Chapter Text
First has loved Khaotung for years, so long he can’t remember a time he didn’t.
They used to walk side by side every day, spending nearly every waking moment together. Khaotung would talk endlessly, telling First all about his ideas— the plot twists, the turns, the way he could already see everything unfolding in his head —and First would bring it to life.
In the early days, they would go out together, trying new coffee shops, wandering through stores, finding parks, restaurants, little places they could tuck away for later. It was for research, technically. It always was.
But most of the time, they’d take photos for ten minutes at each place, and then spend the rest of the day just being together—laughing, pointing out things that reminded them of each other, sharing food, drinks, hopes, dreams. Talking about what their graphic novels could become, what they could become, if they ever made it.
Then one day, they did.
They didn’t have to search for places anymore. They didn’t have to imagine what success might look like. Their apartment got bigger. Their desks moved farther apart. More people joined their team. And somewhere along the way, without First even noticing when it happened, everything changed.
Now he only saw Khaotung when it was time to sleep. Even then, it barely felt like seeing him at all. First would inch closer, seeking out the warmth he used to fall asleep wrapped in, but Khaotung would usually turn away, mumbling something about needing sleep, already drifting off before First could say anything back.
In the mornings, Khaotung was almost always gone.
On the rare days he wasn’t, on the rare, quiet mornings where he’d be sitting up with his tablet, a coffee mug in hand, he would look down at First, blinking the sleep from his eyes, and smile. On those days, Khaotung would reach out, pull him closer, smooth down his messy hair, whisper a soft good morning like nothing had ever changed.
Like they were still them. Like First hadn’t spent weeks waking up to an empty bed.
Those mornings were becoming rarer. For months now, First had woken up alone more often than not, staring at the space beside him and wishing— wishing Khaotung was there, wishing those pearly white smiles were still his to wake up to, wishing he could remember what it felt like to be held.
Long days. Appointments. Late nights. Deadlines. Book signings. Somewhere between all of it, the person he loved had slipped out of his reach.
Their early days, the ones filled with soft dreams and shared futures, had become real. Just not in the way they were meant to. They were supposed to have it all together.
Happily. In love. But mostly… together.
Now, First only heard his boyfriend’s voice a few times a month.
And even then, it wasn’t warm. Not soft. Not his.
Just tired. Distant.
Gone before it ever really reached him.
· · ·
First woke up to another normal day. Or what he considered normal now.
The bed on his left was empty and cold, but it didn’t shock him anymore. He barely even paused as he got up, moving through the room on autopilot. Everything was where it was supposed to be— neat, familiar, unchanged.
Until it wasn’t. When his eyes flicked to Khaotung’s bedside table, something felt off. Their photo was gone.
First frowned, stepping a little closer. It was always there. Always.
He swallowed, trying to brush it off. Maybe it fell. Maybe it broke. Maybe Khaotung had taken it to get fixed. At least… that’s what he told himself. He turned away before he could think too much about it, heading into the bathroom, but the moment he stepped inside, everything in him went still.
Something was wrong.
Khaotung’s things were gone.
All of them.
The rows of face serums that used to crowd the counter, gone. His toothbrush, gone. Half the colognes, gone. Face washes, creams, anything that had ever belonged to Khaotung—
Gone.
First’s breath caught. His heart started racing, fast and uneven, his stomach dropping so suddenly it made him dizzy. For a second, he just stood there, staring, trying to make it make sense. It didn’t.
And then he was moving. He rushed out of the bathroom, nearly stumbling over his own feet as he crossed the room, and yanked open the closet door.
Khaotung was inside. Sitting quietly on the floor, folding clothes and placing them neatly into a suitcase. Two more sat behind him, already zipped, already full. Ready.
The motion of his hands slowed when the door slammed open, and after a moment, he let out a quiet sigh.
“You’re awake early,” Khaotung said.
He didn’t look up. Didn’t smile. Didn’t soften. And something in First’s chest twisted, sharp and painful, because when was the last time he had seen that smile anyway?
“What are you doing?” First asked.
His voice came out tight, strained, like his throat had closed around the words before he could even get them out.
“I’m packing.”
The answer was simple. Flat.
It didn’t make sense.
“Where are you going?” First took a step forward, his hands shaking slightly at his sides. “For how long? Why didn’t I know about this? Did I miss something?”
Khaotung sighed again, heavier this time, like the questions were exhausting him.
Then, slowly, he looked up. His expression was empty. There was nothing there.
“No,” he said. “You didn’t miss anything.”
The words landed like a warning.
First’s chest tightened.
“I’m leaving,” Khaotung continued, his voice calm, steady in a way that felt wrong. “And I’m not coming back.”
First shook his head immediately, like he could physically reject the words, like they hadn’t just been said.
They didn’t make sense.
None of this made sense.
Not coming back? Leaving? Where? When? Why?
“What?” First asked, the word falling out of him, small and helpless.
“It’s time, First. I’m tired.”
Khaotung’s voice is quiet and steady but it doesn’t help. It doesn’t explain anything.
First just stares at him, lost.
“It’s time for what?”
“For us to move on.” Khaotung doesn’t look up as he speaks, already reaching for another piece of clothing. “We’re not even really a couple anymore.”
The words hit harder than anything else so far.
First drops to the floor without thinking, knees hitting the ground as he shuffles a little closer—
“Don’t.”
The glare Khaotung shoots him is sharp. Rare. Wrong.
First freezes instantly.
He doesn’t think he’s ever seen that look directed at him before.
“What about work?” he asks, his voice weaker now, like he’s grasping for anything that still makes sense.
“We don’t even need to interact at work,” Khaotung replies, folding another pair of pants with careful precision. “We don’t anymore anyway. Everything will be fine.”
Everything will be fine. First almost laughs.
“Where will you go?”
“I got a rental. Just for a while. Until I figure out what to do next.”
The calmness in his voice makes something inside First snap.
A rental. A plan. This isn’t sudden. This isn’t a bad morning or a bad mood.
This is prepared.
“How long?” First asks, sharper now, anger bleeding into his voice. “How long have you been planning this?”
Khaotung doesn’t answer right away.
Instead, he smooths down the fabric in his hands, folds it neatly, places it into the suitcase.
“I’ve actually been staying there for a while.”
First blinks.
The words don’t register at first.
“You… haven’t been coming home?” he asks slowly. “I thought you were just working late again. The deadline is coming up—”
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
Khaotung finally looks at him.
And there’s something in his expression this time. Not empty. Not cold.
Just tired.
“You didn’t even realize.”
First’s chest tightens, panic flaring again.
“Of course I did,” he shoots back, the words coming out faster now. “You’re not here when I wake up anyway—how was I supposed to know you weren’t coming home at all?”
A beat.
Khaotung holds his gaze.
“You weren’t, First.”
His voice is still calm. Too calm.
“That’s the point.”
The room feels too small.
Too quiet.
Khaotung goes back to folding like this is normal. Like they’re not standing in the middle of something breaking.
“How long?” First asks again, his voice barely holding together now.
Khaotung pauses for a second, like he has to think about it.
“A few weeks,” he says finally. “Maybe three.”
A small shrug.
“I can’t really remember at this point.”
Like it doesn’t matter. Like none of this does.
Like they don’t.
Khaotung finishes packing with quiet efficiency.
He closes the suitcase softly, the click of it snapping shut louder than it should be, and zips it up in one slow motion. Then he stands, pulling it past First— who is still on the floor, still on his knees, staring blankly at the ground like he can’t move, like he doesn’t know how.
The wheels drag across the floor. The sound is low. Steady.
It makes First’s stomach twist.
Khaotung disappears for a moment, only to come back for one of the other suitcases waiting against the wall. First hears the wheels again, louder this time, echoing in the quiet apartment.
He shudders but he doesn’t look up.
He just keeps staring at the ground, wishing—desperately—that it would open up and swallow him whole.
The sound fades. Then returns.
Khaotung steps back into the room one last time.
This time, he doesn’t move right away.
He just stands there. Waiting.
For what, First doesn’t know.
An apology? A protest? Anything?
First says nothing.
He can’t.
After a moment, Khaotung lets out a quiet sigh.
Then he reaches for the last suitcase.
He pulls it toward the door, pauses in the doorway—
And finally, he speaks.
“You didn’t even notice my things starting to disappear.”
The words are quiet.
Not angry. Not loud.
But they land heavy in his chest.
When First finally lifts his head, it’s too late.
All he catches is Khaotung’s back as he disappears through the bedroom door with no hesitation, no looking back.
Then the soft click of the front door.mFirst flinches where he’s still sitting on the floor, the sound echoing louder than it should in the silence that follows.
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. Just sits there, staring at nothing, his mind struggling to catch up to what just happened.
Trying to understand it.
Trying to deny it.
Trying to make it make sense.
Because there’s no way—
There’s no way Khaotung actually left.
…right?
· · ·
First doesn’t remember moving at first.
Just fragments of, Crawling back to the bed. Pulling the covers over himself. Curling in on something that felt too big, too empty.
He remembers crying. Quiet at first, then harder, until his nose clogged and he had to breathe through his mouth, each inhale sharp and uneven. And then—worse than that—
He realizes Khaotung’s scent is gone.
Not faint.
Not fading.
Gone.
There’s nothing left of it in the blanket, nothing to breathe in, nothing to hold onto. The familiar warmth that used to settle in his chest when he inhaled is just gone. Like it was never there at all.
He must have fallen asleep at some point, somewhere between the tears and the shallow, choppy breaths because the next thing he knows, he’s waking up.
Slowly.
He blinks, disoriented, his body heavy, his head foggy—
And then he looks to his left. Empty. Of course it is.
The ache comes back instantly, sharp and familiar, tears already gathering again, but then his gaze shifts.
And he freezes.
Something is sitting on Khaotung’s bedside table.
The photo. Their photo. That’s not right.
Khaotung took it.
Or—no—maybe it fell, maybe it broke, maybe—
But it wasn’t there before.
It wasn’t there.
First pushes himself up slightly, heart starting to pound again as his thoughts stumble over each other.
That’s not the only thing that feels wrong.
The apartment is too quiet.
There’s no noise from outside, no movement, no missed calls, no messages, no one knocking on the door asking where he is, why he hasn’t shown up, why he’s late. He knows he cried for too long. He knows he fell asleep for too long.
And yet, he feels… rested. Too rested.
Like he didn’t just cry himself into exhaustion. Like none of it just happened.
Suddenly, nothing makes sense anymore.
When First steps into the bathroom, not everything is gone.
For a second hope floods him so fast it almost hurts. Some of Khaotung’s things are still there. A few bottles sit where they always have, slightly out of place but unmistakably his. The emptiness from before isn’t complete anymore.
Maybe—
Maybe he came back. Maybe he changed his mind.
First’s heart stutters as he spins around, rushing back toward the bedroom. He throws open the closet door again.
Clothes. Khaotung’s clothes are there. Hanging where they should be. Folded where they used to be.
First’s shoulders sag, relief crashing through him so suddenly it leaves him weak.
He came back.
He came back.
First doesn’t waste another second. He hurries out of the room, moving quickly through the apartment, scanning every corner, every doorway—
“Khaotung?” he calls, breath uneven, hope still clinging tight in his chest.
No answer.
First slows, something uneasy creeping back in.
Because now that he’s really looking, things are still missing.
The throw blanket Khaotung always kept draped over the couch is gone. A few of his manga are missing from the shelves in their office. First’s chest tightens as he steps inside, moving straight to his cabinet and freezes.
It’s almost empty. Not completely. But enough. Enough to make it obvious. Enough to make it real.
Maybe… maybe he just couldn’t bring everything back at once? Maybe he’s still moving things.
Maybe—
First pulls out his phone with shaky hands, already going to call him—
But then his eyes catch the time.
10:13 a.m. First blinks. Frowns.
Did he… sleep for a whole day?
He tries to think back, to piece together what happened after but everything feels blurry. Distant. Like it didn’t really happen.
Suddenly, the front door swings open.
Then shuts.
First flinches at the sound, heart jumping into his throat as he peeks his head out from the office—
Louis is standing in the entryway.
First stares at him.
“What are you doing here?” he asks immediately, the question slipping out before he can stop it.
Louis pauses mid-step, confusion flashing across his face. He glances at his watch, then back at First— taking in his clothes, his expression, the way he’s just… standing there.
“We have that meeting at 10:30,” Louis says slowly. “We just talked about it last night. How could you forget?”
There’s concern in his voice now, First doesn’t forget things like this.
“What do you mean?” First asks, his stomach twisting. “That was a couple days ago. Is there a new meeting I don’t know about?”
Louis just stares at him. Like he’s said something completely insane.
“We haven’t had the meeting yet,” he says carefully. “First… what’s going on?”
First feels like the ground is shifting under him. Like nothing is where it’s supposed to be.
He fumbles for his phone again, hands unsteady as he pulls up his calendar.
July 26th.
The meeting is right there. Scheduled. Unchanged.
Today.
His breath catches.
That’s not right. That can’t be right. That was two days ago.
Wasn’t it?
The day before Khaotung left—
Right?
First’s thoughts tangle, slipping over each other as he tries to make it make sense. Maybe he got the dates wrong. Maybe he mixed something up. Maybe—
But no.
He remembers that meeting.
He remembers sitting in front of his screen, the glow of it washing over his face as the call dragged on. The CEO’s expression had been tight even through the camera, his patience wearing thinner each time First tried to push the deadline back.
At first, it had been for Khaotung. Then for himself. Then for their assistants.
It didn’t matter. It never did.
“We can’t make the fans wait too long,” he’d said, his voice flat through the speakers, cutting through every argument First tried to make.
And every time, there had been that brief silence after, everyone waiting, hoping, before deflating. Before agreeing. Because what else were they supposed to do?
First stares at the date again.
July 26th.
The meeting is today.
Not two days ago.
Not after.
Today.
His chest tightens as something cold settles in.
Because that means Khaotung hasn’t left yet.
The thought hits him all at once, sharp and disorienting. He’s still here. Somewhere in the city. Somewhere within reach. Alive in this day that First could’ve sworn he had already lived through.
First’s grip tightens around his phone, his pulse picking up again.
Because if today is the 26th—
Then tomorrow is the 27th.
The morning Khaotung leaves. The morning everything ends.
This can’t be possible.
Right?
Maybe it was all a dream. Maybe this is a dream. Maybe he’s finally lost his mind.
“First, you need to change. What is up with you today?” Louis scolds, though there’s a softness to it, more concern than anything else.
First just nods. He doesn’t trust himself to say anything. He hurries to change, grabbing whatever feels right without really looking, his movements rushed and clumsy. Everything feels off, like he’s slightly out of sync with his own body.
By the time he settles onto the couch beside Louis, the laptop already set up in front of them, something nags at him.
He looks down at himself and his stomach drops. He’s worn this before.
Not just before— recently.
A few days ago.
He remembers pulling the shirt off, tossing it toward the laundry basket and missing completely, watching it crumple uselessly on the floor. He remembers standing there for a second, staring at it, thinking—
I wish Khaotung were here.
So he could laugh. So he could tease him for it.
So he could be there.
And then the thought had twisted, spiraled, turned heavy in his chest when he realized he couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard that laugh.
The last time he’d seen him.
The last time anything had felt… easy.
First swallows hard.
He still doesn’t remember. And it still hurts.
He misses Khaotung more than he knows how to say.
The laptop chimes softly as the meeting begins to load, but First barely notices.
Because he remembers this, too. Khaotung hadn’t joined that day. He had sent Ciize instead.
Too busy doing research for the next chapter—that’s what they’d been told. First had accepted it at the time, barely questioning it.
But now—
Now the memory feels different.
If all of this is real…
If Khaotung really is leaving, then maybe he hadn’t been busy.
Maybe he just didn’t want to see First. Maybe he had already started pulling away, quietly, carefully, long before First had noticed. Maybe he had been packing. Moving things. Settling into a new place.
First’s chest tightens as the realization sinks in deeper. Khaotung had already been gone.
Not physically, not completely but enough. Enough that he’d chosen to work at headquarters instead of home. Easier access to assistants. Managers. Researchers. Closer to everything he needed.
Everything except First.
There had never been space for him there. Not with all his equipment.nNot with how long it took to get there. Not with how tight First’s schedule had become, every second accounted for, every moment better spent finishing a panel.
There just hadn’t been room for him anymore.
This time when First is asked how the most recent panels are going, he lies.
He hadn’t finished them the last time this meeting happened. He remembers that much. Remembers the tension, the looks, the quiet frustration sitting heavy in the call.
But if this is a redo—
if this is a dream—
then he’s not wasting it.
He needs to see Khaotung.
“I’m finished,” First says, forcing the words out evenly. “Just waiting on the next chapter to be finalized so I can start.”
There’s a brief pause.
The CEO nods, clearly impressed.
Around the call, a few others shift, glancing at each other in surprise. Because usually, it’s the opposite—they’re the ones waiting on First.
They complain about it, sure. But they also prefer it that way. Khaotung did, at least.
He liked being ahead. Liked having time to adjust things once he saw the finished panels, once something clicked in his head that hadn’t been there before.
First used to love watching that happen. Watching Khaotung’s eyes light up as he looked over the panels, warm and bright, completely captivated by seeing his words brought to life. Watching the exact moment inspiration hit— when his expression would shift, something sparking behind his eyes as a new idea formed. He’d hum softly to himself as he opened his document, fingers already moving before he’d even settled in properly.
And every time, without fail, he would lean over, press a soft kiss to First’s lips, like it was second nature, like it was just part of the process.
Then turn back to his screen and start typing.
First would sit there for a moment, smiling, before reaching out to rub his back, grounding and familiar then get up to make him a fresh cup of coffee, exactly how he liked it.
Sweet. Warm. Perfect. Easy.
First can’t remember the last time that happened.
A year ago?
Maybe more.
The memory feels distant. Like something from a different life. Like something that doesn’t belong to him anymore.
When the meeting ends, Louis looks at First like he’s lost his mind.
Not confused this time. Mad.
“You aren’t even close to finished, First,” he says, his voice sharp.
First just shakes his head, already moving.
“No,” he admits. “But I have somewhere I need to be.”
“Where?” Louis demands, following after him as First grabs his things, slipping on his shoes too quickly, fingers fumbling in his urgency.
“Khaotung,” First says without hesitation. “I need to see him.”
Louis stops for a second, thrown.
“What are you talking about? You see him all the time.”
First lets out a laugh.
It’s quiet. Wrong. There’s nothing amused about it.
Louis has no idea.
Do any of them?Do they even realize what it’s been like?
It had taken First a long time to notice.
To understand just how wrong everything felt. How much he hated it. How empty it had become.
And by the time he did there wasn’t anything he could do about it. There was always something else.
After this deadline, he’d told himself.
After this one, we’ll have time.
But then another one came.
And another.
And another.
That time he kept waiting for… never came.
Now it’s been… what?
Two years?
Two years of something slow and quiet and irreversible. Two years of watching their relationship wear down, piece by piece, until there was barely anything left to hold onto.
Ever since they signed that contract.
Not the first one, four years ago. That one had been good. Those first two years, when everything started picking up, when people finally noticed them—those had been some of the happiest they’d ever been.
Busy, yes. But together. Always together.
And then came the second contract.
Bigger. Better. More. They hadn’t even hesitated. Just one look passed between them— bright, excited, hopeful.
More help. More support. More time.
That’s what they thought they were signing for.
Instead they signed something else entirely.
The time they thought they’d have never came. It was swallowed up by deadlines, by expectations, by everything that came with being successful.
First remembers talking about it with Khaotung once. Late at night, both of them exhausted, barely keeping their eyes open.
We just have to get through this deadline, they’d said.
Then we’ll fix it.
Ask for more staff. Delegate more. Make space for each other again. They had a plan.
It should have worked. But it didn’t.
Because things never slowed down. They only got worse.
“I never see him, Louis,” First snaps, his voice cracking despite how hard he tries to keep it steady. “We’re always working. I need to see him. I can’t wait another minute—much less however many days it’ll take me to finish those damn panels. And for what?”
Louis keeps pace beside him in the hallway, his expression shifting from irritation to something closer to concern.
“First—what is this? Where is this coming from?”
Because to Louis, this is out of nowhere.
This is their job. They’re supposed to be working.
“Louis, you don’t get it,” First says, shaking his head, already moving faster, like if he slows down for even a second he won’t go at all. “I don’t have time for this. I need to go.”
His chest feels tight, too tight, like there isn’t enough air in his lungs to keep up with how fast everything is moving.
He’s angry. Angry at Louis. Angry at the job. Angry at himself. Angry that he let it get this far without realizing, without stopping it, without doing anything.
Because now all that matters is Khaotung.
Whether this is real, whether this is a redo, whether this is just some twisted dream—
he doesn’t care.
He just needs to see him.
To hold him.
To do something instead of nothing.
Like he has been.
· · ·
When First makes it to the office, he finds Khaotung immediately.
He’s by the coffee machine, leaning slightly against the counter, talking with Ciize as she shows him something on her phone. And he’s smiling.
That smile—
It hits First deep in his soul.
Warm. Bright. Familiar. It wraps around him and shatters him in the same breath. Because he remembers when that smile was for him.
Then, just as quickly, another memory flashes—
The look on Khaotung’s face when he left yesterday.
Or… tomorrow?
The thought twists in his head, confusing and disorienting, and First pushes it away before it can settle.
He steps forward instead.
Khaotung looks up.
The moment their eyes meet, surprise flickers across his face and then the smile disappears.
Just like that. Gone.
First feels it, sharp and immediate, like something clawing its way up his throat. Still, he forces a small smile, even as his chest tightens, and moves closer.
Khaotung’s gaze shifts, quick and uneasy, darting around the room like he’s searching for something—an out, an escape, anything.
First notices. So he speeds up, closing the distance before Khaotung can move.
“Ciize,” he says gently, voice polite despite the urgency sitting just beneath it. “Can we have a minute?”
Khaotung exhales softly, something tired in the sound, but he nods. Ciize hesitates for only a second before slipping away, leaving them alone.
The silence that follows is heavy.
Awkward. Wrong.
“Are you busy?” First asks quietly, his voice softer now, careful— like one wrong move might make Khaotung disappear entirely.
Khaotung nods once.Short. Distant.
“I heard you finished the panels,” he says.
There’s no warmth in it. No softness. Nothing familiar. It sounds like he’s talking to someone he barely knows.
First swallows.
“I wanted to finish them quickly,” he says, forcing the words out, trying to keep them steady. “For you. I want to finish everything quickly.”
The moment the words leave his mouth, something in him sinks.
Because of how it sounds. Because of what it sounds like. Like he’s trying to rush through everything. Like he’s already letting go.
And he wonders if Khaotung hears it the same way.
Khaotung looks at him, confusion flickering across his face for a brief moment.
Then it’s gone. Replaced with something heavier. Tired. Like whatever effort it would take to understand First just… isn’t worth it anymore.
First feels it.
That loss. That distance. It makes something desperate claw up inside him.
“Will you come home tonight?” First asks suddenly, the question slipping out before he can stop it.
Khaotung’s expression barely changes.
“Don’t I always come home?” he replies, his tone edged with something that feels too close to mockery.
First shakes his head immediately.
Testing. Testing this day, this moment, this impossible second chance he wasn’t supposed to get.
“You haven’t been,” First says, more firmly this time.
Then he waits.
Because maybe he’s wrong. Maybe everything he remembers is wrong. Maybe it really was just some horrible dream.
But Khaotung goes still.
There’s a flicker of something across his face—
Shock.
And First can’t tell what it means.
Is it shock that First knows? Or shock that First would say something so untrue?
He clings to the second option. He needs it to be the second option. Because that means there’s still time.
Time to fix it. Time to figure this out. Time to not lose him.
Khaotung exhales quietly.
Then nods.
“I’m surprised you noticed.”
The words are soft.
But they hit like a collapse.
First is falling. There’s no warning, just the sudden, violent drop as everything beneath him disappears, the world cracking open and swallowing him whole. His stomach shoots up into his throat, choking off his breath as his chest tightens, tighter, tighter—like it’s collapsing in on itself.
His heart—
God, his heart—
it’s in his hands, he can feel it, raw and shaking and alive—
and then it’s crushed.
Shattered.
Ground down into nothing.
Again. Again. Again.
His thoughts twist, smear, unravel into something broken and incoherent as the cold floods in, wrapping around him, seeping under his skin until he feels stripped bare— exposed, hollow, nothing.
There’s nothing left.
No warmth. No voice. No him.
Just the echo of it all breaking, over and over, until even the pieces are gone.
And then—
he’s gasping.
Shooting upright in bed.
“First!”
Louis’ voice cuts through everything, sharp and loud and real.
“Why are you still in bed? We have that meeting at 10:30, get up now!”
First’s chest heaves as he looks around, disoriented—
The room. The bed. The morning light.
All exactly the same.
Like none of it ever happened.
Like it’s starting over.
Again.