SWEET

CHAPTER 18

The sunlight was soft, spilling through the curtains, but it didn’t reach Vegas’ eyes.

He was sitting at the edge of the bed, staring at the floor, hands wrapped around a mug of coffee he hadn’t really touched.

His hair was damp, still smelling faintly of the shower, but he wasn’t really awake.

Porchay was in the kitchen, carefully making breakfast, trying to act normal.

He hummed softly, though the tune kept breaking mid-note, betraying his nerves.

Kim was sitted on the counter, silently watching both of them, arms folded, a faint crease on his brow.

Vegas finally stirred. He noticed the smell of eggs and toast, and for a moment, his lips curved into a small smile. But it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Morning,” Kim said quietly. “Slept well?”

Vegas shrugged, looking anywhere but them. “Yeah.” His voice was low, even. Too controlled. Porchay caught it and flinched.

Kim’s gaze softened but didn’t move from Vegas. He knew exactly what was behind that calm tone—the part of Vegas still shaking inside, he was pretending he was fine.

Porchay set a plate in front of him, trying to force cheer into his voice. “Eat something. You need strength.”

Vegas nodded but didn’t touch the food.

Instead, he finally looked up, meeting Kim’s eyes for the first time that morning.

His expression was quiet, but in it was a flicker—maybe gratitude, maybe fear, maybe something else entirely.

Kim didn’t smile. He just tilted his head, letting Vegas feel the concern behind it.

Then he reached out, lightly brushing a stray hair from Vegas’ forehead. Vegas flinched slightly but didn’t pull away.

Porchay cleared his throat. “He… he’s not mad, right?”

Kim’s gaze sharpened. “No. He’s worried. Like I am.” His voice was calm, but there was steel under it. “And you should be too, Chay. Don’t pretend everything’s fine. I see through it.”

Porchay swallowed, unsure if he wanted to argue or just enjoy the comfort of Kim’s presence. Vegas shifted, finally picking up his fork, eating slowly, almost absentmindedly.

Kim leaned back, still watching him. Vegas finally sighed, almost imperceptibly. “I hate feeling like this,” he murmured.

Kim’s expression softened, and he finally allowed a small smile. “You don’t have to feel like anything alone. We’re here.”

Porchay’s chest tightened. That simple sentence carried weight. It wasn’t just words. It was a promise.

Vegas looked down at his plate, and for the first time that morning, he felt a little of the tension release. Not gone, but… eased.

Kim reached over and covered Vegas’ hand with his own. Vegas didn’t pull away.

Porchay, noticing the gesture, felt a warmth spread through him. It was quiet, domestic, safe but fragile.

And as the morning stretched, filled with the clinks of plates and quiet murmurs, the three of them simply existed together.

For now, that was enough.

Vegas leaned against the kitchen counter, absentmindedly stirring his coffee while watching Kim and Porchay move around the kitchen like a perfectly synchronized team.