thought gnawed at him, sharp and relentless.
What if you don’t need me anymore? What if you’d rather have the younger, brighter version?
Kim pressed another kiss into Chay’s hair, lingering for a beat too long before pulling back. On the TV, the idol shifted into another song, the bright stage lights flashing across the screen, but Kim tightened his arm around Chay’s waist and murmured, “Baby… come help me with the groceries, hm? I can’t carry all that alone.”.
Chay blinked at him, a little confused. “You already brought them in, didn’t you?”. “Mm,” Kim hummed, brushing his lips along Chay’s temple, “but I need help unpacking. With you.” His voice was soft, coaxing, deliberately low.
Chay hesitated, glanced at the TV, then laughed when Kim tugged gently at his hand. “Alright, alright. The video will still be here later.”.
Kim kissed him before he could stand up, slow and a little hungrier than usual. “Good,” he murmured against Chay’s lips, “I like you better than any music video.”.
The afternoon unfolded with Kim glued to Chay’s side. He brushed against him in the kitchen, leaning in close as they unpacked groceries, fingers brushing deliberately over Chay’s whenever he handed him something. He stole kisses while Chay tried to chop vegetables, wrapped his arms around Chay’s waist from behind while he stirred a pan, rested his chin on Chay’s shoulder as if he couldn’t bear even an inch of distance.
“Kim,” Chay laughed, tilting his head against his husband’s. “You’re clingy today.”. “Problem with that?” Kim murmured, nipping lightly at his jaw. Chay smiled, shaking his head. “Not even a little.”.
The rest of the day was no different—Kim insisted on curling into Chay on the couch, his head pillowed against his chest, his hand resting possessively over Chay’s stomach. He kissed him often, little pecks and soft presses, his eyes lingering as though committing every detail of Chay’s face to memory.
By the time they slipped into bed that night, the need in Kim had grown sharp and restless. He kissed Chay with urgency, rolling closer, pressing their bodies flush together. His hands traced over familiar lines, pulling Chay down against him.
“Kim,” Chay whispered, surprised by the sudden intensity, “what’s gotten into you tonight?”. “Hopefully you,” Kim breathed, his voice low and rough. “Just need you.” His hand slid lower, pulling Chay closer still, his body trembling faintly with want. Chay’s resistance melted immediately, not that there really was any —he would never, could never say no to Kim, not when his husband looked at him like that, eyes dark and full of desperate longing.
Kim gave himself over completely, pulling Chay deeper, closer, clinging to him like he might disappear if he let go. He wanted to feel Chay everywhere, inside and out, to leave no room for doubt. Every movement, every kiss, every whispered plea was soaked with unspoken fear.
Stay with me. Still want me. Don’t look at anyone else.
Chay held him tenderly, murmuring soft reassurances between kisses, never suspecting the storm running through Kim’s head. And when Kim finally broke apart, breathless and trembling in the aftermath, he pulled Chay as close as possible, pressing his face into his chest as if to anchor himself.
But even as Chay stroked his hair and whispered, I love you, I’ve got you, the thoughts wouldn’t let Kim go.
What if I’m not enough anymore? What if one day you wake up and realize you could have someone brighter, younger, better?
Kim clung tighter, praying Chay would never notice the shadows creeping into his heart.
The room was still dark when Kim’s eyes opened. Chay’s arm lay heavy across his waist, his breathing deep and even, lips parted against Kim’s shoulder. For a moment, Kim stayed still, staring at the ceiling, the echo of last night’s thoughts gnawing at him.
He looked at him like that. Bright-eyed. Breathless. Like he used to look at me.
The thought made Kim’s chest ache. He shifted carefully, slipping out from beneath Chay’s arm, and pressed a soft kiss to his temple. Then he pulled on his running shoes, tugged a hoodie over his head, and stepped into the predawn chill.
The streets were quiet, just the faint hum of distant traffic and the rhythm of his feet hitting the pavement. Kim ran harder than he had in years, his lungs burning, his head a storm. It wasn’t about the fame. He knew—without a shred of doubt—that if he announced a tour tomorrow, if he released one word under Wik, the world would still fall at his feet. The arenas would sell out, the fans would scream his name.
No, it wasn’t the idol’s fame. It was Chay’s reaction.
The way his husband’s eyes had lit up, wide and sparkling, the way he’d laughed and sung along, cheeks flushed with excitement. Kim wanted that. He wanted to be the one who made Chay’s face glow like that, who made him look like he’d just discovered something magical. He wanted to be pretty for him. Strong for him. Sexy and sharp and brilliant—for him. Always for him.
Because if he ever lost Chay… Kim didn’t know if he’d survive it.
By the time he stumbled back into the apartment, sweat dripping down his neck, his breath ragged, the first pale light of morning had begun to seep into the city. Chay was still asleep upstairs, tangled in the sheets. Kim stripped off his clothes and headed straight to the bathroom.
The shower was scorching hot, steam filling the room as he scrubbed himself raw. He washed his hair twice with Chay’s favorite shampoo—the one Chay always said smelled like fresh flowers and rain. He shaved carefully, every inch, his hands steady despite the storm in his chest. He exfoliated, scrubbed, washed again, until his skin tingled.
When he finally stepped out, the mirror was fogged, but he wiped it clean and leaned in close. He slathered expensive lotion into his skin, pulled out every serum and mask he owned, layered them on with practiced precision. He brushed his teeth twice, sprayed cologne along his throat and chest.
Then he stood naked before the mirror, staring at himself. His body was still lean, still toned from years of discipline, but softer than it had been ten years ago. The muscles weren’t as sharp, the edges not as unforgiving. His waist was still narrow, his frame still striking, but to him it felt like a shadow of what he used to be.
He sighed, dragging a hand down his face. You need to work harder. You can’t let him look at anyone else like that. You can’t lose him.
When he dressed, he chose tight jeans and a fitted shirt that clung to his body, hugging his waist and showing off what definition he still had. He styled his hair carefully, concealed the faint shadows under his eyes with makeup, dabbed a touch of color on his lips.
When he finally stepped back from the mirror, the man staring back at him took his breath away. Beautiful. Polished. Almost untouchable. But deep inside, the knot of fear remained, whispering. Will he look at you the way he looked at him? Or will he always see what you’re not anymore?
Kim squared his shoulders, forced a smile, and went downstairs.
The scent of frying eggs and butter drifted through the apartment when Chay blinked awake, the sheets warm where Kim’s body had been. He yawned, stretching his arms above his head, hair sticking out in all directions. His eyes were still heavy with sleep as he shuffled to his feet, tugging at the hem of his oversized pajama shirt.
“P’Kim?” his voice was rough, drowsy, carrying through the hallway as he padded barefoot downstairs. “Where did you go?”
From the kitchen came Kim’s low reply. “In here, baby.”. Chay rounded the corner, rubbing at one eye—and froze.
Kim stood at the stove, spatula in hand, dressed in dark jeans that hugged his legs and a fitted shirt that clung to his narrow waist and lean torso. His hair was styled perfectly, his skin glowing like porcelain, lips soft and tinted with just enough color to make them irresistible. He looked like he’d just stepped out of a photoshoot—sharp, breathtaking, untouchable—and yet he was calmly flipping eggs as if this were just any morning.
Chay’s jaw literally dropped. “Holy… fuck.” Kim turned his head slightly, a small smile playing at his lips. “What?”.
“What—” Chay’s voice broke into a stunned laugh as he rushed across the kitchen, hands already on Kim before he could stop himself. “What do you mean what?!” His palms slid over Kim’s chest, down his sides, marveling at the perfect lines under the tight fabric. “Look at you. You’re—” He broke off, groaning softly as he pressed a kiss against Kim’s neck. “You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”.
Kim laughed, soft and a little bashful, though his heart fluttered wildly at the attention. “You’re ridiculous.”. “No, you are,” Chay countered immediately, kissing down his jaw, nipping lightly at the skin there. His hands slid around to Kim’s waist, gripping firmly, pulling him back against him until their bodies were flush. “God, your waist—how are you so small? How are you so perfect?”.
Kim melted into his touch, giddy warmth spreading through his chest. He’s looking at me like that. Like I’m the only one.
"I mean, I see and appreciate you everyday, but today?". Chay kissed him again, this time on the lips, hungry and insistent. “Why did you doll yourself up like this? Hm? Planning to kill me first thing in the morning?” His words were muffled against Kim’s mouth, but his grin was unmistakable.
Kim laughed into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Chay’s neck. “Maybe I just wanted to make breakfast for my husband.”. “Liar,” Chay whispered, his lips trailing back to Kim’s throat, voice vibrating against his skin. “You’re trying to drive me insane.”.
The eggs hissed in the pan, momentarily forgotten, as Chay pressed Kim tighter against the counter, his wide eyes dark and burning with the kind of raw hunger that left Kim breathless. He was looking at him exactly the way he had looked at that idol on the TV—no, more than that. Like Kim was the only star in the room, like he was about to be devoured whole.
And Kim, dizzy and flushed under the weight of that gaze, thought wildly—My plan worked.
Chay’s mouth was already on Kim’s, hot and demanding, kissing him like he’d been starved all night. Kim gasped softly, his lips parting, and Chay swallowed the sound, pressing him back against the counter. “P’Kim…” Chay groaned against his lips, hands sliding down to grip his slim waist, fingers digging into the tight shirt. “You’re going to kill me, dressed like this.”
Kim’s laugh was breathless, already breaking into a moan when Chay’s lips left his mouth to attack his throat. He tilted his head back instinctively, baring himself to Chay’s mouth, and nearly cried out when teeth grazed against his skin.
“Chay—ah—”.
The sound drove Chay wild. He bit down lightly at Kim’s neck, then soothed the sting with a hungry kiss, leaving red marks behind. His hand at Kim’s waist gripped tighter, pulling him close, thumb brushing just above his hipbone. The other hand slid up, curling around Kim’s throat, not choking but holding, claiming.
“You don’t even know what you do to me,” Chay muttered against his skin, his voice low, trembling with need. “Look at this waist—tiny, perfect—fuck, I can’t stop touching you.”. Kim gasped, his whole body trembling under the possessive touch, a high moan slipping out when Chay squeezed lightly at his throat. His cock hardened so fast it made him dizzy, pressing against the front of his jeans.
They kissed again—messy, frantic, wet with moans—as if they were teenagers making out for the first time, hands everywhere. Chay’s teeth caught Kim’s bottom lip, tugging just enough to make him whine, before devouring his mouth again.
“Chay—please,” Kim begged, his voice breaking as he clung to his younger husband. His plan had worked too well; Chay wasn’t just looking at him like that idol—he was consuming him, tearing him apart with every kiss, every bite, every grab. Kim’s chest heaved with shallow breaths, his skin flushed and buzzing.
Chay groaned into his mouth, then spun him around, bending him forward slightly over the counter. One hand stayed locked on his narrow waist, gripping it like he owned it, the other still curled around his throat, holding him upright.
“You’re mine,” Chay hissed in his ear, grinding against him from behind, both of them hard and aching now. “Say it, P’Kim.”.
Kim moaned helplessly, arching his back to press himself against Chay’s heat. “Yours—always, always yours.”. That was all Chay needed. With hurried hands they pushed clothes out of the way—jeans tugged down, underwear shoved aside—and Chay buried himself inside in one hard, desperate thrust. Good thing Kim was still soft and ready from his shower earlier.
Kim cried out, hands scrambling on the counter for purchase, his moans breaking into gasps as Chay filled him completely. His throat strained against Chay’s grip, his waist clutched tight, his body owned and adored all at once.
“Fuck—Chay!”.
Chay’s thrusts were deep and hungry, his grip on Kim’s waist bruising as he pounded into him, the other hand steady at his throat, controlling but careful, always reading Kim’s breath, his moans. He leaned over his husband’s back, biting at his shoulder, growling against his skin.
“You’re so perfect like this, P’Kim,” he gasped, thrusts relentless. “So fucking beautiful. Look at you—mine, all mine.”. Kim’s reply was incoherent moans, his name a mantra on Kim’s lips. His body trembled, overwhelmed by pleasure and by Chay’s desperate devotion. Every thrust, every bite, every kiss to his throat reminded him that yes—Chay wanted him. Nobody else. Just him.
And as Chay fucked him into the counter, Kim’s fear and jealousy burned away under the heat of his husband’s love.
Kim’s body shook under Chay’s relentless rhythm, every thrust punching needy moans from his lips. His hands clutched the edge of the counter so hard his knuckles went white, but his legs were already trembling, struggling to hold him upright.
“Chay—ah—Chay, I can’t—” he gasped, head falling back against his husband’s shoulder.
“You can,” Chay growled, his voice rough, possessive. He tightened his grip on Kim’s waist, pulling him flush against every thrust, the slap of skin loud in the kitchen. The hand at Kim’s throat squeezed just enough to make Kim moan even louder, the sound breaking, desperate.
Kim was undone—his plan had worked too well, and now he was unraveling in Chay’s arms, dizzy from the intensity of it all. Every bite Chay left along his neck, every kiss and scrape of teeth, made him cry out harder. He was already close, painfully hard and dripping, cock rubbing against the counter with each thrust.
“P’Kim—fuck—you feel so good,” Chay panted, his thrusts turning deeper, more urgent. “I’m not letting you go, never. You hear me? Never.”
“Yes—yes, Chay—yours, only yours!” Kim sobbed out, almost delirious from the pleasure. His whole body trembled, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes from how overwhelming it was.
That broke Chay completely. With a guttural moan, he bit down on Kim’s throat, hard enough to mark him, as he thrust deep and spilled inside him. Kim’s body clenched around him at the same moment, his orgasm hitting so hard his vision went white. He cried Chay’s name like a prayer, spilling all over the counter, his legs shaking so badly he nearly collapsed.
Chay caught him instantly, strong arms wrapping around his waist and chest, holding him up as they both shuddered through the aftershocks. Their breathing was ragged, sweat-damp skin pressed together, Chay still buried deep inside.
When Kim finally sagged against him, exhausted, Chay chuckled breathlessly and kissed the side of his throat where fresh marks bloomed. “God, I love you so much, P’Kim.”
Kim laughed, voice weak but full of warmth, turning his head to kiss Chay’s jaw. “I love you too. So, so much.” They stood there a moment longer, clinging to each other, before Chay helped him clean up quickly. Soft touches, whispered words, gentle hands washing away the mess like it was nothing compared to the fire they’d just shared.
A little while later, they curled up together on the sofa, breakfast plates balanced on their laps. Chay kept sneaking bites to feed Kim, grinning every time his husband rolled his eyes but still opened his mouth obediently. Kim looked devastatingly beautiful even with messy hair and faint blush still on his cheeks, and Chay couldn’t stop kissing him between bites.
They giggled, teased, kissed, and fed each other until the food was gone—so wrapped up in their own little world of love and warmth that nothing outside of it even mattered anymore.
Later that day, when Chay had dozed off with his head in Kim’s lap, Kim’s fingers lazily stroking through his fluffy hair, the weight of everything finally settled in Kim’s chest. Not the ugly, heavy weight of insecurity, but something lighter—something steady.
Chay hadn’t hesitated. Not for a second. He had kissed him wild, touched him desperate, fucked him like there was no one else in the world but them. Pajamas or styled hair, sleepy eyes or glitter on stage—none of it had mattered. Chay’s love wasn’t careful, it wasn’t hidden, it wasn’t polite. It was loud, consuming, written in the bruises on Kim’s throat and the way his waist still ached from Chay’s grip.
Kim smiled faintly, tracing the curve of Chay’s cheek with the tip of his finger. He would never stop dolling himself up for his husband—it was fun, in its own way, to make Chay’s eyes go wide and his hands greedy. But now he knew. Even if Chay’s eyes lit up at an idol on the screen, even if he hummed songs that reminded Kim a little too much of himself… he only had one husband. One love.
And it was him.
Kim leaned down, pressing the softest kiss against Chay’s temple, whispering into the quiet room like a vow: “You’re mine, and I’m yours. Always.”. Chay stirred, smiling in his sleep, and Kim felt it—finally, fully—no reason left to doubt.