Their gazes locked, King's lips still pressed against Win's, frozen in a moment that felt both hazardous and inevitable.
For a heartbeat, King thought Win would shove him away, or worse, speak the rejection he feared most.
But instead, Win's lashes lowered slowly. He let out a faint breath, as though the kiss were nothing more than a fleeting dream. Pretending to still be lost in sleep, he closed his eyes again, his body relaxed as if he hadn't noticed at all.
King froze, his chest rising and falling in uneven beats. Did he… just ignore it? Shame and relief tangled inside him, burning hot in his chest. Carefully, he pulled back, staring at Win's serene face.
Win's breathing deepened, feigning slumber, but King could not miss the faint tension in his jaw, the subtle sign that he wasn't as asleep as he wanted to appear.
King bolted into his room, shutting the door behind him as if the walls could shield him from what had just happened. His chest heaved, his hands pressed against his lips. What have I done? Did Win see it? Does he know I kissed him? Or did he just… pretend? Questions spun in his mind like a storm, each one cutting deeper than the last.
In the other room, Win lay still for a long time before raising a hand to his mouth. His fingers brushed over his lips, the ghost of King's kiss still lingering. His brows furrowed. Why, King? Why would you kiss me? He exhaled sharply and shook his head. "No," he muttered to himself. "It's better to pretend it never happened."
An hour later, Win moved about the kitchen with practiced ease. He prepared breakfast for both of them, plating it neatly before heading upstairs. Knocking softly on King's door, he said evenly, "Breakfast is ready."
"I'll be there," King called back, his voice tight.
Win returned downstairs and waited at the dining table. When King finally entered, his steps were hesitant, his head bowed low. He slid into the seat opposite Win, refusing to lift his gaze.
Win watched him quietly for a moment before breaking the silence. "Is everything okay?"
"Yes," King replied quickly, his tone clipped, his eyes still fixed on the plate in front of him.
He busied himself with the food, barely tasting it, just trying to get through the meal without letting his thoughts slip.
After a beat, Win leaned back in his chair and said, "You don't have to come to the office with me today. Stay at home. If you want company, invite Charlotte, but only Charlotte. No one else. "If you'd rather be alone, then do whatever you like," Win said evenly. He paused, his eyes flicking toward King. "Or… would you prefer to come with me instead?"
King shook his head quickly, relief flashing across his face. "No." The word came out almost too fast, but Win let it pass.
"Alright then," Win said simply. He rose from his seat, walked over, and ruffled King's hair with a small, fleeting smile before heading upstairs. "I'll go and dress up now."
As soon as Win's footsteps faded, King released a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping. Only then did he finally allow himself to eat properly, though his thoughts still burned with the memory of his lips on Win's.
After Win left, the silence of the house pressed down on King. He closed the door and locked himself in his room. But the moment he lay on his bed, the memory of that kiss rushed back, flooding his mind with heat. His lips still tingled, as if Win's touch had left a mark that wouldn't fade.
King buried his face in the pillow, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. What if Win had kissed me back? What if he had pulled me closer instead of pretending to sleep? The thoughts spiraled until his whole body was trembling.
His hand pressed against his chest, but the ache only grew heavier, lower, impossible to ignore. Every part of him burned with the memory of Win's face, his warmth, his lips. King squeezed his eyes shut, helpless against the desire crawling through his veins.
He pictured Win's hands on him, undressing him gently, sliding his trousers down until he was completely naked. The thought made his breath hitch, his skin flush with heat.
Before he realized it, King's hand had found its way down to his cock, thick and hard, standing painfully erect. Slowly, he wrapped his fingers around himself and began to stroke, lost in the fantasy of Win, of his touch, his warmth, his lips.
King's strokes grew steadier, each movement fueled by the fire of his imagination. He shut his eyes, his lips parting as he pictured Win leaning over him, whispering against his skin. His hips began to roll upward into his hand, desperate for the kind of touch he longed for but couldn't have.
"Win…" he breathed out, the name slipping from his lips like a secret confession.
The thought of Win's strong hands pinning him down, the weight of his body pressing close, sent a shiver racing through him. He quickened his pace, every stroke dragging a low moan from his throat. His chest rose and fell sharply, sweat forming along his temples as he imagined Win kissing down his neck, his chest, lower and lower…
His body trembled, caught between guilt and pleasure, but he couldn't stop. The fantasy had already swallowed him whole.
King's hand moved faster now, his breath ragged, chest rising and falling as though he were chasing something impossible.
"Ah… W-Win… ngh… fuck…" he moaned, his voice breaking in the quiet of his room. Each stroke made him jolt, his hips lifting off the bed, desperate for more. He gripped himself tighter, thumb brushing his tip, smearing the slick across his length as his body shook with need.
"Please… Win… touch me there… fuck, I need it…" The words tumbled out between heavy pants, shameless, as though Win could hear him.
The sound of his own moans filled the room, soft whimpers turning into broken cries. "Ahh… hah… ngh… Win… don't stop, don't stop…" He squeezed harder, pumping faster, his toes curling against the sheets.
His back arched suddenly, the pleasure snapping through him like lightning.
"W-WIN! F-fuck… ahhh!" King cried out, his voice raw as his release spilled hot and messy over his stomach, his hand milking every drop until his body finally gave in.
He collapsed back against the bed, trembling, sweat-damp hair clinging to his forehead. His hand slid weakly from his cock, sticky and spent.
Still gasping, he whispered into the silence, "Why… why does it feel like I belong only to you…"
The words hung there and then broke, and salt hot tears tracked down his cheeks. He pressed his palm to his mouth as if to muffle the sobs, as if the sound might somehow make what he had done more real, more shameful.
His body was still humming from the aftershock, a pain that wasn't only physical; it was a hollowing want that dug into him and left him raw.
Thinking of Win made the pain spike again.
Each memory, Win's steady hands, the way he smelled, the small gentleness King had been allowed, was suddenly excruciating. "I want you so badly, Win." he thought, and the admission tasted like both relief and poison.
He hated himself a little for how true it felt, hated the way his skin remembered Win long after Win had drifted back to sleep.
What if Win saw him like this? what if he knew that the person he sheltered, fed, fought for, was the one who wanted him? The notion felt impossible. In King's mind Win had already decided: love like his was a sickness to be managed, not a desire to be met.
The conviction that Win would never want to be intimate with someone like him, someone who loved men, settled over him like a lead blanket. He pictured Win's face from earlier, cold and splintered, and the image stabbed sharper than any rejection.
He cried until his throat ached and the bedroom blurred. Tears mixed with sweat; guilt and longing braided together until he couldn't tell which was which.
He whispered apologies into the dark… to Win, to himself, for failing to be the kind of person who could ever give Win what he needed, or be the one Win might ever want, in whatever form that could be.
And yet, the small, frantic hope that Win might one day want him in return felt obscene and impossibly distant, like a light shining faintly behind frosted glass.