Win woke with a dry throat and carefully slid out of bed, trying not to disturb King. The room was dim, only the pale glow of streetlights spilling through the curtains. His footsteps were quiet on the floor as he made his way to the kitchen, poured himself a glass of water, and drank in silence.
But when he returned, he paused in the doorway.
King was murmuring in his sleep, voice strained and cracked with emotion.
"I didn't flirt," he whispered, almost pleading. "I didn't do anything…" Why does nobody ever want me?"
Win stood still for a heartbeat, his chest tightening.
He walked to the bed and sat down quietly, watching King's face contort as another tear rolled down his cheek. The ache in his chest deepened.
Carefully, he lay back down beside him, inching closer. His hand hovered for a second before he reached out and pulled King gently into his arms.
"Hey… It's okay," he whispered near King's temple. "I'm sorry I made you feel this way."
King let out another broken sigh, still halfway lost in sleep, but the murmuring stopped. His breathing started to even out.
Win held him tighter, like King might slip through his fingers if he let go. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to King's forehead, a small, soft act filled with guilt.
He looked at the clock on the nightstand. There are only four hours left before his flight.
"I'll fix this," he murmured to the sleeping boy. "When I get back, I'll do better. I promise."
Then he pulled the blanket over them and closed his eyes.
Not long after, King stirred quietly.
He'd heard Win's voice, felt the warm weight of his arm around him, but he hadn't responded. Not out of anger but because the ache in his chest was still too much to untangle in the dark.
His gaze shifted to Win, now fast asleep beside him.
He blinked up at the ceiling, trying to understand the feeling in his chest. That kiss on the forehead lingered. He didn't know what it meant. Maybe Win still saw him as someone fragile. Maybe just a boy who needed comfort. Or maybe something else.
But King didn't ask questions. He let himself rest his head on Win's chest, where his heartbeat was steady and close.
And for the first time in a while, he let sleep pull him under held in the arms of the one person who had stayed.
Morning 6:00 AM Alarm
The soft grey light of the morning slipped through the curtains, brushing gently across the room in quiet streaks.
Win stirred first.
He blinked slowly, adjusting to the faint glow. The warmth pressed against his chest was familiar, King curled into him, his breath steady and soft. A small frown still lingered on King's sleeping face, like his dreams hadn't quite let go of the pain from the night before.
Win stayed still, unmoving.
He didn't want to wake him.
Instead, he watched.
For a long minute, he just stared at the mess of hair against the pillow, the soft part of King's lips, the small rise and fall of his chest. Something ached in Win's throat. His hand hovered over King's face like he wanted to brush the hair away, or maybe just lean in.
But he didn't.
He just watched.
Then, slowly, quietly, Win slid out of the bed. King stirred slightly but didn't wake. Win exhaled in relief.
He crossed to his suitcase and got dressed in silence, buttoning his crisp shirt, fastening his watch, smoothing down his coat. His flight was early. There is no time to linger. But he couldn't just leave.
He looked around and spotted a notepad on the desk.
Tearing off a sheet, he scribbled down a note in his familiar, firm handwriting:
> Didn't want to wake you. See you in 3 days. Win.
He folded it once and placed it carefully on the bedside table beside King's phone, then gave one last glance toward the bed.
King was still sleeping, one arm tucked under the pillow, his lips slightly parted.
Win's chest tightened again.
He turned, picked up his suitcase, and slipped out of the room.
The door clicked shut behind him.
The black Mercedes idled outside the estate as the driver stepped out to open the back door.
Win appeared a moment later, suitcase in hand, sunglasses already on, collar sharp, and posture composed like every inch of him was sculpted for command. He didn't say a word as he slipped into the car just gave a curt nod.
The driver took the cue and pulled off smoothly, the early sun barely warming the horizon.
In the quiet of the backseat, Win leaned his head against the window. His fingers grazed the cuff of his sleeve, absently thinking of the boy still asleep in his bed.
Three days, he reminded himself.
By the time he reached the private hangar, the jet was prepped and ready, the crew already standing in wait.
"Good morning, Mr. Marlowe."
He offered a polite nod, stepping aboard with the grace of a man used to power. Within minutes, the plane took off into the clouds, slicing through the sky like it had somewhere urgent to be just like him.
Meanwhile, at the company headquarters...
The main building of Zeiwin Holdings gleamed under the morning light steel, glass, and everything intimidating.
But inside?
There was an air of quiet celebration.
"I swear, it's the best news I've heard all month," one intern whispered near the breakroom. "Mr. Win is travelling for three days."
"No morning check-ins?"
"No random floor inspections?" Another added, eyes wide with hope.
Someone giggled. "You mean no icy stares, no sharp questions, and no surprise firings."
"Exactly."
Another whispered from behind her screen. I swear, I'd rather present a failed budget proposal to King than give a perfect one to Win.
"King listens," the assistant from PR chimed in, clutching her coffee like a lifeline. He remembers birthdays. He asks how your weekend was.
"Yeah, he's soft. But Win?" A low whistle. "That man walks into a room, and the AC gets colder."
"I once saw him dismiss an entire department head with a single look."
"Don't get me wrong, he's brilliant," someone added quickly. "But terrifying. Like CEO by day, mafia boss by night."
Everyone laughed, but it was the kind of laugh that came from truth.
Still, beneath the teasing, a thread of respect ran through the conversation. Win may be harsh, but he built an empire. People feared him, yes, but they also trusted him to lead.
For now, though?
The boss was gone.
And the office exhaled.
Back to King, it was already 10:36 AM. He stirred beneath the blankets, blinking sleep from his eyes. For a moment, he reached out instinctively, expecting Win beside him.
But the space was empty.
He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes. The room was quiet.
That's when he noticed the folded note on the pillow beside him, Win's crisp handwriting inked neatly across the front: "For You."
King unfolded it, his heart already beating loudly in his chest.
>Three days. I'll see you soon. Win.
No smiley face. No drawn-out words.
Simple. Clean. Typical Win.
But King stared at it for a long time, fingertips pressing lightly against the corner of the page.
Three days.
He glanced at the closed suitcase that was gone now, the silence in the apartment louder than before.
King leaned back against the headboard, exhaling. The ache in his chest was familiar, the kind that crept in whenever Win left.
He just sat there in silence, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
Then, after a long pause, he reached for his phone.
The screen lit up with a soft glow. One new message.
His heart jumped for a second. He thought it was Win.
But it wasn't.
James.
> Hey, King. I just wanted to check on you. I'm sorry about last night, I didn't mean to cause more trouble between you and your friend. I hope you're okay.
King stared at the message, fingers tightening slightly on the phone.
Another buzz followed.
> If you're up for it… Maybe we could meet later? I'd like to talk in person.
King hesitated for a moment, reading the messages again.
Win wasn't around.
For three days, King could breathe without watching every step. Without walking on eggshells. And maybe… he needed that break. This is a reminder that he could still make his own choices.
So, he typed back.
> Yeah. We can meet. Just let me know the time. Just like that, their plans were set.
King didn't overthink it. He didn't second-guess.
For once, he decided to just do what he wanted, only to end up inviting more trouble than he ever expected.