Words That Cut Deeper

Win's jaw was still tight as King returned to their table. He had that soft, slightly breathless look like he'd just been caught in the middle of something. Win hated how easily his eyes searched King's face for any trace of emotion, laughter lines, the curve of his lips, the brightness in his eyes.

"Everything okay?" Win asked, voice low and sharp.

King blinked slowly. Yeah… I just went over to say hello, that's all.

Win didn't respond. He watched as King sat beside him, a little too relaxed and cheerful.

Mike slid in a moment later, setting the drinks on the table. Nudging Win with his elbow. Saw that smile you tried to hide. Jealousy's not a good look on you, boss.

Win didn't smile. His fingers curled around the glass in front of him, knuckles whitening.

The low hum of the bar pressed around them soft music, a faint glow, the chatter of strangers filling the space between their silence.

King reached for the glass in front of him.

Win's voice was calm, but steady. Are you sure that's a good idea?

King paused. "It's just one."

You were in pain not too long ago, Win said, still watching him carefully. Bad enough I thought we'd go to the hospital.

King let out a breath, short and tense. And I told you I'm fine now.

Win didn't say anything right away. His eyes didn't move from King's face. The concern there wasn't just casual, it was heavy, quiet, and unshakable.

King took the sip anyway. His jaw tightened as he set the glass back down. You act like I'm made of glass.

"I act like I care," Win replied.

That landed harder than either of them expected.

King looked away, the flush on his cheeks deepening maybe from the alcohol or the way Win said it.

I'm not a child, Win.

"No," Win replied, leaning back slowly. But sometimes you make it hard to tell.

King turned back to him, eyes flaring. You think watching me, deciding who I talk to, what I drink, makes you what? My savior?

I never said that.

You don't have to, King snapped. You're always there, hovering. But when does it matter?

Win looked like he'd been slapped. His lips parted, but nothing came out.

It's not about care. The fact is you want to control everything I do, King snapped back, then looked away.

Mike glanced between them and let out a low whistle. Should I give you two a room or…

King stood up suddenly. I need to use the restroom, he said, voice tight, barely meeting Win's eyes. He didn't wait for a response he just turned and walked off, like the air between them had gotten too heavy to breathe.

Win didn't say a word. He only watched as King pushed through the crowd, hand brushing against shoulders, head slightly down.

He hated how exposed he felt. How everyone in this damn room probably saw what he felt but refused to say aloud.

Minutes passed.

Then more.

Too many.

Win's foot tapped against the floor. His eyes flicked to the hallway where the restrooms were.

You're going to combust if you sit here, Mike said.

Win stood without another word and made his way through the bar. The hallway was dim, narrow, and lined with soft lighting. As he turned the corner toward the restrooms, he stopped.

King was there.

So was James.

It had been nothing. Just a misstep. King had lost his footing for a second, and James instinctively reached out, steadying him by the elbow. But the moment that followed it looked like something else entirely. King's palm rested on James's chest a second too long. Their faces hovered close, breaths mingling. James's head was tilted, his expression unreadable, as if the air between them had thickened with something unsaid.

And Win snapped.

"King."

His voice cracked down like a warning shot. Both heads turned.

King looked up, eyes wide, already pulling back. Win.

Win's expression was unreadable. Cold and distant. The air changed.

James let go. He slipped. It's not—

I didn't ask for an explanation, Win said sharply.

King winced at the tone. I wasn't doing anything.

The air between them snapped like a frayed wire.

Win's voice cut the space open with cold precision. No? Because from here, it looks like you couldn't wait to disappear with him the second I looked away.

James stood stiffly beside them, clearly caught in the middle. He shifted his weight, glancing at King, then at Win. "I'll go," he said quickly, already stepping back.

King turned toward Win, eyes wide with the kind of pain that wanted to speak but didn't know where to start. Win, it wasn't like that. I almost fell and James just—"

Win didn't let him finish.

"Just be quiet," he snapped, his voice rising, cutting. How many explanations do you think I need before I see it clearly?

King swallowed hard, blinking back the wetness rising in his eyes.

Win took a step forward, fury darkening every edge of him. I can overlook the fact that you like men. But how do I overlook the way you smile like that around every guy? How do I ignore that the second someone gives you attention, you're ready to melt into them?

"That's not true," King whispered, his voice breaking.

"You're just cheap, King. No self-control. No standards."

The words hit like bullets. King staggered, chest heaving as if his breath was caught between heartbreak and disbelief. That's not who I am. What you saw wasn't...

Spare me. Win's voice cracked like thunder. Every time, it's some new excuse. You don't need help, you need to stop chasing anyone who looks at you for longer than five seconds.

King's lips trembled. He tried again. He was just helping me stand. That's all.

He was helping you? Win sneered. You're unbelievable. You flirt like it's oxygen. You crave it that bad? Tomorrow, you're resuming therapy. I don't care what you say.

No, no, no, King gasped, stepping forward and grabbing onto Win's wrist. Panic surged through his voice. Please, no. I don't want to go. I didn't do anything wrong.

Win pulled back harshly. "Don't touch me."

He locked eyes with Win, fury igniting through his tears. I will not go.

In that moment, the bathroom door swung wider and Mike entered, pausing mid-step as the atmosphere slapped him in the face.

What's going on here? He asked, tone low but tight.

King turned toward him with tear-filled eyes. "Please, Mike. I didn't do anything. I swear. It was just a misunderstanding."

Mike raised a hand gently. Hey, it's okay. Breathe.

But Win wasn't finished. You need to stop acting like you're some fragile thing no one's allowed to question. You're not special, King. You're reckless. And I'm done watching you crash into every man who glances your way.

King's breath hitched. He wiped at his face with shaking hands and cried out, voice raw with desperation. Stop treating me like I'm sick, I'm not broken, I'm not some project you get to fix.

Win stepped closer, voice low and lethal. "Don't you dare raise your voice at me."

"Or what?" King shouted. You'll lock me up again? Drag me to another doctor just to convince yourself I'm the problem? I'm not going.

Win's hand shot out, pointing. You are. Dare me, and I'll make sure you never skip another appointment.

Something burned in King's eyes, anger, betrayal, heartbreak all tangled together. And through clenched teeth, he growled, "I hate you, Win. I hate you so much."

Silence.

Win didn't move. He stood frozen. Those words hit harder than any slap could've. For a second, he reached for King but it was too late.

Mike stepped in between them.

Enough. Both of you.

King turned to him, sobbing now. I didn't do anything, Mike. I swear. I just want him to believe me. I don't want to go to any appointment.

Mike placed a calming hand on his shoulder. I know. It's okay. You won't go anywhere you don't want to. Trust me, okay?

King nodded weakly, wiping his cheeks, his body trembling.

Go outside for a while, Mike said. Get some air. I'll talk to him.

King looked once more at Win, but there was nothing left in his expression but hurt. He walked away slowly, not even looking back.

Then Mike turned and grabbed Win by the arm.

Let's talk. Outside now.

The storm wasn't just coming. It had already arrived.

King stepped outside.

The night air hit his face like a slap cool, sobering, and cruel. His chest rose and fell as if breathing were suddenly a chore. He blinked back the tears clinging to his lashes and pulled out his phone with trembling fingers.

He dialed Charlotte's number. The moment she picked up, her voice was soft but alert.

"King?"

Can you come get me? he asked, voice tight and flat.

There was a pause. A beat too long. Then Charlotte responded, no questions, just instinct.

"Where are you?"

He gave the name of the bar. His voice cracked when he spoke, but he kept going, refusing to let it fall apart.

I'll be there in ten, she said. Just wait for me, okay?

Okay, King whispered.

Charlotte didn't ask what happened. She didn't have to. The pain in King's voice told her everything.