TLE

Tle’s empire stretched across continents, his fortune measured in billions—yet he had become a stranger in his own home. Days bled into nights; he left before dawn broke, returned when the halls were dark and silent, his mind always consumed by deals, figures, and endless demands. Promises shattered like glass: “Tomorrow, I promise,” became just another empty word Paew had learned to stop believing in. The grand mansion was filled with every luxury imaginable, yet it felt colder than a palace made of ice. Paew sat at the dining table night after night, watching fine meals turn cold, waiting for a man who belonged to the world instead of him. He never made a scene, never raised his voice—he simply faded, quiet and aching, alone in a house full of everything but love. Then one night, Tle walked in earlier than expected, his footsteps heavy with exhaustion. He froze in the doorway, seeing Paew sitting motionless in the dim light, shoulders hunched, looking so fragile it broke his heart. Two untouched plates sat before him—hours old, long grown cold. A wave of crushing guilt crashed over Tle, knocking the breath from his lungs. He rushed forward, falling to his knees beside Paew, clutching his hands tight—they were ice cold. “I have built fortunes that could buy cities,” Tle choked out, voice raw and breaking, tears spilling freely down his face. “I own everything… except the one thing that matters. I have given you everything I have, except me—and that is the cruelest thing I could ever do.” Paew stared at him, eyes glistening with years of held-back tears, and finally let out a quiet, trembling sob as Tle pulled him tight against his chest, holding him with a desperate, feverish need—swearing he would never, ever let him wait again