David woke, stirred, his body aching beneath the bandages, pain blooming faintly with every breath. He blinked open heavy eyes, the ceiling above him still unfamiliar. He turned his head to see if there was anyone around and reached for his phone to call the maid, but paused midway.
There, at the edge of the bed, Mark was sleeping—his body curled slightly, one hand gently clasping David's as if afraid to let go. His chest rose and fell in a calm rhythm, and his face... it looked so peaceful. Like a child, lost in dreams.
David couldn't help but smile.
He reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from Mark's forehead. His fingers lingered for a second before he whispered softly, "Mark... hey, wake up. Go back to your room and get some proper sleep."
Mark mumbled something incoherent, refusing to wake up. He grip on David's hand tightened, and he shook his head lightly.
"I'm not going..." he murmured, still half-asleep.
David sighed but there was a gentleness in his expression. You waited all night, didn't you? he thought, looking at the dark circles faintly shadowing Mark's eyes. His voice softened, eyes fixed on Mark lying beside him.
"I always thought you hated me. That you never cared—like, if one day they brought me home dead, you wouldn't even care." He paused, swallowing the lump in his throat. "But seeing you like this… lying here, just to be around me… I'm grateful. More than you know."
He reached out, gently trying to rouse Mark.
"Mark, get up. You're not sleeping comfortably. Go to your room upstairs and rest properly."
Mark didn't respond. His eyelids fluttered, but he didn't wake. Instead, he sleepwalked slowly—until finally, he climbed into David's bed and curled up beside him.
David's heart tightened, a strange comfort settling in as Mark slept silently next to him. He carefully tried to free his hand, wincing as the wound throbbed sharply. The pain was real and raw.
Mark moved slightly but stayed asleep, his expression soft and peaceful, like a child nestled safely in a mother's arms.
David's hand burned with heat, and as he tried to move it, a sharp pain shot through his arm. Mark was sleeping closely beside him, making it difficult to shift without disturbing him. He had originally woken up to call the maid for a glass of water, but the moment his eyes landed on Mark—peacefully asleep at his side—all thoughts of summoning anyone disappeared.
He didn't want the quiet to be broken. Beside the bed, a glass and a jug of water sat within reach. Despite the pain, David carefully poured the water into the glass, making sure not to make a sound. He brought it to his lips and drank slowly, the cool liquid easing the dryness in his throat.
After drinking the water, David slowly turned toward Mark and wrapped his arm around him from behind. Despite the dull ache in his injured hand, he gently pulled Mark close, cuddling him softly. The warmth between them was quiet, comforting—like something he didn't know he needed.
Hours passed.
Mark stirred, his eyes blinking open as he slowly woke up. The first thing he noticed was the warmth wrapped around him—and then, the familiar scent. His brows furrowed in confusion.
"Why does everything smell like David?" he mumbled, still half-asleep.
He turned his head slightly, and it all came rushing back, the memory of coming to David's room the night before, the moment he sat down beside him, and… how did he end up in David's bed?
Startled, Mark tried to turn and see if David was still asleep. But what he saw made him freeze. David was already awake, staring at him with quiet amusement.
Eyes widening, Mark quickly tried to sit up and move away, but David's calm voice stopped him.
"Where are you going?"
Mark hesitated, but didn't answer. He tried again to move, and David let out a small, pained sound, pretending his hand hurt more than it did. Mark immediately panicked and rushed back to his side.
"Are you okay?"
David took the chance to grab Mark gently by the waist with one hand, holding him close.
"Where were you going just now?" He asked, his voice low and teasing.
Mark froze, suddenly shy under David's gaze. He didn't know what to say, so he just muttered,
"How are you feeling?"
"I'm good," David said, his voice softer now. "Especially seeing you beside me."
Mark turned his face away and smiled, trying to hide it.
"What does me staying beside you have to do with your wound healing?"
David looked at him, eyes serious but affectionate.
"A lot," he said. Then leaned in just a little closer. "Kiss me."
Mark blinked, taken aback.
"Are you crazy?" he whispered. "How can I kiss you when you're hurt like this?"
David pouted dramatically, his voice soft and teasing. "If you kiss me… my wound might heal instantly."
Mark rolled his eyes, but there was no hiding the faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
Meanwhile, in the quiet of the night, the doctor had returned briefly to the Marcos mansion. He came to check the heart monitor connected to David, ensuring the bullet hadn't caused any internal damage. Thankfully, the readings were stable—David's heart was strong. The doctor gently removed the equipment and left after he was done. In the Mansion of Marcos—built for both luxury and danger—it wasn't unusual to have a private medical setup tucked inside.
Back in the room, David's full attention was on Mark. He looked up at him with that familiar boyish grin that always left Mark defenseless.
"Come on," David coaxed. "Just a quick kiss."
Mark hesitated, but there was no use resisting anymore.
"Just a few seconds," Mark murmured, leaning in.
But the moment their lips touched, David deepened the kiss. His tongue swept softly over Mark's lower lip, then the upper, drawing a gasp from him. Mark pulled back, flustered.
"Please don't," he whispered. "If you keep doing that… I might not be able to control myself."
David smiled, eyes dark with affection.
"It's just you and me here. Why hold back?"
"But… your wound—" Mark began.
"My hand's injured," David interrupted, his voice low, "not my dick."
Mark glanced nervously at the door. "What if Dnie comes in?"
"I already sent her a message when I woke up and saw you," David said. "Nobody enters unless I say so. The door's locked. No one dares."
Mark's resistance was crumbling, and David could see it.
"You always want me," David whispered. "But now, when I finally can touch you the way I want, you're the one holding back."
Mark sighed, torn. "I'm worried about your hand…"
David turned away with a mock sulk, like a child who didn't get his way.
Mark stared at him, heart thudding, then gave in with a soft voice.
"Fine… but be careful with your hand."
He leaned in again, kissed him slower this time—but it was too late. The moment their bodies touched, the heat between them ignited. Mark felt his control slipping, his body responding instantly to the feel of David's lips, the warmth of his skin.
David's voice dropped, filled with longing.
"Take off your shirt," he murmured against Mark's lips. "I want all of you."