Khunpol genuinely thinks anything that has to do with Pasawee is just always against his own consents, including standing in the middle of a matrimonial ceremony of one of Pasawee’s cousins. The wedding itself was supposedly announced way before Khunpol and Pasawee’s arrangement made it to the news — since then truly, Khunpol’s life hasn’t been exactly the same. 

“Yeah, I’ll take that,” Khunpol said as he took his second glass of champagne from the tray that was being offered by the waiter as Pasawee casted him a curious glance. The latter has admitted that his sister was the one putting Khunpol’s name as his plus-one at the last minute, because goodness blesses her and her positive spirits and eagerness to have Khunpol as a part of the family. 

“I hope we are not planning to get wasted on three in the afternoon,” Pasawee said rather skeptically as he nudged Khunpol’s arm slightly.

“Who got drunk on champagne?” Khunpol raised his eyebrow and eyed Pasawee’s unfinished first glass on his hand, “Not you, because I saw you do better,” Khunpol said as he took a sip of the drink, “If one more person ask me whether they should do a curtsy to me or call me with his royal highness— honestly, gun to my head, I’ll pull the trigger.” Pasawee let out a sardonic chuckle at the comment before he turned his head to face Khunpol, “No hate to your family, I just— it kind of feels like I am letting them down because I am not that royal.”

“Well, you’re still the first member of House of Vihokratana around here, so.” Pasawee shrugged, “Since we don’t usually encounter the royal family anyway, even if we do business with them.”

“You do know we are not that scarce, right? There are quite a lot of us if you search hard enough.” Khunpol raised his eyebrows. 

“Yeah, but still, it’s fascinating,” Pasawee replied casually.

“I saw that—.” Khunpol paused, “—fascination, the first time you and your parents had seen me and my mother,” Khunpol continued, “I thought that it would gradually wear off, especially after you’ve received the NDA from the palace— have you even received one?”

Pasawee nodded to the question, “Yeah, all complete with the royal house emblem and the papers actually smelled somewhat archaic, it was really fancy.” Pasawee chuckled lightly, “I guess it was the first time that we took the fact that you are in line to the throne more seriously.” Khunpol squinted his eyes cynically at the comment before Pasawee added, “Like it just hit us that you are not like other Svasti.”

“Not a Svasti,” Khunpol replied nonchalantly. 

“Got it, noted it, Khunpol.” Pasawee smiled slightly, “Although, there is this one clause that my lawyers tried to negotiate.”

“Divorce settlements are not to be disclosed and discussed in public for it is damaging to the royal family?” 

“That you come first before me.” Pasawee deadpanned, “That any scandal, any slightest issue, anything at all that can be accessed and consumed by the public and have the power to damage the royal image, then the royal publicist has the complete authority to take over and manage your public image saving,” Pasawee elaborated effortlessly, like it amused him more than anything, “My lawyers understood it as, that they are going to drown me if it is what it takes to save you.” 

“That is exactly what it means,” Khunpol replied almost immediately, “Weerayut Chansook exactly meant it like that, there is no use negotiating with one of the most deranged publicists in this nation.” 

“We did successfully negotiate though.” Pasawee shrugged and Khunpol raised his eyebrows in disbelief, “I have my people and their own ways.”

“You know what? Whatever, I don’t care if you wanted to drown me anyway,” Khunpol decided at the end. 

“I have no desire to drown you, Khunpol,” Pasawee replied instead, though he didn’t need to — Khunpol also wasn’t sure why he did. 

“There you two are!” Kanyawee chimed in to the scene with a huge smile and the most gorgeous forest green dress that matched Pasawee’s suit, “They are about to start the ceremony in a minute,” She added and took Khunpol’s arm instead of her little brother, “I am so glad that you made it here, Khunpol.” 

There is actually and perpetually nothing to dislike about Pasawee’s older sister — Kanyawee Sriarunotai has displayed nothing but gentleness to Khunpol and looked like she voiced out more opinions than Pasawee does. “You know, I hope this is not offensive but they have asked me to tell you whether it is okay that you don’t sit with my brother during the ceremony?” 

Khunpol didn’t even have the chance to say yes when Pasawee beat him into questioning, “Why not?”

“Oh, calm down, baby brother.” Khunpol almost laughed at the nickname, “They wanted family only on the left side, I mean, you two aren’t married yet so—.”

“I’m fine and not offended at all, I will sit on the right side, no worries at all!” Khunpol offered the most genuine smile he could afford, because Pasawee looked even more offended than he did. 

“That’s good to hear, I am so sorry for the inconvenience, Khunpol.” Kanyawee caressed Khunpol’s arms in an apologetic manner.

“It’s really fine, I promise.” Khunpol would even go home if he was asked to, thus not sitting with Pasawee might be a good idea. Distance is a good idea, he decided that it is probably better not to meet Pasawee that much anyway. 

There was only an aisle that separated them at the end — Khunpol tried to sit on a different row than Pasawee’s direct family yet the siblings insisted that he shouldn’t. There was something odd about attending a wedding with Pasawee, for Khunpol couldn’t ignore the fact that it might be them standing at the end of the aisle one of those days. He thought about how he has to do it one day in one way or another, doing all the marriage traditions ceremony with Pasawee — the dowries, the string-tying, everything. 

Khunpol had never thought about marrying anyone until Pasawee came into the picture, in the most anti-romantic and anticlimactic way possible. Because what is Khunpol's purpose to Svasti if it is not to seal the deal with one of the most prominent conglomerates in Asia-Pacific? 

Pasawee then looked indifferent as ever when their eyes met as they were being told to stand up in order to welcome the bride. The slow music echoed through the room with the live mini orchestra starting the piece, Pasawee tilted his head as his gaze softened when Khunpol raised his eyebrows in questioning. It was probably the way they were across each other in the middle of one of the wedding ceremonies that made Khunpol want to puke a little bit something out of his chest.

Why won’t Pasawee choose another route? Was Khunpol too nice and not cruel enough? How come the marriage is still going to happen?

Pasawee pried his attention away from Khunpol just right when Khunpol blinked and turned his head to the end of the aisle instead. The illusion of Pasawee being a teacher’s pet was only a shadow right then, yet there was something longingly devastating about the way both of them were put there not by their own choice. Nonetheless, they still stand where they are placed because of a choice, too. Khunpol might understand Pasawee as much as Pasawee understands him, even if it might be nothing and everything all at the same time. 

If at the very end they are still going to marry, what more things that Khunpol could have lost? At the end again, mayhaps all he has to do is give in. Yet Khunpol doesn’t think he has enough grace to afford or be in love. 

How funny, Pasawee stole a glance and turned his head to Khunpol’s direction once again — only to turn away when Khunpol mirrored his action. Khunpol wanted to know what was going on in his silly head, Khunpol wanted to know what Pasawee was thinking, Khunpol wanted to learn how Pasawee was shaped. What materials are Pasawee’s heart made of?

“Hey,” Pasawee whispered from the other side when the ceremony came to an end not too long after, “You look mildly distressed. Everything’s good?”

“I do not, please stop determining my mood.” Khunpol shot Pasawee with a death glare, yet Pasawee was still looking at him as they stood up from their seats. “I’m fine,” Khunpol added nonetheless when he could feel Pasawee’s stare burning his side face, though the latter didn’t respond afterward as they were escorted to the outdoor area for cocktail hour. 

“Oh, there he is,” Pasawee said as the only warning before he grabbed Khunpol’s hand, intertwining their fingers together in the process as he pulled Khunpol to a very familiar figure’s direction. “Grandpa,” Pasawee called out and Khunpol approximately only had three seconds to school his expression into politeness. 

“Oh, Alan,” The old man replied back with a wide smile as he offered Khunpol the same courtesy, “Khunpol, we are glad to have you with us today as well.” The truth is that even Khunpol knows immediately that Pasawee’s grandfather is a better person than his own grandfather, outside the fact that his own grandfather doesn’t fancy Khunpol — Tanawat Sriarunotai seems like he is a more reasonable old man than Svasti.

“I heard the little ones keep mistaking you as a prince, I hope you don’t mind that, they were told that someone from the palace is coming,” The old man added. 

“I mean who could blame them? Khunpol does look like a prince,” Pasawee beat Khunpol in reply even before any sound came out of Khunpol’s mouth, and he already had his fingers interlaced with Khunpol’s fingers again after Khunpol briefly let them go to offer the elder a wai.

“You two look like you are getting along well,” The grandfather replied as he eyed their hands and he pulled his smile wider.

“Yeah, we have been spending time together,” Pasawee replied effortlessly, because it could have been a lie yet it was not — Khunpol can’t remember a week where he didn’t see Pasawee at all. “I’ve been giving Khunpol a ride whenever I can, because Khunpol also likes taking the train.” Khunpol raised his eyebrows at the word also, before it made more sense, “You used to like taking the train too, right, Grandpa?”

“Ah, yes, we were involved in the building of the skytrain, I had to test them myself back then.” The grandfather let out a polite small laugh, “Convenient, right, Khunpol?”

“Yeah,” Khunpol returned, “Uh, I don’t really want to deal with the traffic sometimes.” 

“It gets really bad indeed in the Chulalongkorn area sometimes,” Pasawee added. 

“You’re still in school for your masters degree,” The grandfather stated and looked straight at Khunpol in expectation, like that was the end of his knowledge regarding Khunpol. 

It was only when Pasawee turned his head to Khunpol that he realized he needed to speak, “Yes, for biomedical engineering.”

The grandfather hummed in return and didn’t even try to hide his amusement before it turned into confusion, “Biomedical? Does Brown offer biomedical? Well, I suppose they are.” 

“Khunpol graduated from MIT, grandpa,” Pasawee corrected with a small chuckle. 

“Wait, I am pretty sure that your grandfather mentioned Brown though, I didn’t remember any mention of MIT before.”

“Uh, Alex— my cousin went to Brown,” Khunpol said after he picked up fast enough that his grandfather might not even bother to boast about Khunpol even just a little tiny bit. “Oh, it’s fine, he must've forgotten to mention it before,” Khunpol added immediately when the old man shifted his expression into a more apologetic one — Khunpol didn’t want that because it was none of their fault. 

“Alan would have not made it to MIT, he is not a very science kid,” The grandfather said instead in most probable consolation and Pasawee let out a slight gasp in disbelief at the sudden burn, “Biomedical is very fascinating, I have no idea that Svasti is leaning that way,” The grandfather added afterward. 

“Well, Khunpol is doing it because he is passionate about the subject, which is really cool,” Pasawee replied and Khunpol slowly realized where the conversation was going, “Do you know that Khunpol is also a research group member for health advancement?” 

There was something so oddly reassuring about the way Pasawee gripped his hands tighter when the grandfather asked, “Oh, what kind of advancement?”

“Uh, well, we have been researching artificial heart advancement.” Khunpol stopped midway because Pasawee really could have briefed him if he wanted to push Khunpol into the lion's den. The latter must’ve sensed the way Khunpol tensed slightly when Pasawee rubbed his thumb against Khunpol’s skin for whatever reason. “We are trying to find a way for an artificial heart to be able to work in the closest way possible to the actual organ so it can, uh, substitute the organ if it ever got damaged beyond repair.” 

“Because the heart is the least regenerative organ, Khunpol taught me,” Pasawee added, “It’s really cool, grandpa, I have seen his notes and he has this heart model, very fascinating.” 

“Fascinating, indeed,” The grandfather replied, like he indeed only heard the entire thing for the first time. Khunpol wasn’t even surprised, his grandfather probably doesn’t even know half of the thing to be able to retell the story to other people. “Why not continue your study at MIT?”

“MIT doesn’t exactly offer a biomedical program.” Pasawee beat Khunpol again at replying, only because Khunpol couldn’t decide where to start, “And Khunpol has a friend who is also his research partner in Thailand, another medical graduate student that is pursuing a cardiovascular speciality," Pasawee continued casually, “They are dedicated into contributing to Thailand’s healthcare advancement, how exceptional is that?”

Khunpol fell silent at the entire narrative, not only because of the fact that Pasawee remembers every single detail — but also the way he carefully picked the words and sentences, the right amount of concealing by not mentioning how the royal advisor borderline forced Khunpol to take his master’s degree within the nation or how the friend— Heart’s family is the owner of the foundation that fund their research. Pasawee managed to make it all sound like it was solely based on Khunpol’s passion and hard work. 

Therefore, it hit Khunpol that only a manipulative manic can recognize another manipulative bitch, and that Pasawee would have no trouble in switching a narrative in front of his grandfather. Heart might be annoying as fuck, but he might have a point about how Pasawee might be spineless but not because he isn’t capable of growing one.

“In fact, after he graduates later, Khunpol is set to expand his research in Europe and—.” Pasawee turned his head to Khunpol as if he was encouraging Khunpol to fill in. 

“Australia— Sydney,” Khunpol added. 

“How wonderful, isn't it? I think it’s really cool, you know?” The thing was that Khunpol was almost sure that Pasawee indeed thought that it was really cool and not just some facade that he used to convince his grandfather, “I can’t wait for Khunpol to graduate in early next year.” Pasawee turned his head to face Khunpol again and offered Khunpol the widest, proudest smile he could afford. 

“That is very interesting,” The grandfather responded, “However, if I am not mistaken, Svasti did mention about Khunpol wanting to halt his study? Or graduating early next year is still within the timeline?” 

“To focus on our marriage preparations?” Khunpol almost rolled his eyes, not because of the halting of his studies being mentioned — more because the sugar-laced tone that Pasawee used was almost irritating yet interesting. Pasawee literally has zero issues in sweet talking his grandfather into doing his wants, then how come their wedding is still happening? 

“Well, I told Khunpol that it is not needed and I think I can help with most of the wedding things, because what Khunpol is doing is extraordinary and I wouldn’t wish to disturb or distract him from the process of doing things for the greater good,” Pasawee remarked excitedly, “However, that is in my opinion, Grandpa, but I sincerely think that Khunpol can continue his study normally and we will still be married by summer next year, just like the initial plan.” 

The old man raised his eyebrows slightly — mayhaps because Pasawee was trying too hard to be effortlessly determined, or else. “You certainly know better about Khunpol’s situation than me, Alan, mayhaps we can talk about this later.” Mayhaps it was an or else, mayhaps Pasawee is always capable of cunningness.

“We can, certainly,” Pasawee replied with a gleeful smile as the grandfather patted Pasawee’s shoulder in mirth. 

Pasawee squeezed Khunpol’s hand when his grandfather added, “Take care of Khunpol, will you, Alan?” The old man said afterward, “Enjoy the rest of the party, both of you.” 

—

“Why didn’t your cousin hold a destination wedding?” Khunpol said the first thing first when he felt Pasawee’s presence behind him. Leaning against the sliding door that separates the hotel room and patio, Pasawee folded his arms against his chest as he watched Khunpol sitting on the floor with the swimming pool directly in front of him. 

“She did, last month in Tuscany.” Pasawee shrugged it off, “We have chairs.”

Khunpol rolled his eyes as he turned his figure around to face Pasawee, who was silently judging him as he pointed his chin to the outdoor chair that Khunpol pushed away to the side. “It’s easier if I want to go swimming,” Khunpol argued. 

“Out of the blue?” Pasawee responded instead, “In a full suit as well?” Khunpol shrugged back nonchalantly when Pasawee sighed and took a seat beside Khunpol on the floor. 

“Nonetheless, thank you for lending me your complimentary hotel room for me to hide from any more socializing,” Khunpol spoke up afterward, “Beautiful wedding and beautiful couple, congratulations to your cousin, it’s just me, I— you know? I don’t have a massive social battery pack.”

“That’s fine, it’s mostly business people too, I doubt my cousin knows half of the guests today,” Pasawee assured, “It’s just all formality and professional affair.”

“It’s an arranged marriage too, or what?” Khunpol raised his eyebrows rather skeptically. 

“No,” Pasawee replied in a lower tone, “They met in college, fell in love, and stuff.” Khunpol knew for sure that Pasawee turned his head to face him, even though Khunpol’s eyes stayed on the still water, “Uh, her parents were against it at first. Her husband isn't a bad person— he’s just, you know, an ordinary person.” Khunpol let out a scoff, “Her older brother’s marriage was already the arranged one so, I guess they let it slide with her.”

Khunpol hummed in acknowledgment and let the silence take over for a little while. There were a lot of things that Khunpol wanted to know, yet Khunpol wasn’t sure whether he should know. Khunpol really did like it better when he knew where to put his hands — around Pasawee’s neck to choke the latter or on his back to push him to Min Thanakrit’s direction. Right then, Khunpol was only able to touch the cold ceramic floor. 

“Do you think that in another life, we would get a chance to marry the person we love?” Khunpol asked out of the blue when Pasawee got himself in a more comfortable position, silently announcing that he didn’t mind to spend a longer time there. Yet Pasawee didn’t answer immediately and took time to let the question hang instead. Even Khunpol didn’t know why he asked. 

“Like you know, I mean, in a way that— do you think in another life, we would find a person first and then we would fall in love with them, and then marry them in the end, like any normal person would,” Khunpol elaborated, “You know all that jazz chronologically, not like, whatever the hell we are.” 

“Maybe,” Pasawee responded then, “In another life, yeah, maybe that could happen, Khunpol.” Khunpol then turned his head to face Pasawee, though Khunpol avoided Pasawee’s eyes at the end. There was some sort of softness that Pasawee placed on Khunpol that felt forbidden, like the lines Khunpol cannot cross, or shouldn’t cross, because who the hell settles the rules if it’s not both of them. 

Khunpol thought about the way Pasawee casually brought him to the table that no one has ever seated him at, and wanted to curse at the latter for it. Pasawee really owns no business bringing up Khunpol’s heart project to his grandfather, because what does Pasawee gain? Almost exactly nothing. 

“Thank you for bringing up about the heart research to your grandfather,” Khunpol said and it felt like Khunpol had crossed the line because Khunpol wanted to say, “Why the fuck did you do that?” 

“I said I would, did I not?” Pasawee shrugged it off, like he could bring any discussion and any request and all his desires into the table if only he wanted to. “I genuinely admire what you are doing, Khunpol, it’s really remarkable,” Pasawee added, “This arrangement shouldn’t be a hitch to that, we have put up with it enough.” 

What exactly had they sacrificed for the unwanted arrangement to work? Khunpol felt like it had become unnecessary to count and compare. On top of everything, there was this slow, terrible realization that Khunpol is fated to be in that position — if Pasawee ever decided to run back to Min Thanakrit then his grandfather would find Khunpol someone else. “It turned on for a really long time for the first time,” Khunpol replied instead to shift the topic, “The heart prototype.” 

“Twelve seconds.” Pasawee hummed, “And then you hung up on me after screaming Heart’s name.” Pasawee chuckled, “Or did you manage to make it last longer than that afterwards?”

“Nope, it is still stuck on twelve, but that’s fine,” Khunpol remarked, “I found the issue and am designing a more proper blueprint before I can start to build something with the new alternative,” Khunpol added, “We are aiming for sixty seconds next, a whole minute of pumping.” Khunpol didn’t understand why he kept talking as if Pasawee would understand. 

“What was the issue?” Maybe because Pasawee acted like he cares. 

“Magnets,” Khunpol replied, “I shifted the mechanism into using a magnetic field for the parts to work together.” Pasawee nodded briefly before they fell into another series of silence that Khunpol didn’t mind. Pasawee then excused himself for a moment afterward as Khunpol was lost in his own thoughts. 

It was only moments later when Pasawee came back to his spot beside Khunpol, and he was already holding a plate with a piece of chocolate cake on it. “Congratulations on achieving a longer functioning heart,” Pasawee said casually, “Let’s celebrate your heart's milestone from now on.” 

“What’s that?” Khunpol responded instead, mildly confused and widely perplexed by the cake, “I don’t like chocolate cake,” Khunpol added to mask the bafflement. 

“You don’t?” Pasawee raised his eyebrow as he put the cake down apologetically, “Pardon my false assumption, what kind of cake do you like?”

“Why are you bringing me a cake?”

“It’s a celebratory cake.” Pasawee shrugged nonchalantly, “Your old man didn’t celebrate you nor he finds you cool, but that’s okay— I find you and your heart project cool, so I celebrate it,” Pasawee exclaimed, “Twelve seconds is cool,” Pasawee added after a brief pause because Khunpol must’ve looked bewildered by the statement, before offering Khunpol a smile, “Khunpol, you are very cool.”

Khunpol choked a little bit as he shifted his gaze to the floor — and in between the way Pasawee kept his words and the chocolate cake, Khunpol found himself wanting to jump off a cliff. The tapping on his chest was raging rapidly, the intensity of how much he wants, almost disgusts Khunpol.

“Oh, I talked to my grandpa again earlier, in between canapés,” Pasawee said, like once wasn’t enough, “He actually asked me about you first, and he has expressed that it does feel a tad unwise to put your study into halt if we can still manage to have the wedding by summer—.”

Khunpol couldn’t take it anymore because it was either puking his entire guts out or shutting Pasawee up with the nearest chair. Pasawee didn’t move for a moment when Khunpol pressed their lips together, before he let himself softened and cradled Khunpol’s jaw, mayhaps wantingly. It was soft, almost quiet, almost like he had been waiting. Pasawee tilted his head and kissed Khunpol more when Khunpol tried to pull away, and it made Khunpol’s head spin and his ribcage cracked. 

Pasawee then used his thumb to open Khunpol’s mouth slightly, biting Khunpol’s lower lips with little to no crudeness. There was no carnal or alerting movement, no urgency in the touch — it was simply Pasawee kissing Khunpol back and had the entire initiative to prolong the kiss. 

“There’s a bed—.” Pasawee chuckled against Khunpol’s lips, because if Khunpol didn’t turn this into a mere, raw lust then he would die on the spot. Because desire is easy to navigate when it is heartless — because Khunpol could feel the blood of a longing, and that Pasawee was meant for him in a way or another, but not willingly. It was almost sad, the way Khunpol witnessed himself drown in something that is not fully his. “Still a no?” Khunpol urged, looking up to Pasawee from under his lashes because it always worked. 

Pasawee let out another soft chuckle against Khunpol’s face, promptly planting a quick kiss on Khunpol’s lips before he said, 

“Come on, I’ll take you home.”

—

“Seriously, what kind of cake do you like?” Pasawee asked when he stopped the car at the driveway of Khunpol’s house. Pasawee apparently possesses an enormous amount of self control and actually took Khunpol home after leaving invisible marks on Khunpol’s lips, and there was a terrifying moment where Khunpol’s head didn’t want the kiss to end. Thus, Khunpol thought it was a good idea before it turned bad. 

“What’s next? You want to know about my favorite color?” 

“Yes, cake first though,” Pasawee answered casually. 

“I don’t really eat cakes.” Khunpol deadpanned, “But, well, I guess cheesecake is bearable.” 

“What do you want for a celebration then?” Khunpol didn’t know why the simple question weighed heavy  because he doesn’t remember wanting anything for any moderate achievements. 

“A bottle of Vodka?” Khunpol shrugged nonchalantly as he responded senselessly that got Pasawee rolling his eyes, though it wasn’t with annoyance or irritation.

“Cheesecake it is for the time being.” Pasawee hummed in acknowledgment, “What’s your favorite color?”

“You don’t have to take this too seriously,” Khunpol argued instead.

“It’s just colors, Khunpol,” Pasawee replied with a small laugh, “Maybe red, your car’s red.” It would have been so much better if Pasawee had stopped then, “Like the color of blood, of heart? I think you like the feeling of being strikingly alive.” 

“And yours probably some fuck ass boring color like green,” Khunpol cut in before it got worse, “Like the forest with all the trees and bugs, that’s just kind of feel like what you are, I guess,” Khunpol added with a huff before he placed his hand on the door handle, “Anyway, I should get going.” 

“See you, Khunpol,” Pasawee said with a smile still hanging on his lips. “Have a good night.”

“Yeah, see you, Pasawee, whatever,” Khunpol said as he opened the door and got out of the car. The road that led to his house felt like the sand-consuming human on his way, as if the earth wanted to swallow Khunpol for the fractures molding in his chest. There was a haunting sound in his head trying to normalize the way Pasawee brought up about the heart project like it matters to him, and Khunpol was trying to inject an antidote by remembering how Pasawee was doing all that because Khunpol is in his to-do-list. 

Pasawee was raised as a container that shaped himself into whatever was being thrown at him, that is just what and who Pasawee is. However, no one can grow a spine overnight, unless it was already there all this time, Khunpol thought as he knocked on Pasawee’s car window, “Get out for a second, will you?” Pasawee raised his eyebrows in pure confusion as he complied nonetheless. 

“A hug will do.” Pasawee’s puzzled expression got even visibly worse — they were already standing and facing each other, and Khunpol didn’t even meet Pasawee’s eyes. “Heart refused to hug me when the prototype hit twelve seconds because Heart is allergic to doing any skinship, with me specifically,” Khunpol elaborated. “No one else knows about the, you know, milestones, I guess.” 

“So don’t bother with cakes or whatever you are plotting—.” Khunpol was cut with Pasawee pulling him effortlessly into a hug, bone crushing into Pasawee’s figure as the latter squeezed him tightly for a brief moment. 

“You did great, Khunpol.”

“I know, no need to compliment me, I don’t have a praise-kink, Pasawee.”

Pasawee let out a laugh at the comment as he placed one of his hands on Khunpol’s head. “But it was amazing, really, you are amazing,” Pasawee said afterward as Khunpol realized that they had never hugged properly until then. 

Khunpol felt nothing in Pasawee’s arms though, with his head resting near Pasawee’s collarbone. His head silenced itself and the soft pounding on his chest cavity was gone — the cage didn’t ring loudly, the wild creature stayed inside in stillness. “Good night, Khunpol.” Pasawee did a stroke to his head when Khunpol pulled away from the hug. 

“Night, Pasawee,” Khunpol said as he swallowed his own thoughts and went inside the house. Khunpol had forced himself to not feel a thing for years and years until he personally believed that the heart had been dead until then — until he really wanted to do nothing but gauge his heart out not because it didn’t beat, yet because it was beating too much, too loud. 

Too nauseating, Khunpol cannot fathom the way his entire nervous system breaks down at the sound of Pasawee’s car leaving. The involuntary drumming against his chest, probing his entire conscience as Khunpoll cursed under his breath. There is something deeply terrifying about learning how Pasawee is most probably capable of rewriting the narrative fluently into his favor, but he didn’t use the skill to get out of the arrangement with Khunpol. 

Khunpol wanted to get inside Pasawee’s head so badly, he might end up on the other side.

“Who the fuck he thinks he is to make me feel like this?”