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5:20 in the morning. Norton woke up.
It wasn’t the alarm that stirred him, nor was it natural wakefulness. What pulled him from sleep was a dull, inescapable ache deep in his lungs. He sat up and coughed a few times. It wasn’t violent, but it was enough to make the air feel thin. Outside, the sky hadn’t fully lightened. A mist-like grayness hung at the window, and the blanket still held a lingering, familiar warmth.
Dax was no longer in bed. The habit was long etched into Norton’s body—every morning, the other side of the bed would be folded like it had been measured with a ruler. He reached out and touched it. Still warm. That meant Dax had left no more than half an hour ago. Norton rubbed his forehead and, feeling a bit of tightness in his throat, looked to the nightstand. A pack of cigarettes lay silently there, like temptation seeping out of every crease.
He stared at it for a few seconds, then drew one out and lit it.
The smoke hit his lungs with a bitterness that made him laugh quietly to himself, coughing at the same time. He knew he shouldn’t be doing this. The doctor had warned him more than once—the cost of this bit of nicotine was heavier deposits in his already damaged lungs. But to him, smoking was like habitually opening a window—even if what came through was fog, smoke, or dust. He needed that moment.
When Dax appeared in the doorway, Norton was on his second drag.
“You’re playing with your life again,” Dax said, voice calm but the ending low, as though pressing something down. He hated it when Norton smoked. He knew exactly how Norton’s pneumoconiosis tormented him. But even if he threw the cigarette pack away, a new one would appear the next day. After going back and forth like this, Dax understood—perhaps those ruined lungs had long become accustomed to this twisted pain. Now, all he could do was help him slowly reduce the number he smoked.
“Just a little,” Norton replied without looking at him, obediently stubbing the cigarette into the ashtray.
“Looks like you’re just asking to be punished.”
Norton let out a soft snort and flipped the blanket aside to sit up.
“You know I wouldn’t mind that kind of wake-up service.”
Hearing this, Dax only sighed and walked into the room, opening the window. Cold air swept the smoke out, bringing sunlight into the dim space. He was wearing a black dress shirt—probably thrown on quickly after smelling the smoke. The collar was still unbuttoned, slightly open at the neck. The lines of his collarbones fell right into the light. Even with faint red marks on them, Norton still found them as exquisite as a work of art.
All the more so because he was the mischievous boy who had left his marks on that art.
If his past self had seen this scene, he would’ve thought he’d gone mad. How had he ended up with a rigid colonel like Dax?
Back then, he thought Dax was too upright—his head filled only with discipline and principles. The kind of person who wouldn’t pull a knife in an alley, nor hide a card under the negotiation table. Dax felt the same. He disliked Norton’s glib tongue, his untrustworthy smiles, and his ever-calculating nature.
They first met at an emergency military equipment meeting. Norton, under “delayed investigation,” showed up, the scar on his face doing nothing to hide his handsomeness. Holding a supply list, visibly impatient, he spoke out bluntly. Dax, sitting at the head of the table, naturally didn’t say a single kind word to him.
And yet, in the chaos of those few months, they unexpectedly became the only people each other could rely on.
When Norton’s supply lines were maliciously sabotaged by rivals, it was Dax who privately shouldered the blame for an old case, speaking up for him to the upper ranks. When Dax’s supplies were delayed, Norton used his not-entirely-legal channels to deliver rations, medicine, and high-quality firearms to the front line in record time.
“I don’t know if I should thank you or arrest you,” Dax had said.
“Before you arrest me, maybe ask your men if they have anything to eat tonight.”
The gap born from their opposite personalities wasn’t bridged in a day. It was slowly worn down through collaboration and complementing each other. Before they realized it, they could exchange information without speaking—a single glance was enough to understand the other’s next move.
Later, Norton finally decided to confess. He wrote three drafts of his letter, practiced his tone several times in front of the mirror, and even prepared a ring to surprise him. But before he could say a word, Dax beat him to it.
That day, they were in an East Asian restaurant. When the waiter asked if they wanted to share a table, Norton was still figuring out how to explain. Dax calmly said, “My partner is sensitive to light. Please seat us where there’s no direct sunlight.”
At that moment, Norton almost thought he’d misheard.
He never expected the always-stoic, always-calm man to use the word “partner” so openly, boldly declaring their relationship.
That day, Norton realized—all the favor he’d received was Dax saying “I love you” through his actions.
That day, they went about their work as usual. They barely exchanged more than a few words. Until the rain of May slowly washed away the morning and preserved the night.
Norton arrived early at their reserved restaurant. He sat by the window, gaze never leaving the glass. Outside, people hurried by with umbrellas, some laughing, some taking photos. Across the street, a shop displayed roses, perfume, and two cups of coffee. The sign read: “Limited Couple Set.” The surrounding restaurants were all decorated like it was Valentine’s Day—stickers on windows, roses on counters, violin music playing sugary tunes. Even the mirrors in the restroom bore words: “You deserve a flower too.” Norton looked around and found it amusing. It reminded him of how a subordinate had asked him at noon how he planned to celebrate the evening. He had simply replied, “My man doesn’t do holidays like this,” and said no more.
The wind chime at the door jingled softly. He turned and saw the familiar figure step inside, shaking off the dampness from his coat. Dax wasn’t in uniform, but his presence couldn’t be hidden. He walked in with a pace that suggested he knew the space well. The server approached. He nodded briefly, his eyes scanning the room and landing on Norton.
Norton raised his wine glass at him. The scent began to release—a white wine with smoky undertones, the kind of aroma only found in certain regions. Like stones soaked in morning mist, or the faint bitterness left behind by smoldering embers. It reminded one of a love deeply buried in someone’s bones, slowly awakened by gentle warmth.
“You’re five minutes late. That’s one drink as penalty, right?” Norton gestured to the other glass on the table—a chilled martini, still dewy with condensation. He had ordered it earlier for Dax, knowing he disliked garnishes, so there was no olive, no lemon peel.
“I’m not late. It’s still ten minutes before our scheduled time,” Dax said, not needing to check his watch. He knew his partner was, once again, full of nonsense.
“Doesn’t matter. You made me wait.” Norton looked at him, voice steady, tinged with a kind of unarguable arrogance. “So you still have to drink.”
Dax picked up the martini and took a small sip. Norton noticed the calm softening at the corners of his eyes—the kind that came with tasting something good.
“It’s raining outside. Not that hot.”
“But you like it cold.”
“You remember well.”
“You’re my colonel. How could I not?”
They said no more and ordered their usual—simple pork chops and sides, the rhythm of their ordinary meals. Dax, as always, cut with clean precision, barely making a sound. Norton, distracted, occasionally glanced at him and lazily cut his own food. Dax noticed, and simply placed a few neatly cut pieces onto Norton’s plate.
On the table were two glasses—one lightly chilled white wine, one empty martini. They didn’t order dessert, nor did they celebrate with flowers like the young couple at the next table. They simply finished their meal and set down their cutlery, in that familiar, quiet way they had done countless times.
Dax gathered his coat and stood. Norton paid the bill. No sparks passed between them.
“Let’s go.”
They walked for a while, not speaking, not headed anywhere in particular. They wandered through the city, following the flow of people, brushing past neon and noise.
“Do you have anything you want to say to me today?” Norton asked.
Dax paused for half a second.
“Something like… ‘I love you’?”
Norton asked lightly, like his usual teasing, his voice lifting at the end, a smile hidden inside.
Dax didn’t answer. He kept walking. But a faint sigh still reached Norton’s ears. Truthfully, he didn’t care. He knew what kind of person Dax was. He knew how many times Dax had shielded him from trouble, covered his name in meetings, how he left backup communications before missions even when they weren’t supposed to stay in contact.
To get someone like that to say “I love you” was a luxury—and unnecessary. His entire existence was a steady act of love.
Norton knew. He knew too well.
But Norton Campbell wasn’t someone who “found contentment in simplicity.”
He was a businessman—a ruthless one. He wanted everything. Missed nothing. Greedy to the core, he even wanted to turn love into a patent—those blue eyes could only look at him. That faint smile could only rise for him.
Action wasn’t enough. He wanted more.
Watching Dax walk ahead, Norton caught up and noticed his pace had slowed, his left hand slightly open—as if waiting to be held.
He smiled and took it, palm pressed against warmth.
“Do you need me to say it?”
“No,” Norton replied, tightening his grip as though never wanting to let go. “But I want to hear it.”
Dax stopped, turning back to look at Norton’s face bathed in moonlight. The love in his eyes visible only to Norton.
“I love you.”
Norton smiled—a laugh rising from his chest, like he’d finally received the prize he had long awaited. He leaned down and kissed those soft lips.
“Say it again.”
“I love you.” Dax’s voice was calm as ever. Because to him, it was a truth—not a fleeting confession.
The man who received that love smiled and hugged him back, burying his face in Dax’s neck, inhaling that familiar clean scent.
You said it. That means I’m going to get greedier…
He didn’t say it aloud. He simply leaned in and whispered by Dax’s ear:
“I want to hear it a third time.”
“You already heard it twice.”
“So you still owe me one.”
“…"
Dax reached out to caress Norton’s black hair, then turned the head resting on his shoulder toward himself. Those eyes—blue like the sky after rain—were tinged with emotion, the subtle red at the corners a view that belonged only to Norton.
“I love you, Norton.” Dax’s voice remained steady, but the love within could overflow a man. Norton loved that about him.
Satisfied, Norton straightened up, eyes crinkling, like a mischievous student who had gotten his way. He shamelessly kissed Dax’s now-reddening cheeks.
“You really do love me, dear Colonel. You actually said it three times today.”
“You’re the one who asked for it,” Dax replied calmly.
“Then tomorrow I want four.”
Dax didn’t respond. He simply cupped Norton’s face and kissed the scarred side. He did this often, and every time, it stole Norton’s soul.
“Let’s go home,” he said.
“I prepared the white wine you like.”
“Oh? You actually prepared something? Should I be expecting more?”
“The wine’s just foreplay.”
Their hands clasped again. Norton looked down at their joined hands and slowly smiled. He knew he would hold this calloused hand for a long, long time—until time had etched itself into their skin, until their eyes closed for good.
Knowing how long they had ahead made tonight’s three declarations not enough.
Tomorrow, Dax would have to say it four times.
Or five. That’d be fine too.