Caine's husband

Kinger came to himself with a start, as if he'd been yanked out of a dream by the scruff of his neck. His head was pounding, his mouth was dry, and the ceiling above him was completely unfamiliar. It wasn't his apartment—the ceilings were too high, the curtains were foreign, the air smelled different. He inhaled slowly and exhaled just as slowly, hoping it was just another misperception after a difficult night.

There was someone lying nearby.

Kinger turned his head and froze. A man. Tall, broad-shouldered, with tousled red hair, streaked with white. A calm face, a light stubble, even breathing. The stranger looked... too real. Kinger wanted to move away, but felt a weight on his leg. A strange hand rested on his thigh—warm, confident. And a ring gleamed on his ring finger. His heart sank. He frantically looked at his hand. The same ring. The same metal. The same shape.

• No…

Kinger exhaled almost silently, frantically sorting through his memories. The bar. Laughter. Music. Scraps of conversation. And then—emptiness. No face, no words, no decision that could have led to this. Panic was slowly creeping up his throat when the man next to him stirred. His breathing changed, his eyelids fluttered, and after a moment, he opened his eyes—one green, the other blue. Their gaze was clear, calm, without a hint of surprise. Kane blinked lazily, as if it were any other morning, and without removing his hand, gently ran his palm down Kinger's leg.

-Good morning

He said calmly, as if there was no secret, no shock, no rings on their fingers between them.