Chapter Text
Rome watched Mok from across the way, a private smile on his face. Mok was deep in conversation with Peach, his dear brother's new partner, the two finding an easy friendship. It was in this state of unguarded contentment that Mok seemed most beautiful to Rome. The warmth of the moment faded, however, as his thoughts drifted to the heavy talk with his mother.
“Why were you and Dad able to get married, but P’Kian and I are forbidden to love? Don’t you think that’s unfair to us?”
His eyes landed on Mok, who stood guard, positioned stoically past the bed, facing the door. Rome’s mother understood his question; she knew precisely why he felt the way he did. Rome had never learned how to be subtle with his words or his heart; his feelings were a loud, public declaration he forced everyone to deal with.
Rome knew the stakes, though. Love was a weakness, an open invitation for their enemies to strike. Because his mother’s fame made her difficult to approach directly–always noticed, always causing a stir– she could be safe. He understood why his father felt more at ease; her high profile wasn’t just a career; it was the ideal shield.
“It’s a rule that you both must accept,” his mother replied, her voice tender despite her words.
Rome smiled, mischief and trouble etched in his handsome features, “You have no idea how much P’Kian and I have always tried to break this rule.”
His mother cooed, pinching his nose, her gaze softening even more at her troublemaking son, “You cheeky thing! Time to sleep and stop letting your mind wander.”
“Krub,” He smiled at his mother, leaning into the kiss on his cheek. They said their goodnights before she left, muttering something to Mok that Rome couldn’t hear. His eyes remained on Mok, his smile falling.
“Kris.”
Rome looked over at his brother and raised a brow, “Hmm?”
They glanced over at Mok and Peach, watching as the two spoke and smiled. He smiled too, “There is much to lose.”
His eyes focused on Mok, casually dressed, glasses low on his nose, deep in conversation with Peach. Mok rarely spoke much, not even to Rome; he was always the listener. But with Peach, he found an easy rapport. Watching him, Rome's heart swelled.
There wasn't a single thing about Mok that Rome didn’t love.
He loved the way Mok tried—and failed—not to smile at Rome’s jokes. The subtle tell was a scrunched nose, a glance to the left, and a roll of the eyes. A normal person would miss the faint curve of his lips, but Rome knew that expression intimately.
And the way Mok committed himself entirely to his work. When Thee mentioned starting a perfume brand, Mok was immediately invested. He wasn't silent about his ideas then, offering Thee his most brilliant, straightforward strategies without any of the secret dealings Rome was accustomed to.
And there, there was his laugh: quiet, a sound like a carefully guarded secret. Even now, watching Mok laugh at something Peach said, Rome ached to bottle that sound and keep it safe forever–just as he longed to do with Mok himself.
“Do you ever wish we were someone else, P’Kian?”
Thee glanced at Rome, his gaze heavy, but Rome kept his eyes fixed on Mok. Rome’s smile softened. For years, his affections had been reserved for one person: Mok. Mok was the only one who didn’t let Rome get away with anything. Every snide remark, every eye-roll, every impulsive choice Rome made somehow led him straight back to the man who kept him grounded.
The feeling was mutual; Rome felt sure of it. Mok might deny it outwardly, but Rome recognized the truth in his quiet moments: the softened look in Mok’s eyes when no one else was watching, the painstaking detail in which he planned for Rome’s comfort–even anticipating his specific preferences on his flight. No one knew Rome better. These simple, undeniable gestures confirmed that it wasn’t just Rome yearning for their relationship to be different. Mok felt the same way.
“Do you hate being a Lee?” Thee spoke, his voice low.
“No,” Rome replied, turning to face his older brother. He offered a genuine smile, “But money and power cannot buy love. And I wouldn’t want to. I don’t want to buy Mok’s love; I want to earn it.”
Thee’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly, his expression turning thoughtful. He shifted his gaze towards Peach for a moment, then back to Rome. Rome was intensely curious about what was running through his brother’s mind, but he never got the chance to ask.
“And have you?” Thee pressed, the question hanging in the air. “Earned it, that is?”
Rome’s confidence evaporated. He shrugged, the gesture small and resigned. Earning it felt secondary to their reality.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said quietly, “You know the rules.”
A heavy, shared moment of sadness passed between the brothers. Frowning, they turned their attention back to the objects of their desires. The world was simply too dangerous for Mok and Peach to be loved out loud. Their affection would only paint a target on innocent backs, a reminder that the Lee Brothers were vulnerable. No amount of money, firepower, or influence could shield their loved ones from what might come.
Mok understood this dynamic perfectly. He maintained his distance from Rome, reinforcing daily the necessary space between them. Did Mok realize how much those painful reminders hurt? Rome could cover his pain with a joke or a smile, but his heart broke a little more every single time.
As the night drew to a close, Rome convinced Mok to walk beside him down the beach, using his safety as an excuse. Thee and Peach had already gone their own way, seeking their own moment of quiet. Mok, ever vigilant, made sure a significant distance remained between them–enough space for another person, Rome noted. Rome despised the distance; even five centimeters felt like too much.
Shoes in hand, they walked along the shore, enjoying the quiet hum of the night, feet sinking into the warm sand. The moon created a perfect, silver spotlight on their path. Rome wished the light could capture the moment like a photograph, a tangible memory of their fleeing peace that he could hold onto when Mok inevitably pulled away again.
Rome stopped walking, watching Mok’s back. It took several moments before Mok realized Rome wasn’t beside him. He spun around quickly, a flicker of mild panic crossing his face. Rushing back, he frowned, “Khun Kris, you can’t just–”
“I have a birthday request.”
The words cut Mok off. He instantly went quiet. He adjusted his glasses with a slightly nervous gesture, a smart move when it came to Krisdanai Rome Lee. He nodded. “If I can, I will grant it.”
A smile touched Rome’s lips as he slipped his hands from his pocket and presented it, palm open. He nodded towards his inviting hand, “Hold my hand.”
Surprise visibly flashed across Mok’s features, his eyes widening. He swept a nervous glance over their surroundings, quickly looking back at Rome. He shook his head firmly, “Khun, that would be improper.”
The mafioso narrowed his eyes into a frown, tilting his head, “We are alone, Mok. This beach belongs to Arseni. Nobody is going to question me, and even if they did, who cares? It’s my birthday.”
Rome presented his hand, fingers wiggling, a confident smile fixed on his face. Mok fought the invitation for only a second, a silent debate playing out across his features, before his shoulders dipped in resignation. He gave in. The moment their hands met, their fingers slotting together perfectly, an electric warmth blossomed between them. Rome’s gaze drifted to the tops of Mok’s ears, now a telling pink. He bit back a cheeky remark, protecting the delicate silence of the shared moment.
They started walking again, and the physical distance between them closed. Rome squeezed Mok’s hand–not just an acknowledgement of presence, but a silent vow: Mok was always on his mind. Even when duty demanded absolution and cold logic, a part of Rome ached to rebel. He wanted Mok. He wanted to love Mok openly, without the fear that an enemy of the Lee Family might one day exploit that love. Having seen the worst of humanity while away, the stakes felt impossibly high.
Why did loving someone have to be so painful?
“Mok.”
“Yes, Khun?”
“If I told you I loved you, what would you say?”
Mok stopped dead. Rome paused and glanced back, only to have his heart break at the sheer devastation on Mok’s face; a silent plea for Rome to take the words back. Rome was notorious for testing boundaries and pushing limits, but speaking these words crossed a line they both tacitly agreed upon. Love was a language of gestures between them, never words, because of the dangerous roles they were meant to play.
As Mok tried to pull his hand from Rome’s grasp, Rome let his shoes drop, catching the wrist and holding firm. His expression was a portrait of desperation, “Mok… please,” he pleaded quietly, “Don’t pull away from me.”
Mok’s vision blurred; tears gathered behind his lenses as he looked at Rome, his own face showing anguish. He inhaled a shaky, audible breath, “Khun…, let me go.”
Rome stepped closer, the control he had maintained finally shattering. He felt dizzy, his heart a raw wound in his chest, “You can’t expect me just to sit by and pretend I don’t want you. And you can’t pretend you don’t want me, either. Everything you did for my birthday, my coming home–this bracelet! It means something.”
He thrust his wrist forward, the cheap, handmade bracelet a defiant splash of color against his designer clothes. He dared anyone to mock it. Let them laugh. It held more value than every piece of finery he owned combined, because it was from Mok – his Mok.
“You can’t tell me you don’t lov-”
“I don’t.”
Rome’s expression didn’t just fall; it shattered. Mok seized the moment of Rome’s shock, snatching his hand back and putting physical distance between them once more. Mok stood rigidly straight, the words a bitter pill to swallow: “I don’t love you.”
“... You’re lying.” Rome’s voice was barely a whisper, an accusation laced with hope. “You are a terrible liar, Mok.”
In an instant, Mok’s entire demeanor fractured and reformed. The man Rome knew in delicate, private moments vanished, replaced by the hardened bodyguard raised solely to protect the future heir of Arseni. Mok’s tears never fell; his back straightened into a rigid line. He was a man with an expression wiped clean, a mask of professionalism firmly in place. He shook his head, the address formal and final: “No, Khun. You just refuse to listen.”
“Mok…” Rome pleaded, reaching out a hesitant hand, only for Mok to retreat another step.
“Good night, Khun.”
Rome’s world narrowed to the sight of Mok’s retreat, the silence suddenly deafening. He was being left behind, stranded on the shore of a broken, silent promise. His outstretched hand hung in the voice for an eternity–a desperate, futile plea– before gravity pulled it down, heavy from the loss of Mok’s warmth. A dam broke in his chest; tears, sharp and stinging, escaped from the corners of his eyes, blurring the last glimpse of Mok as he disappeared into the hotel. The cold reality of his isolation settled over him, heavier than the night air.
A choked sob forced its way up his throat. He swiped at his face with a desperate, harsh movement, a futile attempt to erase the pain. The moment the last of Mok vanished, Rome’s strength deserted him. He collapsed onto the cold sand, drawing his knees tight against his chest, arms winding around himself in a fragile self-embrace. He stared up at the vast, indifferent moonlight sky, the beauty lost on him now, praying with every shattered piece of his heart to rewind time, a silent scream hanging in the air: If only I could undo it.
Having Mok beside him–even shackled, even confined, even if his own desires had to be buried alive–was a thousand times better than this suffocating emptiness. He had dared to want too much. He had selfishly chosen to rebel and chase a freedom that didn’t exist, and now the consequences were crushing him.
Rome pushed past the invisible line that defined their quiet, hidden love. In response, Mok slammed the door shut, locking Rome out permanently. There was no misunderstanding: the rules were explicit. They had been ingrained in all of them–Rome, Thee, and Mok.
Love was forbidden; it was a fatal vulnerability.
Despite everything, Rome ached for it. He desperately wanted to be loved. He devoured every one of his mother’s dramas, watching with painful wistfulness as she portrayed the messy, beautiful reality of love. He saw her characters bask in that intoxicating glow, willingly defying all odds, shattering every barrier just to hold onto the one person who made sense of the world.
And he imagined him and Mok in each story.
He saw how his father revered his mother, treating her as infinitely more precious than any jewel or treasure. Even when threats loomed large, his father lived without the fear of losing the single person who brought meaning and order to his chaotic life.
Was it truly a sin to wish for a love like that with Mok?
As his tears continued to fall, a sharp realization pierced Rome’s self-pity: he gave to consider Mok’s perspective. Mok wasn’t family; he was hired help, a bodyguard–a painful, frequent reminder from Mok himself. Mok was an orphan whose only security was the Lee family’s patronage. He was profoundly indebted to Rome’s father for the opportunity. He was a trusted confidant and shield to the heir of the Arseni line, his older brother Tee.
Mook stood to lose everything. Far more than Rome ever could.
And Rome, wrapped up in his own selfish longing, had utterly forgotten that crushing reality.
It was in those stolen, hushed moments that Mok’s true feelings bled through the professional mask. When Rome extended his glass of wine, Mok would knowingly tilt it and drink from the precise spot Rome’s lips had touched. IT was a gesture that seemed invisible to outsiders, but for Rome and Mok, it was their most intimate and silent rebellion against the explicit rule. Love was a forbidden weakness, yet their connection was so extraordinary, so magnetic, that they simply couldn’t fully contain it.
And now, Rome had shattered that fragile, secret universe. He ruined it all.
He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to fix it either.