Archive of Our Own

The gallery was too loud, too bright, and smelled faintly of expensive gin and pretension.

​Net adjusted the collar of his button-down shirt, immediately regretting the choice to come. He wasn’t an art critic, he was just a man who appreciated structure, order, and things that made sense. The abstract oil paintings lining the walls of the downtown warehouse did none of those things. They looked like chaotic bursts of emotion left to dry on canvas.

​"You look like you're plotting an escape.” A voice observed.

​Net turned. Standing beside him was a man leaning casually against a concrete pillar, a half-empty glass of champagne dangling between two long fingers. He was impeccably dressed sharp, tailored black trousers and a dark silk shirt that looked effortlessly expensive. His hair was styled with deliberate carelessness, but it was his eyes that caught Net off guard. They were calculating, sharp, and thoroughly unimpressed by everything in the room.

​"Is it that obvious?" Net asked, offering a small, self-deprecating smile. "I was trying to look cultured." He added.

​"Fail.” The man said smoothly, taking a sip of his drink. "You’ve been staring at that blue smudge for five minutes with the exact expression of a man trying to calculate his taxes." He said as Net let out a genuine laugh, the tension in his shoulders dropping. 

"It’s supposed to represent 'The Velocity of Grief,' according to the little plaque. To me, it just looks like someone dropped a bucket of paint on their way to lunch."

​The stranger’s lips twitched upward into a sharp, fleeting smirk. "I’m JJ. And for the record, the artist actually did drop the bucket. He just named it that afterward so he could charge an extra ten grand."

​"Net," he replied, extending a hand.

​JJ’s grip was firm, brief, and cool. There was a magnetic, high-fashion quality to the way JJ carried himself. A quiet armor of wealth and absolute confidence that usually made Net feel out of place. Net was a man of soft edges and heavy responsibilities, the eldest son who carried the quiet weight of his family’s traditional expectations on his back and JJ looked like he had never apologized for a single thing in his life.

​Yet, as the crowd shifted and roared around them, neither of them moved away.

​"So, Net.” JJ said, his gaze drifting over Net’s sensible watch and neat haircut. "What brings a man who hates abstract art to a pretentious gallery opening on a Friday night?"

​"A mutual friend. Kim. He said I needed to get out more. Expand my horizons. And his boyfriend happens to have this building who rents it for this fancy gallery." Net sighed softly, glancing toward the bar where Kim was currently laughing with a group of people. "I think he’s just tired of me spending my weekends working or on the phone with my parents."

“Kim? Latte’s fiancé?” JJ asked.

“Ah, yes, fiancé. I forgot that Latte proposed to my friend last month. So, you know him?”

“Yeah, Latte is my cousin.” JJ answered. “You said that if you were not working on weekends, you were on the phone with your parents?” He added his question. Just out of curiosity.

“Yes.” Net consciously answer with pride.

​JJ’s expression changed. It was subtle. Just a slight narrowing of his eyes, a microscopic shift in his posture. "Ah. The dutiful son."

​"Something like that." Net murmured, feeling a sudden, strange vulnerability under JJ's scrutiny. "And you? Are you here to buy a blue smudge?"

​JJ let out a dry, humorless sound that was supposed to be a laugh. "No. I’m here because my mother is one of the patrons of this gallery. Just like you said, this place is owned by Kim’s fiancé, who happens to be my cousin. So, if I didn't show my face, I’d have to endure a two-hour lecture about family solidarity and my lack of social responsibility." He looked at his glass, his tone turning cold and clinical.

"It’s easier to just show up, drink their bad champagne, and let them take a photo for the social registry."

​There was a heavy, suffocatingly familiar note in JJ’s voice that Net recognized instantly. It was the sound of a golden cage.

​For the next hour, the gallery faded into background noise. They didn't fall into an easy, effortless banter. It was more like a chess match. JJ was sharp, guarded, and prone to cynical observations that should have been off-putting, but Net met each one with a calm, grounded warmth that seemed to catch JJ off guard. Where JJ threw up walls, Net simply stood his ground, unbothered by the spikes.

​"You're too patient.” JJ remarked abruptly, watching Net carefully navigate a clumsy waiter who had nearly spilled a tray of drinks on them. "It's annoying." He added.

​"It's called manners, JJ." Net replied, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "You should try it sometime. It makes life a lot less exhausting."

​"Life is exhausting regardless.” JJ said, his voice dropping an octave as his eyes locked onto Net’s. For a second, the sharp, defensive armor slipped, revealing a profound, striking loneliness underneath.

​Net didn't look away. In that quiet beat of silence between them, amidst the clinking of glasses and loud laughter of strangers, a faint, undeniable thread snared them together. They were two completely different men from two entirely different worlds, but they both knew exactly what it felt like to carry a version of themselves that their families could never truly see.

​"Let’s get out of here," Net said softly, surprising himself with his own boldness. "The air is thick in here. Let's get coffee.” He said. “Or maybe real food." He added.

​JJ stared at him for a long moment, as if trying to find the catch, searching for the hidden agenda. Finding none in Net’s honest, steady gaze, JJ’s shoulders relaxed just a fraction. He set his champagne glass down on a passing waiter's tray.

​"I know a diner four blocks away." JJ said, a rare, genuine smile touching his lips. "The coffee is terrible, but the lights are dim and nobody talks about art."

​"Lead the way!" Net smiled.

​As they walked out into the cool city night, leaving the noise of the gallery behind, neither of them knew that this was the first brick in a foundation that would eventually weather the fiercest storms. They only knew that for the first time in a very long time, the weight on their shoulders felt a little bit lighter.

_

They both seem like completing each other even though they are the easiest example of the polar opposite for their lifestyle, family life, and even their characters.

Net grew up in a tight-knit, deeply traditional household where love was unconditional as long as he followed the unwritten script. As the eldest son from a traditional Thailand family, he was the golden child, expected to take over his father’s local business, marry a family friend, and settle down within a few miles of his childhood home.

But he knew from a young age that his truth didn't align with that script, a realization that brought a quiet, heavy isolation. To cope, he threw himself into his studies and eventually moved to the city, to the one and only New York City under the guise of "Pursuing his dream.".

Moved out from a small city called Gracewall to New York, he finally breathed a sigh of relief, tasting true independence for the first time. However, he maintained a compartmentalized life as a dutiful, attentive son over weekend phone calls, and his authentic self everywhere else. By his late twenties, the exhaustion of living a double life was beginning to take a toll, leaving him longing for a reality where he didn't have to hide.

And for JJ, his upbringing was loud, wealthy, and hyper-focused on appearances. His parents were high-achieving professionals who viewed their children as extensions of their own social resume. In JJ’s world, vulnerability was a weakness, and mistakes were swept under the rug to maintain the illusion of a perfect family.

​When JJ came out to his parents in college, they didn’t yell or throw him out, instead, they did something colder, they minimized it. They treated it as a rebellious "creative phase" that he would eventually grow out of once he was ready to settle down, marry well, and climb the corporate ladder. This conditional acceptance taught JJ to build thick walls. He became highly self-reliant, successful in his career, but deeply cynical about relationships. He didn't think he would ever find someone willing to brave the quiet, suffocating pressure of his family's judgment.

Until his eyes met Net’s that night.

___

The diner smelled of burnt coffee, maples syrup, and the comforting grease of a flat-top grill. It was a stark contrast to the sterile, perfume-heavy air of the gallery, and as Net slid into the cracked vinyl booth, he felt his chest expand in a way it hadn't all evening.

​Across from him, JJ was hanging his dark silk jacket over the back of the booth. Without the armor of his tailored clothes fully buttoned up, he had rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, revealing a classic, thin-strapped leather watch and lean forearms. He looked younger.

Less like an untouchable socialite and more like someone trying to find his footing.

​"You weren't kidding about the lights." Net said, looking up at the dim, flickering neon sign buzzing faintly outside the window. "It’s a mood."

​"It's a hiding spot.” JJ corrected smoothly, though there was no heat in it. He slid a laminated menu toward Net. "The fries are passable. The coffee tastes like battery acid, but if you put enough sugar in it, it keeps you awake."

​A tired waitress took their order without a word, leaving them with two thick ceramic mugs. Net wrapped his hands around his, welcoming the heat. He watched JJ, who was staring intently at the sugar dispenser, turning it over and over in his palms.

​"Your mother…” Net began softly, keeping his voice low enough not to carry over the low hum of the jukebox in the corner. "The gallery patron. Does she often force you into the social registry photos?"

​JJ’s movements froze for a microsecond before he set the glass dispenser down with a soft click. He looked up, his sharp eyes pinning Net to the back of the booth. "Every chance she gets. It’s a branding exercise. The perfect family, the successful son who will eventually take the reins of the firm, marry a woman from the country club, and produce the next generation of resume-builders."

He leaned back, a familiar, cynical smirk returning to his lips, but Net noticed how tightly his jaw was clenched.

​"She thinks my life is a creative project she’s still editing.” JJ continued, his tone turning clinical. "When I came out to them, my father literally looked at his watch, sighed, and asked if I was done being dramatic so we could talk about the quarterly investments. They don't hate me, Net. That would require them to see me as a separate person. They just think it's a phase I’ll outgrow when the stakes get high enough."

​Net felt a dull ache in his chest. It wasn't the explosive anger of an argument, it was the slow, suffocating weight of being erased.

“Came out?”

“Net, are you kidding me? Did i just get the signal wrong? We were flirting with each other back there in the gallery, right?”

“Oh. Yes. I mean… i didn’t know we started up with our came out story.”

JJ sighed. “Okay, change the topic then.”

​"And you?" He asked, deflecting the spotlight with practiced ease. "What's the script for the dutiful son?"

​Net looked down at his coffee, tracing the dark rim of the mug. "My family doesn't have a social registry. They have a local grocery store and a three-bedroom house that my dad built with his own hands. But the expectations are just as heavy. I’m the eldest. You’re Latte’s cousin, so I assume you have Thai blood in you, no? So you obviously know that I’m supposed to move back eventually and take over the business, marry the girl next door whose family has known ours since the nineties, and live down the street so my mom can see her grandkids every Sunday." ​Net let out a quiet, tired breath.

"I’ve spent five years in the city living two lives. On the phone, I’m the son who is just 'focusing on his career before settling down.' Here, I’m just... me. But the longer I stay here, the harder it is to breathe when I go back."

​"Why do you keep going back?" JJ asked. The question wasn't cruel, it was genuinely curious, the perspective of a man who had built thick walls to protect himself.

​"Because they’re my family. I love them

 And they love me.” Net said simply, looking up to meet JJ's gaze. "And because the thought of breaking their hearts feels like breaking my own. They aren't bad people, JJ. They’re just... fiercely traditional. To them, the way they live is the only safe way to live. They think they’re protecting me from a lonely life."

​JJ stared at him, the sharp, calculating look fading entirely. For the first time, Net saw the raw vulnerability underneath the armor. JJ was a man who hid because he expected people to judge him. Net was a man who hid because he wanted to protect the people he loved. Two different kinds of shields, guarding the exact same ache.

​"They're wrong, you know." JJ said softly, his voice losing its usual performance-ready edge. "About the lonely part."

​"I know," Net smiled, a genuine, warm expression that made the dim diner feel a little brighter. "But convincing them is going to be the hardest thing I’ve ever done."

​"Then don't convince them tonight." JJ said. He picked up his mug, raising it slightly in a silent, cynical toast. "Tonight, let's just drink the battery acid and pretend the script hasn't been written yet."

​Net clinked his mug against JJ’s. "Deal."

​They stayed in that booth until the neon sign outside flickered off and the sky through the grimy window began to turn a soft, bruised purple. They talked about everything and nothing. Net’s love for movies and photography, JJ’s secret collection of vintage mugs and tins, the ridiculousness of the art gallery, and the small, quiet joys of living in a city where nobody knew their names.

​When they finally stepped out onto the damp sidewalk, the night air was crisp and clean.

​"Can I text you later?" JJ asked, hands shoved deep into his pockets, his posture suddenly shifting back to that slightly guarded, cool demeanor. But his eyes were wide, waiting for the answer.

​Net didn't hesitate. He pulled out his phone, sliding it into JJ’s hand. "Only if we never go back to that gallery."

​JJ’s lips curved into the first truly relaxed smile Net had seen on him all night. "It’s a promise. But right now, we have to meet Kim and Latte who I'm pretty sure are looking around for us.”

​As they walked toward the gallery, the heavy weight of their family’s expectations was still waiting for them ahead, but for the first time in years, the city didn't feel quite so vast, and the script didn't feel entirely unchangeable for them both.

___

For the next five days, Net’s phone became a source of constant, quiet distraction.

​It started with a text from an unknown number at two in the morning on Saturday: The battery acid coffee has officially ruined my palate. I tried a $9 artisan latte today and it tasted like disappointment. You’ve corrupted me.

​Net had smiled at his screen, typing back: That’s just the taste of freedom, JJ. Or actual quality. It’s hard to tell the difference at first.

​From there, a steady rhythm formed. They texted between Net’s structural corporate working deadlines and JJ’s tedious corporate meetings. It was a sharp contrast of styles. Net sent grounded, thoughtful paragraphs about his day, while JJ sent brief, cynical observations, blurry photos of ridiculous things he saw in the city, and a vintage film filter photo of his workspace with the caption: Send help. The board is discussing synergy again.

​By Thursday afternoon, the digital tether wasn't enough. Net found himself staring at a blueprint on his monitor, his mind drifting completely to the memory of JJ’s sharp, genuine laugh in that dim diner booth.

​He unlocked his phone and decided to take a leap.

​Net: My brain is officially fried from calculating load-bearing pillars. Are you free after work? Let’s get actual coffee. My treat.

​He set the phone face down on his desk, his heart doing a strange, unfamiliar flutter. A minute passed. Then two. He was just about to chide himself for being too forward when the phone buzzed against the wood.

​JJ: Only if it’s a place where we can actually hear each other speak. No galleries. No corporate suits.

​Net: I know a quiet spot near the river. It has a vintage vibe, mismatched chairs, and the baristas don't wear matching uniforms. Sounds like your kind of place.

​JJ: Mismatched chairs are a design flaw, Net. But I’ll tolerate it for the company. 6:30 PM. Don't be late.

​Net stared at the screen, a slow, unbidden smile spreading across his face. He quickly typed back a confirmation and locked the phone, suddenly finding the energy to crush the rest of his workday.

​At 6:25 PM, the bell above the door of The Khem’s Cafe chimed as Net pushed his way inside. The café was exactly as he described, warm, slightly cluttered, smelling of roasted hazelnut, and bathed in the amber glow of low-hanging Edison bulbs.

​He picked a table in the back corner, sitting on a slightly faded green velvet armchair. He adjusted his jacket, feeling a nervous energy humming beneath his skin that he hadn't felt in years.

​At exactly 6:30 PM, the bell chimed again.

​JJ walked in, and Net’s breath caught slightly. He had traded his sharp gallery silk for a more relaxed, oversized vintage leather jacket over a plain white tee, but he still carried that effortless, high-fashion aura. He scanned the room, his eyes instantly locking onto Net in the corner. The guarded look on JJ's face melted away, replaced by a subtle, soft expression that belonged only to the two of them.

​JJ walked over, sliding into the wooden chair opposite Net. "You're early.” he noted, though his eyes were bright with amusement.

​"Just punctual." Net smiled, leaning forward. "Good to see you again, JJ."

​JJ rested his chin on his hand, looking at Net with a steady, unhurried gaze. "Good to see you too, Net. Now, show me what real coffee tastes like.”

___

The quiet hum of the café was the perfect backdrop. Net watched as JJ carefully inspected his espresso, taking a slow sip before nodding in approval.

​"Alright, I’ll admit it." JJ said, a teasing glint in his eyes as he set the cup down. "This actually tastes like coffee beans and not industrial runoff. Your corporate working skills might be questionable, but your taste in caffeine is impeccable."

​"I told you." Net laughed, leaning back into his velvet armchair. "I don't play around when it comes to the evening crash."

​JJ glanced over at the glass display case near the counter, his eyes lingering on the top shelf. "They have chocolate fudge cake. It looks ridiculously dense." He caught Net’s amused expression and immediately threw up his defensive guard. "What? Brainstorming corporate synergy all morning burns a lot of calories."

​"Did I say anything?" Net smiled warmly. "Go get your cake, JJ."

​And a minute later, the waiter brought over a rich, dark slice of chocolate cake with two forks. JJ immediately took a bite, closing his eyes as a rare, completely unguarded expression of pure satisfaction crossed his face. Net watched him, finding the contrast between JJ’s high-fashion, cynical exterior and his quiet love for sweets incredibly endearing.

​But the peaceful atmosphere didn't last.

​Near the pickup counter, a sharp voice shattered the low chatter of the café.

​"I said oat milk, not whole milk! Are you deaf?" a customer snapped, slamming his porcelain mug onto the wooden counter.

​The young waiter, already looking exhausted and flushed, snapped back. "Sir, I took your order myself and you distinctly said—"

​"Don't lie to me to cover up your incompetence!" the man shouted, his voice rising an octave. He snatched the mug back up, gesturing wildly with it as he stepped away from the counter, right into the narrow aisle between the tables. The waiter stepped forward, trying to grab the receipt to prove his point, and the movement startled the angry customer.

​It happened in a chaotic, split-second blur.

​The customer violently jerked his arm back to avoid the waiter. The hot, steaming latte sloshed violently out of the mug, flying straight toward their corner table.

​JJ didn't even have time to look up from his cake before the scalding liquid splashed heavily across the back of his left hand and wrist.

​JJ let out a sharp, choked gasp of pain, his fork clattering against the plate. He instinctively pulled his arm back, his face instantly draining of color as the skin on his hand began to turn a brilliant, angry red.

​"JJ!"

​Net was on his feet before he even realized he had moved. The calm, patient man vanished, replaced by an intense, protective urgency. He didn't waste a single second looking at the shouting customer or the stuttering waiter.

​Net stepped across the small space, carefully but firmly grabbing JJ by his uninjured forearm. "Come with me. Right now."

​He guided JJ quickly past the stunned onlookers and into the employee-only hallway toward the restrooms. Pushing the door open, Net turned on the sink, testing the water with his own fingers until it ran entirely cool—not freezing, just a steady, soothing temperature.

​"Give me your hand.” Net said, his voice dropping into a low, steady anchor despite the adrenaline racing through his veins.

​JJ complied, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked like it might shatter. He was trembling slightly, his eyes wide with a mix of shock and residual pain. Net gently guided JJ’s burned hand under the running water.

​As the cool stream hit the red skin, JJ let out a long, shaky breath, leaning his shoulder heavily against Net’s chest for support. He didn't say a word, his usual sharp retorts completely gone.

​Net stood solid against him, keeping one hand gently on JJ’s wrist to keep it steady under the tap, while using his other hand to carefully wipe away the stray drops of coffee that had splashed onto JJ's leather jacket.

​"I’ve got you." Net murmured, his eyes fixed on the injury, making sure the water was covering the worst of it. "Just breathe. We're going to keep it under the water for a few minutes, okay?"

​JJ looked up, his breathing slowly leveling out. Seeing Net’s fierce, unwavering focus, the complete lack of hesitation in the way Net had shielded him and taken control, something shifted in JJ’s chest. The physical pain was sharp, but the sudden realization of how safe he felt with Net's hands holding his was loud enough to drown it out.

[Is it because I never had someone stand up for me, or what?] JJ asked himself.

___

After five minutes under the cool water, the angry redness on JJ’s hand had subsided into a dull, manageable throb. Net had carefully wrapped it in a clean, damp paper towel from the café’s first-aid kit, his touch incredibly gentle as he secured the makeshift bandage.

They left the cafe and the owner promised them that when they come back there, their coffee and meals are in the house.

Then they finally stepped back out onto the sidewalk, the evening air had grown noticeably cooler. The adrenaline from the incident was fading, leaving a quiet, heightened awareness between them.

​JJ immediately pulled out his phone with his uninjured hand, his fingers hovering over his contacts. "I’m calling my driver." he muttered, his voice carrying a trace of his usual defensive fatigue. "Peter can be here in ten minutes. I just want to get back to my place, wash off the smell of cheap espresso, and find some actual burn cream."

​Net looked at the phone, then down at JJ’s wrapped hand, and then up into his eyes. There was no pity in Net’s gaze, just that steady, grounded warmth that always seemed to cut right through JJ’s armor.

​"How far away is your place?" Net asked softly. “House? Apartment?”

“Penthouse.”

“Yes, how far is your penthouse?”

​JJ blinked, caught off guard. "About a thirty-minute walk. Up toward the high-rise district near the river."

​"Don't call the driver." Net said, offering a small, encouraging smile. He tucked his hands into his jacket pockets. "Let’s walk. The fresh air will do you good after being cooped up in an office all day, and it’ll keep your mind off the sting. Besides... I want to make sure you actually make it home in one piece."

​JJ stared at him. For a fleeting second, his brain scrambled for a cynical retort, something about how he didn't need a bodyguard or how walking was a waste of time. Every other time he faced an uncomfortable or vulnerable situation, his routine was seamless. Summon the sleek black car, slide behind the tinted windows, and isolate himself from the world.

​But looking at Net standing under the amber glow of the streetlamp, completely patient and entirely solid, JJ slowly lowered his phone. He locked the screen and slid it into his pocket.

​"Thirty minutes." JJ warned, though the corners of his lips twitched upward. "And if my shoes get ruined, you're buying me a new pair."

​"Deal." Net laughed gently, stepping into stride beside him.

​They walked. The route took them away from the cozy, mismatched aesthetic of Net’s neighborhood and gradually toward the sleek, towering glass structures of the affluent district where JJ lived. But as the city scenery transitioned from brick storefronts to manicured plaza facades, the atmosphere between them remained entirely theirs.

​They didn't rush. Net deliberately kept a slower, easy pace, matching his steps to JJ's. Every few minutes, Net would glance down at JJ’s bandaged hand, silently checking in without forcing JJ to admit to any pain.

​"So…" Net broke the silence, his shoulder lightly brushing against JJ’s as they navigated a crowded corner. "Does the driver always fetch you from disasters, or am I a special exception?"

​JJ let out a soft, dry chuckle, looking at the pavement. "Always. It’s the family protocol. If anything goes wrong, you retreat to the vehicle, go back to the fortress, and pretend it never happened. My parents don't deal with 'messes.'. They hire people to clean them up." He paused, his gaze drifting over to Net. "Walking like this... it’s different. Usually, by now, I’d be staring at a screen in the backseat, feeling annoyed and completely alone."

​"Well, you're not alone tonight." Net said. His voice was quiet, but it held the weight of an absolute truth.

​JJ looked away quickly, but Net didn't miss the way his shoulders relaxed, the tension melting out of his posture with every block they crossed. For those thirty minutes, JJ didn't have to be the perfect heir, the cynical socialite, or the untouchable critic. He was just a guy walking home with someone who cared enough to make sure he was okay.

​By the time they reached the towering, hyper-modern glass lobby of JJ’s luxury apartment building, complete with a uniformed doorman who immediately stood up straighter upon seeing them, the half-hour had evaporated.

​JJ stopped near the heavy glass doors, turning to face Net. The sleek, expensive building loomed behind him, a stark reminder of the massive gap between their two worlds, but the look in JJ's eyes was completely grounded.

​"We made it." JJ said softly, lifting his wrapped hand slightly. "And my shoes survived."

​"Good.” Net smiled, stepping back just a fraction to give him space, though his eyes remained fixed on JJ’s face. "Get some real ointment on that hand, okay? And text me when you do."

​JJ nodded, holding Net’s gaze for a long, unhurried moment. The thick walls he had spent a lifetime building felt remarkably fragile right now, and for the first time in his life, he didn't mind.

​"Thank you, Net." JJ said, his voice entirely devoid of sarcasm, raw and sincere. "For... everything tonight."

​"Anytime, JJ." Net replied warmly. "I'll text you tomorrow."

​As JJ walked into the bright, pristine lobby, he didn't feel the usual suffocating weight of his gilded cage. He felt the lingering warmth of Net's hand on his wrist, and as he rode the elevator up to his quiet apartment, he realized he was already looking forward to the next text. But no, he doesn’t need the next text.

“Net!” His voice stopped Net’s next step.

“Huh?”

“Can you… I mean… if you’re not busy… can you put the ointment for my hand?”

___

The elevator ride to the top floor was silent and fast, the pressure popping Net’s ears as they ascended into JJ’s world. When the doors slid open directly into the private foyer of the penthouse, Net took a quiet, steadying breath.

​The space was breathtaking, looking exactly like a page torn from an international design magazine. Floor to ceiling windows wrapped around the entire living area, offering a panoramic, dizzying view of the city skyline, the lights sprawling out below like a sea of dropped diamonds. The floors were polished white marble, the furniture was a minimalist blend of dark leather and brushed steel, and the walls were adorned with carefully lit, expensive artwork. It was cold, pristine, and undeniably magnificent.

​Net stood near the entrance for a moment, just taking it in. He looked down at his own practical boots against the flawless marble, feeling the sudden, sharp reality of the gap between them.

​JJ had kicked off his shoes and tossed his leather jacket onto a sleek bench. He noticed Net lingering by the door and paused, a familiar trace of guarded anxiety flickering across his features.

​"It's a bit much, isn't it?" JJ asked, his voice echoing slightly in the vast, open space. He sounded almost defensive, as if expecting Net to judge him for the wealth on display. "My parents picked the interior designer. They wanted it to look 'appropriate' for a future partner of the firm."

​Net looked from the sweeping view back to JJ. He didn't look intimidated, instead, a soft, reassuring smile touched his lips as he walked further into the room. "It’s beautiful, JJ. The architecture is incredible. But..." Net paused, his eyes scanning a corner where a vintage polaroid camera sat on a shelf, slightly out of alignment with the rest of the pristine decor. "...I think I prefer the spots where you’ve left your own mark."

​JJ’s shoulders dropped a fraction, the tension leaving his frame. He let out a quiet breath, a genuine, private smile replacing his defensive guard. "Come on. The first-aid kit is in the kitchen."

​Net followed him to a massive island made of dark volcanic stone. JJ disappeared into a sleek, hidden cabinet and returned with a tube of prescription burn ointment and some sterile gauze, setting them on the counter. He sat on a high barstool, looking suddenly exhausted as the adrenaline of the long walk completely faded.

​Net stepped closer, pulling a stool up opposite him. He reached out, his movements unhurried, and gently took JJ’s left hand, unwrapping the damp café paper towel. The skin on the back of JJ's hand was still a dark, angry pink, blistering slightly near the knuckles.

​"This is going to sting a bit at first.” Net murmured, his voice dropping into that low, steady register that always seemed to ground the room.

​"Just do it. I’ll be fine.” JJ replied, though his jaw tightened in anticipation.

​Net unscrewed the cap and squeezed a small amount of the clear ointment onto his fingertips. He leaned in close, his focus entirely consumed by the injury. With painstaking care, he began to smooth the cream over the burned skin. His touch was feather-light, his thumbs tracing the uninjured edges of JJ’s wrist to keep his hand steady.

​JJ didn't flinch. He didn't even look at his hand. His eyes were locked entirely on Net’s face, watching the intense, protective concentration in Net’s eyes, the soft line of his mouth, and the absolute gentleness of a man who had no reason to care this much, but did anyway.

​In the quiet of the penthouse, with the city lights humming outside, the distance between their worlds completely evaporated. There was no wealth, no traditional expectations, no scripts to follow. There was just the warmth of Net’s hands and the quiet safety of his presence.

​"There." Net whispered, capping the tube after securing a light layer of gauze over the burn. He didn't let go of JJ's hand, his thumb unconsciously rubbing a soothing circle against the side of JJ's wrist. "That should feel better in the morning."

​Net looked up, his gaze meeting JJ’s.

​The silence between them stretched, suddenly thick and charged with a heavy, magnetic pull. JJ’s breath hitched slightly. The walls he had spent a lifetime building, the cynicism, the high-fashion armor, the fear of being misunderstood, felt completely useless against the steady, honest warmth in Net's eyes.

​"Net." JJ murmured, his voice raw, stripped of all its usual defenses.

​"Yeah?" Net asked softly, his eyes dropping to JJ’s lips for a split second before rising back to meet his gaze.

​JJ didn't answer with words. Moving his uninjured hand, he reached up, his fingers curling gently into the collar of Net’s shirt, pulling him forward.

​Net met him halfway.

​The kiss was slow, deliberate, and deeply quiet. It wasn’t a sudden burst of friction, but a beautiful, shifting realization of everything they had been building since that night in the loud gallery. Net’s free hand came up to cradle the side of JJ’s face, his thumb brushing against his cheekbone, holding him as if he were the most precious thing in the entire city.

​JJ let out a soft, shuddering sigh against Net’s mouth, leaning into the touch, completely surrendering his armor. For the first time in his life, JJ wasn't hiding, and for the first time in years, Net wasn't carrying anyone else's weight. They were just two people, perfectly aligned, creating their own foundation in the quiet space above the world.

—--

The heat from the kiss flared instantly, catching them both off guard. The slow, careful gentleness of the moment before evaporated, replaced by a sudden, heavy friction that had been building beneath the surface for weeks.

​JJ let out a low sound against Net’s mouth, his hand gripping the fabric of Net’s shirt tighter, pulling him flush against the edge of the stone island. Net didn’t hesitate. He leaned into the space, his thighs framing JJ’s as he crowded him against the counter. His hands left JJ's wrist, one sliding up to bury itself in the thick, styled hair at the back of JJ’s neck, while the other gripped the curve of JJ’s waist, anchoring him close.

​The kiss grew deeper, hungrier. JJ tilted his head back, opening up to the heavy, deliberate pressure of Net's mouth. The contrast between them was dizzying, the cool, pristine luxury of the penthouse against the raw, formatting heat of their skin. JJ’s breath came in shallow, ragged gasps as Net’s lips left his mouth, tracing a burning path down his jawline to the sensitive skin just beneath his ear.

​A sharp shiver ran through JJ, his back arching slightly off the barstool. He forgot about the dull throb in his hand, forgot about the towering glass windows behind them, completely consumed by the solid, unyielding weight of Net pressing into him. Net’s hand slid beneath the hem of JJ’s white tee, his palm warm and slightly rough against the smooth skin of JJ’s lower back. The touch was possessive, a silent demand that made JJ’s head spin.

​"Net…" JJ breathed out, a desperate, quiet gasp as Net’s teeth grazed his collarbone.

​Net looked up, his dark eyes clouded with an intense, unblinking focus that made JJ’s heart hammer against his ribs. Net’s breathing was heavy, his chest rising and falling against JJ's. He looked at JJ’s flushed face, his bruised lips, and the sheer vulnerability written across his features.

​"Not here." JJ murmured, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that vibrated straight through JJ.

​JJ didn't speak. He grabbed Net by the front of his jacket, his fingers trembling slightly, and guided him backward out of the kitchen. They didn't break contact for more than a second. Net captured JJ's lips again as they moved down the dimly lit hallway, his hands steadying JJ against the wall whenever their steps faltered under the weight of the kiss.

​When they hit the threshold of the bedroom, the city lights outside the massive glass wall cast long, deep shadows across a sprawling, minimalist platform bed.

JJ used his foot to kick the heavy door shut behind them, the click of the lock echoing in the quiet room. The sound seemed to break the last thread of restraint. Net’s hands moved to the zipper of his own jacket, shedding it onto the floor, his eyes never leaving JJ’s.

​JJ stepped backward toward the bed, his gaze locked on Net as the sheer, magnetic pull between them took over completely, leaving the rest of the world entirely behind in the dark.

—

Net stepped over the discarded jacket, closing the distance between them until his chest pressed directly against JJ’s. The heavy, rhythmic sound of their breathing filled the quiet room. Without a word, Net reached down and grabbed the hem of JJ’s white t-shirt, sliding it up and over his head in one fluid motion, tossing it blindly onto the floor.

​In the dim, ambient light of the city skyline, JJ’s skin looked pale and flawless, the muscles of his chest tight and rapidly rising and falling. Net’s hands came down to rest on JJ's bare shoulders, his thumbs tracing the line of his collarbones. The heat radiating off JJ was intoxicating.

​"You're so beautiful.” Net murmured, his voice thick and low.

​JJ didn't answer with words. The raw focus in Net's eyes made a tight, heavy ache coil deep in his abdomen. Reaching out with his uninjured hand, JJ began working on the buttons of Net’s shirt, his fingers slightly uncoordinated from the sheer urgency thrumming through his veins. Net grew impatient, helping him push the fabric off his shoulders until they were chest to chest, the friction of their bare skin sending a jolt of pure electricity through the space between them.

​Net guided JJ backward until the back of JJ’s knees hit the edge of the mattress. JJ sank down onto the dark, silk sheets, and Net followed him down immediately, looming over him, his weight a heavy, grounding comfort.

​Net’s mouth found JJ’s again, no longer slow or questioning. It was deep, possessive, and thick with a shared hunger that had been suppressed for far too long. JJ arched up into the kiss, his uninjured arm wrapping tightly around Net’s neck, pulling him down as if he couldn't get close enough. Net’s hand slid down JJ's flat stomach, his fingers tracing the dip of his hip before shifting to unbuckle JJ’s belt.

​Every touch was deliberate, hot, and heavy. Net stripped away the remaining barriers between them, his movements filled with a fierce intensity that left JJ completely breathless. When they were both completely bare against the sheets, Net paused, shifting his weight onto his forearms to look down at JJ.

​JJ was flushed, his dark eyes wide and glazed with heat, his lips parted as he gasped for air. He looked completely undone, stripped of every ounce of his usual cynical armor.

​"Net... please.” JJ whispered, the vulnerability in his voice raw and demanding all at once.

​Net’s gaze softened just a fraction, but the intensity burning underneath didn't waver. He reached down, his fingers tangling with JJ’s uninjured hand, locking their fingers together against the mattress. "I'm right here." Net promised, his voice a rough vibration against JJ's lips. "I've got you."

​Net shifted, his thigh forcing its way between JJ’s, opening him up. He moved deliberately, pressing his weight forward as he entered JJ in one slow, deep stroke.

​JJ let out a sharp, ragged gasp, his head snapping back into the pillow as his body stretched to accommodate the sudden, overwhelming fullness. His fingers gripped Net's hand with white-knuckled intensity. Net froze, buried deep inside him, giving JJ a moment to adjust. He leaned down, pressing soft, comforting kisses to JJ's sweaty forehead, his temple, and his jawline, whispering low, quiet assurances into his ear.

​"Breathe, JJ. Just breathe for me."

​As the initial sharp tension melted into a deep, throbbing heat, JJ’s hips gave a subconscious, upward twitch. He looked up at Net, his eyes focused and burning. "Don't stop." JJ breathed. "Net, move."

​Net didn't need to be told twice. He began a slow, heavy rhythm, his hips driving into JJ with a steady, unyielding friction. The slick sound of their bodies meeting filled the quiet bedroom, keeping time with the rapid pounding of their hearts. Every thrust was deep and deliberate, targeting a tight, sensitive ache inside JJ that made him cry out, the sound muffled against Net's shoulder.

​The pleasure was intense, building rapidly like a storm inside the quiet penthouse. JJ wrapped his legs tightly around Net’s waist, pulling him deeper, completely surrendering to the rhythm Net was setting. Net’s movements grew faster, harder, his self-control fracturing under the tight, clenching heat of JJ’s body wrapping around him. He let go of JJ's hand, pinning both of JJ's wrists above his head, dominant and fiercely protective as he drove them both toward the edge.

​"Net—" JJ choked out, his head thrashing against the pillow as a violent wave of pleasure rippled through his entire frame, his body tightening incredibly around Net.

​The sudden, intense friction was the breaking point. Net let out a low, guttural growl, burying himself as deep as he could inside JJ as his own climax hit him in heavy, shuddering waves. He collapsed against JJ’s chest, his face buried in the crook of JJ's neck, breathing heavily as the aftershocks rippled through them both.

​The room slowly quieted, the frantic energy settling into a warm, heavy peace. Net didn't pull away immediately, he stayed close, his chest rising and falling against JJ's, his hand slowly stroking JJ’s penis which had already bursted earlier, his heartbeat loud and steady against JJ’s ribs. He slowly released JJ’s wrists, his large hand coming down to gently stroke the damp hair away from JJ’s forehead.

​JJ lay beneath him, completely exhausted, a soft, content smile touching his lips. For the first time in his life, the silence surrounding him didn't feel lonely, it felt entirely full.

____

The morning light filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse, casting a soft, golden glow across the dark silk sheets.

​Net was the first to wake. He didn't move for a long time, content to simply lie there and feel the steady rise and fall of JJ’s chest against his side. Without his sharp suits or his cynical expressions, JJ looked remarkably soft in the early morning light. Net reached out, his thumb gently tracing the smooth line of JJ’s jaw before he carefully slid out of bed, mindful of JJ’s bandaged left hand.

​When JJ finally drifted awake an hour later, the faint scent of sizzling butter and fresh coffee guided him out of the bedroom. Just like in the romcom he constantly watched, he was wearing a cozy oversized black hoodie and grey sweatpants, looking thoroughly rumpled and incredibly endearing.

​He leaned against the dark volcanic stone of the kitchen island, watching Net deftly flip an omelet in a pan.

​"You're domestic." JJ observed, his voice raspy from sleep. He lifted his left hand, noting the clean, dry gauze Net must have replaced while he was sleeping. "And apparently a ninja. I didn't feel a thing."

​Net smiled, setting a freshly brewed cup of coffee in front of JJ. "Good morning to you, too. Sit down. Saturday mornings require a proper breakfast.” “How are you feeling? Are you alright?”

“Why won't I?”

“I mean… last night…”

​They ate together at the island, the sprawling city skyline below them looking peaceful under the weekend sun. There were no frantic texts about corporate synergy or blueprints to calculate. For the first time since they met, the looming pressure of their respective families felt incredibly far away.

​"So…" Net said, leaning back and watching JJ carefully manage a fork with his right hand. "It's Saturday. No plans, no registry photos, no family obligations. What does the untouchable JJ do with a completely free day?"

​JJ stared at his coffee cup, a rare, unhurried smile touching his lips. "Usually? I stay under the radar so my mother doesn't find a way to book my schedule. But today... I want to keep doing things your way." He looked up, his gaze steady and warm. "Show me everything about you, Net."

​They spent the next several hours completely lost in the rhythm of a perfect Saturday.

​Net took him away from the high-rise district and back to the grounded, vibrant streets of his own neighborhood. They walked through a local weekend market, their shoulders brushing with every step. Net held JJ’s right hand, their fingers locked together publicly, entirely unbothered by the world around them.

​They ducked into an old, dusty bookstore where JJ pointed out obscure art monographs and Net explained the architectural history of the building. Later, they sat on a bench by the river, eating cheap ice cream and laughing as JJ cynically critiqued the fashion choices of the passersby, his sharp wit making Net laugh until his chest ached

“I spent my whole life here in this area, but I never knew about this.” JJ said.

​By late afternoon, the air grew crisp, and they found themselves standing in front of a small neighborhood grocery store.

​"Let's cook dinner!" Net suggested, gesturing toward the entrance. "Your penthouse has a kitchen that looks like a museum. It deserves to actually be used."

​JJ’s eyes brightened. "Deal. But I get to choose the menu."

​An hour later, the pristine, minimalist kitchen of the penthouse was filled with a chaotic, beautiful mess. JJ had insisted on making a traditional Pad Kra Pao and a fresh salad for familiar taste, claiming it was the only thing he knew how to prepare without burning down the building.

​"You're cutting those tomatoes too thick!" Net critique and JJ leaning over Net’s shoulder after he washed lettuce with his uninjured hand.

​"I’m an engineer, JJ. Everything I do is precise." Net teased, turning his head to press a quick, sweet kiss to JJ’s lips. "Go sit down before you hurt your other hand."

​"No way. I'm supervising!" JJ countered, though he leaned heavily against Net’s side, completely content to just be close.

​They cooked together with a comfortable, easy domesticity that felt like it had been decades in the making. Net handled the heavy lifting and the hot stove, while JJ carefully tossed the salad and managed the music playing softly through the penthouse speakers.

​When the food was ready, they didn't bother with the formal dining table. Instead, they took their plates and a bottle of wine out to the balcony, sitting on the plush outdoor lounge chairs as the sun began to set, painting the city in deep bruised purples and brilliant oranges.

​JJ took a sip of his wine, looking out over the sprawling lights below, then turned to look at Net. The warmth in his chest had nothing to do with the summer evening or the alcohol.

​"My parents are going to call tomorrow.” Net said softly, the reality of their lives gently knocking on the door, though the weight of it didn't feel as suffocating as it used to. "Mine, too! They want to discuss a dinner with a potential client's daughter next weekend.".

​Net reached over, his large hand wrapping securely around JJ’s uninjured one, his thumb rubbing a reassuring circle over his knuckles. "And my dad is probably going to text me a photo of a storefront for lease down the street from his shop."

​Net looked directly into JJ’s eyes, his expression solid, grounded, and fiercely resolute. "Let them call. We'll face it when it comes. But we aren't following their scripts anymore, JJ. We’re building our own foundation now."

“We talked like we’re boyfriends.” ​JJ let out a long, quiet breath, leaning his head against Net's shoulder as the first stars appeared above the skyline.

____

Two weeks had a way of turning a fragile new reality into something that felt as solid as stone.

​The initial vertigo of their worlds colliding had settled into a quiet, beautiful routine. Net’s phone no longer just contained quick, defensive text exchanges, it held a running list of shared groceries, keys to a top-floor penthouse, and photos of JJ sleeping with his hair completely disheveled. They were officially dating. They had said the words out loud to each other in the quiet space of the bedroom, sealing it not with high-fashion drama, but with the calm, unshakeable certainty that defined everything they did.

​It was a rainy Thursday evening, exactly fourteen days since the night Net had smoothed burn cream onto JJ’s hand.

​Inside the penthouse, the storm outside lashed against the floor-to-ceiling glass, but the atmosphere inside was entirely warm. The pristine, minimalist apartment no longer looked like a sterile museum page. There was a pair of Net’s worn leather boots sitting by the door, a stack of architectural blueprints resting on the edge of the volcanic stone kitchen island, and a half-empty mug of actual, high-quality coffee sitting on the coffee table.

​Net stood by the kitchen counter, loosening his tie after a grueling twelve-hour day at the firm. His shoulders were heavy with exhaustion, his mind still cycling through load-bearing calculations and municipal codes.

​The soft click of the front door unlocking broke the sound of the rain.

​JJ walked in, shaking out a wet umbrella. He was dressed in a sharp, tailored charcoal suit, the uniform of the future partner his parents so desperately wanted him to be, but the second his eyes found Net standing in the kitchen, the rigid, clinical posture he held all day completely dissolved.

​"You look exhausted.” JJ said softly, tossing his keys into the tray by the door.

​"I am." Net admitted, a tired but deeply genuine smile crossing his face as he watched JJ walk toward him. "The city council rejected the structural zoning for the new plaza. I've been rewriting reports since noon."

​JJ didn't say a word. He stepped into Net’s space, closing the distance between them until the expensive fabric of his suit pressed against Net’s rumpled button-down shirt. He reached up with his left hand, the skin now completely healed, with only a faint, smooth pinkness left behind near the knuckles and gently unbuttoned the top two buttons of Net’s collar, freeing him from the constriction.

​"Stop thinking about blueprints." JJ murmured, his dark eyes locked onto Net’s with an intensity that immediately quieted the noise in Net’s head.

​Net’s hands found JJ’s waist, pulling him flush against him. "How was your day? Did your father try to hand you another corporate script?"

​JJ let out a soft, dry chuckle, leaning his forehead against Net’s shoulder. "He tried. He spent an hour lecturing me on the 'importance of strategic alliances' and brought up the country club dinner again. But I didn't listen to a single word. I just sat there, looked at the clock, and calculated exactly how many hours I had left until I could come home to you."

​The word home hung in the air between them, heavy and sweet. Two weeks ago, this penthouse had just been a gilded cage. Now, with Net's jacket draped over the chair and the scent of their shared life in the air, it was a sanctuary.

​Net tilted JJ’s chin up, his thumb brushing over his cheekbone before bending down to kiss him. It wasn't the frantic, hungry heat of their first night, but something deeper, slower, and incredibly grounded. It was the kiss of two people who knew exactly who they belonged to, a silent reassurance that whatever storms their families were preparing to throw at them, they would face them as a united front.

​"We have to tell them soon, Net." JJ whispered against his lips, his hand resting over Net’s heart, feeling its steady, reassuring pulse. "The dinners, the setup dates, the expectations... The pressure is building. They’re going to push."

​Net didn't flinch. He wrapped his arms tightly around JJ, locking him close as the rain continued to beat against the glass windows, a reminder of the world outside that they were finally ready to defy.

​"Let them push." Net said, his voice dropping into that low, unyielding register that JJ trusted more than anything else in the world. "We’re ready. We’re officially together, baby. From here on out, we write the script.”

But the storms were coming, and the rejection from the people who raised them would be painful—but looking at their joined hands, both Net and JJ knew they were finally responsible for their own happiness. And for the first time in his life, he wasn't afraid.

But a full year had slipped through their fingers like water, measured not in calendar days, but in the quiet, sturdy rhythm of the life they had built.

​Net’s drafting blueprints now permanently shared the study desk with JJ’s vintage polaroid cameras. The volcanic stone island in the kitchen had seen a hundred shared dinners, and the pristine white marble floors of the penthouse had long since lost their museum-like chill. They were safe here, elevated high above the city, entirely wrapped up in a cocoon of their own making.

​But a year of safety had created a dangerous illusion of time.

​It was a quiet Sunday afternoon, the golden weekend sun cutting clean lines across the living room. Net was sitting on the sofa, a heavy folder of structural reports resting in his lap, though his eyes were fixed on the kitchen. JJ was standing by the counter, meticulously adjusting the lens of a 1990s analog camera, his expression focused and entirely unguarded.

​"Hey…” Net said softly, breaking the comfortable silence.

​JJ didn't look up, his fingers gently turning the dial on the camera body. "Hmm?"

​"I was looking through my calendar to book our anniversary dinner next week." Net closed the folder, setting it down on the coffee table with a soft thud. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "And it hit me."

​Something in Net’s tone made JJ freeze. He slowly lowered the camera, his sharp eyes locking onto Net’s face. "What hit you?"

​"We never did it." Net said, his voice dropping into a low, stunned realization. "The dinner. The talk. We completely blew past it."

​JJ blinked, his mind racing through the past twelve months. "Net, we talk every night. What are you—”

​"Our parents, babe.” Net interrupted gently, though the weight of the words suddenly made the spacious room feel remarkably small. "A year ago, we said the pressure was building. We said we’d face them when the time came. And then... we just stopped answering the setup calls. We changed the subject on Sundays. We built this perfect, beautiful wall around ourselves and completely forgot that the world outside was still waiting."

​The realization settled over the kitchen island like a heavy frost. JJ stood entirely still, the camera heavy in his hands.

​A year. They had been officially, deeply together for a whole year, co-signing leases on their hearts, sharing every vulnerability, and yet, to their respective families, they were still just living their detached, single lives in the city. They hadn't just postponed the confrontation, they had buried it under twelve months of domestic bliss.

​"We can't keep hiding behind the skyline, babe. We know that." Net said, standing up and walking over to the counter. He reached out, his large hand gently covering JJ’s left wrist, the skin perfectly healed now, completely devoid of the burn that had brought them together, but still the anchor that kept them grounded. "It’s been a year. They deserve to know. We deserve to live without looking over our shoulders."

​JJ let out a long, shaky breath, setting the camera down on the dark stone. He leaned his hip against the counter, looking down at Net’s hand. "A year of peace." he whispered, a trace of his old, defensive fatigue creeping into his voice. "I think a part of me knew exactly what we were doing. I was terrified that the moment we let them in, they’d find a way to smash what we built."

​"They can't smash this.” Net said, his voice fiercely resolute. He stepped closer, crowding JJ against the island just like he had a year ago, his eyes burning with an unshakeable certainty. "We aren't the same two guys from the art gallery, babe. We’re a foundation now. They can throw whatever they want at us, but they don't get to dictate our happiness anymore."

​JJ looked up, the warmth in Net’s eyes slowly melting the sudden spike of anxiety in his chest. He let out a quiet, ironic laugh. "A whole year. Do you realize who the only people who actually know about us are?"

​Net’s lips curved into a wry smile. "Kim and Latte."

​"Exactly.” JJ groaned, resting his forehead against Net’s shoulder. "Kim only found out because he came over unannounced to drop off those financial documents and found your extra-large bathrobe in my bathroom. And Latte..."

​"...Latte figured it out five minutes into meeting us for drinks because he said we 'looked at each other like two people who share a water bill.'".

Net finished the memory, a genuine laugh vibrating against JJ’s chest.

​Kim and Latte, their two closest somebody, the only ones who had witnessed the slow-burn transition from a dramatic café accident to a committed, unyielding partnership. They were their sanctuary within the city, the only ones who didn't carry the heavy baggage of traditional expectations or social registries. Sometimes JJ is envious of them, especially Latte who came as a cousin from his mother’s side, who seems more chill and open minded, unless on his father’s side.

​JJ straightened up, his fingers curling into the fabric of Net’s shirt, pulling him in for a brief, firm kiss that tasted of lingering coffee and absolute solidarity. When he pulled back, the guarded socialite was completely gone, replaced by the man who had spent a year learning how to stand his ground.

​"Alright…" JJ said, his voice steadying, mirroring Net's strength. "No more postponements. No more changing the subject on Sunday phone calls."

​Net smiled, his hands anchoring firmly at JJ's waist. "Next week. After our anniversary dinner. We set the dates."

​"We set the dates." Net agreed.

​The rain from a year ago had long since cleared, and through the massive glass windows, the city layout below looked wide open, waiting. The confrontation would be a storm, the rejection from their families would cut deep and draw blood, but as they stood together in the quiet penthouse, they both knew they were finally ready to step outside the fortress.

___

The heavy mahogany door of the private dining room shut with a soft, suffocating click, cutting off the muted ambient jazz of the high-end restaurant.

​Inside, the silence was immediate and freezing.

​JJ’s parents sat on the plush velvet chairs, looking every bit the high-society power couple they were. His mother, Meena, sat with her hands clasped tightly over her designer handbag, her posture perfectly rigid. His father, Paris, didn't even look up at first, meticulously cutting his steak with a slow, clinical precision that felt deliberately theatrical.

​Net sat straight, his hands folded neatly on his lap beneath the white tablecloth. He had worn his best tailored suit, his hair neatly combed, his expression a calm, unblinking wall of respect. Beside him, JJ’s frame was incredibly tense, his jaw clenched so tightly the muscle leaped beneath his skin.

The man with sharp eyes and smug face finally set his knife down. The sharp clink of silver against porcelain echoed like a gunshot in the small room.

​"A year." He began, his voice dangerously low, dropping like blocks of ice. He fixed his cold, calculating gaze entirely on his son, completely ignoring Net's presence as if he were an empty chair. "For twelve months, you’ve been playing house in that penthouse I bought you, running around the city, ignoring your mother’s calls, and neglecting the social obligations required of your position. And for what? This? This stupid decision you made?"

​"His name is Net, pa!" JJ said, his voice holding a sharp, defensive edge that he had spent a lifetime practicing. "And we aren't 'playing house.', we are in a committed relationship. We have been for a year."

Meena let out a sharp, humorless sound, a delicate, elegant scoff that cut deeper than a shout. "A relationship, luk? Don't be ridiculous. This is nothing but a prolonged, reckless tantrum. We gave you space when you came out in college because we assumed you had enough sense to keep your private indiscretions quiet. But to bring... this into our lives? To refuse the introductions we arranged? You are ruining your reputation, and for what? A temporary distraction?"

​"It’s not a distraction, ma!" JJ snapped, his fingers gripping the edge of the table until his knuckles turned white.

​"Enough!" His father’s voice finally cracked through the room that they’ve booked, sharp and commanding. He slammed a heavy palm onto the table, causing the wine glasses to rattle. He turned his furious, judgmental gaze onto Net for the first time. "And you. I don't know what kind of opportunist you are, or what you think you’re going to gain by pulling my son into this delusion, but it ends tonight. Look at yourself. You don't belong in our circle. You don't belong in his world. You are a complete nobody trying to derail a future that was meticulously built before you even existed."

​The words were designed to humiliate, to draw blood, to make Net shrink back into the shadows of his own background. JJ opened his mouth to shout back, the explosive, defensive anger roaring up in his chest.

​But beneath the table, Net’s large, warm hand found JJ’s knee.

​Net pressed down firmly, a steady, unyielding anchor that instantly grounded the rising panic in JJ’s chest. Net didn't flinch under JJ’s father’s glare. He didn't look angry, and he didn't look ashamed. He simply leaned forward, matching Arthur’s intense gaze with a calm, unbreakable dignity.

​"Sir, with all due respect, you are mistaken." Net said, his voice dropping into that low, steady register that held the entire room still. "I am not here for your circle, your name, or your money. I am an engineer. I build things that last, and I earn my own living. I am here because I love your son." Meena lets out a quiet gasp, shocked by Net’s absolute lack of intimidation.

​"You think this is a phase because it doesn't fit the script you wrote for him.” Net continued smoothly, his voice carrying the fierce, protective weight of the past year. "But JJ is not a creative project for you to edit. He is a man. A person. A human. Your child. And for the past year, we have built a life based on mutual respect, honesty, and support things that aren't determined by a social registry or a country club membership."

​Paris’ face turned an angry, mottled red. "You have no right to speak to us about family values! You are destroying his future!"

​"No, pa, he’s saving it." JJ interrupted, his voice finally losing its frantic edge, completely aligned with Net’s calm strength. He looked at both of his parents, his eyes wide and entirely clear of the old fear. "For thirty one years, I lived in your golden cage, performing exactly the way you wanted me to because I thought your approval was the only way to be safe. But Net showed me what actual safety feels like. He showed me that I don't have to apologize for who I am."

​JJ reached over the table, openly and deliberately wrapping his fingers tightly around Net’s hand, locking them together in the bright light of the chandelier.

​"We didn't come here tonight to ask for your permission." JJ said, his tone turning clinical, cool, and absolutely resolute. "We came here to tell you the truth. I love both of you, and i— me and Net, we want you in our lives, but we are not asking you to accept a 'phase.'. We are telling you that we deserve each other, and we are entirely responsible for our own happiness from here on out. If you can't respect that... then you don't get to have a say in my life anymore."

Paris and Meena stared at their son, completely stunned by the unbreakable united front standing before them. The luxury of the private room felt entirely hollow against the raw, formatting strength of the bond Net and JJ had forged.

​Net squeezed JJ’s hand, standing up from the table without waiting for a response. "Thank you for the dinner." Net said politely, his face calm and unbothered by the lingering tension.

​JJ stood up beside him, leaving his linen napkin on the table. As they turned and walked out of the room together, leaving the heavy silence and the fading echoes of his parents' disapproval behind, the air outside the restaurant felt crisper, cleaner, and completely theirs.

____

The next day, both Net and JJ prepare their travel schedule to Net’s family home, out of town.

When suddenly the elevator doors hadn’t even fully slid open before Latte burst into the penthouse foyer, completely out of breath. His hair was a wild mess from the wind outside, and his jacket was damp with evening mist. He didn't drop his keys or take off his shoes; he just stood there, his eyes wide with a frantic, breathless panic.

​"JJ! Net!" Latte shouted, his voice echoing off the high marble walls.

​Net stepped out, he still held his bright right boxer on his hands and JJ followed close behind, holding a bag of his skincare cream, his brows furrowing at the sheer distress on their friend's face.

​"Latte? What’s wrong?" Net asked, his voice instantly dropping into that calm, grounding register. "Take a breath. What happened?"

​Latte didn't look at Net. He locked eyes directly with JJ, his hands trembling slightly as he held up a folded, official looking document printed on heavy legal paper.

​"Your father.” Latte gasped out, trying to catch his breath. “What happened?” JJ panicked.

"JJ... he’s pulling the plug. I was downstairs at the main desk trying to drop off those files for Kim, and the property management firm was there with a legal team. Your father’s corporate lawyers just issued an emergency asset liquidation. JJ, they’re sealing the penthouse. It’s being put up for immediate sale."

​The silence that followed was suffocating.

​JJ froze. The bag slipped from his fingers, fluttering silently down to the pristine white floor. The words hung in the air like a physical blow. Sealed for sale. The ultimate corporate retaliation. Paris hadn't shouted, he hadn't begged, and he hadn't called back after the disastrous dinner. He had simply gone to his desk, opened his ledger, and erased his son's sanctuary with a single stroke of a pen.

​"He's doing it under the firm's holding clause. It’s totally legal.” Latte continued rapidly, his voice thick with anger and worry. "Because technically, the title is under the family trust. They’re giving you forty-eight hours to pack your personal belongings before the locks are changed and the staging company comes in to strip the place."

​JJ felt the room tilt slightly. He looked around the vast, open space, the floor-to-ceiling windows, the volcanic stone island where they had cooked everything with the man he loves, the corner where Net’s boots were neatly lined up. For a year, this place had been their fortress. It was the only place where JJ had ever felt truly safe, truly authentic. And now, his father was treating it like a bad investment that needed to be dumped.

​A familiar, icy dread began to coil tight in JJ's stomach. The old, defensive instinct to shrink, to panic, to wonder if he had pushed too hard, started to claw its way to the surface.

​Then, a solid, heavy warmth wrapped completely around his hand.

​Net stepped into his space, his large fingers locking securely with JJ's, anchoring him to the floor. Net didn't look panicked. He didn't look defeated. His dark eyes were burning with an intense, unyielding resolve that instantly cut through the rising fog in JJ's mind.

​"Hey… baby…” Net murmured, his voice incredibly steady, forcing JJ to look at him.

"Look at me!”

​JJ turned his head, his breathing slightly ragged. "Net... he's taking it all back. Everything."

​"He’s taking back a piece of real estate, sweetheart. That’s it." Net said, his tone fiercely clear and entirely unbothered by the looming glass tower around them. He reached up with his free hand, his palm cupping the side of JJ’s face, his thumb rubbing a comforting circle against his cheekbone.

"He can lock the doors, he can sell the marble, and he can change the title. But he doesn't own you anymore. And he damn sure doesn't own what we built."

​Latte watched them, the frantic energy in his shoulders slowly melting away as he witnessed the absolute solidarity between these guys. He let out a long, quiet sigh of relief, realizing that Paris’ grand, expensive threat hadn't even caused a single crack in their foundation.

​Net turned his head slightly toward Latte, a small, confident smile touching his lips. "Thanks for the warning, Latte. Truly. Do me a favor? Call Kim. Tell him we need to borrow his truck tomorrow night."

​Latte blinked, a grin slowly breaking through his worried expression. "A truck? You're not going to fight the legal injunction?"

​"Why waste the energy?" Net laughed softly, his eyes locking back onto JJ’s face, full of a deep, beautiful promise. "We’re packing the clothes, the blueprints, and every single one of those vintage cameras. We’re leaving the keys on the counter, and we’re moving into my place. It’s smaller, the view isn't as fancy, but the script is entirely ours, and nobody can evict us from our own happiness."

“And we have to postpone our schedule to meet our parents, okay?”

​The cold dread in JJ's chest dissolved instantly, replaced by a fierce, triumphant heat. He looked at Net, the man who had caught him when he fell, the man who had held his burned hand in a dim diner, and he realized he didn't care about the penthouse at all.

​JJ smiled, his fingers tightening around Net's with an unbreakable grip.

"My place has a lot of boxes, Net. Are you sure you're ready to calculate that kind of load-bearing space?"

​"Hey, I'm an engineer.” Net whispered, leaning down to press a firm, possessive kiss to his lips in front of the whole city skyline. "I can build a home anywhere, as long as you're the foundation.”

“How can people hate love like this?” Latte murmured.

___

The rain from the night before had cleared, leaving the streets of Net’s old neighborhood smelling of wet asphalt and fresh rain.

​The apartment was located on the third floor of a classic, weathered brick building. It didn't have a private foyer, a smart-lock elevator, or panoramic floor-to-ceiling glass. Instead, it had large sash windows that looked out over a bustling street corner, hardwood floors that creaked with character, and a small fire escape where a single potted fern sat soaking up the afternoon sun.

​"If I carry one more box of vintage film gear, my spine is going to permanently snap." Latte groaned, throwing his weight against the doorframe of the living room. He slumped down onto a rolled-up rug, his forehead damp with sweat.

​Kim walked in right behind him, effortlessly balancing a heavy crate of Net’s structural drafting tools on his shoulder. He set it down with a solid thud and wiped his brow. "You carried the box of light bulbs, my love. I carried the actual cameras. Stop whining."

​Net laughed, walking out of the small kitchen with four cold bottles of water. He handed them out, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, looking entirely in his element. "Thanks, guys. Seriously. I know it’s a tight squeeze compared to the high-rise, but we’ll make it work."

​JJ stepped out of the bedroom, holding an empty cardboard box. He had traded his tailored corporate suits for a simple oversized sweater and worn jeans. His hair was messy, and there was a streak of dust across his cheekbone, but as his eyes scanned the cozy, cluttered living room, there wasn't a single trace of his old, cynical armor left.

​"It’s not a tight squeeze.” JJ said, walking over to Net and taking a sip from Net’s water bottle without asking. "It’s efficient. And the plumbing actually works without an app, which is a massive upgrade."

​"See? The billionaire appreciates the humble abode." Latte teased, pulling himself up from the rug. "Alright, team. Let's get this place looking like a home before sundown. Kim, help me move the velvet armchair by the window."

​For the next three hours, the four of them moved in a synchronized, chaotic dance. Latte handled the heavy furniture, ensuring Net’s drafting desk was perfectly level under the best natural light. Kim took charge of the aesthetics, hanging up framed sketches and organizing JJ’s extensive camera collection on a set of floating wooden shelves. Net and JJ worked side by side, unpacking the kitchen, organizing matching coffee mugs, and filling the small space with the lingering scent of citrus cleaner.

​By the time the sun began to set, casting a warm, amber glow across the polished wood floors, the apartment was transformed. It was tidy, organized, and deeply personal. It didn't look like a sterile interior design magazine, it looked like a sanctuary where two lives had neatly woven together.

​"Not bad." Kim observed, surveying their work with a nod of approval. "It actually looks like you guys live here."

​"It looks perfect," JJ whispered, his hand sliding into Net’s back pocket, his thumb hooking into the denim.

​To celebrate, they ordered a Chinese takeout, sitting cross-legged on the floor around the coffee table, laughing and talking until the city outside went quiet. For the first time in a year, JJ didn't feel like he was hiding in a gilded fortress. He was grounded, surrounded by a chosen family, and entirely free.

And Latte is super happy that his golden-caged cousin finally broke out of the cage and lived his life.

—-

​The next week, high-speed trains gave a soft, rhythmic hum as the towering skyscrapers of the metropolis gradually dissolved into sprawling green fields, rolling hills, and quiet, open skies.

​Net sat by the window, his arm draped casually over the back of the double seat. JJ leaned against his shoulder, his eyes fixed on the changing landscape outside. In his lap, JJ held his favorite 1990s analog camera, his fingers occasionally adjusting the shutter speed as he captured the passing scenery.

​"Nervous?" JJ asked softly, his voice cutting through the steady rumble of the train.

​Net turned his head, his fingers shifting to gently tangle with JJ’s. "A little," Net admitted honestly. "My town is small, babe. Everyone knows everyone. My dad’s grocery store is the center of his universe, and my mom... well, she’s probably cooked enough food to feed the entire neighborhood because she doesn't know how else to deal with anxiety."

​Net looked at JJ, his expression serious but filled with an unshakeable warmth. "They’re going to be overwhelmed. They’ve spent five years believing I was coming back to marry the girl next door. Hearing the truth, and meeting the man I love... it’s going to break their old script completely."

​JJ lifted Net’s hand, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the back of his knuckles. "Let the script break, Net. We’ve already proven we’re excellent builders. If they have questions, we answer them together. If they need time, we give it to them. But we aren't bending anymore."

​Net smiled, the tension in his shoulders melting away completely. "Together."

​When the train finally pulled into the small, open-air station, the air smelled entirely different crisp, clean, and sweet with the scent of pine and woodsmoke.

​They walked off the platform together, their fingers tightly locked, their bags slung over their shoulders. As they stepped out onto the quiet main street, Net pointed toward a modest, three-bedroom house down the road, its porch light already gleaming warmly in the twilight.

​The confrontation with Net's traditional family was waiting just beyond that door, and the road ahead wouldn't be easy. But as they walked forward, step for step, neither of them looked back. They had their own apartment, their own life, and an unbreakable foundation that no one else could ever tear down.

Welcome to the small city called Gracewall.

The kitchen of Net’s childhood home smelled exactly as he remembered. The steaming jasmine rice, lemongrass, and the savory warmth of his mother’s cooking. But the physical comfort of the room did nothing to ease the suffocating tension hanging over the dinner table.

​Net’s father, a broad-shouldered man with calloused hands from decades of running the local grocery store, set his glass down with a heavy thud. He didn't look at JJ, who sat quietly beside Net, his posture straight and his expression perfectly polite despite the hostility in the room.

​"You’ve had your fun in the city, boy." His father said, his voice deep and unyielding, carrying the weight of a man who believed his word was law. "Five, six years of focusing on your career. We let you have your space. But it’s time to grow up. The shop down the street is cleared out and waiting for you. And more importantly, the Shinawatra family is expecting us for dinner this weekend when they heard you’re coming home. Their daughter, Belle, just finished her degree. She’s a good girl, from a good family. It’s time to settle down."

​Net felt JJ’s fingers twitch against his knee under the table. Net didn't flinch. He kept his voice calm, grounded, and entirely level.

"Pa, I told you on the phone, and I brought JJ here today so you could see the truth. I am settled down. I love my career in the city, and I love him. We’ve been together for a year. I’m not marrying Belle, and I’m not moving back to run the store."

​His mother let out a sharp, ragged breath, her hands trembling as she clutched her napkin. "Net, please! Don't talk like that." she pleaded, her eyes welling with tears. "What are people in this town going to say? Who is going to carry on the family name? A family needs a mother and a father. You need to have children, Net! We built this entire life, this house, the business, so we could pass it down to your kids. You are our eldest son. You can’t just throw your duties away for... for a reckless choice like this."

​The word choice hung in the air, heavy and insulting.

​JJ opened his mouth to speak, his old defensive instincts flaring up, ready to protect Net from the crushing weight of their guilt. But Net gently placed his hand over JJ’s on the table, signaling that he had this. He looked directly at his parents, his dark eyes filled with a profound, painful love, but completely devoid of submission.

​"It’s not a choice, ma." Net said softly, but with an absolute, iron clad finality. "Who I am isn't a hobby I can put away because it makes Sunday dinners uncomfortable. I love you both, and I respect everything you sacrificed to give me a future. But my future belongs to me.”

​His father slammed his hand onto the table, his face darkening with anger. "Your future belongs to this family! It’s your responsibility to give us grandchildren, to keep this name alive! You’re being selfish, Net. Turning your back on your tradition, on a good woman, just to live a lonely life in the city with—"

​"I am not lonely, Dad." Net interrupted, his voice dropping into that low, fierce register that silenced the table. “My future, in every way possible, has JJ in it. I didn’t expect you both to accept this now, but i hope one day you’ll understand.” He stood up, gently pulling JJ up with him, their fingers locking together tightly in front of his parents. "Look at us. For the past year, when I was drowning in work, JJ was the one who made sure I ate. When JJ’s father tried to ruin him, I was the one who built a home for him. We are responsible for each other. We are responsible for our own happiness."

“So even his father didn’t agree with this stupid decision, right? And you think this is, like, what, a movie? Huh? When you both try hard to force the parents’ blessing by ‘choosing love’, they said, and suddenly everything and all gonna be okay, then the next part is both of you have a happy ending?” Net’s father shouting. “Stupid!”

​Net looked at his mother, whose tears were now flowing freely. "Ma, I want you in my life. I want you to know the man I love. But if your love for me is conditional on me marrying a person I don't love and living a lie just to give you grandchildren, then you don't really love me, ma. You just love the fantasy you wrote in your head for me."

​The kitchen went dead silent. They don’t even realize Net’s little brother is sitting there in silence with tears running down his cheeks.

“Sorry for being the first one ruining this perfect family dinner, Phu.” He said to his brother as he walked out the dining room with JJ.

The clock on the wall ticked loudly, the traditional values of the small town suddenly feeling fragile against the unbreakable, formatting strength of the two men standing side by side.

​"We’re going to stay at the local inn tonight.” Net said quietly, picking up his jacket from the back of the chair after his mother sat next to him in the living room, a few minutes after ruined dinner and his father left to blow nicotine. "We’ll be at the train station tomorrow at noon. If you want to say goodbye to your son, the real version of your son, I’ll be waiting. But I’m going back to the city, and I’m going back with my boyfriend."

​Without waiting for an answer, Net guided JJ out of the house, their steps perfectly synchronized as they walked out into the cool, quiet night of the small city, leaving the heavy expectations of the past behind them for good.

____

The local morning market was already humming with life by 7:00 AM, the crisp air carrying the scent of sweet jasmine tea, deep-fried dough sticks, and steaming vats of broth.

​Net guided JJ into Auntie Cherry’s Diner, a modest, open-air corner shop with faded plastic stools and metal tables that had been a staple of the neighborhood since Net was a kid. The moment they stepped under the canvas awning, the familiar clatter of porcelain bowls seemed to soften.

​"Net! Is that really you?"

​An elderly woman wiping down a counter squinted through her spectacles before her face lit up in a wide, gap-toothed smile. She threw her dish towel over her shoulder and rushed over, grabbing Net by the upper arms. "Look at you! You’ve grown even taller since you moved to the metropolis. And look at those neat clothes!"

​"Good morning, Auntie! How are you?" Net smiled warmly, leaning down to let her pat his shoulder.

​"And who is this handsome young man?" she asked, her curious eyes drifting to JJ, noticing immediately how tightly their fingers were laced together.

​Before Net could even formulate a careful response, a vendor from the neighboring fruit stall called out, "He brought a city boy home! Good to see you, Net. Your dad told us you were in town, but he had a face like a thunderstorm last night when we met him at the Douglas’s Bar. Don't mind him. You know how he gets when his back aches." She tried to comfort Net.

​"Sit, sit! I’ll bring you the usual—two bowls of pork congee with extra soft-boiled eggs, right?" Auntie Cherry insisted, gently nudging them toward a quiet table in the corner.

​JJ slid onto the plastic stool, the tension in his shoulders finally dropping as he looked around. There was no judgment in the glances from the locals, there was only the easy, comfortable familiarity of a town that had watched Net grow up. "They really love you here." JJ murmured, his lips curving into a genuine smile as he squeezed Net's hand.

​"They know me." Net replied softly, looking into JJ's eyes. "They see me, not just the family name."

​Their congee had just arrived when the shadow of a figure blocked the morning sun hitting their table.

​Net looked up, his breath catching slightly. His mother stood at the edge of the awning. She looked small, wearing a simple cardigan, her eyes slightly red and puffy from a long, sleepless night. She held a small, tightly wrapped cloth bundle in her hands.

​JJ instinctively went to sit up straighter, his old defensive posture subtly returning, but Net’s grip on his hand remained steady.

​"Ma…" Net said quietly.

​His mother didn't look angry. She looked down at their joined hands on the table, and a heavy, trembling sigh escaped her lips. She walked over, slowly pulling up a stool to sit across from them.

​"You didn't eat at the house." she said, her voice small, thick with unshed tears. "I knew you always come to Cherry’s when you're stressed. I brought you some of those lemon cakes you like." She set the warm cloth bundle on the table, pushing it gently toward Net.

​"Ma, about last night—" Net started, but she reached out, her small, calloused hand covering his.

​"No, Net. Let me speak.” she interrupted softly. She finally turned her gaze to JJ, looking at him fully for the first time without the shadow of her husband looming over her. She saw the fierce, protective way JJ sat next to her son, and she saw the absolute peace in Net’s eyes that had been missing for the five years he lived his double life in the city.

​"I cried all night.” she whispered, a tear finally escaping and tracking down her cheek. "I was so angry at you for breaking the dream I had. But then I remember that those all my dreams, not yours... I realized I was fighting for a future that only existed in my head. I was fighting for grandchildren I haven't met, while pushing away the son who is standing right in front of me."

​She reached across the table, her fingers gently brushing against the back of JJ’s hand. JJ blinked, entirely caught off guard by the sudden, raw warmth of her touch.

​"JJ, right?” She said and JJ nodded.

“Thank you for taking care of my boy when I couldn't be there. Thank you for making him happy." Her voice is shaking but clear.

​JJ’s throat tightened, a profound wave of emotion hitting him so hard he could barely nod. "He takes care of me too, ma'am." JJ managed to say, his voice entirely devoid of his usual armor.

​"Call me mama, or mae…" She offered with a small, watery smile. She turned back to Net, squeezing his hand tightly. "Your father... he is a stubborn man, Net. He spent his whole life building that store, and his pride is wounded because he thinks he failed you. He stayed at the shop this morning. He won't come to the station to send you off."

​Net’s expression darkened with a quiet, familiar grief, but before he could speak, his mother shook her head.

​"Don't look like that. He is your father, and he loves you, he just doesn't know how to step out of his own perfect life yet.” She said, her jaw setting with a quiet, maternal strength Net had never seen before. "Go back to the city. Live your life. You have my blessing, Net. Both of you do. And I promise you, I will keep talking to him. Every single day. I will not let him lose his eldest son over his pride."

​Net leaned across the small metal table, throwing his arms around his mother’s shoulders, burying his face in her neck just like he used to when he was a boy. "Thank you, ma…" he choked out.

​JJ watched them, his own eyes burning with tears. The storm wasn't entirely over, the father’s silence still hung in the distance, and the town's tradition would take time to bend. But as Net’s mother pulled back and patted JJ’s cheek with a warm, approving smile, the foundation felt unshakeable.

​They had their apartment, they had their friends, and now, they had a bridge back home. As they walked toward the train station an hour later, the small city behind them didn't feel heavy anymore. It just felt like the place where they had finally claimed their own happiness.

____

Two years later, the grand ballroom of the Riverside Hotel was bathed in a warm, cinematic glow. The air was thick with the scent of white roses, expensive champagne, and the loud, echoing laughter of a room full of people celebrating.

​Kim and Latte had finally done it. Their wedding was a perfect reflection of who they were, chaotic, deeply loving, and completely authentic. Kim was currently on the dance floor, his bow tie already loosened, dragging a laughing Latte into a group dance, while their friends cheered them on.

​Near the back of the room, standing by the towering glass windows that looked out over the sparkling city skyline, Net and JJ watched the spectacle.

​Two years had changed them, carving away the last remnants of the uncertainty they used to carry. They had been together for three years now. Net was a senior partner at his engineering firm, his posture as solid and grounded as ever. JJ had completely walked away from his parents' corporate firm, now running a highly successful independent analog photography studio. They lived in a beautiful, sunlit apartment in Net’s old neighborhood.

​Net wore a sharp, tailored midnight-blue suit, his hand resting comfortably on the small of JJ’s back. JJ looked effortlessly elegant in a dark charcoal velvet blazer.

​"I give it twenty minutes before Latte spills red wine on his own white tuxedo." JJ murmured, a familiar, affectionate glint of cynicism in his eyes.

​Net laughed softly, leaning down to press a quick kiss to JJ’s temple. "Let him. He’s earned the right to make a mess today."

​Before JJ could reply, Net’s hand on his back suddenly tightened, a subtle, grounding pressure that JJ recognized instantly. JJ turned his head, following Net’s gaze toward the heavy double doors of the ballroom.

​Walking into the room, looking slightly out of place among the high-society city crowd, were JJ’s parents.

​His mother, Meena, wore a beautiful, traditional silk dress, her eyes scanning the room until they locked onto Net. Beside her stood JJ’s father. He looked older, his hair a bit silvered at the temples, wearing a slightly stiff, unfamiliar suit. He wasn't scolding anyone. He didn't have a face like a thunderstorm. He just looked nervous, his hands fidgeting with the cuffs of his jacket.

​But still, JJ’s parents didn’t greet him, didn’t even lay eyes on him. 

For them, the battle for acceptance from JJ’s parents is still on.

The End (?)