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“This beach is so nice to get married at.”
“I wonder what my hand would look like with a ring.”
“I’d make a pretty good husband, right, Mok?”
Those were only a couple out of the dozens of subtle hints Rome had dropped over the past three months.
Mok was many things, but he was neither dumb nor oblivious. He knew Rome inside and out— could read the subtle tilt of Rome’s lips, the exact cadence of his sigh when he was exhausted, and the specific way his eyes softened whenever he looked at Mok across a crowded room.
It had been two years.
Two whole years since they built a life together in Hong Kong. Two years since Rome officially took his place as the head of the Arseni family.
To the world, Rome Arseni was a formidable force, a leader who held power with absolute precision. But within the warmth of their home, Rome was nothing but a sweet, devoted lover. He was the man who insisted on making breakfast even when he burnt the toast, who buried his face in Mok’s neck after a long day of meetings, and who spent a decade patiently holding Mok’s heart in his hands.
What Rome didn't know was that Mok had already bought the ring three weeks ago.
It was a custom brushed-platinum band— thick, heavy, simple, and elegant enough to suit the wrist and hand of an empire's leader. Mok carried it in his pocket almost everywhere, waiting for a moment to pull it out.
The problem? Rome would not stop talking.
Every single time Mok found a nice opening— during a quiet dinner, on their private balcony at midnight, during a rare day off— Rome would launch into another dramatic monologue about his marital dreams, completely ruining the mood before Mok could even reach for his pocket.
And today was no exception.
They were in the soundproofed back room of a high-end club, wrapping up a tense sit-down with a rogue associate who had been skim-reading off Arseni supply lines.
Rome looked terrifying. He sat back in the leather armchair, his presence casting a shadow across the polished glass table.
"You took three percent," Rome said, his voice dropping into that bone-chilling register. "On my territory. Under my watch."
"Boss, please, it was a misunderstanding— I thought—"
"I don't care what you thought," Rome interrupted. "Mok, what is the protocol for disrespect?"
Mok stood beside Rome's chair on the left, holding a sleek leather folder. "Liquidation of assets within twenty-four hours, banishment from Hong Kong waters, or severe bodily compensation," Mok answered, his tone as crisp and unbothered.
"Option two," Rome snapped. "Get out of my sight before I change my mind and pick option three."
The associate didn't need to be told twice. He scrambled out of his chair, nearly tripping over his own feet, and practically threw himself through the heavy double doors to escape.
“All of you. Out.”
The moment the doors clicked shut, the strong aura surrounding Rome Arseni vanished in a second.
With a loud groan, Rome collapsed sideways in the chair, burying his face directly into Mok’s stomach, his arms wrapping tightly around Mok’s waist.
"My head hurts," Rome whined, his deep voice muffled against Mok’s vest. "My throat hurts from talking to idiots. Mok, I am exhausted. I am overworked. And worst of all, my left ring finger is completely unadorned. It’s tragic. Truly tragic."
Mok let out a sigh, though a fond smile tugged at his lips. He ran his fingers through Rome’s thick hair.
This is it, Mok thought. We're alone. He's clinging to me. It's ridiculous, but it's perfect.
Mok gently pushed at Rome’s shoulders, trying to create a few inches of space so he could reach into his inner coat pocket and finally pull out the velvet box. "Rome, let go for a second."
"No," Rome grumbled, tightening his grip. "I am absorbing your energy."
"Rome, move back," Mok urged, nudging him a little firmer to free his hand. "Just give me a second."
Rome froze. He slowly lifted his head, his dark eyes wide, looking up at Mok with a look of utter, heartbroken betrayal.
To Rome’s drama, Mok was rejecting him. Mok was pushing him away after he had just spent months of dropping hints and five minutes whining about his empty finger.
"Fine," Rome said, his voice suddenly dropping into a dramatic pout. "I see how it is. My affection is a burden. You don’t love me."
"What? No, Rome, wait—"
Mok pulled the box out, snapping it open with his thumb, and turned back around—
Only to find the space in front of him completely empty.
Mok blinked.
In the span of three seconds, while Mok was looking down at his pocket, Rome had stood up, and was already halfway across the room toward the exit.
He was walking with heavy strides, looking like the world’s most tragic, unloved mafia boss.
"Rome!" Mok called out, staring at the empty leather chair, then down at the shiny platinum band sitting open in his hand, and back to Rome’s retreating back. "Where are you going?!"
"To the car!" Rome shouted over his shoulder without turning around. "Since my presence is clearly suffocating you! Don't worry, Mok, I won't inconvenience you with my desire for lifelong commitment ever again! I am a strong, independent head of mafia!"
Mok stood in the middle of the empty club room, holding an open ring box, utterly speechless.
It was so ridiculous, so dramatic, that Mok didn't know whether to facepalm or laugh out loud. Rome had literally walked out on his own proposal because he thought a gentle nudge was a breakup.
"That idiot, I swear," Mok muttered to himself, a breathless chuckle escaping his lips as he snapped the box shut, shoved it back into his pocket, and marched out the door after his dramatic lover.
—
Mok rubbed his temples when he tried calling Mok and hit him with a voicemail for the fourth time.
He pulled the phone away from his ear and pulled up Rome’s location.
Sure enough, the little blue icon representing Rome Arseni was currently at their penthouse, sulking.
Mok shook his head, tucked his phone away, and signaled their driver. "We're making a quick stop before going home."
He spent twenty minutes hunting down an open flower market, carefully selecting a bouquet of dark blue roses and daisies.
When Mok finally pushed open the heavy front doors of their penthouse, the silence inside was almost deafening.
The sprawling, high-ceilinged home was eerily quiet. The only sound was the soft rustle of Mok’s bouquet wrapped in brown paper, and the rhythm of his own breathing.
Mok slipped off his shoes, set his coat aside, and walked down the dimly lit hallway toward their master bedroom.
He pushed the door open quietly. There, buried under a mountain of plush duvets, was Rome. He was curled up on his side, facing entirely away from the door, wrapped up so tight in the blankets he looked like an oversized moody cocoon.
Mok couldn't help it— a fond chuckle escaped his lips, echoing softly in the bedroom.
"I know you're not asleep, Rome," Mok said softly, stepping over to his side of the bed. "Your shoulders are way too tense for someone sleeping."
The cocoon didn't move, but Mok saw the blanket pull up slightly higher over Rome's head.
"Ignoring your left-hand man is bad business," Mok teased gently, placing the massive bouquet on the nightstand right beside Rome’s head. The sudden, rich scent of fresh flowers instantly bloomed into the air. "And ignoring your boyfriend is even worse."
Silence.
Then, a muffled, deep voice grumbled from beneath the sheets.
"My left-hand man pushed me away. I am nursing my wounded pride."
"I didn't push you away, you dramatic idiot," Mok hummed. He sat down on the edge of the mattress, the bed dipping under his weight. He leaned down, placing a gentle hand on Rome’s shoulder through the duvet. "Sit up. Come on, my big baby."
Rome let out a sigh before slowly rolling over. He pulled the blanket down just below his nose, staring at Mok with a big pout. But the second his eyes darted to the side and caught sight of the massive bouquet sitting right next to him on the nightstand, his eyes widened slightly.
Rome's lips twitched. He tried so hard to maintain his pout, biting the inside of his cheek to hide the smile.
Mok caught the slip immediately. He chuckled, leaning forward to gently cup both of Rome’s cheeks in his hands, squishing them together until Rome’s pout looked even more absurd.
"There it is," Mok murmured warmly, leaning in closer. "Look at that pouty face."
Before Rome could protest, Mok pressed a soft kiss right to the middle of his forehead. Then one on his left cheek, one on his right, one on the tip of his nose, and another on his cheekbone, peppering his whole face with soft kisses until Rome let out a defeated huff.
"Stop," Rome grumbled softly, though he didn't push Mok's hands away at all. In fact, his hands instinctively reached up to rest on Mok's waist. "You're trying to bribe me with flowers and affection."
"I am," Mok admitted freely, his thumbs stroking Rome’s cheekbones. "Because my idiot boyfriend ran out of a room so fast he didn't even let me finish what I was doing."
Rome frowned, his brow furrowing in genuine confusion. "What were you doing? You nudged me away!"
"I nudged you because I needed space to reach into my inner jacket pocket," Mok explained gently, a fond smirk tugging at his lips. "It's very hard to pull out a ring box when a mafia boss is trying to fuse his body into your torso."
Rome went completely still.
The color drained from his face, replaced two seconds later by a sudden, intense rush of crimson that spread from his cheeks all the way down to the tips of his ears. His eyes darted from Mok’s eyes down to Mok's pocket, and then back up.
"You... what?" Rome squeaked.
Mok didn't answer with words. He reached into his pocket with his free hand, pulled out the sleek black velvet box, and popped it open right between them.
The thick, brushed-platinum band gleamed quietly in the dim bedroom light.
"I bought this three weeks ago, Rome," Mok said softly. "I've been carrying it around for days. But every time I tried to ask, you'd start another speech about how you were never going to get married, or you'd run out of the room."
Rome stared at the ring. Then at Mok. Then back at the ring. His brain hit a complete wall.
"You... you were trying to propose?" Rome stuttered, his blush deepening. "In the back of the club?!"
"I was," Mok smiled softly, tilting Rome's chin up. "Because I don't care where we are. I loved you when we were fighting in the dark ten years ago, Rome. And I love you now, running an empire together in the light. So... will you stop sulking and marry me?"
Rome didn't just say yes— he exploded out of the bed.
With a giddy, breathless gasp, Rome launched himself forward, wrapping his long arms around Mok’s waist and pulling him into a hug so tight Mok felt his ribs creak.
"Yes! Fuck, yes, Mok, Yes!" Rome cheered, his voice bouncing off the high bedroom walls.
Before Mok could even steady himself, Rome took the ring from the box with trembling fingers and jammed it onto his own left ring finger. The band fit like it was made to be there.
Rome looked at his hand, then at Mok, his eyes shining with joy. Completely forgetting his dignity, Rome let out a loud laugh and literally jumped on the bed, bouncing the mattress so hard Mok had to grab him to keep him from falling off.
"I'm engaged! Mok, look! Wahahah! P’Kian wouldn’t believe this," Rome beamed, thrusting his left hand right into Mok’s face, blushing like crazy and grinning so wide. "It fits! It actually fits!"
Mok laughed out loud, leaning in to pull his idiot fiancé down into a deep kiss.
"It fits," Mok murmured against his lips, holding Rome close. "Now stop jumping before you break the bed."
"We’re breaking this bed in a different way tonight, Mok," Rome hummed happily, a dark, wicked smirk finally replacing his giddy grin as he pulled Mok right back into his arms, kissing him deep and slow until every last trace of sulking was completely forgotten.