Chapter Text
Remington Astor felt his heart breaking, not all at once, but crack by agonizing crack.
Remi was royalty, but the one who had ruled over his heart since childhood was the same person currently shattering it. Watching Creighton King crack a smile while sitting with Annika was like a physical blow. They were talking. Really talking. Creighton usually despised small talk, yet here he was, willingly engaging with her. That realization hurt Remi more than anything else.
In an instant, a montage of every small interaction they’d shared since childhood flashed through Remi’s mind.
He had always been the one trailing after Creighton, even if he was two years older. Loving him deeply, but silently. From the moment they could speak to now with Remi at twenty-two and Creighton at twenty he’d been a constant shadow. Now, that devotion felt useless. It felt like a waste. Creighton would never see his love; he should have confessed sooner, but seeing Creighton so chatty and relaxed with Annika made Remi feel utterly defeated.
He had poured all his love and attention into Creighton for years, but the younger man seemed completely oblivious.
As Creighton started to turn his head, Remi spun around quickly, power-walking away from the café. When he heard footsteps behind him, his heart surged with a desperate hope. Maybe Creighton saw me. Maybe he’s following me.
But the day was determined to be his worst yet. It wasn't Creighton. Instead, Killian slid up beside him, syncing their strides and dropping a heavy hand on his shoulder.
The last of Remi's hope died, taking his shattered heart with it. He tried to pull on his "Your Lordship" mask the bright, arrogant smile he wore like armor but he failed miserably.
Killian, who was usually cocky and relentless with his teasing, actually squeezed Remi’s shoulder with something like sympathy. "I think I might have a little idea why you're so upset," he said quietly.
Remi’s breath hitched, his whole body locking with tension. He blinked, looking at Killian blankly. "What?"
"I saw what you were staring at," Killian replied, his voice dropping. "Or more likely, who."
Remington Astor wasn’t a crier, but in that moment, he wanted to weep and curse the stars.
"It’s nothing. His Lordship was simply eyeing the dessert menu," Remi snapped, finally gathering his wits and flicking his chin up with forced bravado.
Killian looked like he wanted to press further, but he eventually just nodded. "If you say so."
Remi ground his teeth, looking away. Even Killian was dropping it. Was his love so pathetic, so invisible, that no one even cared enough to notice the hint? Was he so blended into the background that nobody cared to dig a bit deeper?
"But if you need something... you can talk to me," Killian added.
Remi looked at Killian, seeing a knowing glint in the other boy's eyes. Then he looked back toward the café where Creighton was still smiling with Annika. He puffed out his chest, a tight, reckless smile forming on his face.
"You know what?" he said, his voice hard. "Let’s go to a club tonight."
He needed to move on. He needed to drown himself in drinks, find a boy, a girl, or both, and move the fuck on.
"Being reckless? Count me in!" Killian chirped, his eyes lighting up at the prospect of chaos. Infuriating Eli was his favorite past time, and he was sure his husband would come to know about this, one way or another.
When he did though, it might not just be him who came, but maybe someone else too…
When it evening rolled in, Remi walked into his closet, filled mostly with Creighton's clothes. The sight of it only made him ache more. He stormed into Killian's room and flopped on his bed.
“I have nothing to wear!” Killian looked up from his own closet which he was digging through, confused.
“Don't you have like a million clothes?” Remi flushed, “Most of those are Creighton's.”
Killian sighed, “Of course they are, fine, I'll help you out this once.”
Half an hour later, Remi was in a red cropped shirt that sinfully draped over him and loose black slacks, that looked like a skirt almost flowing around him like water.
“Perfect.” Killian grinned mischievously, knowing the chaos that he had created would definitely help Remi, not get over Creighton, but instead to finally get him.
Remi tugged at the collar of his shirt once, examining himself in the mirror and grinned. Resolving silently that one way or another he was going to move on from Creighton.
The club was a throbbing mess of neon lights and heavy bass, a perfect sanctuary for someone who wanted to disappear into the noise. Remi was already three drinks in, his "Your Lordship" persona having shifted from arrogant to dangerously loose.
"Another one," Remi signaled the bartender, his voice barely audible over the music. He wasn't just drinking; he was trying to erase the image of Creighton’s rare smile being gifted to someone else.
Fuck him and his beautiful smile! Remi thought.
Killian, meanwhile, looked like he was having the time of his life, though he hadn't touched his drink as aggressively as Remi. He leaned against the sticky bar counter, his eyes scanning the room like a predator. He looked bored to the casual observer, but there was a sharp, wicked edge to his posture.
He has a name to live up to. After all his husband doesn't call him 'Little Chaos' for nothing.
"You’re going to be hungover enough to regret your entire existence tomorrow, Remi," Killian shouted over a beat drop, though he made no move to stop him.
"Good!" Remi laughed, though the sound didn't reach his eyes. He turned his back to the bar, scanning the dance floor. "I want to regret today. I want to regret every year I spent being the 'perfect' best friend. Tonight, His Lordship is taking a sabbatical."
Killian hummed, his thumb tapping a rhythmic beat against his phone screen. "A sabbatical. I like that. Very dramatic. Very you."
Remi didn't notice the way Killian’s eyes kept darting toward the entrance, or how he was positioning himself so he was clearly visible from the VIP mezzanine where he knew certain people tended to linger. Killian wasn't just there for the drinks; he was there for the fallout. He knew exactly how the King family operated. If you touched their possession, they noticed. If you tried to replace them, they burned the world down.
"Look at that one," Remi muttered, pointing vaguely toward a guy near the speakers who was watching him. "Maybe I’ll go dance with him. That’s what people do when they’re moving on, right?"
"Sure," Killian smirked, his fingers dancing over his phone as he sent a quick, location-tagged photo to a group chat he knew Eli was monitoring. "Go for it. Be the free spirit you were born to be."
Remi set his glass down with a heavy thud, his movements slightly uncoordinated but fueled by a sudden burst of spiteful energy. "Watch me."
As Remi disappeared into the crowd, Killian leaned back, a low chuckle escaping him. He checked his watch. He gave it ten minutes before the atmosphere in the club changed from "party" to "crime scene."
He could almost feel the storm brewing. Eli would see the message, Eli would tell Creighton, and then? Then the fun would really start.
"Come and get us, boys," Killian whispered to the empty air, his smirk widening as he watched a stranger approach Remi on the dance floor. "The clock is ticking."
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Killian took a slow, deliberate sip of his drink to hide the smirk tugging at his lips. He could practically feel the dark, heavy gaze settling over him like a physical weight—the impending doom for his own chaotic ass. He gave a tiny shrug to himself. Worth it.
He kept his eyes trained on Remi, who was currently attempting to dance with a man who had trouble written all over his charming smile. The stranger had already circled his arms around Remi’s waist, pulling him flush against him as they swayed to the bone-rattling bass. To anyone else, Remi looked like he was having the time of his life, but Killian saw the truth. He caught the slight tremor in Remi’s hand as he placed it on the man’s chest.
"Stubborn people," Killian muttered, shaking his head.
He set his half-full glass on the counter just as a familiar, towering shadow loomed over him. The air shifted, growing cold and electric. Killian didn't even have to look to know his husband was there. He leaned back against a sturdy chest, and instantly, Eli’s arms snapped around his waist like iron bands.
"No one dared to touch me, so don’t go all ballistic," Killian huffed, though he didn't pull away.
Eli’s breath fanned over his ear, his grip tightening as he spun Killian around to face him. "I saw fourteen people eye-fucking you like they actually had the right to look in my husband's direction," Eli said. His voice was terrifyingly calm, but Killian knew him better; Eli was boiling under the surface.
Killian just laughed, his eyes dancing with mischief. "Well, I am that desirable."
He let out a sharp yelp when Eli pinched his waist in warning.
"Little Chaos, don’t fucking start," Eli grumbled, his eyes darkening with a raw, possessive edge. "Why are you even here alone in the first place?"
Killian wrapped his arms around Eli’s neck, biting his lip to keep from grinning too wide. "I'm not alone, husband." He tilted his head toward the dance floor, where Remi was looking increasingly stiff in the stranger's hold.
Eli followed his gaze, his brow furrowing as he watched the scene. He hadn't ever been told they were official, but anyone with a pulse could see the tether between Remi and Creighton. Seeing Remi with someone else felt... wrong. Dangerous.
His jaw clenched as he pulled out his phone, pulling up the chat with his brother. Rage began to swirl in his gut half for the disrespect to the King name, and half because Remi had dragged his Killian into this mess.
Eli: Get your boyfriend away from my husband! Kill is already chaotic enough.
Crei-Crei: Who?
Eli: Remi! He’s at Fantasy 7, and he dragged Killian here to watch him dance with some preppy looking prick. Get here. Now.
The reply didn't come, but Eli didn't need one. He knew the silence meant Creighton was already moving, and God help whoever was touching Remington Astor when he arrived.