Work Text:
The air in the Watthanakul household hung thick with tension. Phum was a storm brewing in human form. He paced restlessly, phone clutched in his hand like a lifeline he couldn't connect to. His words were sharp, biting, laced with a frustration that cast a shade of grey over the room.
"I just... I can't wrap my head around it!" he exploded, running a hand through his already dishevelled hair.
Fang and P'Oat, his older brothers, sat hunched together on the sofa, Fang scrolling through his phone with a show of indifference, P'Oat trying to find something to watch on TV, while his mother, Auntie Nid, paced and squeezed her hands, her face etched with worry.
"Phum, darling, take a deep breath," she pleaded, her voice soft. "It's just a setback. You'll figure it out eventually."
"Setback? Mom, this is everything! This was the offer that was going to…going to change everything!" He rounded on her, the raw edge of his despair cutting through the air.
Auntie Nid's eyes welled up. "I know, sweetheart. But you're strong. You always find a way."
Fang, sensing the rising tide of his brother's anxiety, finally spoke, "Maybe you should just... relax, Phum."
Phum scoffed, "Relax? Are you kidding me, Fang?" He was right on the edge, ready to lash out at anyone who even looked at him wrongly.
P'Oat sighed, rubbing his temples. "Phum, you're spiralling. Just take a breath."
"Oh, now you care?" Phum laughed bitterly. "Where was all this when I was trying to make something of myself?"
Then he walked in.
His father stood in the doorway, arms crossed, a stern disapproval etched on his face. "Enough with this drama, Phum. It's just business, and this tantrum is beneath you."
Auntie Nid stepped between them, a protective shield. "Honey, Phum's just… stressed. He needs some space."
Phum's shoulders tensed. His frustrations, already simmering, threatened to boil over. His gaze lingered on his father, and you could see the words he wanted to scream at him dancing in his eyes.
It was just business, wasn't it? Everything always came back to business with his father, even his son's happiness.
And something inside Phum just snapped.
"A tantrum?" His voice was dangerously low. "When did you ever baby me, huh? When you decided to bail on me? When you made all the choices for me without ever taking the time to ask what I wanted? So miss me with that talk, Dad. You don't get to act like you care now."
Silence.
Auntie Nid's eyes brimmed over. His father's jaw locked. Fang and P'Oat remained frozen.
He'd been working tirelessly on this deal. It was going to be the turning point. A chance to open his own firm. A way to prove something to his father.
Now, it was just another failed attempt, another wave crashing against his ambition. Another reason his father will hold against him.
He turned on his heel and walked out, the slam of the front door ringing like a gunshot behind him.
Auntie Nid, sensing the storm raging within Phum, pulled Fang aside. "Fang, call Peem," she whispered. "He's the only one who can get through to him right now."
His father, hearing this, just scoffed. "Oh, for— We don't need to involve him."
Fang, with a knowing nod, quickly excused himself, completely ignoring his father because he knew his younger brother, knew the only person who could navigate through Phum's stormy emotions was Peem.
∘₊✧─────✧₊∘
Meanwhile, miles away, Peem was enjoying a rare peaceful evening at his parents' home. He was helping his mother cook dinner when his phone rang. He saw Fang's name and answered immediately.
"Peem, it's Phum." Fang's voice was laced with urgency. "He's really going through it. Nobody can get through to him. Mom thinks you should…"
Before Fang could finish, Peem was already grabbing his keys. "I'm on my way."
He explained the situation to his parents, offering a hasty apology for leaving so abruptly. His mother, accustomed to his devotion to Phum, simply smiled knowingly. His father, however, looked concerned.
"Drive carefully, Peem," he reminded him, a hint of worry in his voice.
Peem nodded, his mind already miles away, focused on Phum. He knew what Phum was like when he spiralled. He knew the darkness that could creep in, the self-doubt that could consume him. He had to get to him.
∘₊✧─────✧₊∘
Peem arrived a few hours later, his flight rushed, his heart pounding the entire way. As soon as he entered Phum's home, Phum's mother pulled him into a quick hug, relief spreading across her face. "Thank you for coming, Peem. I don't know what we'd do without you," she whispered.
"Where is he?" Peem asked, his eyes scanning the room.
"Upstairs, in his room," Auntie Nid replied, "His father... well, he doesn't understand. Just… be careful.
Peem nodded and took the stairs two at a time. He stopped outside Phum's door, took a deep breath, and knocked softly.
"Leave me alone," Phum's voice was muffled, strained.
Peem opened the door anyway. Phum was curled up on the bed, back to the door, shoulders tense. The room was dim, the air heavy with unshed frustration.
Peem closed the door behind him and walked towards Phum. He climbed onto the bed behind Phum, wrapping his arms around him in one smooth motion, pressing his chest flush against Phum's back. His lips found the curve of Phum's shoulder, kissing gently.
"I'm here," Peem murmured.
Phum finally looked up, his eyes red-rimmed, filled with a mixture of pain and vulnerability. "Peem?" he said, his voice barely a whisper. "What are you doing here? I thought you were at your parents' place?"
"I heard you were having a rough time," Peem said softly, his thumb tracing circles on the back of Phum's hand. "So I came."
Phum stiffened for a second, then crumpled.
He turned in Peem's arms, burying his face in Peem's neck, fingers clutching at his shirt for dear life. Peem held him tighter, one hand around the back of Phum's head, the other tracing slow, soothing circles on his back.
The silence stretched out, heavy but not uncomfortable.
After the long silence, Phum finally spoke.
"They sent me away like I was a package."
Peem's breath hitched, just slightly.
"I was eleven," Phum continued, voice hollow. "Eleven, and they put me on a plane to a country where I didn't know the language, to live with relatives I'd never met. And the worst part?" He laughed bitterly. "I understood. I understood why they did it. The business was failing. They were desperate. But understanding doesn't make it hurt less."
Peem's hand found his, fingers lacing tight.
"I spent years trying to prove I was worth keeping," Phum whispered. "And it was never enough. It didn't matter at all."
"Breathe," Peem whispered, lips brushing Phum's temple. "Just breathe with me, okay? In… and out."
Phum's shaky exhale warmed Peem's skin.
Slowly, so slowly, the tension seeped out of him. Peem kept whispering promises of comfort.
"I've got you," "You're okay," "I'm not going anywhere"
Until Phum's grip loosened, until his breathing became regular.
When Phum finally pulled back, his eyes were red-rimmed but calmer. Peem cupped his face, thumbs brushing away the lingering wetness on his cheeks.
"You were always enough," Peem stated, gentle but strong. "He was the one who failed you."
Phum buried his face into Peem's shoulder, his whole body shaking. "I don't know what I'd do without you," he mumbled.
Peem held him tighter. "You don't have to worry about that. I'm here. I'll always be here."
"Better?" Peem asked, his eyes filled with concern.
Phum nodded, a weak smile touching his lips. "Yeah. A bit better."
Peem smiled back, a genuine, radiant smile that always managed to chase away Phum's darkness. He leaned in and kissed Phum softly on the forehead.
"Come on," Peem said, standing up and pulling Phum with him. "Let's have a nice, relaxing bath and then sleep it off for today."
He guided Phum to the bathroom with hands that never stopped touching, a palm at the small of his back, fingers brushing his wrist, as if afraid he'd vanish if the touch was broken.
Phum's broad shoulders sagged with exhaustion, yet he still towered over Peem, but Peem had always been the steady one, the older one, and inches didn't matter this night.
The shower hissed to life. Peem reached up to unbutton Phum's shirt, fingers gentle against the damp fabric clinging to his chest.
"Let me," he murmured, when Phum's hands faltered near his belt.
Phum exhaled, tired and trusting, letting Peem undress him. All the swimmer's shoulders and long limbs, his body gave under Peem's tender touch.
Steam fogged the glass as Peem stripped down too, slipping into the water first to adjust the temperature, scalding, just how Phum liked it.
"Come here," Peem said, softer now, pulling him under the spray.
Phum bent his head, eyes closed, as Peem lathered shampoo into his thick hair. Fingers scratched gently at his scalp, washing out the weight of the day as water streamed down his back.
"Knew you'd be like this," Peem muttered, squeezing body wash onto a loofah. "All this muscle, and still forget how to stand up straight when you're hurting."
Phum huffed out a laugh as Peem scrubbed between his shoulder blades, firm and familiar.
"Asshole," he muttered, but leaned in anyway.
Peem grinned and smacked his hip. "Old enough to call you on it."
∘₊✧─────✧₊∘
Later, in Peem's borrowed sleep shirt (stretched tight across Phum's chest but smelling like safety), they collapsed onto the bed. Peem hooked a leg over Phum's thighs and tucked himself against his side.
"Still think I'm fragile?" Peem teased, tracing Phum's chest.
Phum curled around him instinctively, his larger body shielding Peem's slighter one even when he was the one falling apart. "Shut up," he grumbled, nose buried in Peem's damp hair.
Peem smiled, pressing a kiss to the pulse point under Phum's jaw. "Sleep, Puppy Phum. I've got you."
And Phum, despite the height, despite the strength, felt small in the best way as he finally closed his eyes.
∘₊✧─────✧₊∘
It happened in the boardroom.
Phum had spent weeks and weeks of work: PowerPoints rewritten, numbers rounded down, nights spent hunched over his laptop with Peem draping a blanket over his shoulders, had all led to this.
His proposal was solid. Innovative. Exactly what the company needed.
His father didn't even glance at it.
"This isn't how we do things," he said, flicking the folder aside like it was a coffee receipt.
That was it.
No feedback. No questions. No acknowledgement of the hours Phum had poured into it. Just dismissal.
Something inside Phum snapped.
"You're right," he said, voice eerily calm. "It's not how you do things. It's how I do them."
He stood, gathering his papers with careful hands.
"Phum—" his father started, frowning.
"I quit."
The room went silent.
"You're being emotional," his father answered, clenched jaw.
Phum turned, meeting his eyes with a coolness that startled even himself. "No. I'm finally thinking clearly. For once."
And then he walked out—head held high, heart racing, spine straight despite the pieces crumbling beneath his skin.
∘₊✧─────✧₊∘
Auntie Nid cried.
Fang called seven times before Phum finally answered, carrying a box on his hip.
"Are you serious right now?" Fang snapped. No greeting.
"Dead serious," Phum said, dropping the box into the back seat of his car.
"You can't just—"
"Watch me."
Click.
An hour later, both P'Oat and Fang showed up at his apartment, arms crossed, expressions unreadable.
Peem was already there, quiet, steady, taping up boxes and making sure Phum hadn't forgotten to eat. He handed Phum a protein bar without a word as the door opened behind them.
"You're really doing this," P'Oat said first.
"Yep," Phum muttered, kneeling to tape another box shut.
Peem crouched beside him, handing over the next roll of tape just as Phum's ran out. Their fingers brushed. Neither said anything.
P'Oat sighed. "You're as stubborn as he is."
"Funny," Phum said dryly. "I was just thinking the same thing."
"God," Fang complained, exasperated. "This is such a terrible idea."
Phum finally looked up. "Then why are you here?"
Fang snorted. "Because you're still my annoying little brother and I don't trust you to lift your washing machine without dislocating something."
"Touching," Phum said, deadpan.
Fang rolled his eyes but stepped forward anyway, grabbing a half-packed box and starting to sort it with sharp efficiency. "I still think you're out of your mind, but I'm not letting you go down in flames alone."
P'Oat smirked. "Look at us. Functional chaos."
Peem looked up from where he was wrapping dishes in old t-shirts. "Keyword: functional."
Phum blinked at them both, stunned for a second too long.
"What?" P'Oat asked. "You thought we came to talk you out of it?"
"Honestly?" Phum said, voice quiet. "Yeah. Kinda."
P'Oat shrugged. "Please. I've been waiting for someone to tell Dad to screw off since 2013."
Fang grunted in agreement. "Doesn't mean you're not screwing yourself a little in the process, though."
Peem gently nudged his knee against Phum's. "Then we'll screw up together."
Phum let out a shaky breath, half laugh, half relief. "Thanks, I guess?"
P'Oat clapped him on the back. "Let's pack this shit. You're gonna need extra hands."
"And a miracle," Fang muttered.
Phum smiled. It wasn't wide, but it was real.
"Good thing I've got both."
∘₊✧─────✧₊∘
Starting his own company wasn't easy.
There were late nights. Early mornings. Moments of doubt so crushing he had to sit on the floor of his office and just breathe.
Cheap instant noodles and a startup office the size of a janitor's closet.
But Peem was there. Always.
He brought him black coffee and handwritten affirmations. Pulled him away from spreadsheets to eat, to sleep, to breathe. He kissed the frustration off, held him through the exhaustion, and never once doubted that Phum couldn't do this.
And slowly, oh so slowly, Phum built something that was his.
∘₊✧─────✧₊∘
Six months later, it came.
A knock on the office door—two soft raps, hesitant.
Phum opened it and froze.
His father stood in the hallway, older than Phum remembered, suit rumpled, shoulders not quite as square as Phum remembered. There was something in his eyes that hadn't been there before.
Uncertainty. Maybe even regret.
"Can we talk?" he asked, voice softer than Phum had ever heard before.
Phum could have said no. Should have said no.
But instead, he stepped back and held the door open.
"Yeah," he said, stepping aside. "We can talk."
∘₊✧─────✧₊∘
Phum didn't sit.
He stood by the window, arms folded, posture stiff. His father hovered awkwardly in the middle of the office, surrounded by signs of a life Phum had built without him. The cheap desk, the whiteboard cluttered with scribbles, the half-drunk iced coffee Peem had brought earlier. It was all modest. But it was real.
"I heard from Oat," his father said after a beat. "About… everything."
Phum nodded once, still not turning around.
"Your company," his father added, like the word tasted unfamiliar. "It's doing well."
Another nod. Silence.
"I didn't come here to argue," he finally said. "I came to—"
"To what?" Phum cut in, voice quiet. "Reclaim the prodigal son?"
His father flinched. "That's not fair."
"No, what wasn't fair," Phum turned now, eyes sharp but tired, "was watching you tear down everything I tried to build just because it didn't look like your blueprint."
A pause. His father's mouth opened, closed again.
"You dismissed me before I even had a chance," Phum continued. "Not just in that boardroom. My whole life."
There it was—years of unspoken weight spilling out in a single sentence.
"I know," his father said, voice strained. "I know I wasn't what you needed me to be."
Phum blinked.
"I pushed you. Harder than I should have. Expected too much. Because that's what my father did. And his father before him."
"That's not an excuse," Phum said.
"No. It's not." His father looked up, and for once, there was no pride, no performance. Just a tired man, worn down, maybe finally seeing clearly. "It's just… the truth. One, I should have admitted sooner."
Phum's hands tightened around his arms. "Why now?"
His father hesitated. "Because you proved me wrong."
Phum blinked, unsure he heard right.
"You walked out. You started from nothing. And somehow… you're still standing. I don't know if I ever told you this, but—" He exhaled. "You're braver than I ever was."
Phum didn't respond right away. His chest ached, but he didn't know if it was relief or sorrow.
"Thank you," he said at last. Not for the apology, for trying.
His father nodded, stepping back toward the door. "I'll go. I just… I wanted to say it."
He reached the door, paused again.
"You've built something good, Phum."
Phum didn't smile. But his voice softened.
"I know."
∘₊✧─────✧₊∘
Going from rich to scraping by wasn't cinematic.
It was gritty. Ugly sometimes.
Rent paid in bits. Credit card balances carefully watched. It was skipping meals to fund ad campaigns. It was pretending he wasn't exhausted so Peem wouldn't worry, yet he knew it anyway.
His savings ran out earlier than he'd anticipated. The security he once took for granted bled out like ink in water.
Offers of help came in waves.
His mom offered money. Quietly. Sweetly.
P'Oat offered to invest just a little, he promised. Fang tried to PayPal him once under the name "totally not charity." Peem's parents sent over home-cooked meals, claiming it was "extra food that will just go bad."
Even their friends pitched in quietly. Free services. Discounted materials. Design help. Coding. Flyers printed for free. Whatever he needed.
Phum refused most of it.
"I need to do this myself," he told Peem one night, lying flat on their thin mattress after a 17-hour day.
"I know," Peem murmured, fingers tracing the ridges of his spine. "But you don't have to break yourself to prove it."
Phum exhaled, shaky. "Feels like I'm running on fumes."
Peem kissed his shoulder. "Then I'll be your fuel."
And he was.
Peem took freelance gigs just to help cover rent. He learned business slang so he could proofread Phum's pitch decks. He rubbed the knots out of Phum's back, pushed him to eat even when he didn't want to, and dragged him to bed when his eyes were bloodshot from the screen light.
They fought sometimes.
Stress clawed at the edges. Phum would snap. Peem would go quiet. But then, always, there'd be a hand reaching out, a mumbled sorry, a kiss against a tear-streaked cheek.
They made it through.
Not because things got easier, but because they never stopped choosing each other through it all.
∘₊✧─────✧₊∘
It was a Sunday morning, the kind that smelled of sun-warmed sheets and freshly brewed coffee.
Phum was barefoot in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, trying to flip a pancake without burning it…again. His hair was a mess. He had a smear of flour on his jaw and a calmness in his shoulders that hadn't been present two years ago.
Peem padded over quietly, still warm from sleep and wearing one of Phum's oversized shirts. He planted a kiss on the nape of Phum's neck as he reached around him for a mug.
"You’re up early," Peem mumbled, one eye remaining half-closed as he poured coffee.
"Had to beat you to it for once," Phum said, glancing over his shoulder with a grin. "Besides, you've got gallery hours today, don't you?"
"Mm." Peem yawned. "Not until two."
The pancake fell clumsily onto the plate, more oval in shape than round.
Peem looked at it, then at Phum. "...It's beautiful."
Phum laughed, low and unhurried. "Liar."
"I love you," Peem said, sipping his coffee, "so everything you make is art."
Phum rolled his eyes, but the smile was still there as he passed over the plate.
They sat at the small table by the window, the one they'd bought together when Phum's first big client payment arrived, too sentimental to replace even now. Outside, Bangkok buzzed as usual, but in here, time moved more softly.
Peem scrolled through gallery emails while Phum went through his calendar, marking reminders. No million-dollar meetings. No investor drama. Just a routine. Their daily routine.
Peem looked up and caught Phum staring, not at the screen, not at the city, at him.
"What?" Peem asked, tilting his head.
Phum leaned in, elbows on the table, voice low."Do you ever just… look around and think, we actually did it?"
Peem's smile came slowly and fondly. "Every day."
They didn't need to say what they did. It was everywhere, humming in the air between them. The business. The gallery. The trust. The survival. The love.
There were still hard days. Still long nights. But there was also this: pancakes slightly burnt, coffee just right, sunlight streaming across wooden floors. Peem's fingers brushing against Phum's knee under the table.
Home.
"I'm proud of you," Peem said softly, reaching out to squeeze his hand. "You built something incredible."
"So did you," Phum replied, linking their fingers.
A beat.
"You know," Peem added, "my mom still thinks you're the one who should be in a museum."
Phum laughed. "Only if it's one with snacks and air-conditioning."
Peem smirked. "Done. I'll organise an exhibit called 'The Stubborn Rise of Watthanakul.'"
"Please don't."
"Too late. I'm sketching the logo tonight."
They leaned into each other, smiles worn-in and easy.
And when the light hit just right, and the laughter softened, and Peem rested his head on Phum's shoulder with a sleepy little sigh, Phum closed his eyes.
This…this was everything he never dared to imagine, all those years ago, back when he walked out of that boardroom with nothing but pride and Peem's name engraved in his chest.
He had lost a fortune.
And found a life.