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Side by side in the dim-lit room, Theerakit and Peachayarat savored the silence. Only the steady rise and fall of their breaths filled the space between them. Theerakit’s arm rested loosely around Peachayarat’s smaller frame, while Peachayarat’s fingers wandered absently across the man’s bare chest.
Neither of them spoke.
Neither of them wanted to.
Moments like this were rare—moments where nothing was demanded, where presence alone was enough.
Peachayarat’s touch slowed when his fingers reached the black ink that masked Theerakit’s natural skin tone. His attention lingered on the tattoo: a wolf’s head, bold and commanding, stretching from chest to shoulder. No matter how many times he had seen it, it still left him in quiet awe.
Compared to this, his own tattoo felt almost trivial—not because he regretted it, nor because he felt lesser, but simply because of scale. He had admitted once that he would never get another tattoo. The pain of the first had been enough. Thinking of what Theerakit must have endured for something this large, this permanent, made his chest tighten. He couldn’t imagine the countless punctures, the hours of pain, the resolve it must have taken.
His fingertip traced the wolf’s eye.
Curiosity stirred—soft, hesitant, long restrained.
Long before they had become official, Theerakit had asked about the story behind Peachayarat’s tattoo without hesitation. Peachayarat, however, had never been that brave. He avoided questions that might cross invisible lines. Some stories were sacred. Some scars were not meant to be touched without permission.
Nearly a year had passed since they’d met, yet he still found himself unsure at times—still learning where his place was.
But tonight, curiosity outweighed caution.
“What’s the story behind this?” he whispered.
His voice was gentle. Curious. Never demanding.
Theerakit’s breath caught—just for a moment. Long enough for Peachayarat to regret speaking. He drew in a breath, ready to apologize, but Theerakit spoke first.
“It’s not as interesting as yours,” he said quietly. “But I’ll tell you—if you really want to know, my love.”
Peachayarat lifted his head and smiled, soft and reassuring. Theerakit’s arm tightened slightly, his hand moving to stroke slow, comforting circles along Peachayarat’s back. Peachayarat leaned closer without thinking.
“Why wouldn’t I want to know, Kian?” he murmured. “Your story matters to me too.”
That earned him a smile—the kind that never failed to undo him. The one Theerakit reserved only for him.
“Like I told you before,” Theerakit said, “it’s a duty. A requirement.”
Peachayarat rested his head against Theerakit’s chest, listening to the steady rhythm beneath his ear.
“It’s the Arseni signature,” Theerakit continued. “Proof that I belong. That I always will. Family comes before anything else.”
“When we finish our formal education and officially enter the business, we choose how to show our loyalty. A mark—something permanent. Some choose rings. Some choose pendants.” He paused, almost amused. “I chose pain. A tattoo can’t be taken off so easily.”
Peachayarat said nothing, quietly urging him on.
“As the firstborn, I always knew my responsibilities would be heavier. My father made sure I understood every choice, every consequence. He believes I’ll take his place someday.” Theerakit’s voice softened. “This tattoo is a reminder of that.”
Peachayarat lifted his head slightly. “Why a wolf?”
Theerakit huffed a soft laugh.
“Loyalty. Courage. Protection.” His fingers brushed Peachayarat’s arm. “I wanted to devote myself to the people who stand by me.”
Peachayarat tried to understand. Family, in that sense, was foreign to him. He had only ever had Phlub, and their loyalty needed no proof—no vows carved into skin. But he didn’t judge. Everyone carried love differently.
As his gaze returned to the tattoo, he noticed something new—something subtle. Faint ridges beneath the ink. Hidden beneath the wolf’s form.
“There’s something here,” he said softly.
Theerakit inhaled deeply. Peachayarat immediately tensed.
“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “You don’t have to explain if—”
“It’s alright,” Theerakit reassured him. “You only noticed because it doesn’t always show.”
“I don’t mean to intrude.”
“You’re not.” Theerakit chuckled quietly. “Never you.”
Peachayarat relaxed as Theerakit squeezed him gently.
“It’s a scar,” Theerakit said. “From a business deal gone wrong. I was young. Too confident.”
Peachayarat swallowed, staying silent.
“I had just started learning the business. My parents were abroad. Then I got word of something urgent. Curiosity got the better of me, so I had an informant drive me to the office.”
He paused.
“A man claiming to be one of my father’s partners demanded to see him. Said everything was at risk. He grew erratic… then pulled a gun.” Theerakit’s voice was steady, but Peachayarat felt the weight beneath it. “The bullet missed anything vital by pure luck. I needed surgery. I was unconscious for almost a week.”
Peachayarat’s breath stilled.
“When I woke up, my mother wouldn’t stop crying. My father tried to be strong for her. Rome looked like he hadn’t slept in days.” Theerakit exhaled slowly. “The man had once been Dad’s partner. Lost everything after getting caught cheating. Instead of taking responsibility, he blamed my father. I walked straight into his revenge.”
Silence settled between them.
“Seeing my mother like that…” Theerakit continued, quieter now. “I needed something permanent. Something to remind me never to be that reckless again.” A faint smile touched his lips. “And I hadn’t chosen my family mark yet. So I thought—why not make it serve both purposes?”
Peachayarat couldn’t speak.
He had always known danger existed around Theerakit—but knowing and imagining were two different things. Theerakit had been so young. Too young.
“Does it still hurt?” Peachayarat asked at last.
“No,” Theerakit said softly. “Not unless I remember.”
But the reassurance did nothing to calm the storm rising in Peachayarat’s chest.
What if it happens again?
What if next time he isn’t lucky?
“Aren’t you scared it could happen again?” The words escaped before he could stop them.
Theerakit didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he shifted them into a sitting position, face to face. His warm hands cupped Peachayarat’s cheeks, lifting his face gently.
Only then did Peachayarat realize he was crying.
Theerakit wiped the tears away with his thumbs.
“Peachayarat,” he whispered. “Why are you crying?”
The sob broke free before Peachayarat could respond.
“Peach—hey, Peach,” Theerakit murmured, panic threading his voice.
He pulled Peachayarat into his arms, holding him tightly, letting him cry until the sobs softened into shuddering breaths.
When Peachayarat finally spoke, his voice was hoarse.
“I can’t imagine it, Kian. I don’t want to imagine you getting hurt again.” He pressed his face into Theerakit’s shoulder. “I don’t want something bad to happen to you.”
Theerakit’s chest tightened—not with fear, but with warmth.
“I’m not that reckless boy anymore,” he said quietly. “I’ll protect us. Our family.”
He held Peachayarat closer.
“There’s no world where I leave you,” he murmured. “I’ll survive this life to stay by your side.”
Peachayarat pulled back just enough to look at him. “Promise me.”
“I promise,” Theerakit said without hesitation. “That’s what this tattoo stands for. Loyalty. Courage. Protection.” His forehead rested against Peachayarat’s. “And you, Peach—you are my family too.”
Peachayarat closed his eyes and leaned into the embrace, listening to the heartbeat beneath his ear. Steady. Alive.
Whatever came their way, they would face it together—
through darkness and danger,
through scars and devotion,
through every promise carved and
embedded in black.