The city was alive that night, a heartbeat of neon lights and music spilling from rooftop bars. James had chosen a place tucked discreetly near the bay, where laughter rolled over candlelit tables, and the breeze off the water cut the heat of summer.
King stepped out of the car in a loose black shirt and tailored slacks, the city lights catching in his dark hair. He looked elegant but understated, like someone trying not to stand out but failing. James, already waiting by the entrance, smiled with boyish charm and led him inside.
The restaurant was a fusion of sleek metal and soft velvet booths, jazz humming through the air, the scent of grilled seafood and citrus-infused cocktails rising warmly around them. Their table was on the terrace, a low booth with a bay view.
King relaxed slowly, sipping something sweet and golden. James talked effortlessly, always with a spark behind his eyes about film, politics, and old dreams that never came true. King laughed more than he intended. It wasn't just what James said; it was the way he looked at King, like he was the only person in the room.
And yet, they weren't alone.
The rooftop bar buzzed around them with the soft hum of music and the gentle murmur of laughter. James' friends, both old and new, greeted King with open smiles and casual warmth. Nobody looked twice. Nobody whispered. Nobody watched him like he was a strange, fragile thing being protected.
A couple at the next table, two men in matching rings, leaned into each other as they shared a drink, laughing softly about something only they could hear.
King smiled at them.
It was the first time in a long while he didn't have to pretend. He didn't have to sit stiffly or guard every expression. He could be normal.
They played arcade games in the corner of the lounge, took photos at the silly neon booth, and tried a weird cocktail named Storm in July that burned going down but made James laugh so hard he nearly cried.
For a few hours, King forgot.
But not everyone had.
Across the lounge, a man with salt-and-pepper hair sipped his whiskey alone. His eyes tracked King and James as they laughed at something by the pool table. His expression wasn't angry, just calculating.
It was Marcus, one of Win's old friends, the kind who hovered too close, smiled too long. Marcus remembered how Win found him and King leaning against his doorframe late at night during a party. That was the last time Marcus ever got invited to anything. Their friendship had ended with a single phone call.
And now, here he was again.
Marcus raised his phone and, with casual cruelty, snapped a picture of King leaning against James, both mid-laugh. No flash. No sound. Just a click and a smirk before he turned away.
King didn't notice.
But Win would.
It was past midnight when James pulled the car up to the front gate.
The ride home had been quiet, not awkward, just calm, the kind of silence that settled between two people who didn't need to fill the space.
James tapped the steering wheel lightly, then glanced at King. "You always laugh like that?"
King smiled faintly. "Like what?"
"Like you're surprised you're allowed to."
That made King look away for a moment. The streetlight outside spilled a soft glow across his profile. "I guess… I don't do it often."
"You should," James said, voice gentler now. "It looks good on you."
They fell quiet again.
Then James added, "Are you sure you want to go home alone? I mean, there's no pressure. I'll be the only one in my apartment tonight," he said, his tone casual but hopeful. "Could use the company."
King turned to him slowly. There was no tension in his face, just something calm and clear. "I think I'd rather go back. Thank you, though."
James nodded, no pushback. "Respect. Just figured I'd ask."
As he pulled the car to a soft stop in front of the gate, James turned slightly toward him. "Can I ask something else before you vanish behind those walls?"
"Sure."
"What's your favourite hour of the day?"
King blinked. "That's… random."
"Exactly. Go on, indulge me."
King thought for a moment. "Just before dawn. When everything's quiet and still. Like the world hasn't made any decisions yet."
James smiled. "That's a good answer. You look like a sunrise kind of guy."
King reached for the door handle but hesitated. "And you?"
"Late night," James said. "When everyone else is asleep. That's when I feel the most like myself."
King offered a soft nod, eyes thoughtful.
"Thanks for tonight," he said as he opened the door.
James smiled. "Thanks, too."
"I'll see you around."
James waited. "Need me to walk you in?"
King shook his head. "No. I'm okay."
He stepped out into the cool night air and shut the door gently behind him. James didn't drive off right away. He just watched, fingers tapping the wheel as King walked toward the gate without looking back.
And just like that, the night ended.
But not the story.
King stepped inside and smiled widely, unguarded and full of something he hadn't felt in a while.
Life.
The city vibe still clung to his skin, the echo of laughter ringing faintly in his ears. He peeled off his clothes, let the shower run hot, and stood under the stream until it washed away the noise and the thrill. By the time his head hit the pillow, sleep pulled him in like a tide.
He didn't dream.
The morning light had barely touched the curtains when his phone buzzed beside him.
Win.
King groaned, rolling over to squint at the screen. The call was already ringing. He answered without speaking.
Win's voice came through steady, slightly hoarse.
"Good morning."
King didn't reply. He simply lay there, phone pressed to his ear, waiting.
Win continued anyway, unfazed.
"Just wanted to let you know I might take an extra two days here. They sent over the draft last night… dense as hell. I need time to go through it before I sign off on anything."
King blinked at the ceiling, his face unreadable in the morning shadows. He said nothing, not even a hum of acknowledgement.
He finally rubbed his eyes and replied with a single word. "Okay."
Win hesitated. "Do you want me to plan your next two days, or can you handle it?"
King let out a breath. "Do whatever you think is best. You always do."
A pause. Then, a little sharper, he added, "Your call woke me up. I want to sleep again."
There was silence on the line, but Win's tone remained measured. "This is both our company, King. Just because I'm not there doesn't mean it stops. You should go check on things. I never said I wasn't coming back."
"I'll go before noon," King muttered, already turning on his side.
Win sighed. "Did you even sleep last night?"
King didn't answer.
"I'm serious. Make sure you go in, okay?"
"Talk to you later," King cut him off, ending the call before Win could finish.
The silence that followed was heavier than it should've been.
Win stared at his phone, thumb hovering over the screen.
He didn't ask about the trip. He didn't ask how I'm managing, what the draft said, how I'll sort it out, nothing.
King had always been emotionally guarded, but this felt different.
This felt like distance. Intentional.
And that terrified Win more than he'd admit.
Meanwhile, back at home, King's phone pinged again.
James:
Good morning. Did you sleep well?
I was a little hungover, but last night was perfect. Let's do it again.
King stared at the message.
Then, slowly, smiled.
Not the forced, polite kind. Not the soft, tired curve of lips he gave Win when he didn't want to argue.
A real one.
There was no guilt on his face. Just quiet peace. He didn't even text Charlotte. Didn't tell her anything about last night.
Didn't explain. Didn't ask.
As if… something was already shifting inside him.
And if Win knew…
If Win saw that smile meant for someone else…
It would burn more than jealousy ever could.