Work Text:
Peem’s been acting very strangely lately.
It’s the first time since returning to Bangkok for good that Khem has managed to visit his house for more than a few days at a time, and he’s been planning to make the most of it, explore all that Ubon Ratchathani has to see, delight in all that por kru has to offer, only for Khem.
It’s been… well, it’s been the most wonderfully bizarre experience of Khem’s life, to live beyond his twenty-first birthday, to make plans and have hopes that they’ll be fulfilled, to slowly learn to let go from fears and pains and discover new ones to heal from.
The past year has brought him so much joy, in ways Khem never even dared to dream of having, when he’s been silently saying goodbye to everyone and everything for two whole decades.
The last few weeks have made him wondrously peaceful, in shapes and forms unimaginable before, the quietness no longer filled with dread for what comes next, the loudness permeating the cracks in his heart until it becomes whole again, covered in fissures that beat of all he’s lost, granting new chances to pound in his chest for all that he can still gain.
And Peem has been there for all of it, even with the distance, face engraved behind Khem’s eyelids each time they close, voice lingering in his ears when silence reaches them, phone calls filling the late hours of the night and texts greeting Khem in the mornings.
When Khem didn’t have reasons to believe anymore, Peem showed him he could – when the miles parting them became too much, Peem was the one who crossed them, in Khem’s dreams and in Khem’s room, ethereal and physical and holding Khem close – when Khem ran, Peem met him in the middle, and when Khem broke, Peem held him together, and when Peem cried, Khem dried his tears.
Since the start of June, however, something has changed.
Pharan’s still there, sitting by the breakfast table with his coffee mug and gentle fingers enveloping Khem’s over the wooden surface, and he’s there when Khem crawls under the sheets to rest against his body, the heat suffocating in ways Khem can’t picture himself living without when he has to return to Bangkok.
But that’s the problem, as it seems – Pharan’s still there, yet only in body.
His mind, Khem can tell, is far away.
Is he too worried about the villagers to focus on the present? Has he been thinking about the past to the point of wondering if this is the right choice?
Is he second guessing choosing Khem to be by his side?
Khem’s only able to live with the questions for so long before they start driving him a little mad, another pencil tip breaking when he tries to draw the trees outside the window and only ends up with a mess of harsh lines on paper.
“Khem?” Peem’s voice rings out from the bed when Khem sighs heavily, shoulders slumping and sketchbook abandoned over the desk. “Is everything alright?”
“Has something happened?” Khem finally says out loud, the same question that’s been gnawing at the back of his head for days now. He doesn’t look back at Peem, not wanting to see his face right now, and only pulls out another pencil from the drawer, making a real effort to not snap it between his fingers.
The sheets rustle behind him, the sound book pages flipping and muted footsteps on wood, before hands settle on his shoulders, soft and sure, like Khem’s a precious rarity, like Peem knows Khem melts into his touch every time.
“What is it?” he whispers, lips close to Khem’s ear, and the chills that run down his spine are hard to hide, the weather too warm to chalk it up to the wind. “Khem,” Peem’s tone leaves no space for him to hide, and Khem has never wanted to, eyes finding Peem’s like it’s second nature to seek for him. “What’s made you sad?”
“You,” Khem responds immediately, Peem reeling in surprise and pulled back towards Khem with fingers that wrap in the fabric of his sleeping pants. “You’ve been distant lately.”
For a moment, Peem blinks at him with confusion, until a glimmer crosses his gaze and a smile pulls at the corner of his lips, cupping Khem’s cheek and running his thumb over it. “Ah,” he breathes out, so close to Khem’s face he can count each eyelash. “Yes, you’re right.”
“Why, then?” Khem insists, mouth twisted into a grimace and only getting more agitated when Pharan only reacts by smiling more.
“You’ll find out,” Peem says, his caresses equal parts tender and bold, and Khem would be lying if he said it doesn’t make something twist pleasantly in his insides.
He’s still mad, however, Pharan’s glee at his questioning only worsening the longer he goes without answers. “Why won’t you just tell me?”
Lips land at the corner of his mouth, so close and yet so far, trailing upwards over Khem’s cheekbones to reach his ear, settling there with a warmth that rivals the heat that sticks to everything outside. “You must learn patience, Khemjira.” Retracing his path, Perm brushes his lips ever so softly against Khem’s, nowhere near a proper kiss, and it only makes Khem madder. “I promise your reward will be worth it.”
Khem huffs, ears ringing and face burning, granting himself the right to be impatient after years of prolonged dread, the right to be bold too, to take for himself all that he wants, all that is his. “I don’t believe in your promises,” he counters, clinging to Peem’s skin all the more.
And Pharan’s still there, his mind here and now, ethereal and physical and coming closer, enveloping Khem in all that he is. “No?” Khem shakes his head. “I see.”
And then Khem can’t see a thing, eyes falling closed as Peem kisses him, slow at first and then more pressing, tongue running over the seam of his lips as they part open, tongue exploring and demanding and taking what is his too, all that Khem can give.
Time slows down and speeds up all at once, Peem occupying his thoughts and his lap and each breath Khem shakily drags in, air running out but the need to be close overpowering the light-headedness. Khem pulls at his hips and throws his head back as teeth find his neck, nipping and scratching and blanking his mind.
Khem doesn’t remember how they make it to the bed, doesn’t decipher much more than sensations here and there and everywhere, the bedsheets heavenly against his heated skin, and when he falls asleep, it’s with Peem’s head on his chest, fingers digging into his side as if Peem too is afraid this might just be a dream.
The curtains do little to block out the sunshine pouring in through the windows, a fact Khem grew used to, and even nostalgic for, after his months at Ubon Ratchathani.
Waking with the sunrise, he stretches his arms over his head, groaning in content and reaching to the side to find–
The bed’s empty.
Not only that – it’s cold, as if Peem abandoned it hours ago.
In his place, lies the very beginning of a thread, golden in its colour and tied around a piece of paper.
Follow me, it instructs, tugging at the strings of curiosity in Khem’s mind.
Twisting it around his wrist, Khem can’t help but do as the note says, tracing the thread’s path out of bed and beyond the closed double doors of their shared bedroom and watching as it spirals down the stairs.
Each step down means another note for Khem to tightly grasp between his fingers, a mix of tiny love declarations and winding poetry on the details of Khem he adores the most.
I’ve never met anyone like you, in all my lives, one says, the word you underline several times in red ink.
How much you care about everyone and everything is one of the many reasons I fell for you, explains another, an attempt at mimicking one of Khem’s own flower drawings scribbled to the side.
You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, declares Khem’s personal favourite, the one he holds onto all the way out of the house and into the gathering of trees that surrounds their home.
The longer Khem follows along the thread’s trail, the faster his heart races, confusion and excitement mingling in his mind to create the perfect concoction to keep him going.
Birds chirp ahead, the grass is soft under his feet, and Khem’s pretty sure he’s never felt as content as he does right now.
That thought’s countered as soon as it appears, a clearing breaking apart the rows of trees, and at its centre, a reward.
Patience, Peem’s voice rings in his head – I love you, his broad grin wordlessly says as Khem rushes into his embrace, the laughter of those around him so sweet, it fills Khem’s heart with light.
“Happy birthday, Khem,” Pharan whispers into his hair, the words clearer than if he had shouted them out, all that Khem can hear even with the bustle of conversation that surrounds them.
“Phi…” Khem responds with tears in his eyes, letting them fall as soon as Jet tackles him into a bear hug, tight enough that Khem can barely breathe, but he wouldn’t change it for the world.
Has it really only been a few weeks since Khem last saw his best friend?
It feels like a lifetime.
Charn’s come to Ubon Ratchathani too, definitely tailing after Jet the way he’s done for a whole year now, glued to the other man like separating for even a second will cause him physical pain.
After seeing so much of Chayada and Jin, of reliving Khemmika’s pain like it’s his own, Khem would be lying if he said he doesn’t understand the feeling more than anyone else.
His father blesses Khem for reaching another year of life with a joy that silently speaks of his gladness for still having his only son here, alive, where Phra Pinyo can still take care of him like he promised his late wife he would.
There are spirits in the woods too, people he can’t see now but knows are there, carried within Khem’s heart never to be forgotten.
All the people he loves the most are here, even when they’re gone, and Khem has never been as happy, never been as glad to persevere, to fight to come out alive on the other side, to forgive.
A lesson in patience unlike any he’s ever known, the aching finally gone to leave in its place a serenity Khem has been longing for his whole life.
Laughter and crying mingle together to create a breakfast picnic Khem could’ve never expected for, would’ve driven himself insane noticing the little changes in Peem’s behaviour before it could even cross his mind.
The food’s so tasty and the weather so nice and the company so wonderful, Khem has to hold himself back from bursting into tears at least a couple times, failing completely when Jet starts chanting for him to give out a speech.
“Uh,” Khem starts, any hope of eloquence flying out the window when Jet starts crying too. “I’m not exactly great at speeches.”
“You’re so good at presentations, though,” Charn argues, blinking in confusion when Jet tells him to shush it.
“I…” Khem starts again, mouth moving without a single word making it out. “I used to not like my birthday. It’s not a wild guess why. I lived thinking that I was going to die young, and each year I grew older only meant that I was getting closer to the curse catching up with me.
“I want that to change. I want to love my birthday. For it to mean it’s another year I’ve been on this earth to love every one of you.” With tears rolling down his cheeks, Khem takes a deep breath before continuing. “I’m so glad that after all these… centuries, I get to finally make plans for myself and figure out what I want to do with my life. I get to have a life that’s mine. Thank you.”
Charn and Jet envelope him in a group hug from each side, Peem rubbing the back of his hand under his eye, and Khem knows when he’s trying not to cry where others might see him.
The heartfelt words soon turn back to joking, and the distance between Khem and Peem diminishes until it’s hard to tell where one of them begins and the other ends.
“I have a gift for you,” Peem mumbles lowly, hand splayed at the small of Khem’s back as they rise to their feet, never letting Khem be too far away from him.
As if he too can’t bear to be apart.
Jet whistles after them as they walk into the line of trees, Khem throwing as best a glare as he can muster over his shoulder and coming face to face with Peem’s intense stare as soon as they’re alone.
Peem reaches for him and Khem falls into his grasp so easily, letting Peem run his thumbs over his cheekbones for what feels like a small eternity.
He knows that when Peem gets so quietly focused, he’s searching for the right words to express the mess in his mind, the confessions that only Khem gets to hear when the sun hasn’t quite risen yet, when they can pretend they’re the only two people who exist.
When Peem lets go of inhibitions and the ties that keep him so firmly in the past he can barely envision a future.
“Are you happy, Khem?” he says at last, voice low and touch as burning against Khem’s skin as it is featherlight, like his hands have found a way to kiss his body all on their own.
Khem nods, lips curling and parting with a grin that would be impossible to hide if he ever tried.
Why try, though, when this happiness has already found a way to roll out of him in waves?
“Yes,” he responds, feeling like he’s floating on air with his feet firmly planted on the ground. The things Pharan does to him, he supposes. “Is this why you’ve been acting weird all week?”
Peem giggles, this innocent, almost naïve sound that reminds Khem he too has seen his fair share of losses and still managed to keep himself alive for long enough for their paths to cross again. For Khem to show him, in turn, that his life isn’t meaningless. “It’s very hard to hide things from you.”
With a laugh, Khem covers the older man’s hands with his own over his face. “Good to know. Guess I’m not the only one who needs to learn patience, isn’t it?”
“You have no idea,” Peem agrees, leaning forward to press their foreheads together. “I couldn’t stop thinking about how you’d react.”
“I love it. I love you. Thank you.”
“Thank you, Khem,” Peem counters, only a firm calm to his tone. “You’re the reason why I get to live through moments like this.”
“Well, you’re the reason why I’m alive to have these moments,” Khem argues with mirth weaving around each word, sensing that Peem’s readying himself to list off a series of why’s Khem’s behind and rising on his toes to kiss him before the man can say anything else. “I won’t accept any P’Peem slander on my birthday. I make the rules.”
Peem melts instantly, returning Khem’s kiss with an excitement that makes Khem weak in the knees, using the taller man’s shoulders for support to keep himself upright.
“Happy birthday, Khem,” Pharan breathes hotly over his lips, still tasting a little like cake and a lot like a home to come back to when Khem feels like he’s lost sight of what he wants to do with all this time he was given and never prepared himself for. “May this be the second of many I get to share with you.”
“All of them,” Khem promises, knowing this has been a long time coming, lifetimes in the making. It’s what all his past lives would’ve wanted, what he wants, to have this peace all to himself, forever. “I love you.”
“I love you so much.” Peem’s speech is muffled by Khem’s mouth, tongues tangling together to discover each other anew, as if each kiss is the first, as if it can never be the last.
Because they won’t let it be.
Nothing has to end if they live every moment like they’re meant to live them.
It’s so simple to just breath in each other’s air, like they’re in a bubble made of only them, the world outside these woods incapable of hurting them as long as they can find comfort in the quietness.
“This is for you,” Peem hands him a paper crane, handwriting lining its sides.
Khem undoes the folds of it, heart soaring with each new word he manages to read out, more and more love letters to be kept alongside the string of notes Peem’s left for him.
“I’m not great at speeches either,” he asserts, the lightest of blushes crawling up his neck and cheeks, “but I can’t not tell you how much you mean to me. The light you brought into my life–”
Khem can’t let him finish, bringing him down by the lapels of his dress shirt and pressing their mouths together until they run out of air and then some more.
“You bring me light too, P’Peem,” Khem confesses between one kiss and the next, falling and falling and never wishing to be parted from the reckless sea that meets his shores when Peem gives him everything, takes from Khem just as much.
Pharan pulls out a candle from his pocket, the flame coming to life in his hand without lighters or matches touching the wick, and hands it to Khem, spinning him around to press his chest to Khem’s back, warms tight around his waist like he never intends to let go.
Khem never wants him to.
“Make a wish.” The words etch themselves onto his heated ear, mumbled against its curve like a secret, and Khem has heard each thing Peem hasn’t said, has looked back into the past and peered at the future and found that the thing he loves most is a gift.
A present.
This present.
So Khem wishes for the one thing that can keep it alive for as long as possible.
Time.