Page 124 of Under Construction

"What?That's all you have to say?"

"Had supplier meetings off site, princess. I'm sorry."

"Really? Because I called. Multiple times. Straight to voicemail."

"I'll make up the hours next week." Chris tries for another kiss but Dennis keeps his distance until Chris's expression falls. "Come on..."

Dennis’s anger deflates seeing Chris's exhausted face. Between the site chaos and whatever's eating at Chris, they're all stretched thin. "Just... don't disappear on me like that."

Chris drops a quick kiss on his cheek. "Never, princess."

All day, Dennis watches Chris work. Something's off—Chris keeps checking his phone, missing questions, losing focus mid-conversation.

Where Chris normally bursts into Dennis’s office after site duties so they can wrap up together and grab dinner, there's only a text:

Meeting you at home baby. Supplier emergency.

When Dennis gets home, Chris shows up thirty minutes later with containers of xiao long bao from that dim sum place Dennis loves. His shoulders drop at the gesture—Chris is still thinking of him.

At home, they push away the mess clouding their minds—rejected permits, missing trucks, endless investor calls. When Chris pulls him close, kisses him deep, holds him tight against his chest, Dennis knows Chris is still here with him, still his.

Later, kneeling over Chris's hips and taking him deep, Dennis tries to lose himself in the familiar stretch, the perfect angle. Chris absolutely loves it when Dennis rides him.

But Chris's phone buzzes and his eyes drift. The connection breaks.

Dennis cups his face, drawing it back. "Hey. Where'd you go?"

"I'm right here." Chris whispers, stroking the inside of Dennis’s wrist with his thumb. But his eyes are distant, glazed with thoughts he won't share.

That night, Dennis lies awake listening to Chris pace on the balcony, voice low as he talks on the phone. Chris deserves his privacy—Dennis has never been the type to pry, doesn't want to start now.

But sleep doesn't come easy.

And that's just the beginning of the fall.

35Temporary Glue

Dennis wakes at four AM to cold sheets and empty spaces. His hand finds nothing but wrinkled fabric where Chris should be. The apartment echoes with that particular silence of being alone—no shower running, no coffee maker humming, no Chris whistling remarkably on-key while he gets ready.

His phone lights up. Chris's morning text, same as every day this week:

Early supplier meeting baby. Miss your prissy face sooo much.

The site feels wrong without Chris's constant presence. Not that there's much happening—between permit rejections and missing materials, the crew mostly take long breaks and tap around on their phones. How many supplier meetings can one site manager have when nothing's moving forward?

When Chris does appear, it's always rushed. "Got that thing with the concrete guys," he'll say, or "Meeting about alternative bamboo sources." Quick kisses, faster exits. The excuses pile up while actual face time dwindles.

He's still Chris around others—cracking jokes with the crew, charming inspectors. But alone, something haunts his expression, pulling him into himself.

Saturday morning, Dennis is making coffee when Chris crowds him against the counter. The kiss is desperate, all teeth and tongue. Before Dennis can process what's happening, Chris spins him around, yanking his shorts down.

"Chris—" Dennis gasps as Chris pushes into him, rough and needy. The counter edge digs into his hands and hips but Chris's grip is iron, holding him there while he rams in deep.

It's over fast—Chris coming with a broken sound, collapsing against Dennis’s back. His forehead presses between Dennis’s shoulder blades, breath ragged like he's been running for miles.

Dennis twists around, cradling Chris's face. "Baby, what's wrong?"

Chris just shakes his head, wrapping around Dennis tight enough to hurt. They stay like that, Chris draped over him while Dennis strokes his arms, his back, anywhere he can reach.

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