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Wong caught it on a Tuesday. He was making breakfast as a part of his morning routine while he waited for Stephen to wander down for food. It was eggs and toast, today. Not Wong’s usual cooking, but they had some extra eggs and Stephen liked foods that he could eat with his hands when utensils refused to cooperate.
Stephen had walked into the kitchen in his sleep clothes – sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt, as per usual, his shaking hand brushing against Wong’s shoulder as he passed him to get to the tea pot on the stove next to the eggs. Wong smiled softly at the contact, then frowned when he noticed silvery lines across Stephen’s wrists, much different than his surgery scars and eerily familiar.
Wong paused in his cooking to gently grab Stephen’s arms. Stephen stilled, watching Wong as he pulled his arm closer, moving it so the scars caught the light. Wong wasn’t sure how he had missed these, although it had only been a few months of them living together, and only a few weeks since they've started unofficially dating.
“Stephen…” Wong whispered, looking up at his partner. “Stephen, what have you done to yourself?”
Stephen swallowed, refusing to meet Wong’s gaze. “Those are… those were from a long time ago, don’t worry about it.”
“I worry about you.”
“I was trying to find a way out, on the farm. I’m in a much better place now,” Stephen admitted, gaze briefly flitting to Wong’s eyes. “It’s nothing important. Just teen-aged drama decades ago.”
Wong nodded, then pulled Stephen into a hug. “You are important, Stephen. You are loved and cherished. You don’t need to escape, so please, don’t hurt yourself.”
Stephen seemed to freeze in Wong’s hold, but he relaxed into it, wrapping his arms around Wong’s frame and burying his face in Wong’s shoulder.
“I don’t need to escape,” Stephen said, and it sounded like tears, “not anymore. Not now that I have you.”
Wong felt something wet drip onto his neck as Stephen’s shoulders started shaking. He pulled Stephen closer and closed his eyes. “I love you.” He finally said. The first time he’d said it to Stephen, although he’d been thinking it for far longer.
Stephen seemed to cry harder, but he eventually composed himself enough to whisper back in Wong’s ear through a watery voice and little sniffles: “Your eggs are going to burn.”
“You’re a little shit, you know that?” Wong asked, forcing himself to let go of his partner so he could at least turn the stove off because yes, his eggs were going to burn if he didn’t do something soon.
Stephen smiled shakily, wiping his eyes with the hem of his shirt. “I know.”
Wong laughed.
Later, when they were washing dishes side-by-side or, more accurately, Wong was washing a weekend’s worth of dishes while Stephen dried them with a hand towel, Stephen bumped their shoulders together. Wong hummed, focusing his attention on Stephen while he worked out a particularly nasty spot of dried sour cream on a plate.
“I love you, too,” Stephen said, setting his now dry bowl down and reaching for a cup.
Wong glanced to his side, catching Stephen’s gaze and smiling when he saw the pink dusting Stephen’s cheeks.
“I know,” was all he said.