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Mok sits facing away from Rome, staring at the door, waiting for it to swing open and accuse him of something he’s only thought of doing from the safety of his own bedroom.
The odd tingle at the back of his neck tells him that Rome is wide awake, just as afraid as him to break the silence between the two of them.
He doesn’t cross the line; doesn’t reach out like he wants to.
The two (three) of them are beholden to things that squeeze at their chests like they owe it something beyond loyalty and ruthlessness. He wants to acknowledge the hypocrisy of it all: to fall in love so deeply with another person and find joy in it, only to turn around and forbid those around you from doing the same.
But he doesn’t.
He stills himself at the foot of Rome’s bed and tries not to shake from the weight of Rome’s stare. If he acknowledges the feeling, it will force Rome’s hand and they’ll argue again. Rome will be gone in less than four days. There’s no need to cut him when he’s already down, cowed by Mok’s silence and refusal, and still tender from all the ways that Mok’s distanced himself from every touch.
Mok thinks of Thee and hopes he’s faring much better. Khun Peach is an outsider, someone who loves freely, and has never known a day of their lives. He wasn’t raised to be a weapon, an heir, or as a keeper.
The background check that Mok conducted on him revealed a story that required resilience and bravery, not unlike that Mok, Thee, and Rome had to harness and form around themselves at a young age. Khun Peach’s resilience and bravery was born of necessity, to protect himself and his sister. It was required to push the two of them through hardship that started when they were quite young.
Resilience and bravery were trained into Mok, Thee, and Rome. Not a necessity, but something required of them. It wasn’t the kind of resilience born from the need to get up every time you were pushed down. It wasn’t the bravery born from having to pull your family out of harm’s way. It was the kind that was required of heirs and business men and their keepers: resilience and bravery intertwined with ruthlessness and callousness. If you were down, you needed to get back up, not because you were resilient, but because you needed to fight back and win. You needed to be brave because cowardice meant losing and losing meant defeat.
Khun Peach held a tenderness that sparked something in Mok’s chest. It struck gently against the hope that laid dormant inside of him and made him believe in something bigger for Thee. He wants freedom for his friend, something akin to the happy endings that Thee got watery eyed over no matter how many reruns he’s seen of his mother’s soap opera. Mok holds on to that feeling, even if it was just for Thee and Peach’s future. He knows the sacrifice that lays in it, if Thee is free. Someone must take his place and they all knew who was best fit to fill it.
In that position, there was little room for tenderness when it could be used against you.
Every weak point could crack wide open. Every bit of softness could become too malleable, something that can be formed into a weapon.
There was little room for Rome and Mok.
They’d have to continue on as they are: two parallel lines, going in the same direction, never to touch. They’d find some measure of closeness, Mok knows this.
They would find ways to touch. He’d pretend to be accidental and absent minded in every single action. Mok knows Rome’s mind, and has known it since they were covered in pimples and sweat, running to the same finish line only to find that they were meant to be on different roads. Rome would find new, odder, ways to touch. Mok would recover every single time. He’d drink from the same glass, eat from the same fork, and sit in the same chair, if only to feel Rome’s heat for just a few seconds. Rome would calculate every centimeter between the two of them and find ways to close the distance, just enough for it to be innocent and easily dismissed as two childhood friends turned business partners. He’d move close enough, stand near enough, for it be master and keeper, but nothing more.
Even in Rome’s bedroom, there was little space for the two of them.
Mok sits at the foot of Rome’s bed and pretends that the stiffness in his spine isn’t from the need to keep his limbs in check so that they don’t reach out for a touch that he doesn’t want to feel in return.
“I used to hate the way the walls made this room too dark.”
Mok feels the bed shift behind him.
“I got too comfortable, I think,” Rome continues, “Got too used to being away but still with you every single night back at school and—”
“Khun Krisdanai,” Mok interrupts, “It’s 3:45am.”
“And?”
“You have a meeting with your father at 8:30am,” Mok answers.
“And?”
“It’s imperative that you get an appropriate amount of sleep before walking into a shareholder meeting with—”
“Shareholders?” he repeats, “I know you know exactly who’s going to be in that room with us, Mok. You don’t need to pretty it up for me.”
“Regardless of who’s in the meeting, Khun,” Mok continues, “getting an ample amount of sleep is important for being able to handle them and not bursting out in anger when you hear something you don’t like.”
Rome huffs out a laugh, fake and full of contempt. “You know a lot about shit I don’t like, don’t you, Mok?”
Mok stills. He’s in no mood for it, but Rome’s right. He’s well practiced when it comes to knowing what Rome hates. He knows how to run a truck through them and flatten them down before it happens. There are only a few things that Mok can’t find his way around, so he opts to shut them down before they even start.
“I said I’d stay until you fell asleep,” Mok replies, “I’m unable to return to work if you never sleep, Khun.”
Mok feels Rome shift behind him.
“Mok.”
“If Khun plans on staying up, I’m afraid I’ll have to excuse myself to be ready for the shift turning.”
“Turn around, Mok.”
“Khun.”
Mok holds himself still, not wanting Rome to see him resist his command.
“Mok, please.”
“Khun—”
“That’s not my name,” Rome interrupts, voice trembling with irritation, “You know that’s not— that’s not what you call me, Mok.”
“It’s 3:50am, Khun, I’ll have to excuse myself.”
Silence falls between the two of them. Mok knows that Rome’s not done arguing. They’ve barely touched the surface of something they rehash every time Rome returns for a week or so just to poke at the open wound festering between the two of them. Mok hears shuffling behind him and expects the thud of a pillow on his head. Instead, he feels something land softly on the center of his back.
If he turns, he knows it’s Rome. It’s a position they often found themselves in, back at boarding school. Whenever Rome felt too much, Mok would turn around and let Rome pretend that he was seeing nothing. He would let Rome sink in behind him and touch his forehead to the nape of Mok’s neck. It would be the only point of touch between the two of them, but it would ground Rome like no other method could.
All at once, Mok feels 16 and 100. The press of Rome’s head on his spine makes him feel like a teenager, vibrating out of his skin as his crush touches him for the first time. At the same time, it feels like he’s lived too many lives that he can’t erase from his skin.
“It gets tiring, phi,” Rome whispers, trying out a title he only ever used when he felt too much and too raw, “breaking the rules for someone so bound to them.”
Mok wants to turn around and tell Rome that he never asked for him to break those rules. He knows though, that every single time he bent to Rome’s wishes, grazed their fingers, and let Rome sink into a chair beside him, it was his way of letting Rome in.
Still, Mok stays facing the door. He lets Rome press his head harder into his back.
“It used to be easier, remember?” Rome continues quietly, forcing Mok to strain his ears just to hear him try and pick at the wall between the two of them.
“Even if you were too serious back then,” Rome says, “You’d still let me touch you.”
Mok feels a finger at the bottom of his spine and tries not to jolt away.
“You’d let other people see me touch you,” Rome reminds him, “My friends used to make fun of the way I’d hold on to you, like I was forcing you to stay still just for me.”
He remembers. They never teased with ill intentions. They were only ever shocked that Rome could soften for someone they’d never met before. Mok hung around enough for them to begrudgingly accept that he’d always be there no matter what. Rome’s friends never softened, not in the way that normal people would, but they did accept him in their own ways. They included him in conversations, tried to get him to tease Rome along with them, and they never questioned the way that Rome gentled around him.
“I used to wonder if that’s what I did,” Rome tells him, “and all of it was just by force. If you stayed because I was holding on too tight and you always wanted to leave. I’d think about what you’d do if I didn’t hold on like that, phi.”
“Never,” Mok replies, unable to let Rome think for one second that he had ever forced Mok into something he never wanted.
Mok doesn’t turn, even if he desperately wants to. He fists the blanket underneath him, if only to ease the need to reach out and hold Rome in penance for his distance.
Rome turns his head, digging deeper into Mok’s spine. “I used to wonder,” he says, “if it was like that for you too.”
“Like how?”
“If you waited for me too,” Rome tells him, “If you stood in front of our dorm door and waited until I came back from classes we didn’t have together.”
“I used to think about whether you’d lay in your bed and pretend to sleep,” Rome continues, “whether you were in the dark looking back at me whenever you couldn’t sleep, like I did.”
Rome presses a finger into Mok’s back. “Even now,” Rome says, “I wonder if you look at your phone and wait for me.”
He does.
But he can’t say it. The words “I do” bubble in his chest and sit uncomfortably. He wants to turn around and tell Rome about all the ways he’s waited. The feeling sits in his chest, fit to burst, but he holds it back.
Mok’s waited. It’s a part of his job as a bodyguard and right hand man. He has stood outside of rooms waiting for raised voices, in hallways with his body taut for action, and in cold warehouses lying in wait.
In Rome’s room, he stands waiting at the foot of the bed like a dog.
(It’s not hard to feel like one, at times. Mok sits and stays at Rome’s command like a dog. Mok acts on Thee’s command like a dog. He’s sicked on enemies like a dog. He’s a pet project.)
Mok has waited and still waits.
“Do you?” Rome asks.
“I—”
“Wait.”
He does.
Rome fists a hand on a loose part of Mok’s shirt. “Don’t.”
“Khun?”
Rome sighs. “You ever want to know something, but you don’t ask?”
Mok hums.
“Don’t answer,” Rome tells him, “I can— I can… It’s— It’s easier to pretend.”
“It’s getting late, Khun,” Mok reminds him, “In the morning, your head will be clearer. We— We can talk then.”
Mok feels Rome’s hands tighten on his shirt. “So what, phi?” Rome asks, “So you can tell me you don’t feel the same? That you’ve never felt it? That—”
Rome pauses and lets go of Mok’s shirt.
“That you felt it one time but it’s gone now because we have to convince ourselves that it doesn’t mean anything?”
Rome lifts his head from Mok’s back and all at once, Mok misses his warmth. Yet, he doesn’t turn to ask for it back.
“I could be the smartest guy in the room, but you make me feel so stupid every single time, phi.”
“Khun…”
“Sometimes I think about all those times I’d find you on the other side of the door, before I even need you there,” Rome tells him, “and I think about whether that feels the same for you too, Mok.”
“I think about all those fucking times where I’ve asked you to stay on the phone with me until the shaking in my hands stop and I wonder if any of it meant the same to you the way it did for me,” Rome continues.
Mok leaves him unanswered, hating the way silence has been ingrained into him. He knows that Rome is growing restless. Rome likely won’t end up falling asleep if he continues on like this, stewing in ‘what ifs’ and ‘could have beens’ all night for someone whose tongue is caught between his teeth like prison bars.
“I used to wait,” Mok says, “I would— I would hope you didn’t need me, but I’d— I’d stand there and wait just in case you did.”
“Mok?”
“I’d stay on the phone because I’d need to know that you made it out okay every single time,” Mok tells him.
Mok feels Rome’s fingers climb up his spine, gently like Rome was afraid of startling him. With what little he’s said, he still knows he’s said too much. Mok’s heart pounds in his chest as if it was begging to come out and place itself in Rome’s calloused hands. But it can’t be. The little vulnerability they’re allowing themselves tonight has no place in their world.
“As much as he pretends,” Mok continues, “He’d rather lose me to a few hours on the phone with you than not know where—”
“It’s not the same,” Rome interrupts, “is it? For you. It’s… mom tells— she asks you to take care of me, like I can’t do it.”
Mok stills and feels Rome’s hand pull away.
“You don’t wait like I do, Mok. You don’t,” Rome says through a quiet sob.
“Khun…”
“Is that all I’ll ever be? Am I just a responsibility?” Rome asks him, “That’s— Cos I’d rather never know.”
Should I let you go then, is what Mok wants to ask. If all this waiting and silence is too much, if all the distance and uncertainty is caving him in, should Mok let him go? Should Mok speak it into existence and say that responsibility is all he can take and do for Rome because anything more is painful because of the rule that it bends and breaks. He owes so much to the Arseni family that anything more than taking responsibility feels like a betrayal. If he lets go, maybe it will hurt less.
“Khun Krit knows that I take my responsibilities seriously,” he says instead, “I would not be where I am and who I am if I let them slip through my fingers.”
Rome lets out an incredulous huff and Mok feels him shuffle behind him.
“Khun Krit is a responsibility I am willing to take every day,” Mok continues, “even oceans away.”
“If that’s all I am then, Mok,” Rome pleads, “then—”
“That is not all you ever will be,” Mok interrupts, “Do you consider my responsibilities trivial, Khun?”
“Mok…”
“Every day, I am responsible for you and your brother, and all that your duties encompass,” Mok tells him, “The weight of it all, split amongst the three of us.”
Mok turns slightly, letting Rome see the stiffness in his jaw. “Is it trivial to want you both safe, even if it means distance?”
“Distance and silence, Mok?” Rome says accusingly.
“My responsibilities—”
“I would give it all up, phi,” Rome cuts, “is it worth the distance and the silence, if I can’t—”
Mok twists, turning to look at Rome. “That—”
“I would do it if you asked me,” Rome tells him, “Anything, Mok.”
“I couldn’t ask that of you,” Mok replies, “ I would never ask that of you, Khun. You and I have responsibilities. Khun Thee too—”
“P’Kian isn’t here,” Rome interrupts, “Why do you always talk about him?”
“Rome.”
“You only ever use that if you want to scold me, phi,” Rome replies, “What? I can’t talk shit about P’Kian now?
“It’s not about him, Khun.”
Rome huffs out a laugh. “Back to Khun again, huh?,” he sneers, “What do you call P’Kian, then? Khun Theerakit? Or does he just get ‘Thee’?”
“What is it with you two and names?” Mok asks, “I’m your family’s employee, I can’t go around calling you both whatever you want me to call you, for the sake of propriety and respect, Khun.”
“Propriety and respect, phi?” Rome mocks, “Or is it distance, Khun Mok?”
The name smarts, but all Mok can do is grit his teeth.
Rome shuffles forward thumps at Mok’s chest and pokes at him with an accusing finger. “Can’t think of us as your friends if you never talk about us that way, huh Khun Mok?”
“Rome…”
“Only ever if you’re scolding me but never when you want it, isn’t that right, Mok?”
Mok fists the blanket underneath his hand and grits his teeth. “I’ve grown with you both,” he says, “Even the implication of a friendship amongst the three of us makes us a liability to each other.”
Rome stills.
“My responsibility is to keep you all safe, your mother, father, Khun Theerakit, and you,” Mok tells him, “If distance and silence… if calling you both a name that you can’t handle means that you are safe…”
“Then that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make, Rome.”
Rome’s hand slides down Mok’s chest, leaving a trail of warmth and a feeling of tenderness that feels unfitting at the moment. Mok reaches out and places a hand on Rome, but ultimately lets him go. The hand lands in Mok’s lap, limp and uncaring. Mok looks down and resists the desire to trace over callouses, to feel the tenderness that persists on Rome’s skin.
“I’m tired of breaking rules for someone who won’t do it right back,” Rome whispers, “but that’s a lie, isn’t it, Mok?”
Rome pulls away and Mok stares at the blur of Rome’s hand on the blanket. He wants to reach out and stretch out each and every one of Rome’s fingers, but resists. Another touch could break the two of them, so fragile but trying to be strong for each other.
“‘Cos I can say I’m tired of it but I’ll keep doing it,” Rome continues, “I’ll say I don’t want it but I’ll be back there tomorrow with the same song and dance, phi.”
Mok says nothing in return and he can feel Rome’s heart trying to piece itself together even as parts of it crumble due to his silence.
“I’ll do it every single time,” Rome tells him, “I’ll let you make your faces at me, in front of P’Kian. I’ll let you turn me over and twist me around so I’ll keep my distance, even if we’re alone. Right, phi?”
Mok finds Rome’s eyes and stays silent. He watches the corner of Rome’s eyes fill with tears and follows the tremble in his lips.
“I’ll come home every single time,” Rome continues, “and I’ll eat my favorite food, I’ll drink my favorite drink, and I’ll pretend that it’s P’Kian’s consideration.”
“I’ll be tired of it all until I see your face looking right back at me, still pretending that the distance and silence helps us. When everyone can see the way that I look at you like you hung the stars in the night sky just for me.”
Mok’s heart pangs for Rome.
He’s used to the feeling. He knows what it’s like to care in silence.
Mok rearranges Thee’s schedule around headaches, he places a blanket on the couch because Thee’s hands run cold, and he tends to the flowers in the entertainment room.
He plans flights and rearranges Thee’s schedule so that he can have dinner with his parents and Rome when he’s around. He avoids red eye flights, so that Rome can return fresh and light for his family.
He clears his own schedule for Rome, under the guise of making Thee less busy for his brother’s arrival. He stands at the foot of Rome’s bed like a dog, so that he sleeps without worries.
All of it in silence, pretending at duty when it’s just simple care.
Rome is not used to it. He wants a tease in return, a smile for a smile, and a touch to connect. He’s unused to the silent shifting, the way that Mok parts the sea just for him, in place of a statement of love.
Rome thinks of his love as unreturned and Mok lets him.
“I’d do it all over and over again and we’ll have this conversation every single time, but I’ll still be here anyway,” Rome says, reaching out until his fingers barely graze the length of Mok’s thigh.
“Right, phi?”
Mok doesn’t nod but the stiffness in his body tells Rome all he needs.
Rome’s eyes turn watery, but the tears never fall.
“The sun will rise in two hours, Khun Krit,” Mok says instead of answering.
“It’ll rise tomorrow too, Mok.”
Mok turns away and stands at the foot of the bed, watching as Rome settles himself back into bed, reluctance showing in his every move.
“As it always does, Khun Krit.”
—