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For a moment, there’s a truce.
It’s not hard won, but something that Rome accepts as he moves through the next few weeks.
He could never begrudge Thee of anything, let alone the happiness that they’ve both worked for all of their lives.
It would be easy to resent him; to stalk the halls of their home like a dark cloud. It would be easy to sit back and melt into the floor boards and become one with the floor. No one would blame him, let alone force him out of it.
There was an understanding that came over the whole house and blanketed it with a slowness, like molasses that eased its way through its halls and constantly reminded you of the things that were out of your reach.
Peach watches him with a quiet understanding. Something like pain etched itself at the edge of every single one of his gentle smiles. Rome felt the tender sweep of his hands over his back every single time Peach passed him at the dining table, as if Peach wanted to remind him of a gentleness that he was no longer allowed.
Thee looks at him with grief, curtailed only with small smiles of understanding. It reminded Rome of their days before Thee was sent away. Their time together was dusted in an awful silence, full of things unsaid, but they communicated in measured movements. He curtailed his whimsy and dramatics, sat with Rome in silence in rooms deep in their mansion, hiding away from downturned eyes.
His parents, all too buried in preparations, gaze upon him with regret. Someone must have said something, must have whispered in their direction, about it all. As much as he wants them to come to him and ask, to beg for a crumb of explanation, he doesn’t want it. The fire has died, resembling the smoke at the end of a stick of incense. He burns, still, smoke pouring from his body. He lingers in every room, blessing it with his misery.
With each person that looks at him with something different, something dipped in worry and melancholy, he looks them straight in the eyes and reminds them that he’ll still stand at the end of it all. He doesn’t fold under their woeful looks. He doesn’t look away when they find his eyes from across the room. Rome stands tall, knees shaking and hands fisted by his side, reminding them that he is a Lee no matter how much he crumbles.
It’s Plub that pushes.
It’s Plub and her sensibilities, her lack of shame as the youngest sibling, that pushes and prods at him.
Like Peach, she’s untouched by their worries and woes. Thee told him that she was scared at first, but simmered down when she found an ally in Thee. She held strong, commanded Thee as if it was her birthright, and told him that she’d take Peach to the farthest corner of the Earth if Thee ever did him wrong.
She was steady, fierce, but small and gentle. Like Peach, she carried an uncanny way of sensing the disarray in you. However, unlike Peach, she was upfront, brazen, and easily teased. It reminded Rome of him and Thee, making him feel as if she was a small punishment for the way that he was as a child.
—
Plub sits across from him, on the floor in front of a table full of scraps, hands deep inside of a wedding favor that she insisted on being in charge of. She treats him differently, without the bindings of regret, misery, and responsibility. He follows her around the mansion, under the guise of keeping an eye on her for Peach and being her assistant. But he stays, glad to be in the company of someone who won’t hold their tongue with him.
“You know,” she says, “if you keep your face that way, it’ll freeze and you’ll stay that way.”
“What way?”
She makes a face at him and he hopes that it’s not actually the same face that he has on at the moment.
“Like that,” she tells him, “it doesn’t match your suit— actually, why are you wearing a suit at home? Don’t you guys have house clothes?”
“House clothes?” Rome asks, taking a seat beside her and holding down the end of a ribbon that she’s struggling with.
“Old clothes that you keep just to wear at home,” she tells him, “Something you spilled sauce on but still want to keep.”
Rome shakes his head. “Nothing like that,” he answers, “If it’s dirty, it’s gone.”
Plub sighs and turns to him. “Rich people,” she says, “as much as you tell me you all have problems and all that—which I definitely believe and validate— you guys are really something else.”
“You’ll have to explain that to mom,” Rome tells her, “when she inevitably fills one of these rooms with stuff for you and gets you our version of house clothes.”
“She knows me a bit better now,” Plub says, pointing to a pair of scissors by Rome’s elbow, “P’Thee told me to stand strong.”
Rome laughs and gives her the scissors. He holds back from ruffling her hair, knowing that she’ll yell at him for disturbing her pleated hair and that she’ll complain about not being a baby.
“So she’s spoken to you about your allowance then?”
Plub groans and points the scissors at him. “Don’t even say that word to me right now,” she begs, “It’s gonna haunt me for weeks, phi.”
Rome nods and turns the scissors away from his face. He motions to the box in front of her and she groans again.
Plub resumes her work and Rome watches as she painstakingly wraps trinket after trinket with odd bits and pieces from the pile of scrap in front of her. He falls into a sense of peace, watching her work. Plub is comfortable, aware of herself in a way that fills Rome with a sense of pride despite not being her real brother.
For a second, he imagines the type of person she would have been if she was raised alongside them. He knows she would be smothered, despite the attention, care, and gentleness that their mom is giving her.
Rome knows many women in the Lee-Arseni household and its staff. His father has his faults, but his treatment of women was not one of them. They held varying stations within their organization, from secretaries, household staff, to bodyguards and heads of various departments. All that mattered was how you climbed the ladder.
But he’s privy to the state of the world around them, when it comes to women. Plub would have moved freely within their home, would be protected well by them, but the world was cruel and unforgiving. This would have impacted her deeply, in their family. If he and Thee were forbidden from love, he knows that she would have had her own gilded cage that they could never understand.
So he lets the idea go. In his mind, he thanks Peach for his guidance and care. Curses a bit at the reason why they had to grow like this, but appreciates that they made it through in the end.
“Thinking makes you look kinda ugly.”
“You think I’m ugly a lot, don’t you?” he asks her, shoving a foot into the side of her leg.
Plub shrugs. “It’s like when you call your sibling ugly, fully knowing that you guys have the same face,” she tells him, “you’re sibling ugly.”
Rome laughs and shakes his head. “You say that about P’Peach?”
“He’s cute, sure,” she answers, “but sometimes you gotta joke about how one of you was found near a pile of cow poo, you know?”
“Is that so?”
Plub hums and her face goes mischievous, reminding Rome of himself, making him feel like sending Thee an apology for the way he was when they were kids.
“But you know, P’Rome,” she says, trying hard to be nonchalant but failing at it, “you know who thinks you’re handsome?”
Rome stills.
“Mom!”
Rome sighs. “Plub.”
Plub lets out a laugh and pushes herself away from the table. She leans back on the couch, plopping herself directly by Rome’s side. They fall into silence and stare at the state of the wedding favors in front of them.
“I’ll never be done in time,” she tells him quietly, “but I’ll keep at it.”
“You’re very stubborn,” he says, “you could ask for help.”
“Nah,” she responds, “Everyone’s busy with something.”
Rome nods and looks at the table. The wedding isn’t big, they’d never hold something that huge, no matter how many rules they’ve already broken when it comes to Thee and Peach. Each party favor is carefully put together, lovingly chosen for each person attending. Plub researched quite a bit, asking staff and other members of the household about the best ways to personalize each gift. People blossomed under her attention, making him even more sure of her addition to the family alongside Peach.
“I’m not busy,” he tells her, “I can help.”
Plub turns to him and watches him for a minute. The look on her face reminds him of Peach, minus the melancholy that he holds despite the happiness that radiates off of him.
“Can I say something?”
“No one’s going to stop you,” he tells her, waving at the room around them.
“Promise you won’t get mad?” she says, turning to him with a questioning look on her face.
“Promise,” he says, holding out a pinky to her.
She swipes his pinky away and leans forward. “You’re everywhere,” she tells him, “you’re at the suit fittings, you stand menacingly during cake tastings, and you—”
“Is it a crime to be involved in your brother’s wedding?”
“Nah,” she answers, “it’s the first wedding in the family, of course everyone’s gonna be like this.”
“So, your point is?”
“But you’re like… extra busy,” she tells him, “almost like… you don’t want to stop moving.”
Rome shrugs. “Anything that I can take off of P’Kian’s plate, I’m happy to do,” he answers, “It’s the role of the groomsman, according to the internet.”
“Yeah, but—”
“It’s exactly like what you’re doing for P’Peach,” he tells her, “it’s a sibling responsibility.”
Plub groans and leans back further into the couch. She slouches down and Rome clicks his tongue at her posture, a habit from his childhood. Plub swipes at him and he lets her.
“Don’t get offended with what I’m about to say, okay?”
“Promise.”
She turns to him and pokes at his shoulder. “Are you even happy about any of this?”
Rome stills. “What?”
Plub motions to the room around them. “All of this stuff,” she continues, “the prep, the planning, the whole thing about the wedding.”
“What— of course— he’s— I’m excited,” he stutters out, “This— I’m happy for P’Kian.”
“Sure,” she tells him, “but like, are you happy?”
“I’m fucking delighted,” he bites out.
He stands, brushing off scraps from his suit. He rounds the table and distances himself from Plub, knowing that his own body is seconds from shaking. Rome isn’t angry at her, doesn’t begrudge her for questioning him when he knows that everyone else is thinking it too.
She’s just the bravest of them all.
Rome stands across from her and tries to keep her eyes on him. Plub looks at him from her seat on the ground with no trace of pity on her face. He can’t get a read on her. She sits, still, unafraid of the way that Rome towers over her even from a distance. He understands why his mom has taken to her so quickly.
“I’m helping,” Rome tells her, “I’m doing what I can for them— it’s what— it’s what P’Kian would have— it’s just what you do as a sibling.”
“Okay, sure,” she says, “But what does P’Rome want to do?”
“Huh?”
Plub shrugs and stands. She makes her way to him and stands by his side, looking out at the window by him. He doesn’t turn with her, opting to look out into the room to keep himself grounded.
If he turns, he sees the garden. He sees the landscapers working to clear the grounds and further beautify it for the event. They’re weeks away from the wedding, so close to the end.
So close to the day that Rome can finally tuck himself into his bed and try to hold himself together before he inevitably falls apart in his own room.
“We know what we’re supposed to do as siblings,” Plub tells him, “but what do you want to do?”
Rome doesn’t answer her, but he stews in the question. For a second, Plub is older than she looks. Her body is taut, her jaw is stiff. She looks out into the garden and sees the very thing that he’s trying to avoid. Her shoulders rise as she sighs, but she keeps her eyes forward.
“Because I want to take P’Peach away,” she continues, “I’m happy about all of this because phi will be happy but, I’m scared of how permanent this is.”
“Scared?”
Plub nods. “Mom told me about some things,” she answers, “things she had to be ready for. Things that I might have to deal with, once more and more people know about the two of them getting married.”
“Nong—”
Plub shakes her head and waves him away. “I can be away from all of it,” she tells him, “I don’t ever have to come here. You all can visit me, we can plan.”
“We’d never ask you to do that.”
“I know,” she replies, “but it’s for safety.”
Rome wants to apologize but he knows that Plub would never ask him to do that, for something that he has no control over.
“But I’ll tell him this, you know?” she says as she turns to him, “because that’s what I want to do.”
“So,” she continues, “what do you want to do?”
—
Khun Green clicks his tongue at him and steps off the pedestal where he stands with Rome.
Rome watches him write a couple of things down on his notepad and whisper to his assistant about something that Rome will never understand. Khun Green squints at him and shakes his head, making Rome feel like a child again.
“I thought you’d stop growing but once again,” Khun Green comments, “I am a fool and it seems like I’ll have to go back to measuring you every other quarter.”
Thee laughs and approaches Rome on the pedestal. He takes Rome’s lapels and smoothes them out, tucking and tugging at random parts of Rome’s suit jacket and button up. Rome lets him, knowing that Thee likes to keep his hands busy.
“We should be glad his height is slowing down,” Thee says, “I know how scared you all were when I was—”
“Be glad for your family tailor,” Khun Green says, standing by Thee’s side and looking at Rome as if he was under a microscope.
“Always, Khun,” Thee tells him, “There’s no one else I’d rather dress us.”
Khun Green raises his chin in pride and pats at Rome’s chest. “You’d send them to the hills quickly,” he says.
Rome sighs and nods. “I didn’t know he was coming,” he says to Khun Green, “I thought he’d be off with Peach or dad.”
“All’s forgiven, Khun.”
Rome turns to Thee and squints at him. Thee raises his hands in surrender and pats Khun Green’s shoulders. “I thought I’d take a break,” Thee tells them, “My Peach is handling some things with Nong Plub and I thought I’d give them some time together as siblings.”
Khun Green hums and turns to his assistant. He lifts a hand at Thee and Thee lets him leave, taking his assistant and a bunch of test fabrics away to the back of his office.
“Is there something wrong?”
Thee shakes his head. “Peach sent me away too,” he answers, “said that its sibling day for everyone.”
“Ah.”
“Any plans for the rest of your day?”
—
They sit in silence in the garden, on the stairs out to the lawn, with a single glass of whiskey between the two of them.
Rome looks out, appreciating the work of their landscapers, and breathes in fresh air slightly tinged with the scent of newly cut grass. He’s glad for the copious amounts of allergy medicine that’s been forced into his hands by Peach, as he feels a slight itch inside of his throat.
Thee sits beside him, equally quiet, eyes closed with his face turned to the sun. His coat is off, leaving him in a ruffled button up and wrinkled slacks. His tie is undone, hanging off his neck hanging on with a prayer. There’s an uncharacteristic stillness to him that makes Rome want to reach out to check if he’s still breathing.
“You think we could get away with staying out here until dinner?”
Rome laughs and shakes his head. “Mom would send someone out to find us,” Rome answers, “P’Peach might let us, but mom would eventually get him to go look for you too.”
Thee sighs and leans back, resting his arms behind him. Rome doesn’t remember the last time they’d been allowed this kind of stillness. Although everyone around them is hustling and bustling, they remain unbothered on the steps. Neither of their parents have called for them and Rome feels untethered.
“Where’s everyone?” Rome asks.
“Dunno,” Thee tells him, “just let it happen, nong.”
“‘Let it happen’?” Rome repeats, “Now I’m really worried, phi.”
Thee taps his foot against Rome’s and clicks his tongue. “If you acknowledge it too much, something might fall over,” Thee says, “that table over there might, I don’t know, suddenly break.”
Rome looks out at the innocent table, holding several potted plants that the landscapers may be planning to scatter and plant before the wedding. In their pots, they shift with the wind, completely unaware of the way that Rome watches them with suspicion.
“So just ignore how everyone’s left us alone?”
Thee looks at him and nods. “Yep,” he says, “just appreciate it.”
“But how—”
Thee groans and throws out a hand behind him. “Peach probably,” Thee tells him, “I’m betting he asked Mok to—”
Thee pauses. “He— he probably asked someone to keep people from coming out and bothering us,” Thee continues, “it’s sibling day, after all.”
For a second, Rome imagines Peach and Plub huddled over the same table that he and Plub were at a few days ago. He wonders what they’re talking about and if Peach is practicing his braiding on her, as she told Rome he’s been doing since mom did her hair a while back.
He thinks about the two of them, holding on to the thought of them sitting with each other and chatting, just like he and Thee are at the moment. He pictures the two of them, knowing that if he lets go of the image, he’ll cave in again.
He smiles at the thought of Peach tangling his fingers in Plub’s silky hair and apologizing. Rome cradles it in his chest because the alternative is to let the burning feeling swell in his chest from the simple mention of his name.
“Are they at P’Peach’s home?” Rome asks.
Thee smiles, letting a bit of irritation shine through. “Told them they could stay here,” he says, “but they insisted on going to Nong Plub’s condo to have a day together.”
“I assume you’ve sent a team to watch over them then?” Rome asks.
“Just two,” Thee tells him, “nothing excessive like before.”
Rome lets out a laugh and Thee groans. “P’Kian knows how to hold back?”
Thee shakes his head and picks up the glass of whiskey, downing it in a way that whiskey’s not supposed to be taken. Rome hisses at the sight and Thee waves his concern away. The sun strikes the glass in a way that forces Rome to look away, so he turns back out to the yard and watches as a landscaper gently tends to his mom’s roses. Beside him, he hears Thee shift and suddenly fall silent.
“Whiskey got your tongue?” Rome says.
Thee doesn’t answer him, so Rome turns to look at him, finding Thee staring at him.
“What?” Rome asks, “s’there something on my face?”
Rome wipes his own face and tries to brush off whatever Thee is staring at him for, but his brother stays silent, watching Rome as if he were preparing himself for something the two of them couldn’t handle.
“P’Kian?”
Thee shifts and Rome steadies himself, stiffening his body to bolster it up against whatever comes out of Thee’s mouth.
“I don’t know how to apologize,” Thee tells him, voice all too gentle for the way that it strikes against Rome’s chest.
“Peach showed me how to do it a long while ago,” Thee continues, “He stressed the importance of apologizing when you’ve done someone wrong or harmed them in any way.”
“What do you even need to—,” Rome pauses, “P’Kian, there’s nothing—”
Thee holds out a hand and Rome stops. “Maybe,” he says, “but I can’t help but want to.”
“Phi, there’s nothing you— I want to be here,” Rome tells him, “I’m not away from work. I’ll happily be here for the two of you, I promise.”
Thee shakes his head and waves Rome’s words away. “Can you hear me out?” he asks, “even if it’s irrational?”
“Phi?”
“Will you just let me do this?” Thee insists, “even if— even if it doesn’t make any sense?”
The air around them stills, almost as if it was waiting for Rome’s consent to move. Rome looks at Thee’s face and tries not to turn away from the desperation on it. Instead, he nods, and says nothing— afraid of his own voice.
“I’m scared of losing you at the end of all of this,” Thee tells him, “I’m scared that once this is over… I’ll lose my brother to some imagined distance he wants to put between us.”
Rome lets out a stuttering breath and grips his own leg. He wants to reach out but, out in the open like this, he doesn’t want to fall before everyone.
“You’ve congratulated us, Nong,” Thee continues, “you’ve said how happy you are. You’ve done everything you could and more, but… but god I don’t know how you really feel.”
“P’Kian—”
“I need to know that at the end of all of this,” Thee says, “I’ll still have a brother.”
He feels his nails bite into the skin under his slacks. Thee’s words, although gentle, batter against the wall inside his chest. It’s fragile, something fresh and new, built up only since he last spoke with him. Fresh cement, hastily applied, too new and slick, is no match against the way that Thee’s words press against him.
“I’ll be okay,” Rome tells him, “I promise I won’t disappear.”
“But you’ll still go, won’t you?”
Rome nods. “Wherever dad tells me to go.”
Thee sighs and reaches out to him. He places a hand on Rome’s arm and holds him, as if he were afraid that Rome was in danger of floating away.
“But what do you want, Rome?”
Rome lets out a laugh and looks at Thee. “What does that matter, phi?” he asks, “When does what I want ever matter?”
The hand on Rome’s arm tightens and Thee shifts, moving closer to him. His warmth makes Rome want to lean into him. For a second, he envies Plub and the gentleness they all show her. It’s not uncharacteristic for many of them to hold her. Even he finds himself letting her use him as an anchor as they move through the mansion, her eyes wide in wonder. As Plub takes the mantle of the youngest in the family, Rome wants it back for just a second so that he can curl into his older brother’s side and feel like a kid again.
“It matters,” Thee says, placing an arm around Rome’s shoulders, “It matters to me, it matters to everyone—”
“Then why,” Rome says, dislodging Thee as he pulls away, “then why, phi? Why can’t— why can’t I— why doesn’t he—”
Rome fists his hands into his slacks, holding back the tidal wave of anger and rage that moves through his body.
Not at Mok, never at him, but at their situation.
Rome feels his chest burn and his eyes swell up. He turns away from Thee, but his brother knows him well. Thee places a hand on the nape of his neck and holds him there, gentle but still stern. It stops Rome from teetering over and falling to the rest of the steps below them. Rome reaches behind himself and grips Thee’s hand in his, uncaring if Thee feels the tremor that runs through him.
“I asked him to come with me,” Rome tells him, “I asked, phi. I pleaded. I told him that I would take care of everything— but— phi.”
A sob makes its way out of Rome’s chest. Rome tries to hold it back, putting a hand over his own mouth, but it still comes and floods him with shame. Thee’s hand tightens on his nape and Rome feels like a stubborn cat, scruffed as he falls apart.
Rome pleaded.
He argued for them, told Mok that he’d handle it.
He stood before Mok and pleaded for him, asking if he felt the same.
But Mok stood strong.
We can’t do that, he said, voice firm and unwavering.
Rome had told Mok that he was done, had finally graduated and will be sent away. He asked Mok to come with him, to stop acting as if his life was borrowed.
But Mok cut him down.
He struck at Rome, not with his hand, but with the resignation in his voice. As if Mok had long given up on a future that wasn’t written out for him by rules and regulations that only stifled them and made them unable to breathe.
Rome presented him with a future, not partially jokingly like he’d done countless other times.
It wasn’t Rome in their vacation house telling Mok that he’d triple his salary if he’d only come with him.
It wasn’t Rome teasing him at the gun range, telling him that he’d be in better use by Rome’s side.
It was Rome giving him a future, not as his right-hand man, not as an employee of Arseni, but together.
“I feel so fucking stupid,” Rome bites out, “I feel like a fucking idiot, every single time, phi.”
“You’re not, Rome,” Thee insists, trying to soothe him as best as he could, “It’s okay— I’m sorry, it’s okay.”
“Everything,” Rome sneers, “I’ve done everything, but dad still sends me away like it’ll never be over, phi.”
Rome turns to Thee, no longer ashamed of the flood of tears that have taken over his face. Thee tries to hush him, not to quiet Rome, but to try and gentle the stream of tears falling from his face. His thumbs brush across Rome’s cheeks and around his mouth, wiping away tears and snot.
The sight is unbecoming of them as heirs: Thee, the first heir, hushing Rome, the trembling second heir, succumbing to a loss that dangles itself before him every single time he steps into a role that hangs itself around his neck like a noose.
There, surrounded by their luxury and wealth, Rome falls apart and feels the cage of legacy start swinging close around him. Thee stands at the door of the cage, hands reaching for Rome as he sits in its gilded bars.
“I’m happy,” Rome tells him, “I promise I’m happy for you, P’Kian.”
“I know, nong, I do,” Thee says, continuing to wipe at Rome’s tears.
“But why,” Rome sobs, “Why do you get to do this but I don’t?”
“I’m so sorry, nong.”
“Why doesn’t he want to love me?” Rome asks, “You— You know— he’s your friend— why doesn’t he—”
Rome fists a hand into Thee’s shirt and tugs, angered but with very little fight left in him. “Does he feel this too?” Rome begs, “Do you— do you ever— does he love me?”
Thee hushes him, pinching his earlobe and trying desperately to put him together again.
There once was a time when Rome believed that Thee was the last stronghold against their father’s will. There once was a Rome that tugged at the hem of Thee’s shirts and knew that his older brother would do anything for him.
But he knows better these days. He knows that Thee protected him when he could but that they were both still battered by the same kind of pressure, doubled only for Thee as he was the eldest. Thee did his best, but he crumbled too. Their father’s pressure was a weight that they couldn’t escape. They just folded in different ways: Thee silencing himself and his yearning, Rome distancing himself from his desires.
Rome knows that this is not his brother’s battle, but he can’t help but plead in his arms as if he was a child again.
Thee has freedom now. He’s paved the way for the two of them.
But Rome has stalled.
With the excuse of rules and regulations torn down for the three of them, Rome believed that he could push forward.
With the limitation gone and a new understanding of what the rules meant, Rome thought that he could come to Mok and state his case: a future together.
Something that Rome’s yearned for since the day he could put a name to it.
He knows now that Mok sees the rules differently. They weren’t an excuse. They don’t bind him the same.
“I’m so sorry, Rome,” Thee says, pulling Rome to his chest, “Phi is so sorry.”
Rome stays, deep in his older brother’s arms, protected if only for this moment. He clutches Thee’s shirt and holds on, letting Thee’s apologies wash over him.
“Phi is so sorry.”
—
The truce stays.
It changes, somewhat.
Rome doesn’t know what his brother has done, but he knows Thee has something to do with it.
The house settles around him once more, still as careful with him as before, but now it opens its arms to Rome and no longer treats him as if he was a fearful animal.
Peach and Thee still look at him with something like melancholy in their faces, but it passes quicker and quicker as their wedding closes in on them. He wants to chalk up the changes to them being distracted by preparations, but he knows that Peach is purposeful about everything he does. Rome doesn’t want to take that effort away from Peach, so he accepts it.
Plub still treats him the same, but there’s a new air around them that tells Rome that she’s decided that they share the role of the youngest child. Rome wants to argue with her, but he knows that she means well.
His parents remain as they were, but there are times when one of them starts and stops, making attempts at a conversation that Rome is not currently willing to have with either one of them. He holds them at a distance, but remains grateful for the freedom that they’ve given to Thee.
He starts showing up too.
Peach and Thee no longer stop and pause before uttering Mok’s name. Rome becomes more aware of the ways that he and Mok are alike in their attempts at distance and pretending that everything is okay. If Rome is busy, then Mok is trampled.
The truce touches them now, no longer making strangers of the two of them.
Mok sits at the same breakfast nook and picks through the chef’s offerings, ear getting pinched by staff when he skips over his morning cup of fruit and yogurt.
Mok stands beside him as they watch Thee twirl on the pedestal during alterations.
Mok passes him samples, mood boards, and cups of tea.
Mok is there with Rome, every single time.
The hurt still sits between the two of them. It rests in the seat that they leave empty between the two of them where Rome used to sit and turn his body to Mok’s for attention.
The hurt is present every single time Mok asks Rome for his opinion on flowers. It lives in the pauses between their sentences, where Rome wants to fill it with a plea for an explanation and for a sliver of truth. It sings when Mok meets him at the bottom of the stairs, and for a moment, Rome forgets that he ever said that they couldn’t.
Rome smarts, tries not to stumble, but he still stands.
He meets Mok where he is and lets the hurt shift, making room for the things that Mok allows between the two of them.
The truce stays and so does Rome.
—