Chapter Text
Only You in the Dark
Joong Archen’s hand was slick with sweat as he clutched the camera monitor, calling out the next shot to the assistant director. The sun was bleeding gold onto the actors’ skin, perfect for the final beach scene of his latest romance film. Everything was running on schedule. Perfect. Exactly how Joong liked it.
Until his phone rang.
It was his personal number, the one only six people had. His manager tried to wave it off. Joong didn’t notice. Some part of him, primal and shivering, knew it wasn’t a call he could ignore.
He stepped away from the set and pressed the phone to his ear.
“…Mr. Archen? This is Bangkok General. Your husband—Dunk Natachai—he’s been in an accident.”
Joong didn’t remember the rest of the call. The next memory that seared itself into his brain was the cold hospital corridor. The white floor under him. His feet were bare. Someone had asked where his shoes were. He didn’t know.
There was blood on his right foot. Glass, probably. He didn’t care.
He only remembered holding Dunk’s hand—cold, limp—and whispering, “Don’t you dare, baby. Don’t you dare leave me.”
Dunk stirred slightly. Joong rose from the hard plastic chair, closer.
“…Joong?” Dunk’s voice cracked, confused, soft.
“I’m here.” His grip tightened. “I’m here, love.”
“Hmm… I can’t see you.”
The words stabbed deeper than any blade.
.........................
Six Weeks Later
The mansion was no longer beautiful.
It was functional. Wide ramps replaced the elegant stairs. Joong had torn out the rugs Dunk used to like because the wheels of his custom chair couldn’t glide smoothly. Motion lights followed every room. The house smelled like eucalyptus and bleach. A team of therapists came three times a week.
But Joong? Joong never left Dunk’s side.
“Can you taste the tea?” he asked, sitting beside Dunk on the custom leather recliner he had designed specifically to cradle Dunk’s half-limp body.
Dunk sipped, then set it down, frustrated. “It’s too sweet. Stop making it like I’m still five.”
Joong smiled. “You liked sweet when you were five. It’s a tribute.”
“Fuck your tribute,” Dunk snapped. His hand trembled as he tried to pick up the cup again. It spilled a little. He bit his lip hard.
Joong immediately dabbed at his chest with a towel. “It’s okay. I’ll make another.”
Dunk slammed his hand down weakly. “Why are you still here?”
Joong froze.
“You could’ve run,” Dunk whispered. “I would’ve let you go.”
Joong got up, walked around the chair, and knelt beside him. His voice was low, firm. “You’re blind, not stupid. Don’t talk like that.”
“People said our marriage was fake. Just business.”
“It was.”
Silence.
Joong took Dunk’s trembling hand and brought it to his lips.
“It was fake,” Joong repeated. “But then you started leaving your books on my side of the bed. Wearing my shirts. Sleeping on my chest when you thought I wasn’t awake.”
Dunk’s lashes fluttered.
“I fell in love with you before I even knew what love was supposed to feel like,” Joong continued, his mouth pressing to each knuckle. “And now, even if you’re blind, even if you can’t walk, you’re still mine.”
Dunk turned his face away. “Joong…”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Joong whispered.
That night, Dunk’s screams woke the entire house. Alex and Celix’s room was across the east wing, but Joong still heard the broken sobbing echoing from there too. Celix, dunk beloved little brother, also got into the accident with dunk.
Joong rushed into their room—he didn’t sleep anywhere else these days—finding him tangled in sweat-soaked sheets, face pale, breath ragged.
“Nightmare?” Joong asked, brushing Dunk’s hair back.
Dunk reached blindly, fingers clinging to Joong’s shirt like a lifeline. “I thought I was alone.”
“You’ll never be alone again.”
Joong pulled Dunk into his arms, slowly, like they were made of spun sugar and fire both.
“I can’t feel my legs,” Dunk whimpered.
“I know, baby. I know.”
“But I can still feel you.”
Joong froze.
Dunk pressed his lips to Joong’s jaw, soft and shaky. “You haven’t kissed me in weeks.”
“You’ve been in pain.”
“I’m still in pain,” Dunk whispered, “but I need you.”
Joong’s breath hitched.
He slid his hand around Dunk’s waist, lifting slightly to adjust him on the bed. “If I hurt you—”
“Then I’ll scream,” Dunk said hoarsely, “but don’t you dare stop.”
Joong didn’t.
The room was dim, the lights on their lowest amber hue. Joong kissed Dunk with all the fire he had shoved down in those aching weeks. Their mouths opened, desperate, slow and messy. Dunk’s hands fumbled, but Joong guided them—pressing them to his face, his neck, his chest.
“Still mine?” Joong whispered, voice cracking.
“Since the scandal,” Dunk breathed. “Since the first time you bit me and said you’d never let go.”
Joong chuckled darkly. “I meant it.”
He lowered himself, lips trailing down Dunk’s throat, kissing the collarbone, tongue slipping into the hollow. Dunk moaned, helpless, body thrumming with sensation even as it betrayed him.
Joong worshipped him.
His mouth left wet, open-mouthed kisses down Dunk’s chest, biting gently at the sensitive skin of his ribs. Dunk gasped, arching slightly, fingers fisting in the sheets.
“You’re shaking,” Joong whispered.
“I want you.”
Joong hesitated, then slowly, reverently undressed them both.
He kissed every scar, every healing wound from the accident. The stitches on Dunk’s thigh. The thin band of bruises on his hip. Dunk cried softly. Joong licked the tears away.
When Joong entered him, it was slow, careful, maddeningly gentle.
Dunk moaned low, breath hitching. “God… I missed this.”
Joong buried his face in Dunk’s shoulder, moving in a rhythm that was both a promise and a prayer. Their skin clung with sweat, hands slipping, mouths finding each other again and again.
“You’re so beautiful,” Joong said between ragged breaths. “Even broken. Especially broken.”
“I hate you,” Dunk moaned, head thrown back.
“No, you don’t.”
And Dunk cried when he came, helpless, sobbing into Joong’s mouth.
Joong followed right after, kissing him like he was the only oxygen left on earth.
After, they lay tangled together. Dunk’s head was pressed to Joong’s heart.
“I feel like I’m dying sometimes,” Dunk whispered.
“You’re not.”
“I want to die.”
Joong’s hand clenched in his hair. “Then I’ll die with you.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Then don’t think that.”
Dunk laughed bitterly. “You really love me that much?”
Joong kissed his temple. “Enough to kill for you.”
“You’re dramatic.”
“You married a director.”
............................
---
The living room used to be a quiet space, all white curtains, marble floors, expensive furniture with minimalist taste. Now, there were broken vases, scratches on the custom leather sofa, and one shattered tablet Alex, celix husband, had slammed into the wall.
Celix’s screams were echoing again. Joong stood still in the corridor, just outside the double doors.
“You said they’d fix us!” Celix’s voice cracked. “You said they’d try—where are the fucking results, Alex?!”
“I never said that! I just—God, Celix—I don’t know what else to do!”
Joong didn’t knock. He’d learned to let them rage. It was better than silence. Silence meant surrender.
He went back into Dunk’s room and found his husband curled in the dark, facing the window. He couldn’t see the sunset bleeding over the sky, but Joong still left the curtains open—for hope.
Joong closed the door quietly and said nothing, just walked over and touched Dunk’s shoulder.
“Are they fighting again?” Dunk asked dully.
“Yes.”
“Do you think they’ll break up?”
“I don’t know.”
Dunk turned his head slightly. “Are you tired of me yet?”
Joong blinked. “Why would you ask that?”
Dunk sniffled. “Because I scream at you. Because I cry. Because I hate how you always have to feed me, clean me, carry me to the bath, deal with my tantrums.”
Joong climbed into bed behind him, pulling Dunk’s body into his chest like it was the one thing keeping him grounded.
“You think I don’t remember when you stayed up three nights to proofread my script even though you had board meetings?” he whispered into Dunk’s hair.
“That’s different.”
“You think I’ve forgotten how you used to run your fingers through my hair until I fell asleep before every premiere night?”
Dunk trembled.
Joong kissed behind his ear. “You loved me when I didn’t deserve it. Let me return the favor.”
Later that night, Dunk woke again from a nightmare, heart pounding, body stiff.
But this time, he didn’t scream.
Instead, he reached out, whispering, “Joong…”
Joong stirred, instantly alert. “I’m here.”
“Touch me. Please. I need to feel something that isn’t pain.”
Joong rolled over, cupping Dunk’s face, kissing him softly. “You sure?”
“Yes. But don’t go slow. Don’t make me feel fragile.”
Joong didn’t.
He rolled over Dunk, kissing him deeply, grinding their bodies together, the friction dizzying. Dunk gasped as Joong bit gently down the slope of his chest, sucking marks into skin already bruised by life.
Joong pulled the blanket off, spread Dunk’s legs slowly, fingers ghosting down his inner thighs.
“You want this?” he whispered, voice low.
“I want you.”
He pressed a wet kiss to Dunk’s hip, then down between his legs. Dunk gasped, hands flying up to cling to Joong’s hair as Joong’s tongue began tracing slow, sinful patterns.
“Fuck, Joong,” he groaned.
Joong moaned in response, the sound vibrating against Dunk’s sensitive skin. He worshipped his husband, taking his time this time, mouth relentless and hungry, until Dunk was shaking.
Dunk cried out, overwhelmed, head tossed back, tears spilling from his blind eyes. “Joong—I’m—”
Joong didn’t stop until Dunk was coming undone on his tongue, moaning his name like it was sacred.
Joong crawled back up, kissed him breathless, murmuring into his mouth, “I’ll never stop loving you. Even when you're broken. Especially when you're broken.”
The next morning, breakfast was a mess.
Celix knocked over the pitcher of juice. Dunk couldn’t keep the spoon steady. Alex tried to clean up, but he angrily broken a glass halfway through.
Joong poured coffee for everyone, pretending his hands didn’t shake too.
Celix suddenly said, voice flat, “Do you ever think they were right?”
Joong raised a brow. “About?”
“You and Dunk. That it was all fake. PR. Scandal damage. Temporary., the media always mention that”
Joong glanced at Dunk, who just sat silently, jaw tense.
Joong put his cup down. “If it was fake, I wouldn’t be here.”
Celix laughed bitterly. “You’re a film director. Faking is your job.”
Joong didn’t smile. “True. But love taught me how to be real.”
Celix was about to argue—but then Dunk said stop, just a whisper, and Dunk’s hand reached across the table, blindly, and found Joong’s.
Their fingers locked.
Silence.
Alex swallowed hard. “I’m sorry,” he said finally. “We’re just… hurting.”
Joong nodded. “We all are.”
Dunk whispered, “But some of us are healing. Slowly.”
That night, Joong carried Dunk into the bath, sat with him on the bench, lathered his back carefully.
Dunk leaned into the touch, sighing. “If I ever walk again…”
“You will.”
“If I ever walk again,” he continued, ignoring it, “I want to dance with you. On a rooftop. Under city lights.”
Joong kissed the back of his neck. “I’ll find us a rooftop tomorrow.”
Dunk laughed wetly.
“I mean it,” Joong murmured. “Even if you can’t stand, I’ll carry you. I’ll dance for both of us.”
Dunk turned to face him, face pink from the heat. “And if I never walk?”
“Then I’ll sit beside you forever. And dance with your soul.”
Dunk stared blindly at him, mouth trembling. “You really love me that much?”
Joong kissed him slow. “More.”
..........................
Rain lashed against the glass walls of the bedroom. Dunk sat quietly in his chair, head tilted toward the sound, lips parted slightly. His hands were clasped on his lap, unmoving.
Joong had spent the last two hours on a Zoom call about the post-production delays. He ended the meeting the moment he saw Dunk still hadn’t moved.
“You haven’t asked for anything today,” Joong said, kneeling before him.
“I’m tired.”
“Want to nap?”
“No.”
Joong tilted his head. “Then what do you want?”
“I want to disappear.”
Joong’s jaw clenched. He leaned in, pressing their foreheads together. “I can’t lose you.”
“You already lost me,” Dunk whispered. “I’m not me anymore.”
Joong kissed his lips. “Then I’ll fall in love with you again. With this version. The one who’s hurting but still breathing. Still here.”
Dunk’s breath stuttered. “Why?”
“Because,” Joong said, tracing the side of his face, “you’re still mine.”
They didn’t speak for the next ten minutes.
Joong stood and began unbuttoning Dunk’s shirt slowly, reverently, pressing a kiss to each inch of exposed skin. Dunk didn’t resist. He let the soft cotton slide from his shoulders, let Joong guide his arms up and off.
“I don’t want to be pitied,” Dunk murmured.
“You’re not,” Joong said, unzipping Dunk’s pants. “I’m worshipping you.”
He knelt again, mouth brushing the sharp cut of Dunk’s hipbone, then the tender insides of his thighs. He spread Dunk’s legs gently, careful not to jostle the parts of his body that still flared with phantom pain.
Dunk gasped as Joong’s tongue licked a long, slow stripe up his length, the wet heat of his mouth making him feel alive again.
Joong sucked softly, expertly, hands braced on Dunk’s hips.
“I missed your mouth,” Dunk groaned, head falling back, eyes unseeing but dazed. “You’re too good at this.”
Joong chuckled around him, the vibrations making Dunk curse.
When he finally came—hard, with a broken sound—Joong swallowed it all, licking him clean like it was devotion itself.
Joong stood, stripped slowly under Dunk’s blind gaze. He wanted to be seen, and yet—he wanted to be invisible, because his want was too much, too hungry.
But Dunk surprised him.
“Come here,” he whispered. “Let me feel you.”
Joong walked into Dunk’s arms and guided them to his body—hands gliding over his chest, his hips, his abs. Dunk’s fingers trembled as they explored him, rediscovering the man he used to know so well.
“You’re shaking,” Joong whispered.
“I’m scared I forgot how to make you feel good.”
“You didn’t.”
Joong lifted him gently, cradling him like something sacred, and laid him down on the bed.
The sex was slow this time—achingly slow. Every inch of movement felt like poetry, like Joong was carving love letters into Dunk’s skin. Their lips met again and again. Joong rocked into him with a rhythm that made the whole room disappear.
“I can’t see you,” Dunk moaned, arching weakly.
“I’ll tell you everything,” Joong whispered. “I’m kissing your neck now. Sliding my hand down your stomach. I’m inside you. Can you feel it?”
“Yes, fuck—yes—”
Joong sucked on his pulse point. “You’re clenching around me so tight.”
Dunk cried out, body tensing.
“I’m close,” Joong said, breath hot. “Say my name.”
“Joong,” Dunk gasped. “Joong, please—”
And they came together, bodies pressed so tight it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began.
After, Joong lay beside him, tangled in sweat-damp sheets.
Dunk reached blindly, finding Joong’s chest. “I needed that.”
Joong caught his hand, kissed his fingers. “You need it every night, I’ll give it.”
“You’re spoiling me.”
“You’re my husband.”
Dunk smiled faintly. “That’s the first time you said that out loud in a long time.”
Joong turned to face him fully. “You’re my husband. You’ve always been mine. I just… didn’t want to scare you. Or make you feel trapped.”
“I like being yours,” Dunk whispered. “It’s the only thing I like lately.”
Down the hall, another fight broke out between Celix and Alex. Glass shattered. A door slammed. Celix screamed something about being useless. Alex screamed something back about always being the one who had to fix everything.
Dunk flinched. Joong sat up immediately, grabbing his robe.
“I’m going to check on them.”
“No.”
Joong paused. “No?”
“Stay,” Dunk whispered. “Just tonight, stay mine.”
Joong dropped the robe, crawled back in, and pulled Dunk close.
“I’m always yours. Even when I’m gone.”
........................
To be continued