Page 28

The monthly dinner at the Kim estate passes like it always does—chef's tasting menu in crystal and silver, familiar arguments bouncing off marble walls.

Usually, Dennis excels at mentally checking out during these performances, but tonight his mind wanders somewhere new, for entirely different reasons:

What's Chris doing with his free evening?

Dennis kinda, sorta, maybe misses Chris. Purely out of habit, of course.

But… Does Chris miss Dennis? At all? Even a little bit?

Dennis wants to scroll through their old messages, hunting for proof that Chris thinks about him too, but...

Maybe Chris is grateful for the break?

They do spend most hours together which must be boring for him, mustn't it?

Dennis sighs, chin propped in his palm while he pushes perfectly seared scallops around his plate, creating abstract patterns in the saffron sauce as his father's voice rises about sustainable materials driving up costs and his mother’s pierces through it, declaring that innovation requires investment.

It's just one dinner each month and a few hours apart, but Dennis’s thoughts keep drifting to Chris's apartment.

To comfortable silences, to the warmth of Chris's chest against his back, to shared takeout containers and terrible jokes.

When dinner ends, Dennis is in high spirits.

Finally! He can't wait to get out of here.

As he shrugs into his jacket, one foot already out the door, his mother suggests he stay the night.

"It would be so lovely to have breakfast together as a family, wouldn't it?" She links her arm through her husband's, smiling up at him with a warmth that contradicts their dinner table hostilities.

His father makes no move to pull away, shoulders loosening as he nods curtly. "You're never around these days."

Dennis’s heart sinks. He'd been hoping to slip away early, maybe end up at Chris's place—his favorite escape. The massive estate suddenly feels suffocating compared to Chris's worn-in space.

Compared to anywhere with Chris in it.

Fresh from the shower, Dennis sprawls across the queen-sized bed in his suite at the estate.

The room feels like an upscale hotel—all cloud-soft Egyptian cotton and memory foam.

Too large, too empty, and definitely lacking one specific site manager.

His phone buzzes and he snatches it up, perhaps too quickly.

All good princess? Need a getaway driver? ;)

Dennis’s lips curve up before he can stop them. He types fast, unreasonably happy to finally get to talk to Chris.

Trapped for the night :(

The response appears instantly, like Chris has been waiting with his thumbs hovering over the keyboard:

Booooo! :( :( :( Oh well. Enjoy that fancy bed while you can

Dennis smiles a sad little smile to himself. He’d rather not, honestly.

He types out his next message with the first thing that comes to his head and hits ‘send’ without a second thought.

Don't wanna :( I love waking up stiff as fuck with my back killing me :(

Bzzz.

That's not from the mattress though ;)

Dennis snorts into the silk duvet, burrowing deeper as the air conditioning chills his skin.

What he wouldn't give to trade this thousand-thread-count nonsense for nothing but Chris's body heat against his back.

It’s too quiet here :( his thumbs spell out on their own.

Dennis’s heart feels just a little fuller with every new message from Chris that comes in fast:

Aww, does someone miss my company? :)

Dennis rolls his eyes but can't fight his growing smile.

Eww don't miss your cooties maybe

Bzzz.

Baby, my cooties have COLON ized you. They got their own zip code in that ass

Bzzz.

See what I did there? :D

Now Dennis is laughing. Why is Chris so stupid? There's a stupid lump in his throat. Dennis misses Chris's stupid. Maybe because Dennis is stupid. Everything's stupid.

Before he can think better of it, Dennis hits call.

The phone barely manages half a ring before it’s picked up.

"Hey princess," Chris's voice, low and heavy with the day’s end, fills his ear, effortlessly seductive. "Knew you couldn't keep your hands off me."

Dennis’s organs turn liquid at Chris's voice. All the tension from dinner melts away—his lined brow smoothing out, shoulders dropping.

"We're on the phone, dumbass," Dennis says as flatly as he can.

"Yeah, but you're thinking about my cooties, you loooove my cooties.”

Then Dennis is really laughing, bright and clear, trying to muffle it into his pillow even though the walls are soundproof.

Chris snickers on the other end, way too pleased about getting Dennis to break character.

"What are you doing?" Dennis asks, smile so wide his eyes crinkle at the corners.

Just hearing Chris's voice makes everything feel lighter. Better.

"Just missing you," Chris says, and Dennis’s heart grows wings and soars. "What are you wearing?"

That has both of them sniggering because boys will be boys.

“Why are you such a pervert?” Dennis groans, but fondly.

“Why are you so goddamn fuckable?” Comes straight back.

" Chriiiis ," Dennis sighs, rolling his eyes, but his fingers play with the edge of the duvet, wishing they were running through Chris's hair instead.

"Sorry, sweetness,” says Chris, not sounding very sorry at all.

"Don't call me that."

“Okay, honey. Better?”

"Yeaaah..." Dennis drawls, like he's settling for second-best but can't be bothered to argue.

They dissolve into fresh laughter, losing it until Chris gasps out, "Fuck, I can't breathe—"

"Serves you right," Dennis manages between wheezes.

"My six-pack's turning into a twelve-pack from laughing at your dumb ass."

"Your fat ego's the only thing that needs a workout," Dennis snorts, face buried in his pillow.

They talk about nothing and laugh about everything.

The conversation flows easily.

Dennis can't believe how natural it feels, this back-and-forth. Maybe they started out a little lame and cringey, but… are they actually flirting ?

Although Dennis badly wants to see Chris, touch Chris—neither suggests anything more intimate. No video calls or racy pictures.

Maybe because Dennis feels strange doing such things in this room that's never felt like his.

Maybe, he hopes, because Chris prefers having him in person.

Every time there’s a pause, or Chris takes a deep breath, or says "Well..." Dennis tenses, waiting for the goodnight that never comes.

Instead, Chris launches into another story, another question, another stupid joke that shouldn't make Dennis smile this much.

The minutes turn into hours, then their voices grow softer, slower. Until Dennis is yawning, then slurring, then finally falling asleep to Chris's low laughter, phone dying under his cheek sometime before dawn.