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Mok learned how to pack a life into a suitcase when he was ten.
Back then, it had been plastic bags and a quiet social worker’s smile, the kind that looked practiced. The Arseni household had been enormous to him. Too bright. Too loud. Too polished. Khun Thee Arseni had been ten as well, already tall, already sharp-eyed, already carrying himself like a man born with responsibility stitched into his bones.
Mok had followed him like a shadow. Silent. Observant. Loyal in a way that didn’t need words. Rome Arseni, on the other hand, had been seven and unbearable. He had been all elbows and laughter and questions. He poked at Mok’s books, stole his snacks, flopped dramatically across his bed and declared them best friends within the first week. Mok had stared at him with mild horror.
Rome had grinned wider.
Eighteen years later, nothing had changed. Except everything.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
Rome Arseni was in transit when Khun Thee called.
Which was, frankly, fitting.
He was halfway between continents, jacket draped over one shoulder, phone pressed to his ear while the private jet hummed beneath his feet like a caged thing. Outside the window, the sky was a washed-out blue-gray, clouds stretched thin and endless. Rome loved this part. Loved the moment where he wasn’t anywhere yet. Where expectations hadn’t caught up.
“Phi Kian,” he said brightly, dropping into his seat. “If this is about the wedding guest list again, I already told you I’m not sitting next to Uncle Varun.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line. Rome’s smile softened. “You’re not calling about the wedding,” he said.
Khun Thee exhaled. Rome could hear it clearly, the sound too heavy to be anything casual.
“I fired Mok today,” Thee said.
The words did not land immediately. Rome blinked once, then laughed. Not because it was funny. Because it didn’t make sense.
“You did what,” he said, a slight coldness seeping into his voice.
“I relieved him of his duties,” Khun Thee corrected. “I told him to go live his life.”
Rome stared at the cabin wall, the polished wood suddenly very far away. There were a lot of things Rome Arseni was known for. Impulsiveness. Charm. A dangerous talent for turning chaos into opportunity. What he was not known for was losing control.
That laugh drained out of him all at once.
“You fired my Mok,” Rome said slowly.
“Yes.”
The word was steady. Final. Rome’s fingers tightened around the phone. His knee bounced once, hard enough to rattle the glass beside him.
“You don’t get to do that, Phi,” Rome said, voice deceptively calm. “You don’t get to decide when he’s done being useful.”
“That is exactly why I did it,” Khun Thee replied.
Rome closed his eyes.
Ten years.
Ten years of watching Mok stay behind. Ten years of watching him fold himself smaller to fit into roles he never asked for. Ten years of hearing “I’m fine” spoken softly across bad connections and worse time zones.
“You should have called me first,” Rome said.
“I know.”
That admission cut deeper than any argument would have. Rome stood abruptly. The jet attendant looked up in surprise as Rome shrugged into his jacket with sharp, efficient movements.
“I’m coming there,” Rome said.
“I assumed you would.”, an amused voice answered back.
“Good,” Rome replied. “Because if you’d told him to disappear, I would have burned your company before going to find him.”
There was a faint sound from the other end of the line. Not fear. Amusement. “I am trusting you with him,” Khun Thee said. “Do not make me regret it.”
Rome smiled then, sharp and feral. “Oh,” he said. “I won’t.”
He ended the call and turned toward the cockpit.
“Change of plans,” he said. “We’re going to Bangkok.”
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
By the time he reached Mok’s apartment, night had already fallen. The city lights outside were bright, relentless, indifferent. Rome barely registered them.
He knocked once. Then twice. The door opened on the third knock, and there he was. Mok looked the same.
That was the worst part.
Same neat hair. Same pressed shirt. Same careful posture, as if he was still standing in someone else’s office instead of his own living room. The only thing that gave him away was his eyes. Too still. Too dark.
Rome didn’t say anything. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around him. Mok froze for half a second. Then he melted. The sound he made was small. Barely there. Rome felt it against his chest like a fault line giving way.
“I’ve got you,” Rome murmured, burying his face in Mok’s hair. “I’ve got you. I’m here.”
Mok’s hands came up slowly, gripping the back of Rome’s jacket like he was afraid Rome might vanish if he didn’t hold on hard enough.
“You came fast,” Mok said quietly.
“I mean have you seen yourself – you can't blame me,” Rome replied sassily.
Mok huffed and went to push him away.
“Okay, okay... sorry, baby. But you know I had to. I always do. You just don’t usually let me.”
They stayed like that for a long moment. Rome didn’t rush him. Didn’t joke. Didn’t tease. He could feel how tightly Mok was holding himself together, like glass under pressure.
Eventually, Rome pulled back just enough to look at him.
“Pack a bag,” Rome said.
Mok blinked. “What?”
“You’re coming with me,” Rome said. “Tonight.”
“I still have – ”
“You don’t,” Rome cut in gently but firmly. “You don’t have anything you need to finish here.”
Mok hesitated. Rome could see it. The instinct to argue. To minimize. To say it’s fine. Rome placed a finger under Mok’s chin, tilting his face up.
“Hey,” he said softly. “You don’t have to be useful right now.”
Mok’s breath stuttered.
“Just be mine,” Rome added.
That did it. Mok nodded once.
They packed quickly. Mok moved methodically, folding clothes with careful precision. Rome hovered uselessly, occasionally stealing kisses, occasionally stealing shirts.
“You’re terrible at packing,” Mok murmured at one point.
“And yet,” Rome said, grinning, “you’ve stayed with me for a decade.”
“Regrettably.”
Rome laughed and kissed him again.
The drive to the airport was quiet. Mok watched the city pass by, gaze distant. Rome kept one hand on his thigh the entire time, grounding them both.
On the plane, Mok finally slept. Rome watched him the whole way.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
After getting Mok settled into Rome’s luxury condo, with Mok being able to dodge Rome’s wandering hands for the most part, they settled in the massive living area of the condo enjoying a glass of wine.
“This is your home now,” Rome said casually. “You can do anything you want here. No restrictions. Ever.”
Mok stopped mid sip. “I won’t be idle,” he said immediately.
Rome laughed. “I would never allow that.”
“I’ll work,” Mok said. “I won’t just stay – ”
“I know,” Rome said. “And I have a solution for that – you’ll be my personal assistant.”
Mok turned to look at him, startled.
“You already do half the job from another country for me sometimes,” Rome continued. “Now you’ll get paid, and I get to see you every day. It’s an upgrade.”
Mok considered it. “…Fine,” he said.
Rome grinned like he’d just won everything.
As they settled more comfortably with Mok now fully leaning onto Rome, he reached and laced his fingers through Mok’s without hesitation.
“This,” he said lightly, “is me not letting go again.”
Mok squeezed his hand once. Rome squeezed back harder. And for the first time in ten years, Rome didn’t feel like he was chasing something that kept slipping out of reach.
He had him. Right here. Safe.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
Mok had always known what it meant to enter a powerful building. You learned the temperature of the room before you crossed the threshold. You measured your breathing. You placed your weight evenly on both feet. You made yourself useful before anyone asked.
Arseni Headquarters in Hong Kong was power distilled into architecture. The building towered over the HongKong skyline, glass reflecting the morning sun.
Glass and steel rose into the sky with unapologetic confidence, the building’s edges sharp against the morning light. It did not attempt to intimidate. It did not need to. The name alone carried enough history to command silence.
Mok stood beside Rome at the base of it, just outside the lobby where Rome’s driver haze dropped them off, hands folded loosely in front of him, posture straight out of reflex.
The automatic doors slid open without a sound as they walked towards it flanked by Rome’s regular guards Chen and Yang.
Inside, the air was cool, faintly scented with polished stone and something expensive Mok couldn’t quite identify. Employees moved with purpose, heels clicking softly against marble floors, voices low and efficient. No one lingered. No one rushed.
Everyone knew where they were going.
Rome kept moving forward without hesitation, presence immediate. Heads turned. Conversations stilled for half a beat before resuming. Respect followed him like a current.
Mok walked half a step behind.
The habit tugged at him instinctively, pulling him into the familiar position of shadow and shield. He adjusted automatically, aligning his pace with Rome’s stride, eyes scanning for threats out of ingrained reflex rather than necessity.
“Stop that.”
Mok stiffened slightly. Rome didn’t look back, but his voice was amused, fond. “You’re doing the thing.”
“The thing?” Mok asked.
“You’re slipping into guard mode,” Rome said. “Relax. No one’s going to stab me in the lobby.”
Mok’s lips pressed together. “Statistically, that is not impossible.”
Rome laughed, bright and unbothered. “You’re impossible.”
Mok didn’t respond. He wasn’t sure how to explain that the habits didn’t disappear just because the environment changed. Over ten years of vigilance didn’t unspool overnight.
They approached the reception desk. The woman behind it straightened immediately when she saw Rome.
“Good morning, Khun Rome.”
“Morning,” Rome replied easily. “This is Mok. He’ll be working with me.”
The woman’s gaze flicked to Mok, polite and curious. “Welcome.”
Mok inclined his head. “Thank you.”
The words felt strange in his mouth. He had never been welcomed before. He had simply arrived. They passed through security without pause. Elevators opened promptly. Everything moved smoothly, efficiently, as if the building itself recognized Rome and bent around him.
The higher they went, the quieter it became.
By the time they reached the top floors, the city felt far away. The elevator doors opened onto a private corridor, carpeted thick enough to muffle footsteps completely.
Rome’s office was expansive without being ostentatious. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the harbor beyond, sunlight glinting off water and distant skyscrapers. The desk was large, clean, arranged in a way that suggested controlled chaos rather than strict order.
Mok absorbed it all automatically. Entry points. Sightlines. The way the light shifted across the floor. He also observed how Chen and Yang arrange themselves around Rome’s office – almost invisible yet in earshot of Rome if needed.
His place would be just outside the glass wall, Rome had said. He spotted it immediately. A desk already set up. Tablet docked neatly. Chair positioned at a slight angle toward Rome’s office, not directly facing it. Intentional.
“Someone prepared this,” Mok said quietly.
Rome leaned against the desk, arms crossed. “I told them on the jet that you were coming.”
Mok swallowed. He stepped closer, running his fingers lightly along the desk’s edge. The surface was smooth, unmarred. New beginnings always were.
“I need to clarify expectations,” Mok said.
Rome tilted his head, listening.
“Like I said earlier – I won’t just sit around,” Mok continued. “I will not be… decorative.”
Rome snorted. “I know baby – you’d die of boredom in a week.”
“I am serious,” Mok said.
“So am I,” Rome replied. He pushed off the desk and stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I didn’t bring you here to keep you as a showpiece.”
The words settled heavily between them.
“You’ll be my personal assistant,” Rome said. “Officially. You’ll handle my schedule, vet meetings, manage travel logistics, coordinate with security. Unofficially…”
He reached out, brushing his thumb along Mok’s wrist, grounding and familiar.
“…you’ll keep me from doing something stupid – like mauling you in the middle of a meeting.”
Mok exhaled slowly. “That,” he said, “I am qualified for.”
Rome grinned.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
The first day passed in a blur.
Mok learned quickly, the way he always did. Names, hierarchies, unspoken rules. Who deferred to whom. Who avoided eye contact. Who lingered just a fraction too long outside Rome’s office.
He took notes. Organized schedules. Streamlined processes that had been inefficient without anyone quite realizing why.
Rome hovered constantly.
He leaned over Mok’s shoulder to read messages, close enough that Mok could feel the warmth of his entire body. He stole Mok’s pen. He dropped comments into meetings that made executives blink and then scramble to keep up.
“You’re spoiling me,” Rome said at one point, stretching lazily in his chair as Mok handed him a perfectly timed cup of coffee.
“I am performing my duties,” Mok replied.
“Mm,” Rome said. “Keep telling yourself that.”
Yang and Chen watched it all with expressions of quiet amusement. They said nothing, but their presence was steady, familiar. Mok felt oddly grateful for them.
They knew who Mok was – they knew what Mok was to Rome. The others in the company did not.
By the end of the week, Mok felt the weight of attention settle on him like a second skin.
It started subtly. Lingering looks. Pauses in conversation when he entered a room. A woman from finance smiled at him too brightly one morning, her gaze sliding from his face to Rome’s office behind him.
He ignored it.
He had learned long ago how to exist beneath scrutiny. In the early years with Khun Thee, there had always been whispers. Questions about why a boy with no blood ties stood so close to power. Accusations dressed up as curiosity.
He endured. He always did.
If Rome noticedd, he didn’t say anything. He laughed louder. Teased more openly. Touched Mok more casually in passing, fingers brushing his lower back, his shoulder, his hip.
It was almost affectionate enough to be dangerous. Mok worried. Not about himself.
About Rome.
Rome had fought hard for this position. He had carved his place with charm and ferocity in equal measure. Mok had no intention of being the thing that destabilized him.
One evening, after a long meeting, Mok spoke up.
“You should be more discreet,” he said quietly as Rome shrugged on his jacket.
Rome paused. “About what?”
“Us.”
Rome turned fully toward him, expression unreadable.
“I waited for more than 10 years baby – i will not hide,” Rome replied.
“That does not mean we should advertise it.”
Rome stepped closer, gaze intent. “You’re not advertizing anything by existing – if anything I have been holding myself back for you Mok.”
Mok hesitated. “I do not want to be a liability,” he said.
Rome’s jaw tightened. “You’re not,” he said firmly. “You’re my anchor.”
The word struck deep. Mok looked away, throat tight.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
From the moment Mok took his seat outside Rome’s office, Rome’s ability to behave professionally deteriorated at an alarming rate.
Mok sat perfectly straight, dark hair neatly styled, sleeves rolled with deliberate precision to just below the elbow. His expression was neutral. Focused. Calm. He looked like someone who belonged behind glass and steel, not someone Rome had kissed against airport walls and hotel doors for the past decade.
Rome leaned back in his chair, hands folded behind his head, and stared openly through the glass wall. God.
He tapped the glass once. Mok didn’t look up. Rome tapped again. Still nothing. Rome stood. That got Mok’s attention.
Mok’s head lifted, eyes sharp and questioning. “You have a meeting in twelve minutes.”
Rome smiled. “I know.”
“Then why are you standing?”
“I missed you.”
Mok sighed and then his mouth pressed into a thin line. “You saw me an hour ago.”
“Still counts.”
Rome stepped out of his office and leaned casually against Mok’s desk, close enough that his knee brushed Mok’s chair. The contact was light. Accidental-looking. Entirely intentional.
Mok inhaled slowly.
“Khun Rome,” Mok said, voice even, “you are blocking my workspace.”
Rome glanced down at the desk, then back at him. “Am I?”
“Yes.”
Rome shifted. Just barely. Still in the way.
“Oh no,” he said. “Tragic.”
Mok’s fingers tightened around his tablet. Rome watched the movement with fascination. That was the thing about Mok. He resisted in microscopic ways. A fractional pause. A controlled breath. A careful choice not to react. Rome lived for those cracks.
“You’re tense,” Rome observed.
“I am working.”
“You’re always working.”
“That is my job.”
Rome hummed thoughtfully and reached out, brushing his thumb lightly against Mok’s wrist where it rested on the desk. The touch was brief. Innocent. Barely there.
Mok flinched anyway slightly, his breath picking up. Rome grinned.
“Don’t do that,” Mok said quietly.
“Do what?”
“That.”
Rome leaned closer, lowering his voice. “This?”
Mok did not move away. That was a victory.
“You’re doing this on purpose,” Mok said.
Rome mock-gasped softly. “Me? Never.”
“You enjoy distracting me.”
“I want to enjoy you,” Rome corrected.
Mok looked up sharply. Rome softened his smile immediately. He straightened and stepped back, hands raised in surrender.
“Relax,” he said. “I’ll be good.”
Mok studied him with open suspicion.
Rome waited until Mok looked back down. Then he leaned in again.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
The days settled into a pattern.
Rome found reasons to leave his office every ten minutes. He needed coffee. He needed documents. He needed confirmation on things he already knew. Each excuse brought him back to Mok’s desk, hovering just a little too close.
He leaned over Mok’s shoulder to read messages, his chest brushing Mok’s back. He rested his hand on the back of Mok’s chair when he spoke, thumb occasionally grazing fabric.
Mok endured it with quiet suffering.
“You are hovering,” Mok said at one point.
“I’m supervising.”
“You do not supervise your assistant.”
Rome smiled. “I do when he’s this pretty – and mine.”
Mok did not respond. His ears turned bright red. Rome noticed.
Meetings were worse.
Rome insisted Mok sit beside him during internal briefings, citing efficiency. He angled his chair just enough that their knees touched beneath the table. Entwined his fingers with Mok’s under the table sometimes. Sometimes, during particular tense meetings, Rome kept his hand on Mok’s thigh through the entirety of the meeting. Mok stiffened every time. His face got hot and read everytime. Rome pretended not to notice, everytime.
When Mok leaned over to point at figures on a screen, Rome’s hand would settle at Mok’s waist, steadying him. The touch was brief. Professional enough to pass. Intimate enough to make Mok’s breath hitch.
“You don’t need to hold me,” Mok murmured once.
“I absolutely do,” Rome replied easily. “You’d fall.”
“I would not.”
“You’re top-heavy with competence.”
Mok shot him a look. Rome smiled sweetly back.
Yang and Chen noticed everything.
“You are being cruel,” Yang said quietly one afternoon as Rome lounged against the doorframe, watching Mok organize schedules with meticulous care.
Rome didn’t look away. “I am being affectionate.”
“You are tormenting him.”
Rome shrugged. “He loves it.”
Chen glanced at Mok, who was very deliberately not looking at Rome. “He is trying to maintain professionalism.”
Rome’s expression softened. “I know.”
He pushed off the wall and crossed the room, stopping just short of touching Mok this time.
“You okay?” Rome asked quietly.
Mok nodded once. “Yes.”
“Tell me if it’s too much.”
Mok hesitated. Just for a second. “It is… distracting,” he admitted.
Rome’s grin returned, gentler now. “Good.”
Mok sighed.
Despite himself, Mok adjusted Rome’s schedule to account for his chaos. He anticipated Rome’s moods. He prepared documents before Rome realized he needed them. He learned the rhythms of the building quickly, slipping into competence so seamlessly that people stopped questioning his presence.
Rome basked in it.
He loved watching Mok work. Loved the way his focus sharpened, the way his hands moved with quiet confidence. Loved that this brilliance was no longer hidden behind someone else’s authority.
One afternoon, Rome dropped into his chair and spun it lazily.
“Sit with me,” he said.
Mok didn’t look up. “You have emails to answer.”
“Sit with me while I answer them.”
“That defeats the purpose.”
Rome tilted his head. “Please.”
Mok paused. Then, carefully, he moved around the desk and perched on the edge of Rome’s desk instead, posture stiff.
Rome laughed. “Oh, come on.”
He reached out and tugged gently at Mok’s wrist, pulling him closer until Mok ended up half-sitting on his lap, tension coiled tight.
“Khun Rome,” Mok hissed.
“Relax,” Rome murmured. “Door’s closed.”
“This is inappropriate.”
Rome wrapped an arm around him anyway, chin resting briefly against Mok’s shoulder.
“You’re doing great,” he said quietly. “I’m proud of you.”
The words landed harder than any teasing ever had. Mok went still. Rome felt the moment settle between them, something warm and fragile. He kissed Mok’s temple softly and released him.
Mok stood immediately, straightening his clothes.
“You are impossible,” he said.
Rome smiled. “And you came anyway.”
Mok walked back to his desk without another word. Rome watched him go, chest full, heart absurdly light.
This was dangerous. This was worth it. And Rome had no intention of stopping.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
Years ago, when he was younger and less certain of his place, the whispers had followed him through hallways that smelled of old money and entitlement. Back then, he had learned quickly that reacting only fed them. Silence starved them out.
So he did what he had always done.
He adjusted.
He kept his posture precise. His tone neutral. His presence unobtrusive. He made himself impeccable in ways no one could reasonably criticize. If they were going to look at him, he would give them nothing to see.
He had stepped into the break area late in the afternoon, intent on retrieving tea before Rome’s next meeting. The room was empty at first glance, sunlight slanting through tall windows, the quiet hum of the espresso machine filling the space.
Then voices drifted from around the corner.
“…don’t you think it’s a little convenient?”
Mok stopped. He did not turn. He did not retreat. He stood still, as though waiting for the kettle to finish heating.
Another voice, lower, amused. “I noticed it too. He’s always there.”
“Well,” the first voice said lightly, “you don’t get that close to someone like Khun Rome without offering something.”
Mok’s fingers curled around the edge of the counter.
A third voice laughed softly. “I heard he came from Thee’s side. Makes sense, doesn’t it? Jumping from one Arseni’s bed to another.”
“Verry pretty, though,” someone added. “I’ll give him that.”
The kettle clicked off. The sound was loud in the sudden silence that followed. Mok picked it up, movements steady, and turned the corner.
Three people stood near the coffee machine. Two men. One woman. All mid-level executives he recognized by face and function if not by name. They looked at him with varying expressions of surprise, curiosity, and poorly concealed discomfort.
Mok inclined his head politely.
“Excuse me,” he said.
He poured the water. Added tea leaves. Closed the lid.
No one spoke.
He left without another word. His heartbeat did not quicken. His hands did not shake. On the surface, nothing about him changed at all.
Inside, something old stirred.
It was not anger. Anger was loud. This was quieter. Heavier. A familiar pressure behind the ribs, like a door closing somewhere deep in his chest.
He had been eleven when he learned how rumors worked. Adults whispered. Children repeated. Authority listened selectively. Truth mattered less than narrative. If you were quiet, if you did not defend yourself, eventually the attention moved on.
He had survived that lesson. He returned to his desk and resumed work as if nothing had happened. Rome passed by moments later, leaning casually against the doorframe of his office.
“Did you get the tea?” Rome asked.
“Yes,” Mok replied evenly.
Rome smiled, reaching out to brush his fingers against Mok’s shoulder in passing. The touch was warm. Familiar. Mok did not flinch. He watched Rome disappear into his office, then exhaled slowly.
The comments did not stop. They grew, not in volume, but in precision.
Someone remarked one morning that Mok’s arrival had been “remarkably fast.” Another joked about how “personal assistants these days did much more than assist.” Someone else asked him, pointedly, whether he planned to stay long-term or if this was “just a stepping stone.”
Mok answered politely when required. When not required, he remained silent.
He had learned long ago that responding defensively only sharpened the knives. Silence, on the other hand, made people uncomfortable. It forced them to confront the emptiness of their own assumptions.
At least, that was how it had worked before. This was different.
This was not a family where everyone understood unspoken hierarchies. This was a corporate ecosystem, filled with ambition and proximity to power. People watched Rome the way they watched a sun, gauging warmth and danger in equal measure.
And Mok stood too close to him.
He became aware of eyes on him whenever Rome leaned in to speak quietly. Of glances exchanged when Rome’s hand brushed his back or lingered at his wrist. Of smiles that did not reach eyes.
One afternoon, he overheard his name spoken with something like contempt.
“…he’s clever about it,” someone said near the elevators. “Keeps his head down. Makes himself useful.”
“Smart,” another replied. “That’s how you survive.”
Mok pressed the elevator button. The doors opened. He stepped inside alone. His reflection stared back at him from the mirrored walls. Calm. Composed. Unreadable.
He adjusted his tie. He had survived worse. The problem was not the words themselves. It was what they threatened.
Mok was working hard to carve a space here that belonged to him rather than his past. He did not want to be seen as an extension of Rome’s indulgence. He did not want his competence questioned. He did not want Rome’s authority undermined through him.
Most of all, he did not want Rome burdened by something Mok had always considered his own responsibility. So he did what he had always done.
He absorbed it.
When a colleague brushed past him with a muttered comment about favoritism, Mok ignored it. When a meeting went quiet at his entrance, he pretended not to notice. When someone laughed too loudly at nothing, he focused on his notes.
He told himself it would pass.
That it always did.
At night, the silence pressed closer. Without tasks to complete or schedules to organize, his thoughts circled. The words replayed themselves, stripped of context, sharper in memory than they had been in the moment.
Offering something. Pretty. Convenient.
He sat at the informal dining table, fingers wrapped around a mug long gone cold, and stared at the city lights beyond the window. Somewhere around him, Rome moved through the bedroom, confident and unbothered.
Mok did not tell him. He did not tell Yang or Chen either, though he knew they noticed the looks. But they were observant men. They always had been.
This, although, was not their burden. This was his.
The next morning, he arrived early. Earlier than usual. He organized files that did not need organizing. Reviewed schedules already finalized. Prepared reports Rome would not read until later.
He made himself indispensable in ways that had nothing to do with proximity. If they were going to talk, they would talk. Words were cheap. His work was not.
By the end of the week, the whispers had settled into a low, constant hum. Not loud enough to confront. Not quiet enough to ignore entirely.
Mok moved through it like water around stone. But something in him began to brace itself, the way it always did when the world reminded him that belonging was conditional.
That closeness came with a cost.
And Mok, as he always had, prepared to pay it quietly.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
Rome didn’t find out all at once. If he had, it would have been cleaner. Simpler. A single spark and then fire. Instead, it came to him in fragments. In things that didn’t add up. In absences where there should have been presence.
It started with Mok not correcting him. That alone was enough to make Rome pause.
Mok corrected everything. Schedules. Figures. Rome’s tendency to overbook himself and then pretend sleep was optional. If Rome said a meeting was at eleven when it was at ten-thirty, Mok would lift his gaze calmly and say, “It is at ten-thirty.”
Always calm. Always precise.
So when Rome joked during a morning briefing that he was “clearly everyone’s favorite,” and Mok didn’t murmur his usual, dry, “That is debatable,” Rome noticed.
He noticed Mok’s silence.
He noticed the way Mok’s posture had gone subtly rigid again, shoulders drawn in just a fraction tighter, as if bracing for impact that never came. He noticed that Mok had begun positioning himself farther from Rome during meetings, choosing the chair just a little out of reach.
Rome noticed because he always did.
“What’s wrong?” Rome asked later, leaning against Mok’s desk, tone light.
Mok didn’t look up. “Nothing.”
Rome frowned. That answer wasn’t wrong. It was incomplete. The second thing Rome noticed was that Mok stopped eating lunch with him.
Not deliberately. Not obviously. Just… conveniently busy. A report to finish. A call to take. Something that needed attention right now. Rome let it go once. Then twice. By the third time, something cold curled in his gut.
“You’re avoiding me,” Rome said one afternoon, not accusing. Just to make sure his Mok was okay.
Mok finally looked up then. His expression was composed, but Rome caught the flicker there. The guardedness.
“I am working,” Mok replied.
Rome studied him for a long moment. “You’re always working. That’s not new.”
Mok hesitated. Just for half a second. But it was enough. Rome straightened, the teasing ease draining out of him. “Did I do something?”
“No.” Mok answered instantly, eyes flying to the younger.
“Did someone else?”
Mok’s jaw tightened. Rome didn’t press. Not yet. He knew when Mok was retreating into himself. Pushing then would only drive him deeper. Instead, Rome watched. And once he started watching, the pattern emerged fast.
The looks. The whispers that cut off when Rome entered a room. The way people’s gazes lingered on Mok with something sharp and evaluative instead of neutral respect.
Rome caught it all. He just didn’t understand it yet. The answer came to him by accident.
It was late. The floor was quieter than usual, the day’s meetings done, most people already gone. Rome had stayed behind, half-heartedly reviewing contracts, half-aware of Mok at his desk outside.
He stood to stretch, intending to steal another moment of closeness before they left. That was when he heard voices. Low. Careless. Confident in the false privacy of an almost-empty office.
“…I’m telling you, it’s obvious.”
“That close to power? You don’t get there on skill alone.”
Rome’s spine went rigid.
“He plays it smart,” another voice replied. “Quiet. Polite. Makes you underestimate him.”
A third voice laughed softly. “Please. We all know what kind of assistant that is.”
Rome felt something hot and vicious coil in his chest. He stepped forward, intending to interrupt, to make himself known. Then he heard Mok’s name. And everything went red.
“…that Mok’s not stupid,” someone said. “He knows exactly what he’s doing.”
Rome didn’t remember deciding to move.
One moment he was standing in his office doorway. The next, he was in the corridor, presence slamming into the space like a shockwave.
The group froze when they saw him. The silence was immediate. Absolute. Rome smiled. It was not a pleasant expression.
“Finish your thought,” Rome said lightly.
No one spoke.
Rome’s gaze flicked between them, cataloging faces, titles, the subtle tells of guilt. He committed them all to memory in a heartbeat.
“You were saying something about my assistant,” Rome continued. “I’d love to hear it.”
One man swallowed. “We were just – ”
“Careful,” Rome said, still smiling. “Your next word determines whether this conversation ends politely.”
Another tried to laugh it off. “It’s just office talk. People notice things.”
Rome’s smile sharpened.
“Notice what?”
Silence.
Rome nodded slowly, as if considering. Then his eyes shifted. Mok stood a few meters away, frozen. His face bowed down, calm. Controlled. Too calm. Something in Rome’s chest broke open.
That calmness. That rigidness. He knew it. The one Mok wore when he was swallowing something sharp and pretending it didn’t hurt. The one he’d worn years ago, when Rome had first learned what it meant for someone to endure cruelty quietly.
Rome moved without thinking. He crossed the distance and stopped directly in front of Mok, close enough that he could feel the tension radiating off him.
“Mok,” Rome said softly.
Mok looked up.
“Did you hear this kind of thing before?” Rome asked.
Mok hesitated. That was answer enough. Rome inhaled slowly. Then he turned.
“Meeting room,” he said, voice carrying. “Now.”
No one argued. They gathered quickly, uneasily, sensing something had shifted irreversibly. Rome walked at the front, one hand resting at Mok’s lower back, firm and unmistakable.
He did not remove it.
The meeting room filled with people who hadn’t been part of the conversation too, drawn by tone alone. Wan and Chen positioned themselves near the door automatically. Rome didn’t sit. He stood at the head of the table, Mok still beside him.
“Since we’re all so interested in speculation,” Rome said pleasantly, “let’s clarify something.”
The room was silent.
“This man,” Rome continued, his hand tightening at Mok’s back, “is not ‘my assistant’ in the way you seem to think.”
He glanced down at Mok briefly, thumb pressing reassurance into familiar space.
“He is my partner.”
The words landed like a detonation.
Rome didn’t stop.
“He has been my partner for ten years,” he said. “Long before this building. Long before this position. Long before any of you decided you had opinions about where he belongs.”
He looked around the table, gaze sharp and unflinching.
“If you think he is here because of favoritism, you are wrong. If you think he is here because of his body, you are disgusting. And if you think his proximity to me makes him weak, then you are dangerously stupid.”
No one spoke. Mok’s breathing was shallow at his side. Rome felt it.
“He is here because he is exceptional,” Rome continued. “Because he is competent in ways most of you will never be. And because I chose him.”
He smiled again, softer now but no less lethal. “And I will choose him every time.”
Silence stretched. Rome leaned forward, palms braced on the table. “If anyone has a problem with that,” he said, voice calm, “you can bring it to me. Directly. Or you can find employment elsewhere. Not that anyone would hire you after here.”
He straightened. “Meeting adjourned.”
People moved. Quickly. Chairs scraped. Apologies murmured. Eyes avoided Mok entirely now, shame and fear replacing judgment. Rome didn’t watch them go.
He turned fully to Mok. Mok looked stunned. His composure had finally cracked, eyes dark and wide, breath uneven.
Rome softened instantly.
“I’m sorry,” Rome said quietly. “I should’ve seen it sooner.”
Mok swallowed. “You didn’t have to – ”
“I absolutely did.”
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
The office door closed with a soft, final click. The sound sealed the world outside. For a moment, neither of them moved.
Rome stood there, hands still hovering at Mok’s back, unsure whether to pull him closer or give him space. His chest was still tight with leftover fury, his pulse loud in his ears, but beneath it was something quieter. Something fragile.
Mok looked small in the sudden stillness.
Not physically. Never that. But the rigid control he carried like armor had fractured, just enough to reveal how much he’d been holding back. His shoulders were tense, his gaze unfocused, breath shallow as if he wasn’t quite sure where to put it.
Rome’s anger dissolved instantly.
“Mok,” he said softly.
Mok looked up.
The composure was gone. Not shattered, just… tired. Stripped thin.
Rome reached out slowly this time, giving Mok every chance to step away. When his hand settled at Mok’s waist, it was gentle, grounding, unmistakably present.
“You okay?” Rome asked.
Mok nodded automatically. Rome waited.
Mok swallowed, then shook his head once. “No.”
That single word hit harder than anything Rome had heard all day. He didn’t speak. He just pulled Mok in. This time, Mok didn’t freeze.
He stepped forward willingly, forehead pressing into Rome’s shoulder, breath leaving him in a shaky exhale. His hands came up, hesitant at first, then clutching Rome’s jacket like it was the only solid thing left.
Rome wrapped his arms around him fully, firm and secure, one hand spreading warm over Mok’s back, the other cradling the base of his neck.
“I’ve got you,” Rome murmured. “You don’t have to be strong right now.”
Mok made a small sound, barely more than a breath, and went boneless against him. Rome held him like that for a long time. Not rushing. Not fixing. Just staying.
When Mok finally shifted, it was only to breathe more evenly, to rest his weight more fully into Rome’s hold.
“I didn’t want you dragged into it,” Mok said quietly, voice muffled against Rome’s collar. “You worked too hard for this.”
Rome huffed softly. “You think this hurts me?”
Mok didn’t answer. Rome leaned back just enough to look at him, one hand lifting to tilt Mok’s face up gently.
“Listen to me, baby,” Rome said, serious now. “You don’t make me weaker. You make me dangerous.”
Mok’s eyes flickered.
“For them,” Rome clarified. “Not for you.”
Mok’s lips pressed together, emotion tightening his expression. “I am used to handling things quietly.”
“I know,” Rome said. “That’s why I won’t let you do it alone anymore.”
He brushed his thumb along Mok’s cheek, slow and deliberate, grounding him in the moment. Mok leaned into the touch without thinking. That was all the permission Rome needed.
He kissed him. A soft, lingering press of lips, warm and steady, like punctuation at the end of a long, brutal sentence.
Mok stilled for half a heartbeat. Then he kissed back. Careful. Tentative. His hands slid up Rome’s chest, fingers curling into fabric as if to anchor himself. Rome deepened it just slightly, enough to remind Mok that he was here, that this was real, that he wasn’t alone in this building or this life.
When they parted, their foreheads rested together. Mok’s breathing had evened out. The tension in his shoulders had eased.
Rome smiled, soft and fond. “You’re safe here.”
Mok closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, there was something new there. Relief.
Rome guided him to the chair and sat down, pulling Mok onto his lap without ceremony. This time, Mok didn’t protest. He settled there naturally, weight warm and familiar, like he’d always belonged there.
Outside the glass walls, the office had changed forever.
Inside, Rome held his world and pressed a quiet kiss to Mok’s temple.
And this time, nothing felt fragile. Just complete.