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“Please don’t go.”
The words were quiet and spoken through gritted teeth, more sound than fully formed syllables. Chay still understood him. He always understood what Kim said, even if it wasn’t what Kim meant. It was the distance between his meaning and his words that was always the problem.
Chay tried to remember if he’d ever heard Kim say the word “please” before, and couldn’t recall a time when he had. He paused on his path out their bedroom doorway, fingers already resting on the handle.
“Please,” The repeated word was stronger now, but cracked, like it was taking everything within him to get the plea out.
Chay turned around.
Kim sat on the edge of his bed - their bed, now - with his legs spread wide and arms resting on his thighs, looking up at Chay from between his bangs that were in dire need of a haircut.
Even when angry, Chay’s fingers twitched in their desire to brush the errant strands off Kim’s face.
“You know I hate it when you do things like this, Kim,” he said, purposefully leaving off the Phi. Kim’s wince told him that he understood just how pissed off Chay really was. “Especially in my own home, which is meant to be safe.”
“I know,” Kim admitted. “I’m sorry.”
Chay goggled. The only thing less frequently found falling out of Kim’s mouth than please was I’m sorry. The last time he’d heard an apology was when Kim was trying to win him back.
For once, maybe Kim had said exactly what he meant.
He approached the sad-looking figure on the bed, and Kim yanked on his arm as soon as he was within reach, pulling Chay half onto his lap and snaking his arms around Chay’s torso before squeezing him tight.
Chay couldn’t help that he relaxed into the hold, letting his forehead fall to its familiar spot against Kim’s neck. “And what have you learned from this experience?” Chay needed some acknowledgement of wrongdoing before he jumped straight to forgiveness.
He could feel the viciousness of Kim’s eye roll even if he couldn’t see it, face tucked away as it was.
“To ask for help when I can’t reach the top shelf.”
“And what are you not going to do after getting frustrated when you can’t get the tortilla chips down?”
“Shoot them into submission.”
Chay nodded. “Gunshots in my apartment at 2pm on a Saturday do have a tendency to send me reeling into a panic.”
Kim’s arms tightened behind his back and he nuzzled at the side of Chay’s neck, clearly aiming for forgiveness via cuddles. “I know.”
“Because my first assumption is that there’s people in the house, ready to harm me and my family, and not that you are angry at the location of a pantry snack bag.”
Kim huffed out a breath. “I said I know.” He paused, and then continued in a smaller voice, “I’m your family?”
Chay nodded, and raised his head to catch Kim’s gaze. “As long as you don’t shoot our food.”
Kim’s chortle was all the answer he needed.