Chapter Text
Joss Wayar had negotiated multimillion-baht contracts, survived hostile board meetings, and once convinced three stubborn investors to agree with one another in under twenty minutes.
None of that had prepared him for his husband standing barefoot on the kitchen counter at seven in the morning, wearing Joss's white dress shirt and singing into a wooden spatula.
“Good morning, my beloved husband!” Gawin announced to absolutely nobody, because Joss was the only other person in the penthouse and was currently staring at him as if he'd discovered a new species of wildlife.
Joss slowly lowered his coffee.
“Get down.”
Gawin continued singing.
“Gawin.”
The singer spun around, one hand pressed dramatically to his chest. “Excuse me. I'm rehearsing.”
“On the counter?”
“The acoustics are excellent.”
“You're going to fall.”
“Then catch me. That's what marriage is for.”
Joss closed his eyes.
Six months. They had been married for six months, and his husband had already become the single greatest threat to his blood pressure.
He loved him so much it was honestly embarrassing.
“Come here,” Joss said.
Gawin grinned. “Say please.”
“Get down before I make you.”
“Ooooh. Threatening your own husband before breakfast. Very attractive, Mr. Wayar.”
“Gawin.”
“Joss.”
They stared at each other.
Then Gawin stuck out his tongue.
Joss set down his coffee, crossed the kitchen in four long strides, and wrapped both hands around his husband's waist.
“WAIT—”
Too late.
Joss lifted him off the counter.
Gawin shrieked, clutching Joss's shoulders. “YOU ABSOLUTE PSYCHOPATH!”
“You told me to catch you.”
“I WASN'T FALLING!”
“You were about to.”
“I WAS PERFORMING!”
“And now you're being carried.”
Joss slung him over one shoulder.
Gawin's mouth fell open.
For three entire seconds, the internationally acclaimed singer, whose latest album had broken streaming records across Asia, was speechless.
Then he began pounding Joss's back with both fists.
“PUT ME DOWN! I HAVE A CONCERT TONIGHT! MY VOICE IS INSURED!”
“Your voice is fine.”
“MY REPUTATION!”
“Debatable.”
“YOUR MOTHER LOVES ME MORE THAN YOU!”
“That one's true.”
Joss carried him out of the kitchen.
Gawin's laughter echoed through the penthouse, loud and helpless, the kind of laughter that made Joss's chest feel too full for his ribs.
This was what nobody told you about marriage.
It wasn't just grand gestures or anniversaries or the photographs framed in the hallway. It was carrying your ridiculous husband away from the kitchen counter because he couldn't behave like a normal human being for five minutes. It was learning which side of the bed he preferred, remembering that he hated coriander, and knowing that when he said I'm fine in that particular voice, he was absolutely not fine.
It was Gawin.
It was always Gawin.
Joss dropped him gently onto their bed.
Gawin bounced once, then sat upright with an expression of deep betrayal.
“I'm telling your mother.”
“She's going to ask why I let you climb on the counter.”
“I'm telling my mother.”
“Your mother thinks I'm an angel.”
“My mother thinks you're an angel. Yours thinks i'm handsome. Neither of them knows the truth.”
Joss leaned over him, bracing one hand on either side of his body.
“And what's the truth, darling?”
Gawin's eyes flickered toward his mouth.
It happened every time.
Every single time Joss came close enough, the teasing slipped away from Gawin's face for one small, precious moment. His lips parted. His breathing changed. His eyes went soft in a way that no camera had ever managed to capture properly.
Then, because Gawin was Gawin, he whispered, “That you're annoyingly good-looking.”
Joss smiled.
“Thank you.”
“I wasn't complimenting you.”
“Of course not.”
“You have a very punchable face.”
“Would you like to kiss it?”
Gawin grabbed him by the collar.
“Unfortunately.”
The kiss was warm and unhurried, familiar in the way of something that had become part of the rhythm of their lives. Gawin's fingers curled into Joss's shirt. Joss brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead, then kissed the corner of his mouth.
Gawin made a small, pleased sound.
Joss kissed him again.
And again.
Until Gawin finally pushed against his chest.
“Okay.”
Joss stopped immediately. “Okay?”
“Okay, because I have a schedule.”
“Right.”
“And you have a meeting.”
“Yes.”
“And I need to shower.”
“Of course.”
“Separately.”
Joss raised an eyebrow.
Gawin stared back with exaggerated determination.
Neither of them moved.
Then Joss murmured, “You know, we could save water.”
Gawin shoved a pillow into his face.
“GET OUT!”
Joss laughed all the way to the bathroom.
He was still laughing when his phone rang.
The name on the screen made his expression change.
Narin — Executive Assistant.
Joss answered. “Tell me the meeting has moved.”
“It hasn't, sir. But we have a problem with the acquisition contract, and the Singapore team wants your approval before ten.”
“Send it to my email.”
“I already have. There's another matter. The board would like you to attend the press briefing this afternoon.”
Joss glanced toward the bathroom, where Gawin had started singing again.
“What press briefing?”
“The one about the company restructuring.”
“I'm not doing a press briefing.”
“They've already announced your attendance.”
Joss pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Who approved that?”
A pause.
“Your father, sir.”
Of course.
Joss looked at the ceiling.
He loved his father. He respected his father. He was also beginning to suspect that his father had made it his life's mission to see how much nonsense one man could endure before breakfast.
“Fine,” Joss said. “I'll handle it.”
He ended the call.
From the bathroom, Gawin shouted, “BABE! WHERE'S MY BLACK JACKET?”
“WARDROBE!”
“WHICH WARDROBE?”
“THE ONE WITH YOUR CLOTHES!”
“WE HAVE THREE!”
“THE ONE YOU PUT IT IN!”
A beat of silence.
Then, more quietly, Gawin called, “You're being mean.”
Joss's irritation evaporated.
He walked to the bathroom door. “I'm not being mean.”
“You shouted.”
“I answered loudly.”
“Same thing.”
Joss opened the door just enough to see Gawin standing in front of the mirror, hair damp, expression wounded, wearing the sort of pout that had once made Joss abandon a business dinner halfway through dessert.
“Come here,” Joss said softly.
Gawin looked at him in the mirror.
“Why?”
“Because I don't want you thinking I'm angry with you.”
“You sounded angry.”
“I was angry at the phone. Not you.”
Gawin considered this.
“Can I have a kiss?”
Joss smiled. “You can have several.”
Gawin turned around immediately.
“See? Marriage is about communication.”
“Apparently.”
Joss kissed his forehead, then his nose, then his lips.
Gawin wrapped his arms around him and rested his cheek against Joss's chest.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Gawin murmured, “You're coming to my concert tonight, right?”
Joss's heart sank.
The concert.
He had completely forgotten that the date he'd promised to keep free had been the same evening as the restructuring briefing. The meeting was at three. The concert began at eight. The venue was across the city, and the event organizers had already warned about heavy traffic because of another major event.
He could make it.
Probably.
If the briefing ended on time. If the investors didn't start arguing. If his father didn't invent another emergency.
“I'll try,” he said.
Gawin went still.
It was barely noticeable. A tiny pause, a slight tightening of his arms.
But Joss knew him.
“Hey.”
Gawin stepped back, putting on a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. “It's okay. I know you're busy.”
“Gawin—”
“No, really. It's fine. You've got work. I'll see you when I get home.”
He turned toward the mirror and reached for his comb.
Joss watched him for a moment.
He knew that smile. He hated that smile.
It was the smile Gawin wore when he didn't want to ask for something because he was afraid the answer might hurt.
“Darling, look at me.”
“I'm looking.”
“You're looking at your hair.”
“It's a very important part of my face.”
Joss stepped behind him and placed his hands on Gawin's shoulders.
“I said I'd try. I'm going to do everything I can to be there.”
Gawin met his eyes in the mirror.
“Don't promise me something just because you think I'll be upset.”
The words landed harder than they should have.
Joss's hands went still.
Gawin seemed to realize what he'd said. He looked down, rubbing his thumb over the comb's handle.
“Sorry,” he murmured. “That came out wrong.”
“No.” Joss swallowed. “Maybe it didn't.”
The silence stretched between them.
Outside, the city was waking up. Cars moved along the streets far below. Somewhere in the apartment, Joss's phone buzzed again.
Neither of them moved to answer it.
Finally, Gawin turned in his arms.
“I'm not asking you to give up your job,” he said. “I know how much it means to you. I just… I want to feel like there's room for me in your life, even when things get crazy.”
Joss felt something twist in his chest.
“There is room for you.”
“Then don't make me feel like I have to compete with your calendar.”
Joss had no clever answer. No teasing comeback. No perfectly negotiated solution.
So he did the only thing he could think of.
He pulled Gawin into his arms and held him.
“I hear you,” he whispered.
Gawin's fingers curled against his back.
“Okay.”
“And I'm sorry.”
“Okay.”
“And I'm going to move things around.”
Gawin leaned back enough to look at him. “You don't have to—”
“I want to.”
“Joss.”
“Gawin.”
They stared at each other.
Then Gawin sighed dramatically. “You're so stubborn.”
“Married you, didn't I?”
“Poor judgment.”
“Catastrophic.”
“Tragic, really.”
Joss kissed his forehead.
Gawin smiled properly this time.
And just like that, the morning began again.
Neither of them knew that by the end of the day, a missed phone call, a photograph, and one badly timed headline would turn this tiny disagreement into their first genuinely ugly fight as husbands.
For now, there was only Gawin stealing Joss's coffee, Joss stealing Gawin's last clean towel, and two wedding rings glinting in the morning light.
For now, they were happy.
And, as Joss was about to discover, being happy with Gawin was never the same thing as having a peaceful life.