Chapter 12: The Forced Date
The restaurant was a temple to excess, every surface gleaming with the kind of wealth that made Jensen feel like he was choking on gold dust. Crystal chandeliers dripped from the ceiling, casting fractured rainbows across the marble floors. The string quartet played something soft and classical, their music winding through the clink of glasses and the murmur of polite conversation.
Jensen sat stiffly, his spine straight, his hands folded in his lap beneath the table where no one could see them trembling. Not with nerves. With barely contained rage.
Across from him, Yuna smiled, her perfectly glossed lips curving into an expression of practiced politeness. She was beautiful, he could acknowledge that much. Dark hair swept back from a delicate face, doe eyes that held a calculating intelligence, a slim figure draped in designer silk that probably cost more than Leonid made in a month.
She was everything his parents wanted for him.
She wasn't Leonid.
"So, Jensen," Yuna said, her voice light, conversational. "Father mentioned you're studying business at Seoul International. How are you finding it?"
"Educational." Jensen lifted his glass of Bordeaux, watching the dark liquid swirl against the crystal. He didn't drink. He couldn't. His stomach was already churning.
"I bet. The program there is supposed to be excellent. I was considering applying myself, but I think I'm going to go overseas. Maybe Boston." She leaned forward slightly, her eyes bright. "Have you ever considered studying abroad?"
"No."
"Not even for a semester? It could be a good opportunity."
"My place is here."
The words came out flatter than he intended, and he saw Yuna's smile flicker, just for a moment, before she recovered. His parents watched from a nearby table, his mother's approving gaze fixed on him like a spotlight. She was beaming. His father raised his glass in a subtle gesture of encouragement.
Jensen wanted to shatter the glass against the polished floor.
"She seems lovely," his mother had said earlier, her voice bright with hope. "And her father is such an important business partner. This could be wonderful for you, sweetheart."
Wonderful. Like a root canal. Like a slow, agonizing death by suffocation.
His phone vibrated in his pocket. Jensen's hand twitched, instincts screaming at him to reach for it, to check who had messaged him. But he couldn't. Not here. Not in front of them.
He forced himself to take a sip of wine. It tasted like ash.
"The escargot is divine," Yuna said, gesturing with her fork. "You should try some."
"I'm not hungry."
"Oh." Her smile faltered again. She was trying, he could give her that. Trying to make conversation, to bridge the chasm of awkwardness between them. But her efforts only made him feel worse. Every word she spoke was a betrayal he couldn't forgive.
His phone vibrated again. Then again.
Jensen's jaw tightened. He could feel the pulses through the fabric of his trousers, each one a desperate plea he couldn't answer. Leonid was texting him. Leonid, who had been acting strange all week. Leonid, who had barely spoken to him since their anniversary.
Something cold coiled in Jensen's chest.
"You know," Yuna continued, oblivious, "I think we should do this again. Just the two of us. Somewhere a little more casual."
"Casual."
"A coffee shop, maybe. Or a walk by the river. I'd love to get to know you better, Jensen."
"No."
The word came out sharp, final. Yuna's eyes widened, and for a moment, her mask slipped, revealing a flash of hurt beneath. But she recovered quickly, a brittle laugh escaping her lips.
"Okay, that was forward of me. I apologize."
"That's not—" Jensen stopped, rubbing his temples. He could feel a headache building behind his eyes, a dull throb that pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude. I'm just... tired."
"Of course. Long week?"
"Something like that."
His phone buzzed again.
And again.
Five messages. It had to be Leonid. Leonid, who knew he was here. Leonid, who had been quiet all day, his responses to Jensen's texts reduced to monosyllables and vague emojis. Jensen had known something was wrong the moment he'd woken up to find Leonid already dressed, already distant, already gone.
"I can't today," Leonid had said, not meeting his eyes. "I've got work."
"You don't have work on Sundays."
"I picked up an extra shift."
"Leo—"
"I'll text you later."
He hadn't. He had texted, but only to send pictures of his coffee art, of the foam designs he was practicing. No substance. No depth. A screen separating them like a glass wall.
Jensen's grip tightened on his wine glass.
The dinner dragged on. Course after course, each plate more elaborate than the last, each bite tasting like sawdust in Jensen's mouth. Yuna talked about her travels, her studies, her plans for the future. His parents beamed from their table, occasionally raising their glasses in silent approval.
Jensen smiled. He laughed at the right moments. He asked the right questions. He performed, as he always did, playing the role of the perfect son, the charming heir, the promising young businessman.
Inside, he was crumbling.
His phone buzzed again. That was the tenth message since dinner had started. His hand itched to reach into his pocket, to read whatever Leonid had written. To assure himself that everything was okay, that Leonid wasn't—
"Honey?" His mother's voice floated over from the adjacent table. "You didn't touch your steak. Is everything alright?"
"Fine." The word was clipped. He forced a smile. "Just a little under the weather."
"Maybe you should get some fresh air after dinner. Yuna, would you like to accompany him?"
"I'd love to—"
"No." Jensen spoke before he could stop himself. The refusal hung in the air, sharp and uncomfortable. Yuna's cheeks flushed. His mother's smile tightened.
"Jensen," his father said, a note of warning in his voice.
"I have a headache. I think I should go home."
"Don't be ridiculous. The dinner's almost over. You can wait another—"
"I said I should go home."
The table fell silent. Jensen could feel everyone's eyes on him, Yuna's confused, his mother's wounded, his father's furious. But he couldn't bring himself to care. Not when his phone was still buzzing, vibrating with urgency that he couldn't ignore.
He pushed back his chair. "Excuse me. I need to use the restroom."
He didn't wait for a response.
The restroom was as opulent as the rest of the restaurant—gold fixtures, marble countertops, fresh orchids arranged in crystal vases. Jensen locked the door behind him, his hands shaking as he pulled out his phone.
Seventeen notifications. All from Leonid.
He opened the most recent message.
"Have fun with your girlfriend."
The words hit him like a physical blow. Jensen stared at the screen, his vision blurring. He typed a response, deleted it, typed another, deleted that too. Finally, he just pressed the call button.
It rang once. Twice. Three times. Voicemail.
"Leo, it's me. Call me back. Please."
He hung up and called again. Voicemail.
Again. Voicemail.
Again. Again. Again.
Seventeen times. Once for every year they had been together. Every call went straight to voicemail, Leonid's recorded voice—deep and warm and achingly familiar—asking him to leave a message after the tone.
He left seventeen messages. Each one more desperate than the last.
"Leo, please pick up."
"I can explain. It's not what you think."
"I don't even know her name. I don't care about her."
"I love you. Please, Leo. Please."
By the end, Jensen's throat was raw, and his eyes were burning. He pressed his forehead against the cool marble of the counter, letting the chill seep into his skin.
Yuna was not his girlfriend. She was a business arrangement, a political match, a pawn in his parents' endless game of strategy. He had made that clear to Leonid. He had promised him, sworn on everything he held sacred, that nothing would come between them.
But Leonid had been distant all week. Quiet. Withdrawn.
And Jensen had been too wrapped up in their anniversary, in the idyllic memory of their day at Ocean World, to notice the storm gathering on the horizon.
He looked up, meeting his own reflection in the gilded mirror. His dark eyes blazed with a familiar intensity, but there was something else there too. Fear.
Loss.
What if Leonid didn't pick up?
What if Leonid said goodbye?
Jensen's hands clenched into fists, nails digging into his palms. He would not lose him. He had promised Leonid forever, and forever was exactly what he intended to deliver. Even if he had to drag Leonid back from the edge of his own doubt, screaming and clawing and fighting the whole way.
He returned to the table.
Yuna looked up, her expression careful, calculated. "Feeling better?"
"Much." Jensen smiled, all sharp edges and glittering danger. "I apologize for my behavior. I've had a stressful week."
"Of course." She seemed relieved, her shoulders relaxing slightly. "We all have those days."
"We do." He picked up his butter knife, turning it over in his fingers. "Tell me more about your plans for Boston. It sounds fascinating."
Yuna launched into another monologue, her voice washing over him in waves of sound. Jensen listened, or at least looked like he was listening, his eyes fixed on her face while his mind raced with frantic calculations.
He needed to see Leonid. Needed to explain. Needed to make him understand that Yuna was nothing, that the dinner was meaningless, that his heart belonged to him and only him, now and forever.
The food came and went. The wine was consumed. His parents smiled, clearly satisfied with how the evening was progressing.
Jensen was already gone, his body going through the motions while his soul screamed for escape.
Finally, mercifully, the dinner ended.
"It was lovely to meet you," Yuna said as they rose from the table. She extended her hand, and Jensen took it, careful to keep his touch light and brief.
"Likewise."
"I'll text you. Maybe we can do this again?"
"Maybe."
His parents exchanged approving glances. Jensen's mother embraced him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "You did so well, sweetheart. I'm so proud of you."
"Thanks, Mom."
He pulled away, his heart pounding, his feet already carrying him toward the exit. Every step felt like an eternity. Every second was a fresh torture.
He was outside before he realized he was holding his breath. The cool night air hit his face, a welcome relief after the suffocating warmth of the restaurant. He fumbled for his phone—
He stopped.
Leonid was standing at the edge of the sidewalk, half-hidden in the shadows of a decorative tree. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his jacket, and his expression was unreadable. He must have been waiting. For how long?
Jensen didn't know. He didn't care.
He crossed the distance in three quick strides, his hands reaching out to grab Leonid's shoulders, to pull him close, to hold him and never let go. But Leonid stepped back, just enough to keep the space between them.
"Leo—"
"Don't." Leonid's voice was quiet, steady. "I saw you. Inside."
"It was a dinner. A business thing. You know what my parents are like."
"I know." Leonid paused. "I know what they're like. But I also know what I saw."
"You saw me sitting at a table. That's all. I don't want her. I've never wanted anyone but you."
Leonid looked away, his jaw tight. "It's not that simple, Jen."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm not..." He faltered, a muscle in his throat working. "I'm not what they want. I'm not what you need. I never have been."
"Don't you dare." Jensen's voice dropped, low and dangerous. "Don't you dare pull that shit with me."
"Jen, look at the facts. I'm an orphan. I work at a café for minimum wage. I live in a dorm room the size of a closet. And you..." He gestured back at the restaurant, at the glowing lights and the pristine exterior. "You belong in places like this. You belong with people like her."
"I belong with you."
"You say that now, but—"
"I've said it for seventeen years." Jensen stepped forward, invading Leonid's space, his eyes blazing. "Seventeen years, Leo. And I will say it for seventeen more. And then I'll say it for another seventeen after that. Do you hear me?"
Leonid's breath hitched. "Jensen..."
"I love you. I love you more than I love my own life. My own family. My own future. And if you think I'm going to let you go because my parents want me to marry some debutante with a trust fund, then you don't know me at all."
Leonid's eyes were bright, glistening in the moonlight. He opened his mouth, closed it, and then let out a shaky laugh. "God damn it, Jensen."
"God damn it yourself." Jensen reached out, catching Leonid's face in his hands. "I'm not going anywhere. And neither are you. Now kiss me before I lose my goddamn mind."
Leonid kissed him.
It was desperate, frantic, a clash of teeth and tongue and unspoken fears. Jensen grabbed Leonid's jacket, pulling him closer, closer, until there was no space left between them. He could feel Leonid's heart pounding, or maybe that was his own. It didn't matter.
They were together.
That was all that mattered.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Jensen pressed his forehead against Leonid's and whispered, "I want to be buried with you. In the same casket. Side by side."
"Jesus, Jen. That's morbid."
"I don't care. I'm not spending eternity without you either."
Leonid laughed, a wet, broken sound that was closer to a sob. "Fuck. I really love you."
"I know." Jensen kissed his cheek, his jaw, the corner of his mouth. "I love you too."
They stood there for a long time, holding each other beneath the stars, the restaurant's glow fading behind them. Jensen could feel Leonid's heartbeat, steady and strong, grounding him like nothing else could.
The phone in his pocket buzzed. He didn't check it.
There would be time for damage control later. For apologies and explanations and whatever reckoning awaited him at home. For now, there was only Leonid.
There was only them.
"Take me home," Leonid murmured against his neck.
"You live in a dorm."
"I don't care. Take me home." He pulled back, meeting Jensen's eyes. "Take me to your apartment."
Jensen's heart skipped. On the one hand, the Kim residence was the last place he wanted Leonid to be. But there was a separate loft, a secret space he had kept hidden from his parents, where Jensen had been building a future. A sanctuary.
He nodded. "Okay."
Leonid's smile was soft, almost shy. "Okay."
The drive was quiet, but not uncomfortable. Leonid rested his hand on Jensen's thigh, his fingers tracing the seam of Jensen's jeans. Jensen kept his eyes on the road, but he could feel every touch like a brand.
When they reached the loft; when the door closed behind them, shutting out the world and all its complications, Jensen pulled Leonid into his arms and did not let go.
"You scared me," he said moments later, quietly. "I thought you were going to leave."
"I thought about it." Leonid's voice was muted, muffled against Jensen's chest. "I thought about walking away. Letting you have the life you deserve."
"I don't deserve anything without you."
"You're too good to me."
"Impossible." Jensen tilted Leonid's chin up, meeting his eyes. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. And I refuse to lose you, Leo. Do you understand me? I refuse."
Leonid blinked, and a single tear slipped down his cheek. "I understand."
"Good." Jensen wiped it away with his thumb, his touch gentle. "Now come to bed. We've got a lot of years ahead of us, and I plan to start them right."
He led Leonid through the dim apartment, their shadows merging in the low light. And when they finally lay together, tangled in sheets and each other, Jensen felt a measure of peace settle over him.
The battle was not over. His parents would push. Yuna would call. The world would press in from all sides, demanding he conform, demanding he let go.
But he had Leonid. And as long as he had Leonid, he could fight forever.
He pressed a kiss to Leonid's forehead, trailing his fingers over the ridges of his back in a hypnotic rhythm. He listened to Leonid's breathing as it smoothed, shuttering, deepening into sleep, and Jensen watched the ceiling above them like he could map the constellations in its dark.
His phone buzzed one final time. He didn't need to look to know who was calling.
But he let the fifth buzz fade to silence before pulling himself up, careful not to wake Leonid, padding out to the kitchen counter where his jacket lay discarded. He pulled the screen up.
Seventeen missed calls from his mother.
He could wait. Tomorrow he'd deal with the aftermath, the recriminations, the disappointed lectures. Tomorrow he'd face his father's cold fury and his mother's wounded tears.
Tonight was Leonid's.
He put his phone on its face and returned to bed, slipping under the covers and pulling Leonid close. The world could wait. The world could burn.
He was home.