The morning sun filtered through the blinds.
Mek stretched lazily in bed, Pete's scent still clinging to the sheets. A rare smile tugged at his lips.
For once, he felt... grounded.
Until—
knock knock
Mek dragged himself to the door, yawning—and froze when he opened it.
Jet.
Pete's friend. The quiet one. The one with too many secrets and a scar under his eye that screamed "I've seen things."
"Uh... Pete?" Mek asked, confused.
Jet just handed him an envelope.
"Figured you should know what your boyfriend's been up to," he said with a smirk. "He's not exactly... subtle."
Then he walked away.
Mek blinked.
He opened the envelope.
Inside: surveillance photos. Of Pete confronting Khaos. In an alley. Slamming him against a wall. The expression on Pete's face?
Cold. Lethal. Protective.
Mek's chest tightened.
The pictures dropped to the floor as he whispered, "What the hell, Pete...?"
---
Pete came home later, looking like nothing happened. Casual. Cool. Holding coffee.
"Morning, babe—"
SLAM.
Mek threw the photos on the table.
Pete blinked. "...Okay. Not the vibe I was expecting."
"You went after him?" Mek snapped. "Physically?! Pete, are you insane?!"
Pete stayed calm. Too calm. "He came to my house. He made you flinch. That's enough for me."
"You don't get to decide who I'm afraid of!"
Pete stepped closer, eyes locked on Mek's. "I don't decide your fear. I just erase the ones that hurt you."
"You're not my damn bodyguard!" Mek shouted.
"No," Pete said, voice dropping low, "I'm your boyfriend. One who loves you enough to protect you even if it makes you hate me."
Mek's breath hitched.
Silence fell between them.
Heavy. Tense.
Then Mek whispered, "You could've told me."
Pete reached out, brushing Mek's hair back. "Would you have let me?"
Mek looked down. "...No."
Pete cupped his face. "You're allowed to be mad. But I'm not sorry. I'll never be sorry for making sure you're safe."
Mek's lip trembled.
And then—he shoved Pete.
Not hard. Just enough to make a point.
"You're a possessive jerk."
Pete raised a brow. "Noted."
"And I hate that I like it."
Pete smirked. "Also noted."
Mek rolled his eyes, then grabbed Pete's shirt and kissed him—hard.
It was angry. Passionate. Desperate.
When they pulled apart, Mek panted against his chest. "Next time you go mafia mode on someone... tell me. Or I swear I'll go psycho on you."
Pete chuckled, kissing the top of his head. "Deal."
Mek whispered, "...But thank you."
Pete held him tighter. "Always."