A few minutes later, Chak tried teaching me properly again.
Tried being the important word.
Because no matter how carefully he guided my hands, the clay kept collapsing under my fingers, leaning sideways in strange shapes that looked nothing like what they were supposed to become.
I stared at the latest disaster in front of me with narrowed eyes.
"It hates me," I muttered.
Chak, still standing close behind me, let out a quiet breath that sounded suspiciously like amusement.
"The clay does not hate you."
"It absolutely does."
My hands slipped again slightly, ruining the shape even more, and I immediately frowned harder while Chak finally laughed softly behind me, his arms moving around me once more as he placed his hands over mine.
"Relax," he murmured near my ear. "You keep trying to control it too much."
"I learned from you."
That earned me another quiet laugh.
Then, more patiently this time, he guided my hands together with his, slowing my movements until the clay finally started responding properly beneath our fingers, turning smoother, steadier, the shape gradually becoming recognizable.
A small bowl.
Not perfect.
A little uneven.
But ours.
"There," Chak said quietly. "Better."
I smiled immediately, strangely proud of it despite how simple it was.
When the wheel finally stopped, I reached for one of the small carving tools nearby before Chak could ask what I was doing.
Carefully, slowly, I wrote onto the side of the bowl.
N + C = ♥
The moment I finished, the room fell quiet again.
I glanced up at him.
His expression softened instantly.
Completely.
Then, without saying anything at first, he wrapped his arms around me from behind, holding me gently against him while both of us looked down at the tiny bowl together.
"We'll keep this one," he murmured quietly.
I smiled softly.
"Obviously."
But then he added, his voice lower now, warmer—
"And one day… we'll show it to our daughter."
My breath caught slightly.
The words settled somewhere deep inside me before I could even react properly.
I slowly turned in his arms to look at him.
"You thought that far ahead?" I asked quietly.
"Yes."
Simple.
Certain.
Always certain when it came to us.
Something emotional tightened in my chest again as I lifted my hand to his cheek.
"Then," I whispered softly, "our love will be complete by then."
His eyes stayed on mine, softer than I had ever seen them.
And before the emotion inside me could become too overwhelming—
I leaned forward and kissed him gently.
Chak carefully lifted the small bowl from the wheel, holding it steadily in his hands while I watched him with quiet fascination, still smiling a little from everything we had just said to each other.
"You're really keeping it?" I asked softly.
He glanced at me briefly.
"Yes."
Like there had never been another option.
He carried it toward one of the shelves where other unfinished pottery pieces were drying, and with surprising gentleness for someone everyone thought was cold all the time, he placed our little bowl beside them carefully, making sure it stood properly.
For a second, both of us just looked at it there.
Small.
Uneven.
Marked with a crooked little heart.
Perfect anyway.
Then Chak turned back toward me.
His eyes moved over my face, then lower, noticing the clay smeared across my hands, my shirt, even a little on my cheek.
"You're a mess," he said quietly.
I looked down at myself and laughed under my breath.
"This is your fault."
"You attacked the clay."
"The clay attacked me first."
A faint smile appeared on his lips again before he walked back toward me, stopping close enough that I instinctively tilted my head up slightly to look at him.
Then suddenly—
his arms slid around me again.
Before I could react, he lifted me effortlessly into his arms.
"Chak—" I let out a surprised laugh, instinctively wrapping my arms around his neck. "Again?"
"You're covered in clay," he replied calmly.
"So are you."
"I'm aware."
I smiled despite myself as he carried me out of the room, turning off the lights behind us before walking through the quiet house toward the bathroom, his hold on me steady and familiar now, to the point where I didn't even think about protesting anymore.
Instead, I relaxed against him completely.
My head rested lightly against his shoulder while I watched him from close enough to notice every small detail in his expression.
Still handsome.
Unfairly handsome.
When we reached the bathroom, he pushed the door open with one hand and carried me inside before finally setting me carefully down near the sink.
The room was quiet.
Warmly lit.
And somehow, even something this simple
being carried by him through the house after making pottery together—
felt strangely intimate.
For a moment, neither of us moved after he set me down.
I stayed leaning lightly against the sink, looking at him while he rolled his sleeves up slightly, traces of dried clay still visible on his hands and along the edge of his shirt, and something about seeing Chak like this—messy, softer, relaxed—still felt surreal to me.
"You really carried me all the way here just because of clay?" I asked quietly.
He stepped closer, calm as ever.
"Yes."
"That's dramatic."
"You're dramatic."
I opened my mouth to argue, then stopped.
"Okay, fair."
A faint smile touched his lips before he reached for my hands and guided them under the warm water, the clay slowly washing away between his fingers and mine.
The water was warm enough to make me relax immediately.
I watched him quietly while he cleaned my hands with surprising patience, his touch careful, almost absentmindedly gentle, like this was something natural to him too.
"You know," I murmured softly, "if anyone saw this side of you, they'd be terrified."
His eyebrow lifted slightly.
"Terrified?"
"They'd realize the cold CEO secretly washes clay off his boyfriend's hands."
At that word
boyfriend
his gaze flickered toward mine briefly.
Not surprised.
Just softer.
"You say that very confidently," he said quietly.
"You are my boyfriend."
"I am."
The directness of that answer made warmth spread through my chest again far too easily.
Once my hands were clean, he reached up and brushed his thumb lightly across my cheek.
"There's still clay here," he murmured.
"Then clean it."
His eyes narrowed slightly at my tone.
"You sound demanding."
"I'm spoiled."
"That part is my fault."
I smiled immediately.
"Yes, it is."
He wet his fingers slightly before gently wiping the remaining clay from my skin, his touch lingering a little too long afterward, and before I even realized what I was doing, I leaned into his hand instinctively.
His expression changed almost imperceptibly at that.
Softer again.
More vulnerable.
Then his hand slid slowly to the back of my neck, pulling me a little closer until our foreheads touched lightly.
"You were happy tonight," he said quietly.
I blinked once.
"I was."
"Even after getting accidentally drunk from chocolate?"
I laughed softly under my breath.
"Especially after that part."
A quiet breath of amusement escaped him again before his gaze searched mine more carefully this time.
"And now?"
The question was quiet.
Honest.
I looked at him for a second before answering.
"Now I feel loved."
The silence after that felt deep enough to hold everything we hadn't said aloud yet.
And the way Chak looked at me afterward—
like those words mattered more than anything else—
made my heart ache in the best possible way.
For a few seconds, he didn't answer.
He just looked at me.
Completely still.
Like the words had reached somewhere deeper than I intended.
Then his hand at the back of my neck tightened slightly, not enough to hurt, just enough to pull me closer until there was barely any space left between us.
"You are loved," he said quietly.
Not casually.
Not lightly.
Certain.
The kind of certainty that settled directly into my chest and stayed there.
I swallowed softly, suddenly emotional again for reasons I couldn't fully explain, and before I could hide it, Chak noticed immediately.
His thumb brushed lightly beneath my eye.
"You're thinking too much again."
"I can't help it tonight."
"I know."
The warmth in his voice only made it worse.
I let out a quiet breath and hid my face briefly against his shoulder, my arms wrapping around his waist while he held me without hesitation, one hand slowly moving through my hair again in that calm, grounding way that always made everything inside me slow down.
"You've been very soft today," I murmured against him.
"You bring it out of me."
I pulled back just enough to look at him again.
"That sounded dangerously romantic for someone like you."
A faint smile appeared on his lips.
"Don't get used to it."
"Too late."
That earned me another quiet breath of amusement before he finally stepped slightly away and reached toward the shower controls.
"We should clean up properly before the clay dries everywhere."
I glanced down at my clothes and sighed dramatically.
"I liked this shirt."
"You'll survive."
"You say that now."
He looked at me calmly.
"I'll buy you ten more."
I immediately pointed at him.
"That attitude is exactly why people think you solve everything with money."
"And does it work?"
I tried not to smile.
Unfortunately—
I failed.
"Sometimes."
His eyes softened again at that tiny smile, and for a moment, the room became quiet once more except for the sound of water beginning to run softly nearby.
Then Chak stepped closer again, his fingers moving slowly toward the buttons of my shirt.
My breath caught slightly.
"Chak…"
"We're cleaning the clay off you," he said calmly.
But the look in his eyes said he was very aware of how close we were again.
And judging by the way my heart suddenly started beating faster—
so was I.