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Chapter Text

Kim Han was a man of structure. His life was a careful construct, a fortress of polished meetings, late nights, and ceaseless control. Behind it all, he was the epitome of success: a powerful businessman, a diligent single father, and a man respected—and feared—by his colleagues. His daughter, Princess, was his one undeniable source of warmth, a constant reminder of why he couldn’t afford vulnerability. But when Chay Panyarachun had come into his life, something had shifted. Kim hadn’t planned for it, hadn’t wanted it, but he’d been drawn to Chay’s openness, his youth, his sincerity.

Kim remembered their first meeting. Chay had come for a secretarial position, his references strong but his experience minimal. He was soft-spoken yet unflinchingly determined, his confidence tempered by a warmth Kim had grown unaccustomed to. Against his better judgment, Kim had hired him, convinced that he could keep things strictly professional. But Chay’s enthusiasm, his kindness, and his quiet humor seeped into Kim’s routine in ways he hadn’t anticipated. Soon enough, their relationship blurred from a purely professional one to something physical, though Kim told himself it was just an arrangement.

It started with lingering touches, shared glances, late nights when Chay stayed well past office hours. In his mind, Kim rationalized it as harmless. Chay never asked for more, never questioned the terms Kim silently set. And Kim was careful, keeping their moments isolated, confined to his office, or at most his apartment, never letting Chay past the walls he kept firmly in place.

But then there were moments that went beyond the physical. Chay would bring him coffee just the way he liked it, without asking, as if he’d memorized every preference Kim held. He would hum softly, unconsciously, while sorting files, the melody filtering through Kim’s office like sunlight. And sometimes, Chay would look at him with a quiet intensity, as if searching for something Kim wasn’t willing to give.

After they were together, Chay would often reach out, letting his fingers trace lazy patterns on Kim’s back. He’d whisper half-formed thoughts, questions that drifted through the dark, questions Kim would pretend not to hear. “What are you afraid of, Kim?” Chay had asked one night, his voice soft but piercing. Kim remembered freezing, feeling Chay’s gentle touch on his arm, a quiet patience in his gaze. But Kim’s answer had been silence.

Chay never pushed him; he only pulled away, leaving Kim alone in the darkness, convinced he could survive on that distance, that he could avoid the pain of vulnerability.

But there were moments that haunted Kim. Once, Princess had come in while Chay was over, and the instant affection she’d developed for Chay was unmistakable. She’d called him “Chaychay,” her little voice full of excitement. Kim had watched them together, his daughter laughing as Chay played along, and something inside him had cracked. For the first time, Kim had seen a glimpse of what his life could look like if he let someone in. But fear was an old habit, and he had buried the image, retreating back to the safety of silence.

Months passed, and Kim’s life continued as if nothing had changed. But he felt Chay slipping away. Their nights together became fewer, the silences longer. Chay stopped staying the night, stopped reaching for him with those quiet, tender gestures. One evening, when Chay turned to leave, Kim didn’t stop him, though a gnawing sense of regret followed him long after Chay’s footsteps faded down the hall. He told himself it was for the best, that a man like him had no right to bring someone like Chay into his guarded world.

Then one day, Chay left for good. There was no note, no parting words—only the absence of everything Kim had become accustomed to. It was a strange emptiness that stretched into every corner of his life, and no matter how he tried to ignore it, he found himself longing for those nights, for the small smiles, for Chay’s warm presence. He reached for his phone countless times but never dialed. What could he say that would undo the silence he’d chosen?

Chapter Text

Months later, Kim was going through the motions of his routine when he spotted Chay at a café near his office. Chay was laughing, surrounded by friends, his expression so open and carefree that Kim’s breath caught. He felt like an outsider looking in, watching a version of Chay he’d never fully allowed himself to know.

Against his instincts, Kim walked up to him, saying his name softly. Chay’s laughter faded, his gaze meeting Kim’s with a quiet, wary recognition. There was no anger, only a sadness that settled heavily between them. As they moved outside to talk, Kim felt his chest tighten, words he’d never said pressing at his throat. He’d hurt Chay, he knew that now, but he didn’t know how to bridge the gap he’d created.

“Why did you leave?” he asked finally, his voice rough.

Chay’s response was soft, but unwavering. “Because, Kim, I couldn’t keep waiting for something you’d never give me. I wanted more than this… more than being an occasional distraction.”

Chay’s words were a mirror, reflecting back the empty excuses Kim had fed himself. For so long, he’d hidden behind the guise of strength, but all it had done was push away the one person who had wanted him, not for his status, but for the person beneath it all.

“I thought if I kept you at arm’s length,” Kim whispered, his voice barely audible, “I wouldn’t lose you. But I was wrong.”

The vulnerability in Kim’s voice softened Chay’s gaze, the guarded look in his eyes fading to something gentler. He took a step closer, his tone no longer holding the sadness that had once lingered there. “All I wanted was for you to let me in, Kim. To just be… honest with me.”

Kim felt the weight of his own silence, the self-imposed loneliness he’d once thought necessary. But as he looked into Chay’s eyes, he knew he could no longer hide. He reached out, letting his hand rest on Chay’s cheek, his thumb brushing softly against his skin.

“I’m sorry, Chay. I want you here with me. I want you to know everything, and I’m done running from it.”

Chay’s eyes held a glimmer of hope as he took Kim’s hand, their fingers lacing together. There was a warmth, a familiarity that Kim had missed more than he could have admitted.

“Then let’s start over,” Chay said, his voice quiet, steady. “No more running, no more hiding. Just us.”

They stood in the street, the world fading around them as Kim felt the weight of the walls he’d kept for so long crumble. There was no longer anything between them but the truth—a truth he’d finally let himself embrace.

For the first time in his life, Kim felt at peace, anchored in the warmth of Chay’s presence. He could finally see that love wasn’t a weakness but a strength—a place where he could finally be himself.