Archive of Our Own

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The living room was washed in the soft amber glow of a lone lamp in the corner — the rest of the house swallowed by darkness except for the faint line of light leaking in from the front door. The air conditioner hummed steadily, a low, constant rumble that blended with the familiar voices of a show playing on rerun for the umpteenth time. It had become background noise — something to fill the silence as Aran lay sprawled across the couch — half-buried beneath a blanket that had long since claimed permanent residence there. 

The entire mood of the living room was curated for comfort but Aran was anything but comfortable — he was restless and his mind was racing, desperately anticipating the arrival of his roommate — Tawan.

It had been nearly a year since they had become roommates. A year since Aran had offered Tawan a room. A year since Tawan had lost everything — reputation, stability, direction — and had been forced to face the wreckage of his own choices.

Their relationship had never come with labels. No titles, no definitions, no boundaries — they simply… belonged to each other. Exclusively. Messily. Painfully. A situationship tangled in love, resentment, dependence, and longing. Aran had confessed once — during their last fight. The words had burst from him like a wound splitting open: the only one he truly loved was Tawan. But it was too late — the pain was too much to work past. And after that, everything collapsed. Or maybe, if he was honest, it had already been collapsing for a long time. That fight had merely marked the point of no return.

Yet even now, nothing had changed one undeniable truth — Aran was hopelessly, shamefully weak for Tawan. He did not understand it. He could not explain it. Tawan was not gentle, was not particularly kind — was not even cute, and yet, his heart bent toward him every single time.

If anyone asked why Aran had offered Tawan a place to live after everything — after the hurt, the lies, the gaslighting, the chaos — he would not have a logical answer. He knew it made no sense but just the memory of sheer terror when Tawan had disappeared from his life without warning had him making the offer. The helpless, choking dread that had seized him then still lingered in his bones.

He found himself ridiculous too, especially when he had already angrily declared that Tawan had finally given him reason enough to stop loving him — but that was easier said than done because every time his heart beat, only one name resonated loudly in him. 

Tawan.

He was not proud of how he had begged Thee for help — how desperation had driven him so far he might have caused cracks in Thee and Peach’s relationship if they had not been patient and understanding. In the end, things had settled. Thee had pulled strings to soften the fallout. Tawan was allowed to stay in Thailand. His family was rebuilding from overseas, slowly, painstakingly. And Tawan himself was trying to find solid ground again.

Maybe Aran’s rejection and slap or maybe the offer of help that followed, or maybe losing everything — perhaps all of it had become Tawan’s wake-up call.

And as much as Aran remained a weakling where Tawan was concerned, he had learned something too — that without boundaries, they would only spiral back into the same destruction. Aran explicitly told him that his offer to help Tawan stand on his feet again was as a friend. Aran was honestly anticipating an argument — the actor disagreeing to remain friends — because Tawan had never wanted the situationship to end. 

So, he was genuinely startled when Tawan was on the same page as him — the hug they had shared when Aran picked him up had been the last physical contact between them. After that, they lived exactly as they claimed to be — roommates. Same house, separate rooms. Shared utilities. Shared groceries. Shared space, but no blurred lines. Tawan had insisted on splitting expenses evenly, almost stubbornly, as if proving he could stand on his own feet again.

It felt like a reset. Like meeting each other for the first time — without the ghosts of what they used to be. Without the sharp edges of obsession and dependency. Tawan had promised he would change. That he would learn. That he would not repeat the same mistakes. And, for once, he was keeping his word. 

He had apologized. To Peach. Even to Thee. The conversations had been awkward, stiff with old resentment and careful politeness. Aran still found Thee’s blunt choice of words unintentionally hilarious — but the tension had eased. Bridges, if not fully rebuilt, were at least no longer burning. And Aran saw the regret flashing furiously in Tawan’s eyes — as though he finally realised the true extent of his actions. He saw a lone tear fall from the actor’s eye when they had returned home that night — the actor apologised sincerely to him that night. They both cried and Tawan had spent every moment since repenting. 

As for his career, Tawan was starting again from the ground up. Thee had reinstated him as Arseni’s second brand ambassador — a tentative olive branch that reopened doors previously slammed shut. Acting offers trickled in again, cautious but present. A second chance, earned inch by inch.

But the biggest change happened away from the public eye.

Tawan had started therapy.

Anger management, emotional regulation, accountability. Words that once would have made Tawan scoff — brushing Aran off. Now, he went every week. As much as Aran had once found Tawan’s anger intoxicating — sharp, dangerous, thrilling — they both knew it had been poison. To Tawan. To Aran. To everything it touched.

The therapist had suggested an outlet to Tawan. A place of calm — something grounding — and so Tawan disappeared into his uncle’s garage.

Aran had known Tawan loved cars. Had known about the mechanical engineering degree. But he had not known this side of him — hands steady, eyes focused, grease on his knuckles, shoulders relaxed in a way Aran had rarely seen. Fixing engines. Modifying parts. Building something tangible. Something honest.

This was where Tawan breathed and Aran was thankful that Tawan let him in, too see him in this sense. It was always beautiful to see the man in a calm element — past the cloud of arrogance and power the actor was made to carry since young. Aran knew the actor’s childhood had not been pleasant, and even knew Tawan’s family had not even bothered to check in even once in the past year. It annoyed Aran, how could they not check in on their son, but at the same time — it was good that Tawan was not in their shadow anymore.

And on days when his schedule left no time for the garage, he built Legos — a favourite Aran knew very well. At first, it was just one set. Then another. Then many. Cars. City skylines. Iconic landmarks from countries he once traveled to. Slowly, the house filled with them — colorful, meticulous testaments to patience and quiet persistence.

Sometimes Aran sat beside him, helping snap pieces together while soft music played in the background. No touching. No lingering glances that crossed lines. Just companionable silence. Or sometimes they talked until their throats ran dry — about random stuff but still within the boundary of friendship. 

On days when Aran was too tired — he lounged on the sofa and watched Tawan build. Just watched. No fingers threading through his hair. No arms curling around his waist. No whispered desires in the dark. Only respect for the boundary they both guarded so carefully — because they knew growth could not happen without it.

Aran had gone to therapy too. Different wounds, same goal. Untangling love from obsession. Learning that caring for someone did not mean losing yourself in them. Learning that pleasing people should not come at the cost of himself. Learning how to stand steady without clinging. And slowly, quietly, over the course of a year — they began to know each other again. Not as lovers. Not as saviors or burdens. But as friends. Two people learning how to breathe beside each other without drowning. 

And for the first time, it felt real, beautiful — Aran basked in it more than he cared to admit. He looked forward to going home — to the quiet mundanity they had built together. To the soft glow of the living room lamp. To the faint clatter of Lego pieces. 

To simply being in the same space as Tawan.

He recognised the feelings, recognised the truth of why he was basking in it, why he was craving it — the attraction had not disappeared, and neither had the love faded. 

Aran was still so fucking in love with Tawan. 

They had only been tucked away, carefully suppressed while both of them learned how to heal without tearing each other apart. And now that they had finally found something resembling normalcy, those feelings were beginning to surface again — slow, inevitable, like water seeping through cracks.

Who was he kidding — the feelings had never left the surface — Aran had just ignored them. He had talked to Peach about it — Aran did not want to become an obstacle to Tawan's healing, did not want to pull him back into old patterns — but he also knew he could not keep pretending his heart was not stirring dangerously close to the surface.

Peach had suggested dating — maybe meeting new people would expand his horizons, distract him enough. His therapist had agreed and so Aran tried. Swiping through strangers on a screen. Agreeing to dinners. Smiling politely across candlelit tables. Listening to small talk that never quite landed.

By the third date, he knew it was pointless. 

Because all he did was compare. The way they laughed. The way they spoke. The way they looked at him. None of it matched Tawan. None of it even came close. And the last date had sealed it — a man who filled the evening with crude jokes and wandering hands, leaving Aran cold and irritated. He returned home more exhausted than when he had left.

He had not planned to say anything — but returning home to Tawan had become comfort, become safe and so the frustration spilled out of him the moment he stepped into the house, ranting about the disastrous dinner — forgetting, only halfway through, that Tawan did not know he had been on dates at all.

“You went on a date ?” Tawan’s voice had been careful — cautious — processing.

Aran stilled, bracing instinctively for anger. For sharp words. For slammed doors. But none came — not yet at least. Having already spilled, he just told the truth — three dates. The therapist’s suggestion. An attempt at meeting new people. But he left out Peach’s involvement. Left out the comparisons. Left out how hollow it had felt.

The Tawan of the past would have exploded. Would have turned possessive, irrational, volatile. But the man standing in front of him now only inhaled slowly, processing. Then he gave Aran a small, polite smile.

“I see. The date was an idiot for making you uncomfortable… maybe, the next one would be better. I hope it goes well for you.” And with that, he retreated to his room. 

No argument. No raised voice. No storm. It was refreshing to say the least — Aran was proud of Tawan — he was truly healing, changing for the better. It brought a bitter sweet smile on his face — he was happy for Tawan and yet, his chest ached.

A quiet melancholy settled over him, heavy and unwelcome. Tawan did not even say anything — did not express any discomfort… Had Tawan moved on ? Was that why he was so calm ? So accepting ? A ridiculous, childish urge rose in him — to chase after Tawan, to grab his wrists, to pull him close and tell him not to let go. To say that Aran did not want anyone else. That he never had.

Aran wanted to, he wanted to run after Tawan and he was so tempted, his feet about to take the steps but he did not. Because they had peace now. And Aran refused to be the one who shattered it — he had been the one to draw the line between them — and it was important to keep it, especially now that Tawan was slowly healing. He was getting better at managing his anger and Aran did not want to break the momentum or drag them back into the ruin just because of his want and greed for the man. So he resorted to loving Tawan from a distance, hoping that one day his heart would unlearn it once it did not receive the response.

To say it was torture would be an understatement. 

Having known the warmth of Tawan once — the weight of his arms, the way his presence filled every corner of Aran’s world — and now having to pretend that longing did not exist. His own hands, the hidden toys buried in the back of his closet, the quiet late nights — none of it compared to the heated body pressed against his. None of it eased the ache. None of it completed him.

Tawan is and would always be Aran’s only one. 

And slowly, inevitably, that dissatisfaction began to seep into the spaces between them. Aran felt it — the tension, the glances that lingered a second too long and the moments where the air turned thick for no reason at all. Sometimes he caught Tawan staring. And the look in his eyes — burning, restrained, hungry in a way that made Aran’s throat go dry.

Was it truly one-sided ? Or were they both standing on the same fragile edge ?

He called Peach again. Asked for clarity. For advice. And Peach had simply said, gently, “feelings that big do not vanish overnight. If you want answers, Aran, you’ll have to ask him. Talk to him.”

Aran knew it was true — knowing was one thing, but having the courage to speak was another. Because talking to Tawan about love — about them — felt like stepping onto cracked ice. They had finally found peace, and Aran was terrified of being the one to break it.

That was — until a week ago.

“I’m thinking of moving out. Finding my own place.” Tawan had said it casually over dinner, as though discussing the weather.

Aran had barely been able to mask his shock. Frustration flared hot and immediate. Of course it made sense. Of course it was logical. He had been the one to offer Tawan a place to stay to help him get back on his feet — and now, by all visible measures, Tawan was getting there. A job. A routine. Therapy. Stability.

Moving out was the next step. But Aran did not want him to go. Not now. Not ever — if you truly asked him. Yet what right did he have to stop him ? He was the one who had drawn the line at friendship and Tawan looked like a man moving forward — healing, rebuilding and maybe he was realizing that whatever had existed between them in the past had not been love at all. Maybe it had just been dependence. Habit. Hunger. 

Maybe Tawan had already let go — maybe now with a clearer mind, he realised that Aran had not been anything more than an obsession and was content being just friends now — the thought hollowed Aran out.

He knew he had to talk. Now more than ever. But fear wrapped tightly around his ribs — fear of embarrassment, of reaching for someone who no longer wanted to be reached for. Fear of clinging too tightly and pushing Tawan away completely.

And maybe… letting Tawan leave would be good for Aran too. Maybe distance was the final step in truly healing. But how did one let go of the person who had become home ? His mind was a mess, but he knew he had to talk — for clarity, for closure.

And he tried to talk— needing to understand Tawan, and needing Tawan to understand him too or maybe help him make sense of the mess his mind had created. He truly did — all week, he searched for the right moment. But schedules never aligned, or the words died in his throat, replaced by trivial questions that left him hating himself a little more each time.

Then yesterday happened — a joint Arseni photoshoot. Bright lights. Makeup artists. Cameras clicking. And one of the models — pretty, confident, smiling too wide — had drifted toward Tawan. Compliments. Laughter. Leaning in just a little too close.

It was flirting — even to the naked eye. 

Jealousy ignited in Aran so fast it stole his breath. And what stung more was that Tawan did not immediately dismiss him the way he once would have. Did not gravitate instinctively back to Aran’s side. He remained polite — reserved but reasonable — even striking conversation with Peach and the annoying model by his side.

It was a new persona — a good persona and Aran should have been proud of how far Tawan came and it should have most definitely not hurt. But it did — it hurt so bad. And by the time they got home, heat and frustration and fear tangled together until they became something sharp and ugly.

“What do you want to eat ?” Tawan had asked gently. 

The question was rather simple but Aran had just snapped, “just leave me alone.”

Cold words. Wet eyes. A locked bedroom door. It was not until he was under the spray of the shower that reality hit him. Communication had always been their downfall — assumptions, silence, outbursts. And now that they were finally better people than they used to be, it was even more important not to repeat old patterns. Snapping at Tawan was unfair. Throwing daggers instead of words was exactly how they used to destroy each other.

When he emerged, Tawan had already retreated to his room — but there was a bowl of noodles waiting on the counter, with a post-it stuck to the lid: eat something :)

Guilt curled tight in Aran’s stomach and it followed him into restless sleep and woke with him the next morning — heavy, urgent, inescapable. And that was how he ended up here — barely getting through his own schedules today — waiting, watching the door with his heart hammering against his ribs. Today, he would talk. He would lay everything bare. They needed to communicate clearly — for once.

The keypad beeped. The lock clicked. Aran shot to his feet, the blanket slipping forgotten to the floor.

“Oh, hey.” Tawan’s voice — deep, dangerous and familiar — filled his ears.

He looked like he was in a rush — barely sparing Aran a glance before disappearing into his room, and minutes later he emerged again — white shirt, black jeans, hair still slightly damp, a dry-fit shirt slung over his shoulder. Ready to leave again.

“You’re going out ?” Aran asked.

“Yeah. My uncle needs help at the garage.”

“Wait !” The panic in Aran’s voice made Tawan pause, “uh— I mean… is it okay if I join you ?”

Tawan blinked, confused, “Huh ? sure… But it’ll be boring. Just cars that need fixing.”

“It’s fine. I want to.”

Because tonight, Aran was determined to talk. He did not care where. He changed hurriedly — hoodie, jeans, shoes shoved on without care — and joined Tawan at the door. Tawan unlocked his phone, likely booking a ride.

“No,” Aran tossed him the car keys. “Let’s take the car. You drive.”

Aran stepped outside first, night air cool against his skin. Behind him, Tawan followed — still confused, still silent — unaware that Aran had already made his decision.

Tonight, there will be no more running. No more silence. No more pretending. Tonight, they will be talking.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“Hey, Wan. Thanks for coming at such short notice.”

The smell of oil and metal greeted them the moment they stepped into the garage, warm air humming with the sound of distant traffic and the occasional clink of tools. Lung looked up from beneath the hood of a car, wiping his hands on a rag before smiling at his nephew.

“No worries, Lung. I’m here to help.” Tawan pressed his palms together in a polite wai.

“Good evening, Lung. I hope you don’t mind me coming over,” Aran added, returning the wai as he stepped in behind Tawan.

“Oh, Aran — of course I don’t mind. Make yourself comfortable.” Lung gestured toward the worn couch in the corner, its cushions stained with years of grease and use, before turning back to Tawan to explain the situation.

A sedan with engine trouble and failing brakes. A deadline for handover tomorrow, and Lung had only one other mechanic working — who had to rush home for a family emergency. Too much work and too little time. Tawan listened, nodding, already removing his white shirt and slipping on the black t-shirt he had brought.

He did not mind working, not at all. He loved this — the tangible honesty of machines. Problems that could be solved. Parts that could be replaced. Results that could be seen. And besides… he had not had any plans tonight. Other than returning home. Maybe having dinner with his roommate.

But the roommate had snapped and told Tawan to leave him alone — Tawan had not wanted to push, and had retreated leaving him alone, so really, it made one thing very confusing — why was that same roommate now accompanying him to the garage ?

Roommate — that was what Aran was now.

And Tawan had no one to blame but himself. Consequences. He had learned that word well over the past year. A year of waking up without wealth, without status, without the golden shield he had grown up behind. A year of realizing how ugly he had been inside. How anger had ruled him. How obsession had replaced love. How he had crushed the very person who had cared for him most. 

That slap. That rejection. Losing everything overnight. It had cracked something open inside him. The realization that the friends who had surrounded him so easily before had been nothing more than shadows clinging to his wealth and name. Tools. Smiles with price tags.

Even his own family. They had left without hesitation. Escaping to Macau where money and comfort awaited them. To the outside world, it looked like the family was rebuilding carefully. Quietly. Respectably. But without him.

His father had made that clear. Tawan had been furious at first. Betrayed. Why was he so easily discarded ? But the anger had slowly cooled into something bitter and understanding. His parents had never truly been present. When they were, it was for appearances. For ambition. For molding him into something impressive, powerful, untouchable. They had fed him arrogance instead of affection. Control instead of care. So perhaps this was inevitable. He had nothing left.

Except Aran. 

And that was the part Tawan still could not understand. Why would Aran help him ? After all the shouting. The possessiveness. The hurt. The way Tawan had trampled over his heart again and again. Yet Aran had opened his door. Given him a home. Given him dignity when Tawan had none left.

But the kindness did come with clear boundaries and cost. 

Tawan understood exactly why — yet his heart was not ready to accept it. Not when he still loved Aran with a fierceness that sat heavy in his chest. But love, he was starting to realise, was not possession. Not control. Not demand. And so he kept to the lines that defined them as friends. As roommates. As two people trying not to repeat the past — Tawan was respecting the boundary, with every ounce of will he had. 

Because he was still selfish and he could not bear the thought of not having Aran in his life. 

He insisted on sharing utilities. On paying his share. On earning his place under that roof. Pride would not allow him to live off Aran’s kindness alone — not anymore. He took any job offered to him. Small roles. Minor endorsements. No longer did the ego of a former superstar dictate what was “worthy” of him. That version of Tawan had burned to ash. He was starting from nothing now. 

And starting over was exactly what he did. He began with apologies. None of them could undo what he had done. None could erase the damage. But they had to be said.

He apologized to Peach first. Without the red haze of anger clouding his judgment, he could finally see that the older man had never been an enemy. That the rivalry, the suspicion, the hatred — had all lived inside Tawan’s own distorted mind.

Then Thee. He had feared that conversation the most. After all, the CEO had been the one to pull the last thread that unraveled Tawan’s life. Yet it was also Thee who had extended an unexpected hand — reinstating him as Arseni’s brand ambassador. Giving him a chance when no one else would. He barely understood half of what Thee said — business phrasing, legal language, veiled warnings. But one sentence cut through everything.

Aran begged for your life. The words devastated him. Because he understood the implication. That Aran had been willing to sacrifice himself — his dignity, his body, his worth — if it meant Tawan would be safe.

The realization made Tawan feel sick. Ashamed. Furious at himself. He had pushed the man he loved to the brink of destruction with his own unchecked anger and obsession. He had taken Aran’s light and tried to cage it, smother it, own it. He had apologised to Aran the same night, sincerely and had spent every moment repenting his action — realizing just how much he did not deserve even a fraction of Aran’s kindness.

And that was enough of a shock for him to seek help. 

Therapy — something he once would have laughed at — became a mirror he could no longer avoid. Session after session, he learned just how fucked he really was — and also that while his actions could never be justified, they could be understood. That his cruelty, his volatility, his hunger for control had grown from a childhood built on neglect, pressure, and conditional affection. A personality forged as armor — and used as a weapon.

With clarity came guilt. And with guilt came resolve.

He had to heal — to become a better person. Because he refused to remain the person who destroyed everything he touched. It was not easy. His anger still surfaced, sudden and sharp. The urge to lash out still clawed at him when he felt threatened, abandoned, insecure. 

But the garage helped. There, among engines and grease and metal, he could pour all that restless energy into something that made sense. Cars did not lie. Did not manipulate. Did not leave. If something was broken, you fixed it. If a part failed, you replaced it. And when the engine finally roared back to life, it felt like proof that broken things could run again.

And on days when he could not make it to the garage, he built Legos.

Something he had loved as a child — before ambition and ego and loneliness swallowed him whole. Piece by piece, model by model, he learned patience. Learned that beautiful things took time. That rushing only caused collapse. And sometimes, in the quiet click of plastic locking into place, Tawan allowed himself to believe his therapist:

Maybe he, too, could become someone better. Maybe one day, he could stand beside Aran without feeling like a storm waiting to break. Maybe — just maybe — he could be worthy of the light he had once tried to own.

Because Aran was exactly that. A dream. A steady, unwavering light in the darkness of Tawan’s life. Had been from the start. 

They kept the boundary of friendship, and in doing so, they were learning each other again — slowly, carefully — without the ghosts of their past clawing at every moment. The boundary though absolutely clawed at him — it did Tawan good. It forced him to see clearly how he had loved before: not with tenderness, but with obsession — not with care, but with control.

He had never let Aran breathe.

And now, standing back, he could finally see how brightly the model glowed when unburdened by his shadow. 

The rage and possession was still there. A demon curled in his chest, whispering to pull Aran close, to keep him, to never let anyone else touch what had once been his. But Tawan was learning to recognize the voice — and to refuse it. It was not easy but he was trying — because love was not possession. Love was freedom. To love someone was to let them exist fully, brilliantly, without cage or chain.

So he tried to bury the attraction. The yearning. The way his hands still ached to hold Aran the way they once had. He focused instead on being a friend. On learning who Aran truly was — what he wanted, what he feared, what made him laugh when no one was watching. He wanted to grow. To heal. To become someone Aran could trust.

And in return, Aran slowly learning to trust him again too. Friendship, it turned out, was good for them. Both in therapy. Both rebuilding. Both learning how to live without burning each other alive.

Tawan settled into the quiet mundanity of his new life. Shared meals. The same television reruns. Lego pieces scattered across the coffee table. Aran’s laughter drifting down the hall. The soft comfort of simply coexisting. It had become everything to him — to be with Aran this comfortably.

But attraction did not fade and neither did love diminish — if anything, it deepened.

From the very first moment he had seen Aran, Tawan had known. No one would ever compare. No one else would ever feel like home. Yet they had never labeled what they were. Never defined it. Never spoken honestly. And therapy had taught Tawan how vital communication truly was.

If he had spoken — about his parents, his loneliness, his terror of abandonment — perhaps he would not have clung so tightly. If he had spoken — about how much Aran meant to him — perhaps he would not have tried to own him out of fear. But instead, he had hidden behind anger. Let it speak for him. Let it destroy everything.

Now, even with this clarity, he stayed silent. Because he did not want to  burden Aran with his heart again. Not now. Not when Aran was finally healing.

So he loved him quietly — and this was both a blessing and a punishment. 

Knowing how perfectly Aran fit in his arms. How warm his skin was. How content the world felt when he held him. And now, settling for shared smiles over dinner. For the soft warmth of the couch as they watched the same old show. For stolen glances and swallowed words. And now, loving from afar was nothing close to torture. 

Sometimes, in the privacy of locked bathroom doors and running water, his right hand became his only relief — a desperate, shameful outlet for longing he refused to speak aloud. He told himself he could live like this. That this was his penance. His consequence. His choice.

Until the day Aran told him he had been on dates.

Tawan had bitten down so hard on his anger his teeth ached. His fists clenched behind the counter, knuckles white. Shoulders locked. Jaw rigid. It was a miracle Aran had not noticed. He forced a breath. He reminded himself that they were just roommates — friends — Aran was free to date whoever he wished. 

And somehow, his voice came out steady as he wished Aran well before retreating to his room. Only behind closed doors did he finally exhale. Tawan was an idiot to think that he would be fine with being just roommates — just friends. Exes could never just be friends and live together — not when Tawan’s feelings ran this deep. 

Instinct screamed at him to destroy something. Anything. To let the violence out. To burn down the world that dared put someone else in Aran’s orbit. To go back out and hold Aran tight — to tell him that he was Tawan’s and Tawan’s only and that no one else would ever satisfy Aran like Tawan could. 

He was tempted. Lord, he was tempted.

But then, Aran’s cautious eyes flashed in front of his eyes. The way he had braced for an argument. For anger. For the old Tawan. And something clicked inside him — Tawan realised just how easily all the months of therapy could unfold and push him back down into the same pit he was trying to crawl out of. 

So, instead, he sat at his desk. Opened the half-finished Lego set. And let his shaking hands click piece after piece into place while his mind untangled the rage. He tried to convince himself: Aran had moved on. And Aran was allowed to. He deserved someone who would cherish him gently. Someone who would not cage him. Someone better than Tawan had been. That thought should have soothed him.

But the red still simmered — nor the legos and neither the breathing techniques his therapist had taught him were working. 

So at two in the morning, he was at the gym. Gloves on. Fists slamming into the punching bag until his knuckles burned and his muscles screamed. Each strike a refusal — not to lash out at Aran, not to track down the men he had dated, not to tear down Aran’s therapist who had suggested it. 

Tawan was choosing peace – for the first time in his life.

The next day, his therapist made him talk about it. Every violent thought. Every jealous urge. Every desperate fear. And when he admitted he was terrified he was too broken to heal, she only smiled gently.

“Healing isn’t magic, Tawan. It’s practice. And the fact that you didn’t act on those impulses ? That you chose differently ? That means you’re already changing.”

Tawan let himself believe her — but belief did not stop his heart from aching.

He loves Aran. So much it frightened him. So much it sat in every breath, every thought, every quiet moment between them. And he knew — with a certainty that made his chest tighten — that he would not survive watching Aran fall in love with someone else.

So he made a decision. He would move out. Put distance between them. Give Aran space to live, to love, to grow — without Tawan’s shadow lingering too close. He was grateful. For the roof over his head. For the chance to rebuild. For the steady presence that had kept him from drowning when he had nothing left. The decision honestly was killing him and if it were really up to him, he would have stayed roommates with Aran forever — waking to his voice, sharing meals, falling asleep to the sound of his footsteps down the hall.

But his heart was not in charge anymore. Clarity was. And clarity told him that staying would only tempt him back toward old patterns. Toward possession. Toward jealousy. Toward anger. He did not want to be that man again. Not to Aran. Not to himself. 

So he began looking at small apartments nearby. Affordable. Simple. Close enough that he could still see Aran every now and then — but far enough that longing would not eat him alive every night, would not tempt him into the oblivion he was crawling out of. Distance might be good for them — it might help Tawan reel in all his feelings and one day, maybe be able to watch Aran live with someone else without feeling like dying. Be happy for Aran, genuinely. 

He told Aran over dinner, casually, as though it did not feel like cutting out a piece of his own heart, “I’m thinking of finding my own place soon.”

Tawan knew Aran well enough to recognize the polite smile for what it was — forced — it confused him. Because from everything Tawan understood, a moving-on Aran would welcome privacy. Would welcome a life no longer tangled in Tawan’s baggage. And in the past year, the way Aran reached for him — easy, gentle, familiar — had been friendship. Nothing more. They were becoming good friends. Steady. Safe.

So why did Aran look so… strained at the thought of Tawan moving out ?

Tawan would not lie — the reaction stirred something reckless in him again. Something dangerous. Something that whispered: pull him close, hold him tight, tell him not to let go. Beg for another chance. Swear that this time, he would do everything right. That he loved him — loved him so fucking much — that he did not want Aran to move on, did not want to watch him belong to someone else. That he wanted Aran for himself.

It did not help that Tawan had caught Aran staring at him when the model thought he was not looking many times — recognising the look all too well — had seen it many times prior when they were exclusive. And as much as it left Tawan feeling tingles, left him feeling as though maybe Tawan could want more — he did not dwell on them. 

Because wanting did not make it possible. Not after everything. Not after who Tawan had been. Not after what Aran had gone through because of him.

Yet Aran’s reaction, and now those looks lingered . Unexplainable. Impossible to ignore.

Months of therapy had taught Tawan at least one thing — questions and problems did not disappear if you bury them and humans were, by default, not mindreaders. Silence had always been their downfall. Assumptions. Running in opposite directions instead of standing still long enough to speak honestly. And over the week, he had tried to bring it up before. Tried to find the right words. But their schedules collided, exhaustion got in the way, fear choked him every time he imagined the question.

What was he supposed to say ? Aran, by any chance, do you not want me to leave ? Ridiculous. Why would Aran want him to stay ? Aran was moving on. Going on dates. Breathing freely again.

And last night, Aran’s snapping — just leave me alone — maybe that had already been the answer. Maybe Tawan had misunderstood everything. Maybe there was nothing more beneath Aran’s glances, nothing hidden in his silences. Maybe, in this life, friendship was all they were meant to be.

And Tawan decided he would accept that. He would love Aran quietly. From a distance. Without asking for more than friendship. Without intruding. He would focus on healing. On becoming better. Someone stable. Someone safe.

So why— why had Aran insisted on coming to the garage ? Why had his eyes barely left Tawan’s hands as he worked, as if memorizing every movement ?

It left Tawan feeling strangely exposed. As if Aran were trying to see past his skin, past the controlled breaths and steady hands — trying to decipher the man beneath. It did not bother him as much, given Tawan had nothing to hide.

Nothing except the overwhelming love he still carried for Aran.

He was not ashamed of it. No. He simply refused to burden Aran with it. Refused to let the model feel obligated to acknowledge feelings he had already chosen to move beyond. Aran was too kind — kind enough to sacrifice himself, kind enough to stay, kind enough to care even when it hurt him. That kindness had once been the spark of Tawan’s insecurity. The reminder that he was never good enough to deserve it.

And now that Tawan finally saw himself clearly — all the damage, all the fractures — what if even in the smallest possibility that Aran did want him… what guarantee did Tawan have that he would not drag Aran down again ? And that scared him — Aran did not deserve that. Aran was an angel and no matter how much he tries to redeem himself, it will not change the fact that Tawan was a monster.

Yet that reckless part of him stirred anyway.

A part that wanted to drop the wrench, cross the garage in three strides, and pull Aran into a kiss so searing it would burn away every doubt between them. Because he knew this tension. He knew this charged silence all too well. And he craved it — he craved it so bad — he craved Aran so bad.  And no matter what happens, no matter how far he goes, or how much distance is put between them–

Aran is, and would always be, his endgame.

But now with everything that had happened between them, there was no possible way Aran felt the same. That chapter was closed. Finished. Gone. Right ? So why ?

Why was Aran staring at him like that ? 

Which screamed only one thing clearly — Tawan and Aran had to talk. And, tonight seemed like the perfect opportunity for them to talk — timing and their choices had lined perfectly for them — now, all Tawan had to do now… was find the words.

“…up and leave.”

Tawan blinked, pulled abruptly from his thoughts. He had only caught the tail end of Lung’s sentence.

“Sorry, what ?” He cleared his throat.

“I said, just change the spark plugs, then you can finish up and leave,” Lung repeated, not the least bit surprised at Tawan’s distraction.

Tawan shoved the storm in his chest aside and focused on the task. Muscle memory carried him through the final adjustments. When he was done, he gathered the used tools, dropped them into the box, and headed to change. The black shirt was ruined — grease splattered across the fabric, unsalvageable. He tossed it into the bin, washed his face again, cold water grounding him, before returning to the main station.

“Thank you, son — you too, Aran.” Lung smiled warmly, “take these coffee cans. Check out the lake before you leave, Aran. It’s beautiful. Just a short drive. Tawan knows the way. It will make your trip worthwhile.”

“Will do, Lung.” Aran wai-ed politely, taking the cans, “thank you.”

“See you, Lung.” Tawan returned the wai before slipping into the driver’s seat, Aran following close behind.

“Let’s see the lake,” Aran murmured, opening one can and handing it to Tawan before opening his own.

Tawan took a long gulp before starting the short drive down the winding road. Silence settled between them — not awkward, not heavy — just… full. The kind that carried everything unsaid.

Soon, the lake opened before them, wide and still, moonlight scattering across the surface like spilled silver. He parked near the shoreline. They stepped out. Tawan leaned against the hood, coffee can cool in his hand. Aran joined him, close enough that their shoulders almost brushed.

“It is indeed beautiful,” Aran murmured, gaze fixed on the water, “and so damn calm.”

“Did it make your trip worthwhile ?” Tawan asked, tipping the last of his coffee back.

Aran hummed softly — then, almost under his breath, “being with you has already made it worthwhile.”

Tawan heard it anyway. Every word. Every syllable. His heart lurched. His mind scrambled. Recklessness — the very thing he had been fighting so hard to tame — stirred awake, sharp and hungry. Aran was confusing him. Sending signals that unraveled all the careful distance he had built. Had Tawan been misunderstanding or had he been reading everything wrong ? They had to talk. Before he lost control of himself again. Before hope did something dangerous to his barely pacified heart.

“Aran,” Tawan said, voice lower than he intended, “can we talk?”

Aran took both empty cans from their hands, walked to the nearby bin, and tossed them away. Then he returned — stopping directly in front of Tawan this time, close enough that there was no pretending this was casual.

“Yeah,” Aran said softly, “let’s talk.”

Tawan swallowed. He had not expected Aran to stand this close — close enough that Tawan could feel warmth radiating from him despite the cool night air. It had been a long time since Aran had been in his space like this. Too long. And now, even with the seriousness of the conversation hanging between them, Tawan’s mind betrayed him.

Because Aran was—

Fuck.

Aran was fucking beautiful.

Moonlight caught in his eyes, turning them into liquid silver. His lashes fluttered when he blinked, slow and soft. There was a faint red tint on his cheeks and nose from the cold, making him look impossibly alive, impossibly real. And his lips— pink, plump, familiar— the same lips Tawan had once kissed like worship.

All Tawan had to do was take one step forward. Lean in. Taste him again — only the Lord knew how hard he had to lock every muscle in his body to keep his hands at his sides.

No. Not like this. Not again. This was important. He needed clarity. He needed to know where they stood. If Aran wanted space, Tawan would give it — even if it carved him hollow. He would not be that man again.

He cleared his throat, “do you have a problem with me moving out?”

He cursed himself immediately as the words left him before he could soften them. He did not expect the words to lay so blunt and exposed — but then again, Tawan had always been so blunt.

Aran blinked — a little shocked — before he quickly composed himself,  “no and yes.”

Tawan frowned, thrown completely off balance, “what ? Aran—”

“No,” Aran’s voice steady but eyes uncertain, “because you moving out shows you are growing. That you are finding stability again. And I… I honestly could not be more proud. I am so happy for you.”

Something in Tawan loosened. Warmth bloomed in his chest. Hearing that — from Aran — made every therapy session, every sleepless night, every moment he swallowed his rage in the past year feel worth it.

“And yes,” Aran continued, voice dropping softer, thinner, “because… I don’t want you to leave.”

The words hit hard. A part of Tawan soared — because he did not want to leave either. He wanted to stay. God, he wanted to stay so badly. To stay in that domesticated bubble they had created as roommates. Lord, this was all he fucking wants — but he could not. 

He knew he could not — not like this. Not when he was still unable to guarantee he would never slip back into the monster he was or be the kind of man that Aran truly deserved. And especially not when Aran was probably moving on—

“Aran,” His voice came out low and rough, “I truly enjoy being your roommate, but I—”

He hesitated. This was the last thing he wanted to place on Aran’s shoulders. The last burden he wanted to hand him. He could probably drawl this out — give excuses — as though this was not affecting as much as he wanted. 

But it did not seem fair — he needed to be real, with Aran, and with himself. Hiding, and making excuses would probably just undo months of his growing and healing. So, he chose honesty — even if saying the words out loud would probably make the reality he knew, real. A reality in which Aran probably will not be in his life — not like now.

“I am still in love with you.” 

Silence fell so completely that even the lake seemed to still. He saw the words ripple through Aran — saw his breath catch, his eyes widen just slightly — and Tawan pushed forward before courage abandoned him.

“I love you so fucking much it becomes hard to contain. I know I have already lost my chance. I know you are moving on. That you can finally breathe without my demons caging you. Without accusations, suspicions, fear.”

He inhaled, forcing himself to keep going, “I want to say I am happy for you, and that I am glad that you are finding stability. But, I am not because I cannot seem to come to terms with the fact that in this new reality, I am not the one you are in love with.”

Tawan felt his throat dry, “and that’s why I need to move out. Because I cannot watch you go on dates, fall for someone else, be happy with them — not when I want that so badly with you. I barely controlled myself when you told me about the dates. I had to destroy a punching bag at two a.m. in the gym just to keep from becoming that man again. I’m trying, Aran. But the rage still threatens to swallow me sometimes. And I refuse to become him.”

“Tawan…” The way Aran breathed his name nearly broke him and Tawan bit the inside of his lip until he tasted blood.

“My feelings are not something you have to carry. They are mine.  And I have realised… we work well as friends. Maybe in this life, that’s all we are meant to be. And I am going to be okay with that. Believe me, one day , I would I just need time to cool off, to heal properly—”

“But I’m not okay with that.” Aran’s voice cut through him.

Tawan froze.

“I’m not okay with being just friends.”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“I am not okay with being just friends,” Aran’s voice barely above a whisper, “not when I am still in love with you.”

The words hung between them — fragile, dangerous, and utterly true — and Aran could see the way the Tawan could barely believe what Aran was saying. The night air stilled. The lake shimmered. And between them, a year of silence finally began to break.

Aran had spent the entire time at the garage staring at Tawan — his eyes never left him, not even for a second. His mind was memorising the sight, the man — Tawan worked with quiet focus, veins standing out under the grease-streaked skin. A smudge of oil kissed his cheekbone and Aran pretended that his mouth did not run dry when the dim fluorescent lights caught the faint stubble shadowing his jaw.

Lord, that stubble.

Tawan usually kept himself clean-shaven — polished, controlled, public-ready. But tonight, with exhaustion in his posture and rawness written into every movement, he looked stripped of pretense. Real. Human. The man he was, horrifyingly, falling in love with all over again. His heart hammered against his ribs — knowing that the conversation he was hoping to have tonight might… might be their last in a long while. 

Aran tried to plan his words. To rehearse maturity. Closure. A careful apology for snapping. A calm acceptance of Tawan’s decision to leave. He had told himself he would let go gracefully. But every time he looked at Tawan, all reason blurred into one aching truth: I don’t want you to go.

Yet he swallowed it down. Because Tawan was healing. Because Aran refused to become another chain around his ankle. Because love is freeing and not shackling. Still… yesterday, seeing that model flirt with Tawan had lit something sharp and ugly inside him. Jealousy he was ashamed of. A possessiveness he had no right to claim. He scolded himself for it — he had no right. None. 

So he told himself he would be honest once. Just once. Then let Tawan go. And when Lung suggested the lake, Aran seized the chance like fate itself had offered it.

“Being with you has already made it worthwhile.” 

It was the truth — being with Tawan is what he really wants. He walked to stand in front of Tawan — to talk — but Aran realised maybe he should not have done that because now, all his mind supplied was Tawan so handsome. 

So damn handsome. 

Tawan’s chest was partly exposed beneath the open collar of his shirt. His skin carried the faint scent of soap and metal and night air. His eyes — those impossible eyes — looked straight into Aran’s, seeing far too much. Aran’s hand itched to reach up, to touch that stubble, to confirm he was not imagining how real this felt.

No — focus.

Tawan spoke first — maybe he could see the way Aran was still scrambling for the words or maybe Aran was not as subtle as he thought he was — especially from the way the actor had blurted out asking if this was about his moving out. So, he laid it out — yes and no — told Tawan exactly why but before he could elaborate on why he did not want Tawan to move out, the actor’s words stilled Aran.

“I am still in love with you.”

Aran’s breath hitched. And, for a moment, the world tilted. Relief. Shock. Joy. Pain. All at once.

Tawan continued, voice steady even as his words cut deep. Talking about rage. About control. About dates. About fear of hurting Aran again. About choosing distance because he loved Aran too much to become poison in his life again.

Every word was sincere. Every word proof of how far Tawan had come. And Aran’s heart broke with pride. This man — who once burned everything in his path — was now willing to walk away from the one thing he wanted most… just to keep Aran safe.

They had both been silently sacrificing themselves for the other. And hearing Tawan say he loved him — still — after everything… it cracked something open inside Aran. Something brave. Something reckless. Something honest. So Aran lifted his gaze, met Tawan’s eyes, and let the truth fall free.

“Aran…” Tawan’s voice came out rough, strained, as though he were physically holding himself back, “don’t say this for my sake. Don’t give me hope. Don’t. You’re moving on and—”

“I am not moving on.” Aran cut him off, fast and firm, like he was afraid the words might vanish if he hesitated, “the dates were nothing but a stupid attempt to deny what my heart was screaming.”

There was not much space between them, but Aran stepped forward anyway — one slow, deliberate step that erased what little distance remained — moonlight traced the sharp line of Tawan’s jaw and there was a slight tremble in his breath.

“The boundary I drew — I don’t regret it,” Aran continued, voice steadier now, “it woke both of us up. It forced us to face ourselves. Tawan, as much as you needed a wake-up call… I needed one too.”

His fingers twitched at his side, itching to reach out, but he kept them curled into a fist instead — anchoring himself, “but even then, I never stopped loving you. Not once. The feelings did not disappear. Watching you heal, watching you slowly find your footing again after losing everything… I did not want to disrupt that. So I tried to contain it. Tried distraction. Tried pretending.”

Aran inhaled, a breath that carried a year’s worth of unsaid truth.

“Tawan, believe me. On those dates ? All I did was compare them to you. The way they talked. The way they moved. The way they laughed. All I could think was— you did it the way I liked. You fit in all the places they did not. The last date — the day I told you about them — was the nail in the coffin. I realised no one could ever compare. No one. You’re it for me.”

His voice softened, raw, “but then you wished me happiness. You retreated to your room. And I thought… maybe you had moved on. Maybe we really were just roommates now.”

Aran let out a shaky breath, the honesty pouring out without a filter, “I thought I could love you from afar. That I could be satisfied as friends. But I’m not. The idea of you leaving — of this house without you in it — it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. And yesterday… seeing that model flirting with you— and you just… standing there, letting him stay in your space— I was jealous. So damn jealous. I snapped at you, and I’m sorry. My head was a mess. I could not swallow the thought of someone else standing where I want to stand.”

Tawan blinked, “wait… what model ?”

Now Aran was the one staring, “the one yesterday at the shoot. The one flirting with you endlessly?”

Realisation dawned slowly on Tawan’s face, “Oh— Oh… him.” 

Tawan huffed a small breath of disbelief, “I tuned him out. I didn’t hear half of what he said. I wanted to tell him to fuck off, honestly. But I can’t afford any more scandals right now. I didn’t want attention. So I just… endured it.” 

Then his eyes lifted, there was something swirling in his eyes — a kind of satisfaction Tawan desperately tried to flush down, “you were jealous ?”

Aran’s breath hitched. He felt a flicker of thrill run through him — Tawan had not even bothered with the model, that Aran was and is the only one who he saw.

“Yes— I thought you had moved on,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper, “and that I had completely lost my chance.”

Tawan let out a disbelieving scoff, but it broke halfway, turning into something rawer, “moved on ? Lost your chance ?” 

His eyes glistened, lashes trembling, “Aran, you are my endgame. I am on fucking cloud nine to think you are jealous over me. No one could ever make me feel the way you do.” 

His voice shook, but the words came with aching certainty, “That was the reason I wanted you so badly. The reason I was terrified of losing you. You make me feel alive— and you shine so brightly that I was convinced someone else would take you away.”

His jaw clenched, knuckles whitening at his sides.

“So I justified it. I told myself that obsession was love. That suspicion was protection. That if I kept you locked to me, you would stay.” His lips twisted in self-disgust. 

“Because that was all I had ever seen growing up. Love as control. Love as possession,” Tawan swallowed hard, “now… with therapy, I can finally see how wrong I was.”

Tawan’s waterline brimmed. He turned his face away for a moment, as if ashamed to let Aran witness the tremor in his breathing. When he looked back, his eyes were wet, fierce, desperate.

“And yet… It doesn't change the fact that you are the only person who has ever made me feel this way. I love you so much.” His voice cracked. 

“I was so angry, Aran. So damn angry that someone else was orbiting your space. That the man I love was moving on without me.” His hands curled into fists. 

“I wanted to destroy them. To destroy something. Anything. I wanted to let the rage consume me.” His voice softened into something broken.

“But then I remembered your eyes. The way you used to brace yourself for an argument. The way you looked at me like you were preparing for impact.” His breath shuddered, “I destroyed you, Aran. I was the poison in your life. How can you still possibly love me?”

Aran did not hesitate, “I don’t know how or why, but I know that I fucking love you. And that’s not going to change. Yeah, you are right, I struggled, and you did too. We both were not understanding each other because we were not talking to each other at all. We both never clarified where we stood in each others’ lives. As much as I was struggling, so were you — we both had our own definition of love and we never bothered to understand the other. But, it would be different this time, Tawan. Look at us — we are talking to each other, we have developed an understanding as friends — we are both healing and seeking help.”

He stepped closer. Slowly, as though giving Tawan every chance to pull away, Aran lifted a hand and cupped his cheek. Warm skin. Prickly stubble. The solid proof that Tawan was real, here, trying.

“Tawan, I love you and I want you,” Aran whispered.

Something between a growl and a whine slipped from Tawan’s throat. He trembled under the touch, fighting the instinct to collapse into it, to claim it, to cling.

“There will never be a second where I don’t love you,” Tawan declared, voice rough, “I am thrilled to have you, to get another chance with you. This is all I really fucking want.”

His eyes squeezed shut, “but I’m scared.” 

“Scared that my demons will drag me back. Scared I’ll become that Tawan again— the one who almost made you sacrifice your dignity just to save my life. You are too kind Aran, and I am a damn monster.” His voice broke. 

“I finally understand that love is supposed to be freeing. And I’m terrified that I might slip… and cage you again.”

Aran’s other hand rose, gently cradling Tawan’s second cheek. Holding him. Anchoring him.

“But you did not slip,” Aran caressed Tawan’s cheek softly, “I braced for an argument out of habit— a reflex from the past. But you didn’t rage. You didn’t lash out. You wished me well. You walked away. You took that energy and let it out somewhere else. You are not the same man anymore, Tawan. You’re healing. You are becoming a better man.”

Tawan’s breathing shook, “but the thoughts… what if one day I give in ? What if I destroy you again ? I can’t— I can’t—”

“We’ll go for couples therapy,” Aran stated simply and with certainty, “we’ll do this together. We’ll figure it out together.”

He did not care if he sounded desperate. Maybe he was. But love like this — love that survived wreckage, was healing and still so strong — was worth fighting for.

“I—” Tawan’s voice faltered, caught between longing and fear.

This was probably going to be a foul move but Aran was desperate, and so Aran let his hands fall — took one step back, “or maybe… you don’t want me as much as I—”

Tawan moved instantly. Hands gripping Aran’s waist. Pulling him in. Closing the distance until their torsos pressed flush, breath mingling, heartbeats colliding.

“You have no idea how much I want you,” Tawan growled low, “no idea how hard it was to live in the same house as you and not touch you. Not hold you. Not breathe you in.” 

His grip tightened, “I had to stop myself from pressing you against any surface I passed. From kissing you dry. From falling asleep beside you after I had finished inside you.”

Aran shivered — desire racing like electricity down his spine. Satisfaction bloomed at Tawan’s loss of control, at the proof that the hunger ran both ways.

“Then let’s try please,” Aran whispered, “because all I do is want you too. I want to thread my fingers through your hair while you build Legos. Curl up beside you during stupid TV shows. I want you to press me against the counter and devour me instead of dinner.” 

His voice dipped, intimate and sinful, “I want you to ravish me so thoroughly I feel you for days. You are the only one for me, Tawan.”

Tawan groaned softly, forehead dropping to Aran’s shoulder before lifting again, “you are… my everything.”

He leaned down, resting his forehead against Aran’s. Their noses brushed. Breath shared. Warm. Close.

“Let’s try,” Tawan whispered, “but promise me… the moment you feel me slipping— the moment you feel afraid— you’ll tell me. And you’ll run away from me.”

Aran shook his head gently.

“I’ll tell you,” he promised, “but I’m not running. We’ll face it together. Always.”

Tawan exhaled shakily, relief and love flickering through his eyes. Then he pressed a lingering kiss to Aran’s forehead — reverent, worshipful, penitent.

“I promise,” he murmured, voice thick with devotion, “I will love you right this time, Aran.”

Aran smiled at him, lifting onto his toes just enough to press a soft kiss to Tawan’s forehead. A lone tear slipped from the corner of Tawan’s eye, and Aran gently brushed it away with his thumb, slow and tender.

Tawan’s gaze flickered — to Aran’s eyes, then his lips, then back again. Their bodies leaned closer without either of them realizing, breaths mingling, hearts pounding in the same rhythm. Tawan stopped just short of a breath away, searching Aran’s eyes as if asking permission without words.

“Can I kiss you ?” He whispered, voice rough with restraint.

“Yes, please.” Aran’s lips parted as he subconsciously wet them, anticipation curling low in his chest.

Their first kiss was soft. Tentative. Reverent. A slow meeting of mouths, both of them savoring the way their lips molded together — as though confirming that this was real. That they had found each other again. That this time, they would do it right.

They parted only long enough for their eyes to meet. Then Aran’s hands slid to the back of Tawan’s neck, pulling him down for another kiss. This one heated — carrying the ache of the past year — restrained longing finally set free. Aran’s fingers threaded into the hair at Tawan’s nape. Tawan’s hands inched beneath Aran’s hoodie, cold palms meeting bare skin and drawing a soft gasp from him. Aran tightened his hold, and Tawan kissed him deeper, closer, his fingers pressing with sure, grounding pressure against Aran’s back.

A quiet sound slipped from Aran as Tawan’s mouth trailed along his jaw, seeking warmth, nuzzling as much as the hoodie allowed. Aran tilted his head, granting access, and Tawan nipped lightly at a kiss — playful, intimate, hungry in a way that made Aran’s knees soften.

Then, suddenly, Aran giggled.

Tawan blinked, pulling back just enough to look at him. “What…?”

“It tickles…” Aran murmured, reaching up to run his fingertips along Tawan’s stubble.

Oh — to be allowed this. To touch freely. With full rights now. The past Aran in the garage would wholly be jealous of the now Aran. The thought sent Aran floating somewhere far above the lake.

“Sorry, I didn’t have time to—” Tawan started.

“No. Don’t apologize,” Aran cut in, hands continuing to explore Tawan’s cheeks, softer, surer. “I like it. No… I love it.”

A small smirk curved Tawan’s lips — one Aran did not quite register in time.

“Yeah ?” Tawan murmured, “you love it?”

Before Aran could answer, his hands were gently caught. Tawan leaned in, rubbing his cheek and chin playfully against Aran’s face and neck, chasing warmth, eliciting helpless giggles from him.

“Stop—” Aran laughed, breathless and bright, until Tawan finally relented, pulling him flush into a tight embrace.

“I missed you,” Tawan whispered, cheek pressed against the crown of Aran’s head.

“I missed you too,” Aran replied, resting his cheek against Tawan’s chest, listening to his heartbeat — steady, real, here.

Tawan eased back just enough to pepper soft kisses across Aran’s head, his eyelids, the bridge of his nose, his cheeks — before settling once more on his lips.

“I love you,” Tawan whispered against them.

Aran kissed him back, smiling into it, “I love you.”

They lingered there, smiling into shared breath, before Aran turned to face the lake, leaning back against Tawan’s chest. His arms wrapped securely around Aran’s waist, holding him as if afraid to let go. The moonlight stretched over the water, silver and calm, and for a moment, everything in the world softened.

They had found each other again.

Aran knew there would be boundaries to rebuild, trust to nurture, healing still to continue. They would have to be careful. Intentional. Wise. But right now, wrapped in Tawan’s arms, feeling wanted and loved in equal measure, he allowed himself to simply be content. The anxiety. The fear. The ache of uncertainty. From earlier, from the past year. All of it loosened, replaced by warmth — and the resurfacing of a year’s worth of suppressed longing. And the faint prickle of Tawan’s stubble against his skin stirred a new thought.

Tawan seemed to feel the shift in him — the way Aran tilted his head, the faint restless squirm.

“What are you thinking about ?” Tawan asked quietly, voice low against his ear.

Aran turned, meeting his gaze with something playful and daring. 

“I’m wondering,” he said softly, “if your stubble would tickle the rest of my body too.”

He did not need to explain further. The fire already burning in Tawan’s eyes flared brighter. A smirk tugged at his mouth as his hands drew Aran back against him, bodies fitting together seamlessly. He leaned down, lips brushing Aran’s ear, voice like velvet and smoke.

“Should we find out ?” A gentle bite to Aran’s lobe, a soft gasp escaping him — and Tawan had his answer.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The stubble tickled — every inch of skin, no matter where it was on his body.

It really did — soft, scratchy, deliciously distracting. But more than that, it was fucking addictive. Each brush of it against Aran’s skin sent sparks racing across his nerves, lighting him up from the inside out. Tawan moved with unhurried intention, his mouth tracing slow paths, leaving warmth everywhere he went. He explored as though memorizing every inch of Aran anew — reverent, hungry, patient.

Aran’s breath grew uneven, fingers digging into Tawan’s shoulders, then his back, nails surely leaving crescent marks behind. He was not sure whether he wanted to laugh from the ticklish sensation or cry from how overwhelming it all felt.

“T–Tawan…” Aran’s voice broke, needy and breathless, “don’t… tease…”

Tawan only hummed against him — a low, pleased sound — before lifting his head. His eyes were dark, focused, devastating. The three fingers in him barely brushed his prostate — Tawan’s other hand languidly wrapped around Aran’s length, giving soft pulls, occasionally flicking the tip — it was torture. 

Partly, this was Aran’s fault — he had teased Tawan relentlessly on the drive back, hands wandering over Tawan’s thigh, occasionally brushing his crotch. And when that was not enough, he had grinded against his own hand — moaning out Tawan’s name. He was a complete tease — just like he had been in the past and Tawan was affected just like before — if the tightly clenched fists on the steering and the way he was pressing on the accelerator had anything to say. It was a miracle they had made it back home without crashing.

And now, Tawan was returning the favour tenfold, his eyes raking all over Aran’s naked self on the bed as he slowly scissored him with his fingers — together with his tongue — alternating between leaving vivid marks on his inner thigh with nips and sucks. His stubble deliciously prickling Aran’s sensitive skin. 

“Tease ? No, love — I am savouring.” Tawan murmured, fingers still in Aran, while the other hand came up to wrap around Aran’s throat. 

Oh, how much Aran loved the subtle pressure against his larynx. 

“Do you have any idea how much I have thought about this —  seeing you writhing at my mercy — how many times I had to silently fuck my hand in the shower, rembering how delicious you fucking tasted.” He whispered right into Aran’s ear. 

Aran’s breath hitched — the words driving him crazy —  then gasped as Tawan took his already abused nipple in his mouth. Aran’s hand raked into Tawan’s hair — clutching tight, so tight he felt that he may pull the strands out — as he felt Tawan’s teeth gently sink into his tender flesh. 

A sharp breath left him — his back arching as Tawan sucked hard and brushed his prostate at the same time. Aran was pretty sure that he had possibly scratched Tawan’s scalp — hard.

“Ta—wan… plea–urgh–se…” Aran was close to begging, “fuck me.”

Tawan paused. He lifted himself just enough to look at Aran — really look at him — as though committing the sight to memory. The room was dim, moonlight spilling in pale silver through the curtains, catching on the sheen of Aran’s skin, on the softness of his parted lips, on the moisture gathering at the corners of his eyes.

Aran met his gaze without flinching.

His eyes glistened — with something raw and unguarded. Want. Trust. A surrender he offered only to one person in the world. His lips, swollen and shining, curved open with each unsteady breath. There was a hunger living deep inside him, familiar and aching, a hunger that had never truly gone away — only waited.

And the only man who had ever known how to answer it was here.

Right in front of him.

Aran let himself lust fully — no walls, no hesitation, no fear of what came next. Because in Tawan’s eyes, he saw the same lust, the same restrained craving, the same promise: I know you. I want you. I will not turn away. 

Aran arched off the bed and pulled Tawan into a searing kiss — their tongues met in a dance they recognised all too well — it was messy and more teeth than anything. Aran let himself grind on Tawan’s fingers sensually — his hips moving on their own before biting on Tawan’s lips. 

Aran broke away, both his hands coming to cup around Tawan’s neck, “I am– being brutally honest— I need you to pin me down with your hips and fuck me. Tawan, please. Nothing satisfies me like you. I have waited far too long.” 

“Fuck.” The growl was so sensual it sent both a chill down Aran’s spine and lit him ablaze.

Tawan was off Aran for only a second – stripping himself off his jeans and briefs – before returning back on the bed with a silver packet. He tore it off with his teeth, rolling it on himself, before generously lathering his length with it. 

His eyes met Aran’s before he slowly sinked into Aran’s heat and Aran’s mouth fell open as he felt every inch slowly fill him up — his back arching off the sheets for the umpteenth time. Tawan stilled to let Aran adjust once he had bottomed out — leaving nips on his neck instead in a bid to distract him. No matter how many times Aran took Tawan in and as much as the stretch was tantalizing — Tawan was big for his lithe self and Aran needed some time to adjust. 

“You feel so fucking good — so tight, baby.” Tawan husked in his ear as he started a slow pace — right into his ears. 

“Ummh—” Aran mewled as he felt himself swallow Tawan’s length readily. 

Aran could feel Tawan’s breath — uneven, restrained, spilling against his skin in warm gusts as he continued thrusting into Aran. It was the sound of control barely holding together. Of desire carefully leashed. Tawan’s gaze lifted to his face, slow and reverent, as though every detail mattered — the flush blooming across Aran’s cheeks, the way his lips remained parted from shallow breaths, the faint sheen catching the light on his skin.

“You are so fucking beautiful.” Tawan murmured, “all for me.”

Aran did not look away. He watched Tawan just as intently — the tension in his jaw, the tightness around his eyes, the way pleasure and restraint twisted together in his expression. It thrilled him. It filled him with a quiet, intoxicating pride.

“Mine — all mine.” Aran rasped out, his hand slowly trailing up Tawan’s torso.

Because he knew — with a certainty that settled deep in his bones — that he was the only one who had ever drawn this look from Tawan. The only one who had ever made him unravel like this. The only one who knew where devotion met desire. And Tawan’s gaze told him the same truth in return.

Their ragged breathing said the same thing: maybe i'm too busy being yours to fall for somebody new.

“Harder.” Aran urged as his fingers dug into Tawan’s shoulders. 

Tawan grunted as he increased the pace and Aran met his thrusts by grinding his hips — somewhere along, Tawan had taken Aran’s leg — hooking it on his shoulder — enabling deeper thrust. Aran’s hands roamed all over Tawan’s torso and back — each movement drawing grunts, gasps and mewls from him. 

“Arh—” 

Tawan smirked down at him as he hit Aran’s prostate straight on — adjusting so he can continue in the same angle — his body pressing close to Aran’s now, alternating between littering kisses on Aran’s torso and sucking on Aran’s hardened nub.

Aran was heaving now, an array of pleas leaving him — wanting to chase his high. It did not help that Tawan grunted against his nub — it was driving him mad and the heat coiling tight in his abdomen. He reached for his own length, to chase the high he needed — but his hands were slapped away. 

“Cum just by me, baby — please.” Tawan knew exactly how to play his cards and Aran was so turned on by it.

“Tawan— close — faster…” Aran whined. 

He pulled at Tawan for a kiss — the actor let the model capture him in a heated kiss before setting a punishing pace — probably feeling himself inching closer to his own high as the room filled with the rhythmic slap of skin meeting skin.

“I—m g—oin cu—m…” Aran could barely form words as the heated coil of tension in him tightened unbearably — ready to snap. 

“With me.” Tawan’s thrusts were erratic now. 

Aran’s arms wrapped around Tawan, drawing him closer — closer — until there was no space left to close. His legs coming to wrap themselves around Tawan’s hips. Their foreheads met, breath tangling in the narrow space between them, warm and uneven, shared and trembling. Tawan’s presence surrounded him completely — solid, grounding, inescapable — and Aran let himself sink into it, letting himself feel what he had restrained from for a year.

The orgasm crested suddenly, overwhelming, pulling a broken sound from Aran’s throat as his body yielded to the storm rolling through him. He pressed a kiss to Tawan’s mouth — not gentle, not hesitant — but claiming. Anchoring.

“Mine,” he whispered against Tawan’s lips, the word slipping out like a vow rather than a demand.

Tawan shuddered at the sound of it as Aran spilled hot between their heaving chests. A low groan rumbled from his chest as he held Aran tighter, as though afraid he might disappear if he loosened his grip. The moment overtook him just as swiftly, crashing through restraint and control alike, leaving him undone in Aran’s arms.

“Yours,” Aran felt Tawan pulse in him — buried deep in him as both of them rode the waves of their release.

Neither of them moved for a long while. They simply lay there together — tangled in warmth, skin still flushed, breaths uneven, hearts slowing in reluctant sync. There was only the steady rise and fall of their chest and the quiet exchange of soft kisses stolen in between lingering smiles. Aran’s fingers traced idle patterns across Tawan’s back, grounding himself in the familiar contours of him. In return, Tawan’s hand threaded gently through Aran’s hair gently.

“I love you, Tawan,” Aran whispered, pressing a tender kiss to his lips.

Tawan chased it instinctively, lips curving into another slow kiss before murmuring back, “I love you, Aran.”

They stayed like that for a while longer — trading lazy kisses, half-smiles, quiet laughter breathed against skin. Then Tawan leaned back slightly, eyes roaming over Aran as though committing every detail to memory — the softness of his expression, the warmth still blooming in his cheeks, the way he looked utterly unguarded in Tawan’s arms.

“Take a picture,” Aran teased, voice light, eyes glinting, “it will last longer.”

Tawan smirked as the words landed — but the look that followed was darker, deeper, filled with a promise that sent a shiver straight through Aran’s spine.

“No,” Tawan murmured, “I want only my eyes to capture you like this.”

Aran tilted his head, playful, knowing full well the effect he had, “yeah ?”

Tawan’s hands tightened at his waist, pulling him closer once more — possessive but gentle, certain and sure.

“Turn around, baby, I’m not done with you yet.” Tawan husked against Aran’s ear, voice low and rich with intent as he thrusted hard, knocking the air out of Aran.

It was going to be a long night — a long heated night. And neither of them wanted it any other way.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Aran, still half-lost in a sleepy haze, inched closer toward the warmth beside him. His body ached — a deep, lingering soreness that settled into his muscles — but it was an ache he had wanted, craved, welcomed. Proof that last night had been real. That he was here. That they were here.

“Cold ?” The low voice pulled him from the edge of sleep. Aran blinked slowly, lashes fluttering open to find Tawan already awake, watching him with quiet fondness.

“Hmm,” Aran murmured, not quite answering, simply moving closer instead.

Tawan adjusted immediately — sitting up just enough to gather Aran fully into his arms, wrapping him in a secure embrace. Aran melted into the hold without hesitation. This. This was what he had missed most. The steady warmth. The heartbeat beneath his cheek. The safe gravity of Tawan’s arms around him. He let himself sink into it, breathing in the familiar scent, listening to the rhythmic thrum of Tawan’s heart.

“Didn’t sleep ?” Aran asked softly. 

His eyes flickered to the clock. A little past six in the morning. The sun was slowly starting to sneak out. They had been greedy for each other — starved and desperate — only stopping when the night had nearly slipped into dawn.

“I did,” Tawan replied. 

“But I woke up a while ago. And then…” He pressed a gentle kiss to Aran’s forehead, “I got distracted. By my thoughts. And by the way you looked so comfortable in my arms — making me believe that all this was indeed real.”

Aran smiled sleepily, eyes slipping shut again as his head fell back on Tawan’s chest. 

Tawan held Aran closer — he still did not know how he had been given this second chance. After everything. After all the damage, the fear, the mistakes. Doubt lingered in him — a quiet fear that his demons might return, that he might slip, that he might hurt Aran again. 

But Aran believed in him. 

His therapist had said healing was not linear. That change was slow, fragile, but real. And Tawan had seen it — in himself. In the way he had learned to step back instead of lash out. To breathe instead of break. To listen instead of control. So he chose to believe too. In Aran’s faith in him. In his own growing steadiness. Because now that Aran was here, in his arms again, Tawan was not sure he could survive losing him a second time. He would love him right this time. Slowly, steady — no matter how long it took.

“What were you thinking about ?” Aran asked quietly, voice muffled against Tawan’s chest.

“How I want to do this right,” Tawan answered honestly.

Aran lifted his head slightly, blinking up at him, “Hmm ?”

Tawan’s hand slid to cradle the back of Aran’s head, thumb brushing his hairline.

“Aran,” Tawan's voice steady despite the way his heart raced, “will you be my boyfriend ?”

This time, he wanted clarity. No assumptions. No half-spoken feelings. No silence. Just honesty. Structure. Commitment. A promise made with open eyes. And he was starting with clearly defining what they were to each other.

Aran’s expression softened, warmth blooming across his features.

“Only if you’ll be mine,” he whispered back.

Tawan smiled — slow, genuine, full of quiet relief — and pulled Aran closer again, sealing the moment with a gentle kiss to his temple. Before Aran pulled him down — pressing their lips in a languid kiss — both their lips stretching into smiles as they kissed.

They had a long road ahead — a lot to figure out. But for the first time, they were walking it together — awake, honest, and choosing each other on purpose. And there was nothing more either one of they wanted. 

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──