Chapter Text
Koh Samui, Thailand.
8:12 a.m.
Joss woke up first, as usual.
Gawin had turned in his sleep, his back to Joss’s chest, wrapped around the sheets like a caterpillar. He was holding one of Joss’s legs between his own, relaxed for the first time in weeks while asleep. His nose was still a little red from crying the night before, his cheeks stained by the tears he hadn’t dried. Beautiful. Gawin was the prettiest thing Joss had ever seen in his entire life.
Carefully, he detangled their legs and got out of the bed. He took a shower, found a linen shirt and a pair of shorts to wear, and tried to hide his swollen eyes behind his sunglasses. Gawin had moved by the time he got ready — the sheets around his legs, one of his hands gripping Joss’s pillow, his nose buried on Joss’s side of the bed.
Joss had to look away to be able to leave the room.
He found Lua during breakfast, sunglasses on and a cup of coffee in her hands.
“Here is the bride,” Joss said, sitting at her table with a kind smile and a cup of coffee of his own. Lisa used to call them tired siblings because of their small eyes and lazy smiles. Joss could see it now, after denying it so much — both of them in sunglasses and hair undone, looking exhausted. He said, “Feeling alright?”
“I suppose,” Lua sighed, smiling at Joss’s chuckle. She said, “Getting married is very tiring. Who would’ve thought?”
Joss hummed, raised an eyebrow, his eyes catching the movement around them — an elderly couple was laughing at the table by their side. Closer to the exit, a little girl was crouched down, petting a black cat. On the other side, two men were arguing about something Joss couldn’t hear. He turned to Lua again, asked, “Do you regret it, though?”
“Not a bit,” Lua huffed a laugh, ate a piece of her toast, the edges of her face softening in the way it always did when she thought about her wife-to-be. She said, “Lisa is going crazy, and we fought twice about flowers last week, and she wants a baby tomorrow, and I love her so much I could die. I’d do it over and over again.”
Joss hummed, chuckled softly. He understood the feeling. Thought more than once about the day he would get down on his knee and ask. Thought about flowers, about the cake, about Gawin’s playlist for the party. Thought about never doing any of that, about buying a house in the south and asking Gawin to run away with him. Thought about Gawin saying yes. Thought about them being happy for years and years and years.
Lua rested her chin on her hand and took a closer look at Joss. Said, “You don’t look so well, though.”
“I’m alright,” Joss shrugged, because he had agreed not to lie with Gawin. Agreed to love him for three more days, to be his boyfriend for a little while. He said, “Just tired.”
Lua hummed, tilting her head to the side. Said, “Where’s Gawin?”
“Sleeping,” Joss shrugged. “We arrived late last night.”
“And is he the reason why you look like a kicked puppy?”
Joss laughed, pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head to rub his eyes, his skin too dry for the rough treatment. He said, “We’re fine, we just— we just fought. But it’s fine, we’re fine.”
“Alright,” Lua said, shrugged. Drank her coffee with her catlike stare, like she knew Joss was lying. She said, “You can always make it up to him, you know.”
“Can I,” Joss said, dismissive, knowing there was no fixing to the mess they made of each other now.
“You’re in Samui, honey,” Lua told him like he was being stupid, wriggled her eyebrows in a way she’d learned from her fiancée. In a way her fiancée had learned from Gawin. She said, “Conquer your man back. Be romantic, I know you are a softie for him.”
Joss sighed, shaking his head, saying, “It’s not that easy, Lua.”
“Is it ever easy, when you love someone?” Lua retorted. “Don’t you love him?”
Isn’t it obvious, Joss thought, bitter with his grief for something he hadn’t lost yet. Thought, tired of the old suffering, longing for a hand on the back of his neck, Haven’t I always?
“I do,” he said, and felt the echo of the truth like a fist around his heart. Said, echoing, “Is it easy, Lua, ever?”
Lua smiled at him, something soft and sympathetic. Said, “Never, darling,” and gave him a strawberry from her plate, gave him a pet on his hair. Said, “It’s usually worth it, though.”
—
11:39 a.m.
When Gawin found him, Joss was drying himself on a lounger at the beach. He’d swum for hours, drowning in something other than his thoughts, drying under the sun with his earbuds on, the first playlist Gawin ever made him playing on loop over and over again.
Joss thought then, with his eyes closed, that he was supposed to get used to the solitude he felt whenever he was alone. And there was a kind of comfort in the music he kept on listening to, the strings of a guitar, the heaviness of a bass. The drums, the fast-paced piano, a mix of sensations that shrouded Joss’s thoughts with something other than grief, something softer — the shiver of being touched too lightly, the relief of a hand around his throat.
He wondered if Gawin felt like that, too. Wondered if that was the reason Gawin loved his music so much.
But when Gawin found him, he didn’t answer any of Joss’s questions. He took off one of Joss’s earbuds and sat on the edge of the lounger by his feet. He wasn’t looking at Joss when he opened his mouth, when he said, “I’ve been looking for you.”
Joss frowned, taking off his other bud, pausing his music to look at Gawin, to search for an answer. And Gawin still looked too tired, his hair getting messy from the wind, his moles getting darker by the minute. And it was easy, like that, to understand the language Gawin spoke to him, the language they shared when they were together. It was easy to notice the tension on Gawin’s shoulders, the tightness on his jaw. Joss said softly, touching Gawin’s thigh, his knee, “You’ve found me.”
Gawin hummed, swaying Joss’s way, his shoulders dropping slowly. He said, “Lisa is busy,” very low and very softly, turning his head to Joss just to close his eyes, to rest his cheek on his own shoulder. Said, “There’s a lot of people.”
“Haven’t found your friends?”
“I have,” Gawin said, and didn’t say anything else, let the weight of his words hang between them. I found my friends, he was saying, and I still wanted to be with you. Joss had no idea how to deal with that now. Gawin said, “There’ll be dinner later, with everyone.”
“Mm,” Joss murmured, massaging the skin of Gawin’s inner thigh. He had to swallow twice at the sight of Gawin opening his legs, an unconscious little move from being relaxed again. He said, “Do you want to go?”
“Yeah, we should. Lisa is very excited to get drunk,” Gawin huffed a laugh, forever fond of his best friend. He opened his eyes then, looked at Joss like that — head tilted, cheek squished against one shoulder, hair flying in every direction. A wreck Joss would always find himself crashing into. Said, “Would you stay if I didn’t wanna go?”
“Yes,” Joss said as easy as anything. Said, “Don’t I always?”
Gawin kept staring at him for a moment, pretty eyes and pretty face. Soft like that, makeup-free and flushed from the sun. He said, “You do,” and it sounded like an accusation, like a fault. Heavy with the thing they were supposed to leave in two days from now. Said, “You should sing with me tonight.”
“Tonight?” Joss frowned, trying not to dwell on the bite of Gawin’s words, on the truth that dragged him by the arm to the end of the world. Said, “I didn’t know you would sing.”
“Lisa asked me to a few weeks ago,” Gawin said, holding Joss’s wrist, stopping his caress on his thigh, making him wait. Said, “You should sing with me.”
“Why?” Joss frowned, trying to retreat his hand from the silent rejection Gawin was giving him. Couldn’t, with Gawin tightening his grip, a thumb pressing on his pulse point. Joss swallowed, half confused and half aroused. Said, “You don’t need me for this, Gawin.”
“I don’t,” Gawin said, and it hurt and eased Joss’s ailing at the same time. Said, “But I want you to. One last time.”
Joss gave him a little sound, closed his eyes and decided to blame it on the sun. Said, “Okay,” not knowing what else to do, how to make them go back to the start. Said, “What are we singing?”
“Downtown lights,” Gawin grinned, and Joss had to laugh at how silly he was, at the distraction Gawin was offering him. The song Gawin played him the first time he visited Joss’s house, still shy, still stepping carefully on the ground that belonged to someone else. “I don’t know, whatever comes to mind.”
“Hm,” Joss murmured, let Gawin pull his hand closer to his hip, underneath his shirt. Joss hummed again, his approval melting out of him on the squeeze of his fingers, on the drag of his palm from Gawin’s waist to his belly. It was easy, like this, to forget they were supposed to be withdrawing from each other, to get used to living their lives separately. Gawin sighed under his caress, his fingers still around Joss’s wrist, keeping him there.
Joss said, “Okay, love,” because he was weak. Because Gawin was still supposed to be his. Said, “Okay. Let’s do it.”
Gawin let him touch for a few more moments, let them recharge from touch alone. When he left, he dragged a nail on the vein of Joss’s hand, let the sting of it make Joss hiss, make Joss shiver. He said, walking away from Joss like a dream, handsome and cruel, “Find me, next time.”
Joss laughed where he lay, rubbed his eyes, his face. Wondered if he was bound to die from desire, from love. Thought, at last, that it didn’t matter. He would take anything, anything Gawin chose to give him, to be for him — his lover, his executioner. He would accept it all.
—
8:56 p.m.
Dinner went well.
Joss knew it would be funny and easy to be around Lisa and Lua and all the friends they shared. They were a lovely couple, and everyone was very nice and very talented, most of them artists, and Joss found himself interested in more than one conversation through the night.
And he wasn’t much of a drinker, usually, but he was technically on holiday, and it was a wedding. Joss could have a glass or two of wine if he wanted. So when Lisa found him sleepy and slow on a chair in the garden, she wasn’t as surprised as she was amused.
“You’re bad at this, my boy,” Lisa laughed, sitting by his side. Her cheeks were tinted red, and her eyes were lidded, and Joss had to laugh too, had to shake his head, saying—
“—you’re just as bad, what are you even saying?” he chuckled and sipped on the remains of his third and last glass, the last of what he could handle before getting too drunk. Said, “Tired?”
“Very,” Lisa grinned at him, and it was such a contrast to her words that Joss frowned a little, huffing a laugh. She said, “Oh my, I love this. I love this, Joss, and I love my bride. I want to get married all the time if it’s going to be like this.”
“Tiring?”
“Fun,” she corrected. “It’s so fun. I’m very stressed, I really am, but it’s just— you know when you feel like life is the same all the time, and nothing changes, and it feels like— like we’ll be swallowed by earth at any moment? Like we’ll just vanish and do nothing, and it’s— god, it’s so boring, it’s so—!” Lisa rambled, such an expressive woman, her gestures heavily dramatic. Joss found himself laughing again, as fond of her as Gawin was by now. She said, “But now, I’m just… happy. I’m getting married to the love of my life, and all of my friends are here, and we’re having fun and being happy. We’re celebrating my love. Isn’t it awesome?”
“It is, when you put it that way,” Joss snickered, slouching on his chair, closing his eyes at the thought. He wondered if Gawin ever thought of getting married to him, if they would have as much fun at their wedding as Lisa was having at hers. He said, “I’m very happy for you, you know.”
“I know,” Lisa sighed, fond of him too. Said, “Are you happy, though?”
Joss frowned, opened his eyes to look at her, to say, “I just told you I’m—”
“No, no,” Lisa cut him off with a shake of her head. “Like— are you happy? You look— you and Gawin look very lost, you know. You look like that when you fight. When you’re in a crowded room and look all constipated because you can’t touch each other.”
“You’re way too perceptive.”
“I know! It’s a gift,” Lisa grinned proudly, and Joss tsked at her, huffed a sound. She said, “Something happened?’
“We just— we fought. It’s fine, though,” Joss shrugged, repeating the same lie he’d told Lua earlier. Didn’t know what else to say about whatever the hell was happening between him and Gawin.
“Gawin told me you were figuring things out,” Lisa said. “Are you? Figuring it out?”
Joss hummed — neither an agreement nor a disagreement. Said, “Yeah,” too soft not to be a whisper. Said, “We’ll sing together today.”
“Oh! Are you singing?” Lisa brightened up like she had no idea it would happen at all.
“He told me you asked him to,” Joss said, confused now about why Gawin would lie about this. “Didn’t you?”
“Oh, not really. I thought about doing karaoke and all, but I forgot and—” Lisa stopped her ramble suddenly, staring intently at Joss like she was finding out every sin that stained his skin. She said, very serious, grabbing Joss by the wrist, “Maybe he just wanted to sing with you, you know,” and let out a happy little sound, made Joss jump a little by the sudden change in her tone. She said, “Oh my, we should— come on, come on, let’s sing! I’m getting married, for god’s sake, we should be singing!”
And got up, grabbed Joss’s wrist to make him get up, to urge him to go back inside with her, to wait while she asked for a microphone and speakers. And Joss laughed, told her to calm down, told her no one would have a microphone and speakers at the hotel, but Lisa never listened when she put an idea inside her head, so Joss let her go, watched as she circled her fiancée’s waist to whisper something in her ear.
Gawin was already looking when Joss found him on the other side of the room, leaning on a wall. He had a drink in hand and a man by his side — one of his friends from school, if Joss’s memory wasn’t betraying him — leaning a little too close to say something in his ear. And Gawin laughed, his eyes staying closed for a bit too long, savouring his happiness in a way Joss missed seeing so much.
Joss had to press a hand on his ribs at the sight, at the sting of being leisurely stabbed with a blade that once carried his name, had to drink the bitterness in his mouth with whatever last drop of wine he still had inside his glass. He wondered, trying and failing not to look again, if he would make it as a spectator for the rest of his days.
Lisa came back with Lua, her lipstick stained and a microphone in her hand. Joss felt like laughing, thinking how Lisa made it easy to believe you could find anything anywhere if you were charismatic enough. She was smiling when she declared it was karaoke time, I want everybody singing, come on, come—. When everyone gathered to pay attention, Lisa called for Gawin with a grin and an extended hand.
“My kitty,” she said to him, and Gawin laughed, excused himself with a hand on his friend's arm. Joss felt the vicious snap of jealousy everywhere. Lisa said, “Come and make the honours.”
Gawin didn’t have to say anything to make Joss feel the tug of whatever tied them together, to make Joss move to him, allured. And Gawin looked devastatingly handsome — tie undone, two buttons of his shirt undone, sweat shining on the exposed skin of his chest. Joss could tell he’d been running fingers through his hair from how messy it looked now. He looked deliciously flushed, a piece of sin Joss wished to be condemned for the rest of his life.
When Gawin looked at him, he snorted a laugh, said, “You’re drunk,” his eyes dark with alcohol and mischief. Beautiful thing, Joss thought, sad and desperate for something he couldn’t have.
“Just a little,” Joss said because he couldn’t really lie to Gawin anyway. Never managed to, never wanted to. Asked, “Are you?”
“Just a little,” Gawin echoed, grinned at Joss’s chuckle, at the small hiccup that followed the sound. He raised a hand just to trace the shape of Joss’s ear, the touch scorching, lighting fire inside his veins. Said, “Sing with me?”
Joss watched Gawin watch his own hand on his skin. Said, “You lied.”
“Did I,” Gawin retorted, smirking. Said, “I just made a suggestion.”
“You wanted to sing with me.”
“Don’t I always?”
And Gawin was still looking at him with shiny eyes and a smile that offered Joss a place to share a secret for one last time, the juxtaposition so violent Joss had to turn away. Had to avoid Gawin’s dark stare and his words and the truth of what was about to change underneath them. He said, “Mm.” Said, “One last time?”
Gawin huffed a little laugh, closed his eyes for a second. He was still loose from the alcohol, still flushed with heat. Joss wondered what he would taste now on Gawin’s tongue — gin and clementine, or whiskey and regret. Gawin murmured his agreement, nodded just once, and didn’t look at Joss again.
“All’s ready!” Lisa said, giving her phone to Gawin. “Choose your song and sing, love birds.”
And Joss was recalling the lyrics from Downtown Lights when he heard the beginning of something else, a different melody. A song Gawin sang to him just a few times, when he was still trying to get Joss into this rock series he became obsessed with. But Joss wasn’t expecting to hear Look At Us Now when he knew he had Gawin’s heart in the palm of his hand, when he was trying with everything he had not to close his fist on the softest thing he had ever touched. Not when Gawin had a knife to his throat.
But Gawin started singing anyway, started looking at Joss and saying terrible things, saying, Did we unravel a long time ago? and I wish it was easy, but it isn't so, and it felt cataclysmic — the devastation of getting swallowed whole by madness and despair, of being kissed by a lover while getting killed by the same hands. Beautiful. Viciously so.
Joss sang to him too, knew Gawin wanted to have this—this fight. Knew that Gawin bled when he said, We unravelled a long time ago, we lost and we couldn't let it go. Knew Gawin was being cut open by his feelings when Joss sang to him, when Joss told him, This thing we've been doing ain't working out.
And Joss felt like laughing at the misery of it all. Could hear in the back of his mind the laugh of time, the hum of memory taking this moment and keeping it somewhere safe, somewhere it could replay it over and over until Joss believed his every moment with Gawin had been an ugly twist of anger and despair. He wondered if destiny and hope were cursing at them now, for ruining the thing they had carefully built years ago.
Gawin let their eyes linger on each other for a moment during the guitar solo, let their hurt and their anger and every question they still hadn’t answered to each other burn them alive. Then he smiled, laughed a beautiful sound, tired and carefree and so young, so charged with something Joss hadn’t heard in a long time. He touched Joss’s hand and pulled him closer, made Joss hold his waist while he threw his head back and played air guitar, while he pretended to be the rockstar he already was. When he came back, he touched the back of Joss’s neck, pulled him closer until their forehead were touching, until they became a little cross-eyed to keep on looking at each other in the eye.
He sang, “How did we get here? How do we get out? We used to be something to see,” and rubbed his nose on Joss’s nose, made him laugh like that, so close to him it hurt. Sang, “Baby, look at us now,” and lowered his head just a little, just to make Joss’s eyes leave his mouth and look back at him. Sang, “Look at us now.”
And Joss couldn’t sing with him anymore. Couldn’t think of anything other than how Gawin was hurting him and kissing the bruise away, the sting of their end so alive, burning on the song they sang.
“This thing we've been doing ain't working out, why can’t you just admit it to me?” Gawin kept going, and he was making these ridiculous sounds that were supposed to be the guitar, and Joss wanted to cry and laugh at how much he loved Gawin Caskey. How much he wanted to keep him and love him and love him. But Gawin noticed the tears in his eyes, noticed the pain, the regret, and he gave Joss a sad smile of his own. Said in a whisper, just for him, “Sing with me.”
“I can’t,” Joss murmured wetly, and Gawin chuckled and choked a little because he was about to cry too. Joss wanted to kiss him and promise it would never hurt like this ever again.
Gawin told him, touching his cheek and the corner of his lips, rubbing his nose on Joss’s nose, “Sing with me.”
He positioned his microphone between them, pulled back just enough to look Joss in the eyes while breaking his heart, while making Joss sing his sorrow, his grief. While burying their love under the words of a song that was made for lovers, like every other. Joss thought, looking at Gawin’s red eyes and red nose, he was a complete fool. Thought he was too naïve to think Gawin could ever become a healed wound.
He sang, because there was nothing else to do now:
Oh, we could make a good thing bad.
Oh, we could make a good thing bad.
Oh, we could make a good thing bad.
—
12:01 a.m.
When Gawin found him this time, he was at the beach.
The wind was cold, and the water was freezing, but Joss was tired and sad, and the sand under his hands felt grounding in a way nothing else could feel.
He felt Gawin’s arrival from heartbeat alone — his own echoing a rhythm he knew too well, a soft tune that always meant home to Joss. A name alive between a hum and another. But Joss didn’t open his eyes, didn’t turn to look at him when Gawin sat beside him — wasn’t ready to shatter his heart again so soon.
But Gawin said, “I found you again,” and Joss knew he was smiling. Ached to turn and look, to have a glimpse of something he once had all the time for himself. He said, “You were supposed to find me this time.”
“I always find you,” Joss said, tired of everything but the truth. Said, “I keep on finding you everywhere.”
“Ah,” Gawin whispered, and it was so soft, so sincere that Joss had to look at him — found wide eyes and a furrowed forehead. Ached with his need to reach out and touch the wrinkle away. He said, “Do you?”
“Mm,” Joss hummed, resting his head on his knees, unable to stop looking at Gawin now that he’d seen him. Said, “I found you on a CD a friend played, once. Found you at the market on a cherry. I found you here, before you came. Thought you would like the sound of the waves.”
Gawin didn’t say anything for a long time. He sat there and stared at Joss, trying to decode him and his words. The wind was ruthless on Joss’s face, and he knew his nose would be a bother in the morning, knew he would pay later for the cruelty of the night. Knew, too, no agony would ever compare to whatever he and Gawin were doing to each other now.
When Gawin spoke again, he said, “You love me, don’t you?”
And Joss laughed at his tone, at the certainty of it. He nodded, hummed his agreement, said, “I do,” and Gawin gave him one of his bashful smiles, gave him a roll of his eyes. Joss was smiling when he raised a hand to touch the stretch of Gawin’s cheek, the curved corner of his lips. He said, “I like when you smile like this.”
“Annoyed at you?”
“Timid,” Joss huffed with a laugh, with a soft caress on his face. Said, “Like we just met.”
Gawin hummed, resting his head on his knees, mimicking Joss’s position. He looked beautiful like this, illuminated by streetlamps and moonlight, shadowed by Joss’s face and the palm tree by their side. Joss wondered if the shade of his mouth could feel Gawin’s kiss when it touched his lips.
“What would you say to me?” Gawin asked, raising his head, resting his cheek against his hand now, looking down at Joss. He said, “What would you say to me, if we’d just met?”
Joss raised his head too, feeling the heaviness of Gawin’s gaze everywhere. And Joss was a very confident man; he knew how to approach someone he was interested in. Knew how to talk, how to seduce. Knew, too, it was different with Gawin — had always been different with Gawin. And because Joss never blushed, he blamed the fire on his cheeks on the wine he’d drunk earlier.
“I don’t think we’ve met before,” Joss said, and it felt like déjà vu. Felt like rewinding a tape on the very moment his heart left him to touch someone else’s. Said, “I’m Joss. Joss Way-ar.”
And Gawin laughed because he remembered too. Because he could reminisce now about their baby faces, their rushed conversation at a crowded party. He said, all teeth and half-closed eyes, “I think I know you.” Said cheekily, “My golden blood, right?” because he was a fool and Joss was sick with how much he loved him. He said, “I’m Gawin Caskey.”
“Would you say yes, Gawin Caskey,” Joss continued, enchanted by Gawin’s smile. Enchanted by his flirty tone, by how easy it was for him now, flirting with Joss. Making him want. He said, “Would you say yes to a glass of wine?”
“I might,” Gawin grinned, and touched the curve of Joss’s jaw. Made him shiver with the press of a finger on his neck. Said, “Are you asking?”
“I am,” Joss said, dizzy with the grip of madness and desperation around his neck. Said, “Have a drink with me?”
Gawin didn’t answer him, his touch a wildfire against Joss’s skin. Inside, the karaoke had turned into a muddle of loud music being sung by too many people at once. There was a rock band playing, and Joss could recognise the beginning of the song anywhere now, after Gawin told him all about them years ago — the same band that played the first time they met. Gawin looked at him and laughed, as astonished as Joss from the coincidence of it all, from the joke time made of their end.
Gawin got up then, and offered Joss the palm of his hand. Said, “Shouldn’t you dance with me first?”
Joss stared at him for a second because Gawin couldn’t be serious. But Gawin wiggled his eyebrows with this big, boyish grin, and Joss had never been strong enough against him, so he laughed. Touched the palm of Gawin’s hand and had to fight against the urge to close his eyes at the peace he always found in every piece of skin Gawin offered him.
“Okay,” he said and huffed a laugh. Heard the sound turn into something louder, something realer at the glint of mischief he found in Gawin’s eyes. He said, “Dance with me, stranger.”
And Joss thought, between the bark of a laugh and a twirl that had nothing to do with the rhythm of the song, that it wasn’t supposed to be like this. Thought that maybe he’d made a mistake, asking Gawin to be his for a few more days. He should’ve known by now that the cadence of them wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t get weaker with the bitterness they had built for each other during the time they spent alone, overthinking. Should’ve known that their end would be an unsent letter from a place too far to reach, their words blurred by stained ink and sadness. Joss would never leave, he knew, even if he tried.
“You’re overthinking,” Gawin said, and held Joss with two arms around his neck, all long limbs and uncoordinated steps. Grinning, still. Shining alongside the moon, their dance veiled by her blessing. Said, “That’s my job.”
Joss hummed, shivering at the cold touch of Gawin’s fingers on the back of his neck. He said, “It is mine, when I’m losing the love of my life.”
“Love of your life,” Gawin echoed, and it sounded like an accusation. Sounded like he didn’t know, too, like a surprise. Joss frowned. Gawin said, “Will you ever tell me when things changed for you?
“Nothing’s changed, Gawin,” Joss sighed, tightening his grip on Gawin’s waist, pulling him closer. Said, “We just— don’t people often grow apart or something? That’s what— it just happened with us, too.”
Joss wasn’t lying about that. They had been working too much, all the time, and it became difficult to find the time to just float in each other’s orbits, to exist in the same place without going to bed and blacking out. And Joss tried to fix that, tried something new, tried to pick Gawin up from a meeting with a record label. Gawin had been anxious, had rambled about fear, about autonomy with Joss the night before. But Joss heard something he shouldn’t have, and things went down.
It was for the best if Gawin thought they were breaking up because time was an angry witch.
“Mm,” Gawin murmured, pressing a thumb where he could feel Joss’s heart beating against his neck. He got a little closer, just enough to touch his nose to Joss’s nose, to touch their foreheads for a second. He said, “We’re on day two today.”
“I know,” Joss whispered, wretched.
“But I don’t know you yet,” Gawin whispered back like they were sharing a secret in the middle of a crowd. Like this little game was supposed to belong to them and no one else — not the stars, nor the sea. Said, “And you don’t know me,” and tilted his head in the way he always did when he wanted to be kissed. Still swaying, still waltzing with Joss to a song that had their name written all over it. Said, “Isn’t it poetic, stranger? To be kissed under the moon?”
Joss huffed a laugh in the space between their mouths, breathing Gawin’s breath. Feeling the kiss that never happened so alive between them, a feeling of its own. He said, “Are you drunk?”
“How rude!” Gawin gasped, dramatic and handsome, and smiled at Joss’s chuckle. Said, letting his lips brush on Joss’s lips, pulling back when Joss tried to seal their deal, his eyebrows wiggling, “I’m a songwriter, you see.”
“You do sound like a musician,” Joss said, dragging a finger down the exposed skin Gawin had been showing with his buttons undone, drawing it back to touch the hollow of his neck, his Adam’s apple. Said, watching Gawin tremble under his hands, watching the gasp leave his mouth with a soft exhale, “Will you let me kiss you?”
“Mm,” Gawin hummed, his eyes half closed from their closeness, trained on Joss’s lips, on the way it shaped his words. He touched Joss’s cheek, cupped his jaw and held him there, pressed his thumb on that place that deepened with a dimple. Said, “You don’t even know my name.”
A new song had begun by then, the wind getting colder by the minute. Joss felt the first droplet fall on his nose; the second on his cheek. It was about to rain, and Gawin was still looking at Joss like a miracle, unbothered by terrible weather and Joss’s tight grip on his waist. The world was spinning. They didn’t move.
“Tell me in the morning,” Joss said, pecking Gawin’s lips once, twice. Groaning, defeated, when Gawin avoided the third, when Gawin let him kiss his cheek, his ear. Said, “Call me Yours, for now.”
“I like it,” Gawin whispered to him, tracing the bridge of Joss’s nose with his own, kissing his closed eyelids. Said, “My baby,” with a smile, a grin when Joss snorted. He licked his lips, tilted Joss’s head just a little with a finger on his chin, and kissed his bottom lip — just the bottom lip, let the press linger for a beat, two. Whispered, “Like this?”
He laughed at Joss’s grumble, opened his mouth again to kiss Joss’s upper lip, to hold Joss right there at the palm of his hand. The rain was still weak where it fell above them, still a whispered promise of roar. When Gawin pulled back, Joss tried to follow him, had him laughing on his mouth, in the middle of a peck. It felt like their first kiss all over again, soft and sweet, the first page of a new book.
“Gawin,” Joss whispered, lost.
“You don’t know my name yet,” Gawin whispered back, holding Joss’s hands around his waist, letting his face be kissed all over. When Joss tried to kiss him again, he took Joss’s hands off his waist, then took a step back. Another. And Another. Said, grinning, “Find me, this time.”
And ran away, far from the rain and the danger of Joss’s touch. Young and beautiful, and a fool.
This will unmake me, Joss thought, and ached all the way back.
—
2:14 a.m.
Gawin made him wait for almost an hour.
The karaoke came back to life when Lua suggested a song to sing with Gawin, when Lisa dragged Joss to make a duet with her. It was a good thing, Joss thought, that they had rented the entire resort for their wedding, or they would have to face charges for so much noise at one in the morning. But it was fun, and Joss had to relearn lyrics from Thai bands he’d only listened to as a child, and sing songs he had no idea existed until the two minutes Gawin gave him to memorise the lyrics.
Joss couldn’t remember the last time he’d had so much fun.
But he knew Gawin was making him wait. Knew from the lingering touch on his arm, on the small of his back while they sang their hearts out to a Beyoncé song. Knew from the lingering stares, the ghost of a hand on the slide of Gawin’s eyes down his body. Maddening. Joss felt like every brush of his shirt against his skin would burn him alive, would turn him to ashes and grow something different back as soon as Gawin touched it with the tip of his finger.
Maddening. All-consuming, it was.
It was two a.m. when Gawin finally called for him, when he touched the inside of Joss’s wrist with his thumb and made Joss shiver like he’d never been touched before. When he said, “Will you come up with me?”
And Joss couldn’t even laugh at the absurdity of the question, desperate to be alone with Gawin for hours, desperate to touch something other than his dress shirt. And Gawin knew, of course he knew, but he was a vicious, vicious man — he watched Joss as he went to get a new glass of wine, and he took a sip that stained his lips burgundy.
“Will you?” Gawin asked again when he came back, when he held Joss’s wrist again with his free hand.
“Yeah,” Joss breathed, lost on what to do other than bend and beg. Other than kneeling and worshipping the object of his devotion. Said, “Let’s go, let’s—”
Leaving the room became a punishment, too. They had to say goodbye to too many people, had to explain they were very tired, very drunk, but we’ll feel great in the morning, we’ll—, and hug and kiss Lua and Lisa and promise to stay longer tomorrow, we won’t leave, we won’t. Joss thought he would implode out of want, out of madness. Mental with his desire, with his love gripping his throat and his heart with bare hands.
When they finally left, they didn’t say anything. They had two flights of stairs before reaching their room, their footsteps sounding too loud in Joss’s ears. He was nervous — didn’t know why. Gawin had been his boyfriend for years; they knew each other better than anyone else. And yet… it felt new. He didn’t notice he was shaking until Gawin stopped and pressed him against the wall, right on top of the last stair on the first floor.
“You’re shaking,” Gawin whispered, buried his face on Joss’s neck, and took a long breath, his nose cold against Joss’s feverish skin. He kissed the skin, bit it lightly, then harder. Said, muffled, “You smell so good, so good, I was— God, you drive me fucking crazy, so fucking—” and kissed his way up Joss’s jaw, turned his head to the side with a grip on his chin. He bit again, made Joss moan at the sting of it. Said, “Yeah,” and bit Joss again, licked a strip from his neck to the lob of his ear, a trail of fire on Joss’s skin. Said, “Kiss me, baby, come on, come—”
Joss thought he would lose his mind when Gawin opened his mouth against his, when their tongues touched for the first time. Gawin held him by the side of his neck, the glass of wine still in his other hand, had Joss moving to where he wanted, had him adjusting to fit their kiss better, and Joss was losing his mind. Gawin’s lips were soft, their tongues slick against each other, the wet sound of their kiss making Joss let out a desperate little noise he couldn’t recognise every time they parted, every time they moved up, then down.
Joss held Gawin by the neck, pulled him back just like that. Said, panting, laughing, “Let’s move,” and let Gawin kiss him again with a grumble, with an annoyed tsk. Let Gawin bite his bottom lip and lick the sting away, let his tongue be sucked, let his mouth be claimed by its owner. He said on his next breath, “God, let’s— I need you, Gawin, I need—”
When Gawin pulled away, he had his eyes closed like he was in pain, had his head thrown back away from Joss’s mouth on his skin. He moved them without looking at Joss again, claiming that, “I can’t look at you, Jesus.’ And Joss laughed at him but walked faster, trying to get to their room already so they could take their clothes off and touch again.
Gawin opened their door like he needed it to breathe, like he knew nothing but his desire to step inside, to drag Joss with him. And then the door closed, and Joss was standing in the middle of the room, his heart in his throat, his body pulsing, echoing his desire through a name. Gawin softened at the sight. He put his glass on the nightstand and touched his hands to the sides of Joss’s neck, buried one inside thick locks, scratched Joss’s scalp in a calming gesture.
“Let me kiss you, baby,” he whispered on Joss’s mouth, and kissed his cheeks, kissed his nose. Made Joss laugh with a kiss on his head, with a peck on the sensitive part of his ear. Said, “Let me kiss you.”
Joss sighed, loosened his shoulder, and Gawin put a hand on his chest, made Joss lie down on the bed. He climbed right after, sat on Joss’s lap with his hands on his chest. Gawin looked ethereal when he was on top, all flushed cheeks and cheeky smiles because he knew what he did to Joss. He knew the power he had in his hands.
And Gawin kissed him. Kissed him and kissed him and kissed him. Put his arms up above his head and held his hands, kissed his jaw and his cheek, and his chin. Kissed his neck, bit sensitive skin, smiled with his teeth on Joss’s neck at the sound he couldn’t hold in, at the little whimper Gawin loved to hear. Gawin hovered above him and let go of one of his hands to reach for the wine glass he’d forgotten long ago, the red wine he loved to drink whenever he could.
He said, “Hold it tight, baby,” and made Joss hold the bottom of the glass, tightening his grip to avoid knocking wine all over the sheets. He said, “Don’t spill it,” and kissed his cleavage, opening slowly every button of his fancy shirt. He made a show of dragging his hands against Joss’s stomach, a warm palm slowly slithering its way to Joss’s neck, to the back of his hair. He scratched the skin, and Joss trembled under him, gasped a sound that made him frown, confused.
“Gawin, I’m—”
But Gawin shushed him gently, soft lips on his chest, a warm tongue swiftly dragging against his nipple. Joss never knew he was sensitive there, had never felt anything during the times they played around to find out what they liked during sex. But he was bound now, without any strings to hold him in place, just Gawin’s words and a half-empty glass of red wine between his fingers. Joss was going into overdrive, everything bordering on too much, too soon, too... real. And Gawin saw the shift of his hips, saw the contraction of his belly. He was always watching, too, always knew where to search, how to find. Knew now, with the tip of his nose dragging against Joss’s nipple, that something had changed about the way Joss’s body responded to him.
“Don’t close your eyes,” Gawin said, and bit the nub just enough to sting, just enough to make Joss moan and arch his back, and have to stop his arms from moving just shy of too late for the wine to spill. Said, “Watch me.”
He got up just to take his clothes off. It wasn’t supposed to be sexy, not with his desperation to get off his shirt, to kick his pants and his underwear away. But Gawin was sculpited by the hands of a goddess, and Joss knew he would find him sexy in anything, in everything.
When Gawin came back to bed, he leant down to kiss Joss’s navel, to bite his abs because he knew Joss would laugh. He touched Joss’s thighs, opened them far enough to hurt, and Joss moaned from the stretch, from the vulnerability of his position. Gawin kissed his crotch, the inside of his thighs, and didn’t move again.
“Gawin,” Joss mumbled, already hard, already wet. Mad, as always, for Gawin and his mouth, his body. Said, “Please, love, please.”
Gawin hummed his approval and licked a wet strip from base to tip.
Joss was supposed to be used to the hell of Gawin’s tongue against his cock. He was supposed to control the buck of his hips at the kitten licks on his slit, right where he was already leaking, begging for something more. But Gawin knew him — knew how to make Joss lose his mind, knew how much he liked when Gawin sucked the head first, then swallowed him down his throat, keeping him there for a second. Two.
Joss moaned, threw his head back with a devastated lament, so sensitive, every part of his body turning into a live wire, too bare in the face of his pleasure, of his desire. And Gawin moaned around him, made him tremble with the vibrations against the most sensitive part of his glans. Everything was so wet, so hot, and Joss was losing his mind, already too close, too fast.
“Gawin,” Joss mumbled, trying to move his hands to bury inside Gawin’s hair — finding the glass of wine still there, still waiting for its final destination. He said, “Gawin, I can’t—”
But Gawin wasn’t listening — he started bobbing his head at a faster pace, up and down, up and down, and Joss was melting. His hands were slipping from the glass, and he had no idea what to do to avoid his legs from closing around Gawin’s head, no idea how to stop his hips from thrusting up once, twice. Gawin let him, opened his legs again and held him like that, made Joss lose his footing — made Joss deal with whatever he wanted to do; a teasing lick on the sensitive place right under the head. A hard suck on a throbbing vein. The slow drag of his mouth swallowing him little by little until it touched his throat, until he choked on Joss’s cock.
“God, you’re gonna make me—” Joss huffed, holding the glass so hard it could break from his grip alone, every part of his body taken by pleasure, Gawin’s mouth moving up and down, swallowing, sucking. Said, “Gawin,” dizzy with the imminence of his orgasm, dizzy with Gawin’s long suck around his dick, “—make me cum so hard, so good, so—”
Gawin trembled against the bed, his back bending a little more for him to slide a hand down his body, for him to touch himself as if sucking Joss’s soul through his dick was enough to make him go crazy too. He moaned around Joss again, his eyes closing, his mouth getting wetter, sloppier. Joss felt the glass slip from his hands at the same time the first wave hit him.
He wasn’t sure how long he spent cumming and cumming inside Gawin’s mouth, his soul and his body fighting to stay together while Gawin moaned around him, cumming against the sheets, around his own hand. But Gawin didn’t let him go when he came back to, and Joss had to let go of the sheets, had to grip Gawin by the hair, by his shoulder.
“Gawin, fuck, I can’t!” Joss whimpered, trying to close his legs, twitching from oversensitive. He had to pull Gawin away from his dick by the hair, a hard tug that made him hiss like a feral cat. Still feeling the aftershocks of his orgasm, still twitching everywhere. Joss groaned, drained, and turned away from Gawin, mumbling with fake annoyance, “God, leave me alone.”
Gawin snorted a laugh, made him lie on his back again just so he could climb on his lap. So he could kiss a laugh on Joss’s lips, on his teeth. Joss huffed his own sound, grabbed Gawin by the hips to move him where he wanted, to make Gawin lie down on him. They kissed lazily until Joss stopped trembling, until Gawin’s mind cleared up again.
“You spilt our wine,” Gawin murmured on his mouth, his index finger tracing Joss’s cheek. “We stained the pillowcase.”
“Your fault,” Joss grumbled, and kissed him again, hugging Gawin by the waist to turn them around, to get on top.
Later, after showering and throwing the stained pillow on the floor, Joss lay on the bed and stared while Gawin lay on the opposite end, still naked— swallowed by the darkness of their room; illuminated by the moon, by the lamp on the nightstand, his guitar on his lap, playing the chords to a song Joss hadn’t heard before. Outside, the rain was still pouring down.
“I’ll miss this when we part,” Gawin commented during the solo of his guitar, his head turned to the window, away from Joss and their conversation. He said, “Singing to you.”
“I’ll miss you singing to me naked on bed,” Joss joked, smiled at the sound of Gawin’s laugh, their eyes finding each other like they always did. Joss wondered, reaching out to touch Gawin’s shin, if he would ever stand in a room and not lay his eyes on Gawin. He said, “Will you find a new partner after me?”
“I don’t think so,” Gawin said, turning his head away again. There was this thing Gawin kept doing during their end — evading, like their words would become too real, too ultimate if he looked at Joss for too long. He said, “I might focus on my music now. You know, write a few songs about how you broke my heart. Make some money out of you.”
Joss huffed a laugh, hummed his agreement. Gawin touched the dip of his waist with a cold toe. Joss said, “You should,” and felt his ache, his grief, take place all over his body. Said, “But that’s for when we’re not lovers anymore,” and closed his eyes, escaping too from the torture of reality. Said, “Let’s think of today as— let’s do this: we’ll vanish as soon as the sun rises in the sky. What should we do as lovers at the end of the world?”
Gawin laughed with his whole body at that, his fingers losing rhythm for a minute, synchronising with his elation. He looked at Joss then, tiny eyes and big smile, said, “If it was the end of the world,” and put his guitar away, made his way to Joss on his knees. He sat on his lap and held Joss by the sides of his neck, made him look up with the press of his thumbs on his jaw. He said, “I would choose to be right here, on your lap,” and kissed Joss slowly, made him wait for his tongue, made him chase his lips every time he pulled away. Made him sigh when they finally parted. Said, “I’d choose to love you one last time.”