Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The morning light slipped through the heavy curtains in soft golden streaks, warming the room and tangled skin and sheets.

Mok came awake first, lashes fluttering open. Rome’s arm was still slung heavy around his waist, their legs knotted together. His warm steady breathing brushed the back of Mok’s neck.

Mok blinked slowly, disoriented.

But then, the memory rushed in.

Skin on skin, low moans, heavy breathing, Rome’s mouth everywhere. Heat flooded his face immediately and he turned his head towards the man behind him.

Then he realized that he was completely naked under the sheet, pressed against Rome’s equally bare body. He tensed then, heat flushing his entire body.

Slowly, carefully, he tried to slide out from under Rome’s arm.

Rome’s grip tightened instantly, caging him. His rough, sleepy voice spoke then, murmuring against his ear. “Morning, my beautiful.”

Mok froze, breath hitching. “Morning…” He managed, voice nervous.

Rome nuzzled closer, lips brushing the shell of Mok’s ear. “You smell like me now.” He mumbled.

Mok’s heart slammed against his throat. He tried tugging again, harder this time, trying to reach the edge of the bed. The sheet slipped dangerously low on his hips.

Rome cracked one eye open, and smiled, amused. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I— uhm… nowhere. Just… need air.” Mok said, voice cracked. He yanked the sheet higher, covering himself to the chin, then started crawling backward towards the headboard.

Rome lazilily propped himself on one elbow, dark eyes narrowed but teasing. “Mok...”

Mok kept moving, knees bending to his chest, burrowing deeper under the covers, hoping he could disappear.

Rome watched him with fascinated eyes. Then he sighed a moment later, the sound dramatic.

In one smooth motion he caught Mok’s ankle and dragged him back down the mattress with a raw display of strength.

Mok yelped, grip tightening on the sheet.

Rome rolled on top of him, pinning him flat with his heavy frame, their bare chests pressing together.

“Stop running from me...” Rome said quietly.

“…”

Rome waited for a denial, a clapback.

Nothing came. Just Mok’s honest, unshielded eyes avoiding his.

Sighing again, Rome's gaze dropped then, sensually, deliberately. “It was dark last night. I didn’t really get to see you.”

Mok’s breath hitched. “Rome—”

He hooked two fingers under the edge of the sheet and tugged it down in one slow pull.

Mok squeezed his eyes shut. “Don’t.”

But Rome was already looking.

The broad shoulders. The thick arms corded with muscle and veins. The flat, hard planes of his stomach.

And the scars— some faint, some fresh. A bruise here, a slash there, crisscrossing on his ribs, his side, with one one long jagged one curving over his left bicep.

Rome’s fingers traced the longest scar first. “This one?”

Mok swallowed hard and his breathing became uneven. “It was a knife. Three years ago. I was protecting your brother during an ambush.”

Rome’s thumb brushed over the bruise, his touch soothing, reverent. “And this?” Lower, along his ribs.

“Bullet graze. I told you about it.”

“Hmmm…” Rome leaned down, breath hot against his skin. “I remember…”

Mok tensed, waiting, anticipating.

Rome lips brushed to the scar on Mok’s ribs— soft, lingering, worshiping. Mok stiffened, a small helpless sound escaping.

“Strong… so strong.” Rome murmured against his skin. “My bodyguard.”

Then another kiss came, this one slower, open-mouthed, tracing each insecurity.  

Mok’s fingers curled into the sheets, heart fluttering and stuttering.

Rome moved to the small, faded slash over his heart. “Beautiful…” He whispered, then kissed it.

“Beautiful.” Another scar on his shoulder.

“Beautiful…”

Each kiss was tender, deliberate. Purposeful.

It made Mok hot and bothered, but it also made him feel desired, seen.

Mok squirmed under him, his thighs trembling uncontrollably. His cock was already hardening, trapped between their pressed bodies.

Rome lifted his head just enough to meet Mok’s glassy eyes. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Mok.”

Then their lips crashed together.

The kiss was deep, hungry. With tongues sliding effortlessly, with Rome sucking on Mok’s bottom lip until he whimpered.

Mok’s hands finally moved— gripping Rome’s shoulders, before sliding into his hair.

Rome shifted, spreading Mok’s thighs apart with his knees. Then settled between them, heavy and hard. Mok’s legs fell open wider almost on instinct.

Rome broke the kiss long enough to spit into his palm. He slicked himself with slow strokes, eyes locking on Mok’s face, his raw, waiting reaction. Then he guided his length down, rubbing the blunt head of his cock against Mok’s rim in teasing circles, pressing just enough to make Mok gasp, eyes rolling.

“Rome—” Mok said weakly. “The wedding…”

“I’ll be fast…” Rome rasped, eyes lowering to what he was doing, still teasing that puckering hole.

Then his head lifted, and he kissed Mok again— hot, claiming, possessive. The tip breached, stretching that tight ring of muscle.

Mok’s shaking fingers dug into Rome’s back. And a low whine tore in his throat.

Then a sharp knock sounded on the door in the other room.

Mok’s heart lurched.

He shoved Rome’s off him, harder than he intended.

Rome grunted, caught off guard by Mok’s strength.

Mok scrambled out off the bed and moved towards the curtains, snatching and hiding behind it, pressing himself against the wall.

Rome heart turned mush at how impossibly, unbearably, adorable Mok’s action was.

He laughed, the sound low and fond, before rolling off the mattress. He padded over, still half-hard, clearly unbothered by the persistent knocking.

He tugged the curtain gently, until Mok’s flushed face peeked out.

“No one comes in here without my word…” Rome said gently. “You’re safe with me.”

Another knock came in— this one louder.

Mok’s eyes were frightened. “Romeee, get rid of them. Please.”

Rome couldn't stop smiling. “One kiss first.”

Mok stared at him in disbelief.

Rome grinned, pressing closer

Another knock.

“Rome—”

Rome didn't budge. He just leaned in, lips puckered.

Mok studied him, heart unsteady in his chest. He hesitated, only a second, before surging forward, pressing their mouths together— quick, desperate but wanting all the same.

Rome tried to deepen it, tongue seeking.

But Mok didn't allow. He pushed his chest. “Romeee.”

Rome smiled against his lips. “Okay… i’ll go. Get back in bed and wait for me…” Then he leaned against his ear, voice dropping. “When I get back, I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to think about anything else during that fucking wedding.”

A visible shiver ran through Mok. He swallowed nervously.

Rome’s gaze swept over him, noticing the flush on his skin. His smile widened, turning wicked.

Pulling away, he grabbed his silk robe and pajamas from where it was abandoned on the floor, shrugged it on, and went out of the room.

At the door, he opened it.

Stood there was his father’s right hand— stiff and imposing— along with three guards.

“Khun Kritdanai. Your father requests your presence immediately.”

Rome’s jaw ticked. “That's why you were banging on my door this early?”

“My apologies. But he insisted…”

Rome’s gaze didn't soften. “Fine. You can go.”

The man did not move. “I… have been ordered to wait here until you leave with me.” His gaze flicked past Rome into the room. “And the guards are to remain here… to ensure Mok does not leave these quarters.”

Rome went still.

For a heartbeat, silence hung, heavy and tense.

He knew…

Of course, he knew.

Rome’s hand tightened on the doorframe, sudden anger crossing his features. Without a word, he slammed the door shut so hard the frame rattled.

Then he turned, trying to swallow the uncertainty growing in his chest.

This was inevitable— had always been— he told himself.

He wasn't going to hide his love for Mok. He couldn't even if he dared.

Clenching his jaw, returning to his composed state, he returned to the room.

Mok was exactly where he’d left him— still half-hidden in the curtain, the fabric clutched against his chest, body rigid.

Rome went to him, his steps slow, careful.

Mok’s caught the shift in his demeanor. “What’s wrong?” His voice was a nervous whisper.

Rome exhaled. “My father knows.”

Mok froze. His heart stopped, and his expression fell. He didn't say a word, just started moving, picking up his trousers from the rough heap on the floor.

“Mok—”

“I shouldn’t have come here…” He said, trying to stay calm, though his expression teteered towards panic. “I shouldn’t have—”

Rome caught his wrist, pulling his hand away. “Baby, don’t say that.”

“I should have stayed away, Rome! I should have been happy with what we had… the calls, missing you.” Mok’s eyes filled quickly and a single tear slipped free. “Now I’ll— i’ll never see or hear from you again.”

Rome’s heart crushed. The sight of Mok’s tears, it made him sad and angry, all at once.

Reaching up, he wiped away the stray tear with his thumb.

Then without a word, he leaned in and kissed him— slow, tender, full of quiet promise. There was no heat this time, just two pair of soft lips, lingering and clinging to each other.

When he pulled away, he pressed his forehead against Mok’s, holding his gaze. “I would rather die than lose you.”

“Rome—”

Rome pressed a finger to his lips, shushing him. “I’m going to talk to him. I’m going to fix this, Mok. I promise...”

Then he kissed him again— quicker this time, but still as soft.

Then he turned. Mok watched him walk to the door, sill robe swirling.

Rome paused at the door frame.

“Wait for me…” He said quietly.

And then he was gone.

~~~

Rome shoved the heavy oak door of his father’s office open, barging in without permission, his movements hurried, rebellious.

His father was sat behind his wide mahogany desk, a cigar burning between his thick fingers, smoke curling in lazy spirals towards the ceiling.

The older man looked up at the noise, eyes flashing momentarily, before letting out a low, amused chuckle. “I thought you’d parted ways with your senses…” He said, voice cold. “But it seems you’ve lost your mind entirely.”

Rome stood rigid, eyes as sharp as daggers. “What is this?”

His father tilted his head, studying him. Then he took a slow drag of his cigar. “You’ll have to be more specific, son.”

“You know what i’m talking about…”

“I know you're not supposed to be here. You weren't invited to the wedding for very. obvious. reasons. Why are you here?.” Vassili’s voice cut like a knife.

Rome heard the rest in the words he didn’t say. Silence swallowed the room.

“I sent you away to protect you, to protect him.” The older man continued. “And you came back here, to throw it all away.”

Rome didn't say a word. He just stood there, chest heaving, icy glare piercing a hole in his father

Vassili exhaled then, leaning back in his seat, studying his son like a puzzle piece that could never seem to fit right. “You think I’m a fool?” He asked then. “You think I don’t know what goes on under my own roof?”

“I’m not hiding it…” Rome said coldly. “I love him.”

“That—” His father snapped, the word cracking like a whip. “Is a flaw.”

He took another long drag, exhaling smoke in a long, tired stream, the fire in his eyes dimming to one of exhaustion. “What kind of children have I raised? Disobedient and daring? So fucking reckless?”

“No, father…” Rome said quietly. “Fearless. You raised us to not be afraid.” He said without flinching.

The moment held still. And for a heartbeat, the the master seemed to consider his words.

The cigar seemed glowed brighter as he drew on it again. “That was my mistake then.”

The room dropped into dead silence.

And so did Rome’s heart.

When the master spoke again, his voice was clipped, final.“Thee’s wedding proceeds as planned. There will be no interruptions!” He cut Rome a warning glare. “After that, I’ll find a suitable match to wed you. Mok will be sent to one of the family’s distant operations— somewhere far away. He’ll spend the rest of his life there.”

Rome opened his mouth. “Fath—”

The man raised a hand, silencing him. “He’s only still breathing because he’s family, Rome. That’s the only reason this betrayal hasn’t cost him his life. Don’t test me further.”

He returned the cigar to his lips and turned his attention to the papers on the desk— an act Rome knew too well.

He was being dismissed.

Rome didn't say anything. He just left without another word.

~~~

When he returned to the room, he quickly dismissed the guards.

Inside, Mok was still there— now fully dressed in his clothes, pacing the expanse of the room like a trapped thing.

The moment he looked up, and their eyes met, Mok froze.

“What did he say?” He rushed forward.

Rome forced his face to look calm. “We talked. It was… promising.”

Mok pupils were wide with disbelief at first, carefully studying Rome.

When he didn't see a crack, his shoulders sagged with an almost overwhelming relief, and the unease his his voice wore away. “Really?” He asked, voice barely there.

“Yes.”

Mok smiled then, a beautiful, heartbreaking thing. He cupped Rome’s face, and pressed their lips together— fierce, desperate, pouring everything he couldn’t say into the kiss.

Rome kissed him back with the same fervent urgency, taking all Mok gave him, and then some.

When they broke apart, he pulled Mok against his chest, arms locking tight around, lips brushing his hair.

“Beautiful…” He murmured, the word cracked open and raw. “So beautiful…”

Mok laughed softly— shaky, relieved— and tilted his head to catch Rome’s mouth again. “I love you, Rome.” He murmured against his lips.

“I love you, Mok.” Rome responded, voice low and certain.

Mok smiled against his lips. But then his eyes darkened. “What about Thee?” He asked like he already knew the answer.

Rome shook his head, expression mirroring Mok’s now.

Mok sighed into him, defeated. There they stood for a while— not saying anything, just holding each other, because in that moment it was absolutely needed.

Eventually, Mok started to pull away. “I have to get ready. The wedding… I’ll see you there, okay?”

Rome didn’t let him.

He cupped his face and kissed him again— slower this time, softer, each brush of lips reverent, memorizing.

Mok indulged him for a long heartbeat, kissing back just as passionately, before gently disentangling himself, pressing two or three soft kiss to the corner of Rome’s mouth.

Then with a last, slow brush of fingers, he slipped of out the room.

The room became quiet then.

Rome stood there a moment, staring at the empty space where Mok had been.

Then he crossed to the bed, sank onto the edge, and buried both hands in his hair, fingers clawing tight against his scalp, lost and confused.

Feeling completely helpless.

~~~

The grand hall smelled of incense and fresh lilies, the kind of scent that clung to old money and stale tradition.

Sunlight filtered through tall windows, painting the aisle with an elegant wash of gold.

The Shohei family was sat on the right side of the aisle while the left side was occupied by the Arsenis and it's allegiances.

In a matter of minutes, the two families would become allied as one, through sacred marriage bonds, securing the future of both their heirs.

At the altar, Touch stood motionless in tailored black suit, shoulders squared, expression lacking anything that wasn't dutiful.

Tawan, his best man, stood behind him, face blank except for the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Mok took his place as Arseni security detail, positioning himself at the top of the right balcony railing, glasses sparkling, earpiece droning, eyes scanning every face below.

Outside the heavy double doors, Thee leaned against the cool stone wall, suit jacket unbuttoned, face pale and sweating, as though waiting to match to his execution.

This didn't seem too far off.

Rome stood beside him, hands shoved deep in his pockets, staring at him with concern.

Thee noticed. “Don’t look at me like that.” His voice came out shaking, despite his attempts to keep steady. “I’ll be fine… Worse things have happened to me.”

Rome smiled softly, eyes warming. “Yeah. Worse things.” He said, voice blank.

Thee gave him a suspicious look. “Don’t do anything crazy, Rome. I'll fucking kill you.”

Rome lips parted to speak.

But just then, the ceremonial organ swelled inside— almost like a death bell— cutting him short.

Thee stiffened, skin paling further.

Rome’s heart broke.

But he didn't say anything.

Thee took a long breath and straightened his jacket, squaring his shoulders.

Pushing off the wall, he opened the door and walked through them, Rome following two steps behind, shadow to shadow.

Inside, the seats were packed shoulder-to-shoulder with silent power.

There were no phones, no cheers, no pleasant coos. Just silent whisper, impassive stares and the rustle of silk brushing wood.

Nothing about the occasion seemed joyous.

When Thee stepped onto the altar, a dreadful quiet settled.

The priest’s voice cane moments after, calm and practiced, echoing in the hush of the halls. “Dearly beloved…”

The elderly man droned on about blessings, vows and promises.

But Rome didn't hear a thing. His pulse hammered behind his ears, and his heart pounding inside his chest.

As if on instinct, he looked up, and found Mok’s gaze on him.

Mok, high on the railing, couldn't seem to focus. His sadness was still there for Thee. It always would.

But the warmth, the promise that followed was only for Rome.

And for a long moment, he let himself imagine— that maybe, one day— this could be him and Rome, stood across each other on the alter.

He smiled then, a small, private thing lighting up his entire face— the entire room in Rome’s eyes.

Rome returned his smile— small, trembling— wishing it could only be like this forever, losing himself in Mok’s beautiful smile.

Reluctantly— almost painfully so— he returned his gaze to what was in front of him.

The words came, inevitable.

“If any person present knows of any lawful reason, why these two should not be joined in Holy matrimony, let them now speak, or else hereafter forever hold their peace.”

For a moment it was silence.

Expectant, waiting in its inevitably.

Predictably, Rome’s voice cut through it, low and clear. “I object.”

The crowd turned to him, not surprised.

Mok’s heart lurched in fear.

Thee turned so fast his cufflink caught the light. His eyes— wide, slightly annoyed— locked on Rome’s. “Rome—”

Their Father rose from the front, his expression one of supresed anger, like a storm gathering. “Continue, Father! Ignore him.” His voice was ice cold.

He lifted a hand. Two guards started moving forwards towards the altar.

No one expected what came next.

Rome’s next breath was steady. Almost calm.

He drew the Glock from inside his jacket in one smooth motion, aimed it, and pulled the trigger.

The shot was deafening in the sacred hush.

Touch’s head snapped back from the impact. A jagged red hole appeared above his left eyebrow. His body dropped back with a deafening thud, landing on Tawan with the force.

A disbelieving gasp ripped through the chapel. Then came the screams. Loud and panicked.

Touch’s mother’s wail rose first, the sound high and animal. “TOUCHHHHHH!!!!!!”

He father roared instantly, pointing at the alter. “KILL THEMMMM!!!”

Gunfire came from the Shohei side— wild, and immediate.

Rome shoved Thee down hard. Thee hit the floor with a loud grunt. Rome stood over him for a second, eyes wide and blazing, before the bullets hit him. He jerked once, twice— his chest, his shoulder, his side— before he dropped.

Mok was already running.

He didn’t remember jumping over the railing, didn’t register the drop. He knew he landed hard, but he couldn't feel a thing. He just started firing, each shot precise, merciless, clearing a path to Rome.

The Arseni guns answered back and bodies after bodies dropped on both sides.

The Master ducked behind an overturned chair, face pale with fright, reality dawning on him.

The shooting stopped as suddenly as it began— people dead, groaning or just bleeding out.

It was quiet chaos.

Mok sprinted through the smoke and over the lifeless beings.

There he found him.

Rome.

He was frantically breathing, laying on Thee’s knees, his trembling fingers cradling his head, sobbing brokenly. His suit soaked up all of his brother’s blood.

Mok dropped to his knees beside them.

“Rome, no—” He croaked.

His hands shook as he cupped Rome’s face. Blood smeared across Rome’s cheek, warm and slick.

“Rome— God…. what did you do?” Mok’s cried, fat tears already streaming down his face. “WHAT DID YOU DO?!”

Rome’s eyes fluttered.

One weak, bloodied hand lifted, gently brushing Mok’s cheek, before finding the crooked glasses that had somehow stayed on through everything. He tried to straighten them with clumsy fingers.

Mok’s tears fell past them, landing on Rome’s face.

It didn't bother Rome, no.

Instead, he thought it was beautiful, as was everything that came with Mok. So he echoed the thought.

“Beautif…” Rome whispered. Or tried to.

But the word died on his lips, a ghost of a thing. His hand fell and his breathing stilled.

Mok stared.

“Rome?”

Nothing.

“Rome— wake up.” Mok’s voice rose, thin, shaking and desperate. “Please, no you can’t do this to me.”

Nothing.

“Rome— Wake up.”

Rome didn’t.

He was gone.

Mok’s gaze jerked to Thee, breaths frantic.

Thee was rocking slightly, moaning low in his throat, tears carving faint tracks through the blood stains on his cheek.

Reality hit hard like a second bullet.

Mok didn't even realize when he broke.

A raw, tearing scream ripped out of him, beyond agonizing, echoing off the walls in the sealed halls.

A certain kind of madness over came him.

Mok didn't remember much after that.

Around them, the few survivors hide behind the chair, silk dresses and pressed suits soaked with crimson, torn and ruined.

The master stared up at the alter with wide, maddened eyes.

The priest lay crumpled behind the platform, shaking hands still folded in prayer.

Mok kept screaming, surrounded by the dead, until his voice gave out and only sobs remained— great, heaving, animal sounds that everyone was too frightened to try to stop.

The mansion was never the same after that.

The Arseni’s were never the same after that.

~~~

After Rome’s death, the fallout was beyond tragic.

No one from the Shohei family made it out of the shootout alive.

And as the other powerful families weren’t strong enough to take revenge— they just turned away completely, breaking off and refusing any form of alliance with the Arseni family.

Even the mention of the Arseni name was forbidden in their inner circles.

They were exiled.

Within the family, things were somehow even worse.

Thee rightfully blamed his father for the death of Rome.

Refusing to let his brother die for nothing, he exiled himself from the family and left to find Peach, and some semblance of peace with his own guilt.

His father, terrified of losing his only remaining heir, allowed him.

And Mok?

Mok cried every single day.

He was crushed in ways words couldn't even describe. In ways time never seemed to wear away.

He cried, and cried, until he didnt have any tears left to.

Eventually he left too— not just the Arseni mansion but the entire world of violence behind.

He couldn't stand to look at a gun without breaking, without thinking of Rome.

So he put that life behind him.

He started gardening and not long after, he became a florist.

And every weekend he would bring flowers to Rome’s grave.

But today— today was special.

It was Valentine’s Day.

So he brought blue roses.

He wasn’t sure why, but he had a feeling that Rome might have loved them. He always loved the color blue.

Mok walked through the cemetery gates with the bouquet clutched tight against his chest, his usual foldable chair in the other hand.

When he arrived at Rome’s grave, he took away the wilted lily’s he'd brought last week. The roses took its place, Mok’s gentle fingers arranging them so they leaned just right against the stone.

Afterwards, he carefully brushed his fingers against the tombstone, the closest he could get to touching Rome now.

Then he stepped back, and unfolded his little chair— the same one he’d been using for two years now— before slowly settling down on it.

He let a moment of silence hang first, before speaking, his voice quiet, emotions welling.

“Hey, my love…. Did you miss me? Because I missed you alot.”

“…”

Mok swallowed back tears. “I uhm… I brought you these. They're blue ones. I thought… maybe you’d like them. It's Valentine’s day and I wanted to do something a little different… They’re kinda rare. Like you were.”

Silence was his only answer.

Mok stared at the gravestone then, at the too-short years carved there.

Twenty-five. That was all Rome had gotten.

Rome had been too young. Too stupid.

Resentment curled up in his chest, bitter and unforgiving in its heaviness.

But as he stared at the gravestone, it dissolved just as quick, into sorrow.

He could never stay angry too long.

It wasn’t fair to keep being angry at someone who would never be able to sooth him, or answer him back.

Mok wiped his nose with the back of his sleeve, and leaned back in his chair.

For the next hour he spoke to him— to Rome, about life, about the nice meal he’d made earlier, about the sweet old customer who came in to order flowers for his husband of so many years.

“It was sweet…” Mok said then, smiling softly. “For a moment I pictured us like that… growing old together...” Hot tears pricked his eyes again. “But you’re not here. So who do I get to grow old with?” His voice broke.

“……”

There was nothing. Just everlasting silence.

He looked at the sky for a second, pushing back the tears, before staring back at the stone. But the tears slipped down anyways, uncontrollable, irreversible.

Mok didn’t bother wiping them away.

“I keep waiting for it to stop hurting, Rome. But It doesn’t. It just… sit here. A never ending ache in my chest.” He pressed the heel of his hand to his chest as if he could push the pain back inside. “Why’d you have to go? Why’d you leave me here alone? Who did you think I could be without you?”

“….”

He cried, dropping his head into his hands. And for a moment, he let himself mourn, until he couldn't anymore.

Looking up, he groaned aloud, beyond exhausted. “You know, I keep thinking— its like this voice in my head that keeps saying that maybe— just maybe, I should follow you.”

“….”

Mok continued. “I could just take something, lay down somewhere quiet and stop, you know. Then I could be with you. And I wouldn’t have to miss you every second. I wouldn’t have to wake up and remember you’re gone. I could just… be done.” He sighed heavily. “I really… I really don't know what i’m doing here anymore, Rome.”

He waited as always.

Only silence answered him back.

Mok sniffed hard. “But then I think about your teasing voice, your weird, oppressive ways that I love so much, and I think you'd just tell me i’m too beautiful for that..” His lips quivered— half laugh, half sob.

“I wish you were here, Rome…” Mok sobbed then, sniffing hard. “I wish you could call me beautiful again.”

Still nothing. Just the wind whistling.

Mok allowed himself to cry again, sounds spilling freely out of him like water from a broken spring.

He cried despondently, hopelessly, until he was too weak to continue, until the grief wrung him dry.

This was his life now— surrounded by color, yet somehow living in grey.

But then, something happened, something like a light at the end of an endless tunnel.

A butterfly— with yellow-and-blue patterns, floated down out of nowhere. It landed softly on his shoulder.

Mok lifted his head at the almost unfeeling contact.

And then he froze, staring at it like it was impossible, like might disappear if he blinked, like some miracle that would pass too quickly.

“Rome…?” He whispered, voice feeble. “Is that you?”

The wings opened.

Then closed. Then opened again.

Mok let out a shaky laugh that turned into a sob. But warmth grew in his chest. “Happy Valentine’s Day, baby…” He said, voice barely there. “I wish I’d atleast called you that once.”

It fluttered in answer and Mok’s eyes filled again. “I love you, Rome. I love you so much it still hurts to breathe sometimes.. I have so many regrets, Rome.” He confessed, the words broken.

“I wish I’d kissed you one more time. I wish we had one more night. One more morning... One more anything.” His voice faltered.

The butterfly stayed.

It didn’t fly away.

Mok reached up slowly and let his finger brush near it— just close enough to feel the tiny flutter.

“I’m trying…” He whispered, pulling away to wipe his face weakly. “I’m trying to keep going. But it’s so hard without you. It’s so hard.”

There was still no answer, no remedies.

Just this silent, fluttering companion.

And as much as it broke him, Mok was desperate enough to be content with it. He settled for this— this tiny miracle, this small relief.

So he took a beep breath, and sat back in his chair, just enjoying the quiet company.

He sat there until the sun dropped low and the air turned cold.

The butterfly stayed with him, and for the rest of the day, it was his only comfort.

When he finally stood to leave, it lifted off, circled his head once, before it disappeared into the trees.

Mok watched it, let out a heavy breath, before looking back at the grave one last time.

“I’ll come again next week…” He said. “With some daisys maybe. I know you liked those.”

He folded the chair, hugged it to his chest, and with a long, final yearning look, he turned and walked away.

The blue roses remained behind, bright against the gray stone, the only color left in his life.