The night air in Ken's small apartment felt different—lighter, almost sweet. Usually, the post-shift ritual was a mechanical blur of a cold shower and a collapse into dreamless exhaustion, but tonight, the blue light of his phone illuminated a smile that hadn't touched his face in years.
He lay on his back, legs kicked up against the wall, giggling like a schoolboy at the flurry of texts lighting up his screen. Mikael was relentless. Between flattering compliments about Ken's "incredible presidential focus" and a barrage of absurdly cute bunny stickers, the senior was effectively dismantling every defense Ken had built. For the first time since his mother fell ill, Ken wasn't thinking about hospital ledgers or rent cycles. They talked about the trivial, beautiful things: the best hidden ramen spots, why Ken preferred the color blue (it reminded him of a clear sky, something he rarely saw), and Mikael's admitted weakness for expensive watches.
They were in perfect sync, a harmony of digital pings that made the world outside feel far away.
Finally, Ken glanced at the digital clock on his bedside table. 1:14 AM. The 6:00 AM alarm for his newspaper route felt like a looming shadow.
Ken:Hey Mike, I really need to sleep now. I have that route at 6 AM and I'll be a zombie if I don't close my eyes. I'll call you when I wake up... goodnight bae.
He switched off the phone immediately, his heart doing a frantic thud at the last word he'd typed. He'd never called anyone "bae" in his life. It felt daring. It felt real.
On the other end of the city, in a bedroom that cost more than Ken's entire apartment building, Mikael sat frozen. He stared at the three letters—b-a-e—until they blurred. He completely ignored the part about the job or the early wake-up call. The title hit him like a physical weight. A wide, uncontrollable grin split his face, and he collapsed back onto his silk sheets, swinging his feet in the air like a teenager.
He didn't notice the temperature in his room drop by ten degrees.
Outside, standing on a neighboring rooftop with the stillness of a gargoyle, Hades watched. His eyes, void of light, tracked the glow of Mikael's phone. He could sense the lingering essence of Ken's digital signature on the device. Every time Mikael laughed, the shadows around Hades' feet writhed like wounded snakes.
"He is mine," Hades whispered. The words weren't a boast; they were a fundamental law of the universe being restated.
A slow, terrifying smile appeared on the King's face. He had watched empires rise and fall based on the flaws of men. No mortal was perfect. He would peel back the layers of this blonde "senior" until he found the rot. Mikael had stepped onto the King's path, and in the underworld, there was no mercy for those who touched what belonged to the Crown.
The 6:00 AM alarm was a brutal wake-up call. Ken gropped for his phone, his eyes crusty with sleep, but the second he saw the screen, he felt a jolt of caffeine-like energy.
Ken:Good morning, Bae.
He scrambled into his clothes, hurrying through his morning routine. Usually, he moved with the efficiency of a soldier, but today, he kept stopping to check for pings.
Mikael:Good morning sunshine. How was your night? Did you dream of me?
Ken bit his lip, typing a reply as he threw the last bundle of newspapers. The distraction cost him. He was late. He was disorganized. When he finally skidded into his 9:00 AM lecture, the professor—a man who usually praised Ken's punctuality—was already at the podium.
"Mr. President," the professor droned, peering over his spectacles. "I assume the university's affairs were so pressing they required your absence for the first fifteen minutes of my lecture? See me afterward."
Ken felt the burn of embarrassment in his cheeks, but the sting vanished the moment he spotted Mikael waiting in the hall later that day.
"Hey Bae, how's your day going?" Mikael didn't care who was watching. He leaned down and pressed a firm, warm kiss to Ken's forehead.
"It's... a bit stressful," Ken admitted, leaning into the contact. "I got scolded. Where are you heading?"
"I was searching for you," Mikael said, sliding a possessive arm around Ken's waist and kissing his cheek. "It's lunch hour, and more importantly, it's our first official date. Come with me."
Feet away, partially obscured by the shadow of a marble pillar, Lucien watched. His hands, encased in black leather, were clenched so tight the seams groaned. Mikael's possessiveness was an insult—a flea trying to claim a mountain. Yet, Lucien remained still. A king does not bark; he waits for the right moment to strike.
Mikael drove Ken to a bistro ten minutes from campus. It was a place Ken had walked past a hundred times, always looking at the menu through the window before moving on. As they walked in, Ken gasped. The decor was exactly what he'd described as his "dream aesthetic" during their 1:00 AM chat.
The realization hit him—Mikael had listened. Every detail, from the specific flowers on the table to the jazz playing softly in the background, was curated for him.
"Where is everyone?" Ken asked, noticing the empty tables. "Is it usually this quiet?"
"Nope," Mikael said, pulling out a chair for Ken with a flourish. "I booked the entire place for the afternoon. I didn't want a single distraction for our first date."
Ken sat, a lump forming in his throat. A tear pricked his eye, and he quickly brushed it away. It had been so long since anyone had looked at him and seen a person worth taking care of. After years of trauma, of being a provider, of being a shield for his mother, he felt... cherished.
When the food arrived—Ken's absolute favorite delicacies—he forgot his manners. He ate with a frantic, honest hunger. Mikael watched him with a gentle smile, reaching over with a paper towel to wipe a stray bit of sauce from Ken's chin.
"Easy," Mikael chuckled. "I don't want you choking on the first course."
Ken slowed down, blushing. As they ate, Mikael's expression turned serious. "Hey, Ken... about that scolding today. Why were you late? You seemed exhausted this morning."
Ken hesitated. "It's nothing. I just didn't keep track of time."
"Ken," Mikael reached across the table, taking his hand. "I'm worried. Is it the morning job? I know you deliver papers. Is it really worth the toll it's taking on you?"
Ken dropped his fork. "It covers my rent, Mike. It's important."
"How much does it pay?"
"A thousand dollars a month. I was lucky to get it."
Mikael looked genuinely pained. "A thousand? Ken, listen to me. Quit. I'll triple that amount every month just so you can sleep. I'll pay your rent for the next two years. I just want you to be able to wake up without an alarm."
Ken went cold. The offer was a miracle, a golden ticket out of the grind. He could sleep. He could study. But his survival instinct, honed by years of poverty, screamed a warning. If I quit and we break up, I have nothing.
"I... I need to think about that," Ken whispered. "Can I give you an answer later?"
"Of course," Mikael said softly. "Just know I've got you. I'll do anything to keep that smile on your face."
As they left the restaurant, Mikael led him back to the car. "I have one more surprise for you. Follow me."
Ken climbed into the passenger seat, his head spinning with the weight of Mikael's generosity. Suddenly, his phone buzzed in his pocket. It was a high-priority notification.
His heart dropped when he saw the sender. It wasn't lucien. It wasn't the newspaper boss.
It was Delvon, the King of the Black Bulls.