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The rhythmic beep of the heart monitor filled the sterile hospital room, an unforgiving reminder that time hadn't stopped even though Mahasamut wished it had. The white walls, the too-clean scent of antiseptic, the quiet murmurs of nurses outside—it was all wrong.
Tongrak belonged by the sea, not here, tethered to a bed with his eyes wrapped in gauze.
Mahasamut sat beside him, unmoving, fingers curled into the sheets. He should have done more. He should have been faster.
A sharp inhale broke the silence. Tongrak stirred, his breath uneven. “Mahasamut?”
Mahasamut jolted, his hands immediately reaching for Tongrak’s. “I’m here.” His voice cracked, and he hated himself for it. “I’m right here.”
Tongrak’s fingers twitched under his touch. “…The lights are off?”
The question shattered Mahasamut’s heart.
He swallowed hard. “No, Tongrak. They’re not.”
Silence. A heavy, suffocating silence. Then, Tongrak let out a soft chuckle—light, almost amused, but Mahasamut knew better. It was a fragile thing, like a shell on the verge of cracking.
“Ah,” Tongrak murmured, tilting his head slightly. “So, I can’t see.”
Mahasamut gripped his hands tighter. “The doctors—They’re looking into—” He stopped. He couldn’t lie. He couldn’t promise anything. “I’m going to find a donor. I swear I will.”
Tongrak exhaled, long and slow. Then, after a moment, he lifted his hands from the sheets, reaching out blindly. “Come here.”
Mahasamut hesitated, afraid that if he moved, the dam holding back his grief would break. But he leaned in, letting Tongrak’s searching hands find his face.
The touch was so gentle.
Fingertips traced the line of his jaw, brushed over his lips, ghosted over his cheekbones. Tongrak’s hands were warm—warmer than they should have been after lying in a hospital bed for days.
“I can still see you,” Tongrak whispered.
Mahasamut’s throat tightened. “How?”
Tongrak’s thumbs brushed over his eyelids, as if memorizing them. “You’re here,” he said simply. “You’re warm. You smell like salt and wind.” He paused, then added with a small smile, “And you’re crying.”
Mahasamut bit his lip hard, but it wasn’t enough to stop the sob from escaping. His vision blurred as he clutched Tongrak’s wrists, pressing them against his face. “I should have protected you,” he choked out. “I should have—”
Tongrak shook his head. “You were there. That’s all that matters.”
Mahasamut let out a shuddering breath. “No, it’s not. I should have done more.”
Tongrak’s hands moved again, trailing down to Mahasamut’s shoulders. “Then do more now,” he said softly. “Don’t let this take you away from me.”
Mahasamut pressed his forehead against Tongrak’s, his tears slipping onto the bandages. “I won’t,” he whispered.
In that moment, he didn’t care if the hospital walls felt too small or if his own guilt threatened to crush him. The only thing that mattered was the warmth of Tongrak’s hands, the steady rise and fall of his chest, and the promise that no matter what—he would bring him back the light.
Even if he had to tear the sky apart to do it.
The first time Mahasamut walks into the hospital room and finds Tongrak awake, sitting up by himself, his breath catches in his throat.
Tongrak has turned toward the window, even though there’s nothing for him to see. His bandages are still in place, but his fingers rest lightly on the edge of the bed, tapping absentmindedly—perhaps counting, perhaps just listening to the sound.
“Did you go diving today?” Tongrak asks before Mahasamut can say anything.
Mahasamut freezes in the doorway. His throat tightens. “…No.”
A small smile curves Tongrak’s lips, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I thought so. You smell like the city.”
Mahasamut swallows. He hasn’t been to the ocean since the accident. He can’t—not when the water, once his sanctuary, feels like a monster that stole something precious from him.
“You should go,” Tongrak murmurs, tilting his head slightly. “It’s not your fault, you know.”
Mahasamut clenches his fists. “You don’t get to say that.” His voice is sharper than he intends, and he hates himself for it. “You don’t get to act like this is normal, like—like this is just something we move past.”
Tongrak finally turns toward him, expression unreadable. He lifts his hands, gestures vaguely. “Then what do you want me to do, Mahasamut? Cry? Scream? Ask why it happened to me?” His voice remains calm, but there’s something fragile underneath. “Would that make it better?”
Mahasamut exhales shakily, stepping closer until he’s standing right beside the bed. “No. It wouldn’t.” He hesitates, then sits down, taking one of Tongrak’s hands in his own. “But you don’t have to act like you’re fine, either.”
Tongrak doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t say anything at first, just lets Mahasamut hold his hand. Then, after a long pause, he asks, almost too quietly:
“…If I never see again, will you still love me?”
The question shatters Mahasamut’s resolve.
He grips Tongrak’s hand tighter, bringing it to his lips. “What kind of question is that?” he whispers, his voice trembling. “Of course, I will. I always will.”
Tongrak exhales softly, as if he had been holding that breath for too long. “Okay,” he murmurs. “That’s all I needed to know.”
The water was calm that day. Too calm.
Sunlight shimmered through the crystal-clear sea, casting golden threads across the coral-strewn ocean floor. Schools of fish wove between the rocks, undisturbed by the presence of two divers slicing through the depths.
Mahasamut glanced to his side.
Tongrak was there, moving with the effortless grace of someone who had long since made the ocean his second home. He turned his head slightly, catching Mahasamut’s gaze through his mask. His lips curled into a smile behind the regulator, and he lifted his hand—tap, tap against his wrist. A signal.
I’m okay.
Mahasamut nodded, a silent response. Stay close.
They had been diving together for years. They knew each other’s rhythms, each other’s breaths. Tongrak always said that with Mahasamut beside him, the ocean never felt lonely.
But something about today felt different.
A strange shift in the current. A subtle change in pressure that pressed against Mahasamut’s ribs. His instincts prickled—a warning whispered through years of experience.
Then it happened.
A deep, shuddering tremor from below, rippling through the seabed. Mahasamut barely had a second to react before a violent surge of water slammed into them.
The force sent him tumbling backward, bubbles bursting around him in a chaotic swirl. He fought to stabilize himself, scanning frantically for Tongrak—
There.
Tongrak had been thrown against the rocky outcrop they had been exploring. And something was coming loose above him.
Mahasamut saw it in the same instant he kicked toward him—a jagged piece of debris, dislodged by the tremor, plummeting through the water straight toward Tongrak.
Move. Move, dammit!
Mahasamut reached out, his fingers just grazing Tongrak’s wrist—
Too late.
The impact was eerily silent, swallowed by the vastness of the ocean. The sharp edge of the falling debris struck Tongrak’s mask, shattering the glass, sending a spray of red into the water.
Mahasamut felt the world tilt.
Tongrak’s body jerked from the impact, his limbs slackening as he began to sink. His mask was broken, blood curling in delicate tendrils from a deep, gashing wound—his eyes.
Mahasamut’s chest seized with something raw, something unbearable. He didn’t think. He didn’t breathe. He grabbed Tongrak and kicked upward with every ounce of strength in his body.
The ascent was agonizing. The ocean felt heavier than it ever had before, as if it was trying to drag them both down, as if it didn’t want to let go.
Mahasamut held onto Tongrak tighter.
I won’t let you go. I won’t let you go.
When they finally broke the surface, Mahasamut ripped his own regulator out, gasping for breath. He barely noticed the boat crew shouting, the hands reaching for them, the chaos on deck.
His hands shook as he peeled away the broken mask.
Blood stained Tongrak’s face, streaming from the wound above his eyes. His lids fluttered, barely conscious, his breath ragged.
Mahasamut couldn’t breathe.
“Tongrak—stay with me, stay with me,” he begged, pressing his forehead against his. Salt—ocean, blood, tears—blurred together on his lips.
Tongrak’s fingers weakly curled around Mahasamut’s wrist. His lips moved, forming words too faint to hear.
Mahasamut leaned in, his own heart shattering.
“…Can’t see,” Tongrak whispered.
Then, his body went limp.
Mahasamut let out a sound that wasn’t a scream, wasn’t a sob—just something broken.
And for the first time in his life, the ocean felt like a grave.
Mahasamut sat by the bed, hands clasped together so tightly his knuckles turned white. The rhythmic beeping of the monitor was the only sound filling the room, steady and indifferent. Unlike him.
Tongrak lay there, still. His face was pale under the dim hospital light, the bandages covering his eyes stark against his skin. Mahasamut had memorized every inch of that face—the sharp curve of his jaw, the small scar by his lip from a childhood fall, the way his brows always furrowed slightly even in sleep. But now, there was something different. Something missing.
His eyes.
Mahasamut swallowed hard. His chest felt tight, like something was wrapped around his ribs and squeezing, tighter and tighter.
This is my fault.
He had played the memory over and over in his head, dissecting it, searching for a way it could have gone differently. If he had reacted a second faster. If he had pulled Tongrak away just a little sooner. If he had noticed the tremor before it hit.
Maybe Tongrak would still be able to see.
The thought made his stomach churn.
He reached out, hesitated, then gently took Tongrak’s hand in his own. His fingers traced over the familiar lines of his palm. Warm. Alive.
But was he suffering?
Mahasamut had spent the past days drowning in research, chasing every last hope. He had talked to doctors, specialists, anyone who could give him a sliver of a chance. Eye donors, retinal transplants, experimental treatments—he would find a way. He had to.
Yet, every time he looked at Tongrak, the guilt clawed its way back into his throat.
His eyes burned.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, barely a breath.
The words felt too small, too useless. How could an apology undo what had been done?
His grip tightened around Tongrak’s hand. He wanted to take the pain away. He wanted to give him back the world he had lost.
But all he could do was sit there, powerless, as Tongrak lay blind in the bed before him.
Morning light spilled through the half-open blinds, painting soft golden streaks across the white hospital sheets. The air was still, carrying the sterile scent of disinfectant and something faintly floral—probably from the unopened bouquet Mahasamut had brought the day before, sitting untouched on the bedside table.
Mahasamut hadn’t left. He had spent the night exactly where he was now, seated beside Tongrak’s bed, his hand resting just inches away from his husband’s. His body ached from sleeping in a chair, but he didn’t care.
A soft knock at the door made him straighten up.
"Good morning, Tongrak," came the doctor’s voice, cheerful and far too energetic for this early in the day. "How are we feeling today?"
Tongrak exhaled, shifting under the covers. “Like I spent the night being stared at.”
Mahasamut stiffened. “I wasn’t staring.”
“You were breathing very loudly.”
The doctor chuckled, setting his clipboard down. “Well, I’d say that’s a sign of deep devotion.” He turned to Mahasamut with an exaggerated smile. “Husband of the year, right here.”
Mahasamut cleared his throat, trying and failing to look composed. “I just wanted to make sure he was okay.”
The doctor smirked. "And will you also be joining us for today’s therapy session?"
Mahasamut sat up a little straighter. “If that’s allowed… I want to see how it works. How I can help.”
The doctor tilted his head, eyeing him with mock curiosity. “Ah, I see. You mean to say you want to be here. Not that you refuse to leave.”
Tongrak sighed. “Don’t encourage him.”
“Oh, but it’s so fun,” the doctor said, grinning. He turned back to Tongrak, folding his arms. “You know, in my years of doing this, I’ve seen a lot of doting husbands. But yours? He’s in a league of his own.”
Tongrak groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Here we go.”
“I mean,” the doctor continued, as if giving a grand speech, “staying by your side all night? Holding your hand like some tragic romance movie? He probably spent the whole time whispering, ‘I won’t let you go…’”
Mahasamut’s ears turned bright red. “I—I didn’t say that.”
“Oh? Then what did you say?”
Mahasamut’s mouth opened and closed.
Tongrak smirked, despite himself. “This is entertaining. Maybe I should have lost my sight sooner.”
The doctor gasped dramatically. “Oh no, now you’re making him feel guilty again.” He turned to Mahasamut. “You poor thing. This is why we tell caregivers to take breaks.”
Mahasamut frowned, crossing his arms. “I don’t need a break.”
The doctor patted his shoulder, far too sympathetically. “You say that, but next thing you know, you’ll be sobbing into your rice at lunch.”
Mahasamut scowled, but Tongrak chuckled, shaking his head. “Fine, fine. Let’s get on with it before he actually starts crying.”
The doctor held up a hand. “Ah, not so fast! We have one final order of business.”
Mahasamut narrowed his eyes. “What?”
The doctor grinned. “You’re leaving.”
Mahasamut froze. “Wait. What?”
“We’ll be working on independent adjustments today,” the doctor said smoothly, already steering Mahasamut toward the door. “And as much as we love your unwavering support, someone needs a little space to figure things out on his own.”
“I—I can give space!” Mahasamut protested, trying to plant his feet. “I can just… sit in the corner or something!”
“Nope.”
Mahasamut turned desperately to Tongrak, who was lounging back against his pillows like a man watching the real entertainment of the morning.
“Rak.” Mahasamut’s voice was low, pleading.
Tongrak smirked. “You heard the man.”
Mahasamut glared. “Traitor.”
With one final push, the doctor ushered him out and shut the door.
For a moment, Mahasamut just stood there in the hallway, staring at the closed door like a puppy locked out in the rain.
A nurse passing by raised an eyebrow at him.
“…Don’t ask,” Mahasamut muttered.
Mahasamut sat in the hospital café, his untouched coffee going cold beside him. His laptop screen cast a dull glow against his face, illuminating the frustration in his furrowed brow and the way his fingers drummed anxiously against the table.
He had spent the past hour scrolling through every medical journal, donor registry, and research paper he could find.
Nothing.
Every lead led to a dead end. The waiting list for cornea transplants was impossibly long. The experimental treatments were too uncertain, too risky. And private donors? He had no way to speed up that process.
Mahasamut clenched his jaw.
He wasn’t stupid—he had known from the start that this wouldn’t be easy. But knowing it and feeling it were two different things.
How long was he supposed to wait? How long was Tongrak supposed to live like this?
He could still remember the way Tongrak had run his fingers over his face that night, trying to map him out with touch alone. The hesitation in his movements, the way his brows had knitted together in concentration. The silence that stretched between them, heavy with things left unsaid.
Mahasamut closed his laptop with a sharp snap and exhaled.
He wouldn’t give up. He couldn’t.
But for the first time since the accident, doubt was beginning to creep in.
What if there was no miracle fix?
What if Tongrak never saw him again?
His chest ached.
He ran a hand through his hair, gripping it tightly.
Then, as if the universe was mocking him, his phone buzzed.
A message from one of the specialists he had contacted earlier.
Mahasamut’s heart jumped, hope flickering for just a second—until he read the words.
“No available donors at this time. We will update you if anything changes.”
Mahasamut swallowed hard.
Then he shoved his phone into his pocket, grabbed his coffee, and dumped it into the nearest trash bin before storming out of the café.
There had to be another way.
The warmth of the afternoon sun pressed gently against Tongrak’s skin as he stirred awake. He blinked—out of habit more than necessity—but all he was met with was the same velvety darkness. A sigh escaped his lips.
“You’re finally up,” Mahasamut’s voice came from beside him, laced with amusement and something softer beneath.
Tongrak turned toward the sound, lips quirking slightly. “Did you stay here the whole time again?”
Mahasamut made a noncommittal sound. “Not the whole time.”
Tongrak huffed, amused. “Liar.”
Mahasamut ignored the accusation, reaching out to smooth a stray strand of hair from Tongrak’s forehead. “Come on. Let’s get you outside for a bit.”
“Outside?”
“A little walk. Well— roll in your case.”
Tongrak frowned, crossing his arms. “I can walk.”
“You just finished a therapy session and napped for two hours straight,” Mahasamut said, already reaching for the wheelchair beside the bed. “Let me take care of you.”
Tongrak sighed again, but there was no real fight in him.
“…Fine.”
The hospital gardens smelled fresh, like grass after the rain, mingled with the faintest scent of flowers blooming nearby. The path was smooth under the wheels of Tongrak’s chair as Mahasamut pushed him along at a leisurely pace.
There were other patients out enjoying the sun, nurses guiding some of them in quiet conversation. Birds chirped from the branches above, and for a moment, it was easy to pretend they weren’t in a hospital at all.
Tongrak tilted his head slightly. “You’re quiet.”
Mahasamut hummed. “Just… enjoying this.”
Tongrak smirked. “ You ? Enjoying a hospital date?”
“Date?” Mahasamut huffed, stopping beside a bench shaded by a large tree. “If I’d known this counted as one, I would’ve planned better.”
He gently helped Tongrak onto the bench, making sure he was comfortable before sitting beside him.
Tongrak tilted his head up slightly, basking in the sunlight. “It’s nice,” he admitted. “I missed feeling the sun like this.”
Mahasamut leaned back against the bench, watching him. “You always used to complain about getting tanned.”
“Well,” Tongrak said, turning his face toward him with a small, teasing smile. “I wouldn’t know anymore, would I?”
Mahasamut sucked in a quiet breath.
It was moments like this—when Tongrak acted like everything was fine, like he wasn’t hurting—that made it worse. That made Mahasamut want to do something, anything , to fix it.
He swallowed the lump in his throat and reached out, slipping his fingers between Tongrak’s.
Tongrak startled slightly, but then his fingers curled back around Mahasamut’s, warm and familiar.
They sat like that for a moment, hand in hand, silence settling over them like a soft blanket.
Then, softly, Tongrak whispered, “Mut…”
Mahasamut turned to him immediately. “Yeah?”
“Let me—” Tongrak hesitated, then exhaled. “Let me feel you.”
Mahasamut’s breath hitched.
Tongrak lifted his free hand slightly, fingers hovering in the air between them, unsure.
Mahasamut swallowed hard before taking his hand and guiding it gently to his own face. “I’m still here,” he murmured.
Tongrak’s fingers hesitated at first, brushing lightly over Mahasamut’s forehead, then down the bridge of his nose. His breath was slow, controlled, but Mahasamut could feel the slight tremble in his touch.
“You still feel the same,” Tongrak murmured, his fingertips ghosting over Mahasamut’s cheekbones, his jaw. He traced the lines he had memorized long ago but now had to learn all over again.
“I am the same,” Mahasamut whispered.
Tongrak’s hand lingered against his lips. Mahasamut turned his head slightly, pressing a kiss to his fingertips. “I’m still me.” Another kiss, softer this time. “And I’m still yours.”
A shaky breath escaped Tongrak.
Mahasamut cupped his wrist, turning his palm so he could kiss it. Then, slowly, he leaned in, pressing gentle kisses across Tongrak’s face—his forehead, the tip of his nose, his cheeks. Every touch was deliberate, slow, filled with quiet reassurances that words could never fully capture.
“You don’t have to see me,” Mahasamut murmured between kisses. “Just feel me.”
Tongrak let out a breathy laugh, almost disbelieving. “You’re ridiculous.”
Mahasamut pulled back just enough to see the soft smile curling at Tongrak’s lips. His heart clenched.
“And yet,” Tongrak continued, tilting his head slightly, “you love me anyway.”
Mahasamut sighed, pressing his forehead against Tongrak’s. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I do.”
The hospital room was quiet except for the steady beeping of the monitor and the distant hum of nurses talking in the hallway. The warmth from Mahasamut’s presence still lingered on Tongrak’s skin, but now, he was alone.
Mahasamut had stayed with him all day—pushing his wheelchair, sitting beside him on that bench, kissing him with so much tenderness that for a moment, just a brief moment, Tongrak almost felt like nothing had changed.
But the truth crashed down on him the moment he was left alone in the dark.
He was blind.
It wasn’t a bad dream or some temporary injury that would heal with time. It was his new reality.
A quiet shudder ran through his body.
He clenched his fists, gripping the blanket tightly in his lap.
No more watching the sunrise over the ocean. No more reading books late into the night, getting lost in the words on the page. No more watching Mahasamut’s face light up with excitement when he talked about the sea.
The world he had known—the one he had built memories in—was gone.
A lump formed in his throat, hot and suffocating.
He lifted trembling hands to his face, pressing his palms against his eyes as if he could will the darkness away.
But it was still there. Always there.
A shaky breath escaped his lips. Then another. And then—
The first sob broke free.
It was quiet, strangled, the kind of sound he didn’t want anyone to hear.
But once it started, he couldn’t stop.
Tears slipped down his cheeks, and he bit his lip hard to keep himself from making any noise. He hated this—hated how weak he felt, how helpless.
Mahasamut had been so strong for him. Always there, always reassuring, always acting like this wasn’t the end of the world.
But it was .
At least for Tongrak.
He wanted to be grateful, he really did. Mahasamut was trying so hard. But deep inside, a small, selfish part of him whispered—
What if he’s only staying because he feels guilty?
Tongrak let out a trembling sigh and wiped his face with the sleeve of his hospital gown.
He couldn’t think like that. Mahasamut loved him. He knew that.
And yet, the doubt curled in his chest like a parasite, feeding on his deepest fears.
Another tear slipped down his cheek.
He thought about Mahasamut tracing his fingers over his face earlier, whispering, I’m still me.
He wanted to believe that was enough.
But right now, sitting alone in the dark, he wasn’t sure if he was still himself anymore.
Mahasamut had meant to leave for the night. He really had.
But as he stood outside the hospital room, hand gripping the doorframe, he couldn’t make himself walk away.
He had spent the past few days trying to be strong—trying to be enough for Tongrak. Enough to make him feel safe, enough to make him feel like his world wasn’t falling apart. But the truth was, Mahasamut was scared too. Scared that he wasn’t doing enough. Scared that he’d never be able to give Tongrak back the life he lost.
And so, instead of going home, he turned back.
He had planned to peek in quickly, maybe check if Tongrak was sleeping before slipping away quietly.
But then—he saw him.
Tongrak was sitting on the hospital bed, shoulders trembling, hands pressed against his face.
Mahasamut’s chest tightened.
He barely heard the ragged breathing, but the way Tongrak’s entire frame shook—it told him enough.
Mahasamut had been by his side since the accident. He had seen Tongrak angry, frustrated, even annoyed at himself. But never this. Never so utterly broken.
And worst of all, he wasn’t even letting himself cry properly. He was holding it in , stifling his sobs like he didn’t deserve to grieve.
Mahasamut felt something inside him shatter.
He wanted to run to him, hold him, tell him he didn’t have to hide.
But his feet wouldn’t move.
For the first time in a long time, Mahasamut felt helpless.
What do I do?
He swallowed, his throat thick with emotion. Should he leave and pretend he didn’t see? Should he give Tongrak space?
Or—
His body moved before his mind made the decision.
The floor was silent beneath his feet as he stepped into the room.
Tongrak was so lost in his grief he didn’t even notice.
Mahasamut knelt beside the bed, close enough to touch but not yet reaching out. His hands trembled slightly as he hesitated—afraid of startling him, of making things worse.
Then, softly—
“Rak.”
Tongrak’s entire body stiffened. His breath hitched. For a second, he didn’t move. Then, slowly, he lowered his hands from his face.
“…Mut?” His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.
Mahasamut clenched his jaw. “I’m here.”
Tongrak turned his face slightly toward him, as if searching, but his empty gaze remained lost in the darkness.
Mahasamut exhaled shakily. Then, without another word, he reached forward and pulled Tongrak into his arms.
Tongrak froze. His body was tense against Mahasamut’s chest, like he wasn’t sure if he should accept the comfort being offered.
Mahasamut tightened his arms around him. “You don’t have to hide from me,” he murmured. “You never have to hide from me.”
Tongrak let out a shaky breath. “I—”
Then, like a dam breaking, his fingers curled into Mahasamut’s shirt, and he let out a broken sob.
Mahasamut held him through it, pressing his lips against the side of his head, rubbing slow circles into his back. “Let it out,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”
Tongrak clung to him, gasping for breath between sobs, and Mahasamut swore he had never loved him more than in that moment.
Because this —this was Tongrak at his most vulnerable. And Mahasamut would hold him together for as long as he needed.
As long as it took.
Mahasamut didn’t know how long they stayed like that—wrapped in each other, Tongrak’s quiet sobs muffled against his shoulder, his own heartbeat loud in his ears.
At some point, Tongrak’s trembling started to ease. His breathing, though still uneven, slowed. Mahasamut kept holding him, rubbing slow, gentle circles on his back, his lips brushing against his hair every now and then.
When Tongrak finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.
“…I’m scared.”
Mahasamut closed his eyes.
“I know.” His grip tightened just a little. “I know, Rak.”
Tongrak let out a shaky exhale. “I keep thinking… what if this is it? What if I never—” He stopped, swallowing hard. “What if I never get to see you again?”
Mahasamut’s chest ached.
He leaned back just enough to cup Tongrak’s face in his hands. His thumbs brushed away the lingering dampness on his cheeks.
“I’m still here,” Mahasamut murmured, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “You don’t need to see me to know that.”
Tongrak swallowed. “Then why does it feel like I lost everything?”
Mahasamut’s heart clenched.
He covered Tongrak’s hands with his own, gently guiding them back down. Then, pressing his forehead against his, he whispered,
“You haven’t lost me.”
Tongrak let out a shaky breath.
Mahasamut kissed him then. A slow, lingering kiss—gentle but firm, as if trying to press every unsaid word into his skin.
When he pulled back, Tongrak exhaled softly, his fingers curling around Mahasamut’s wrist.
“…Stay?” he whispered.
Mahasamut’s lips quirked, though there was sadness in his eyes. “You really think I’d leave?”
Tongrak managed a weak laugh. “…No.”
Mahasamut kissed his temple. “Then get some sleep.”
Tongrak sighed, shifting slightly as Mahasamut helped him lie back down. He still looked exhausted, but some of the tension in his shoulders had eased.
Mahasamut sat on the edge of the bed, running his fingers through Tongrak’s hair until his breathing evened out.
Only when he was sure Tongrak was asleep did he finally let himself break.
His fingers trembled slightly as he brushed them over his face—the same face Tongrak had just traced, searching for familiarity, for comfort.
And all Mahasamut could think about was how unfair this was.
How unfair it was that Tongrak had to lose his sight. How unfair it was that he couldn’t do anything to stop it. How unfair it was that all he could do was sit here, holding him, whispering empty reassurances when deep down, he was just as lost.
Mahasamut swallowed hard and leaned forward, pressing one last kiss to Tongrak’s knuckles.
Then he whispered, more to himself than to the sleeping man beside him—
“I’ll fix this, Rak.”
His fingers curled into a fist.
Mahasamut sat stiffly in the private hospital office, his fingers gripping his knees so tightly they ached. Across from him, Dr. Vichit, the transplant coordinator, sighed, rubbing his temples.
“We found a match,” the doctor said finally. “A suitable cornea donor for Tongrak.”
Mahasamut’s heart lurched.
“But…” Dr. Vichit’s voice was heavy. “The family is requesting a substantial financial compensation before they’ll consent to the donation. It’s… not legal, of course, but it happens.”
Mahasamut swallowed hard. “How much?”
The doctor hesitated. Then he named a number that made Mahasamut feel like the air had been punched from his lungs.
“…That’s insane.” His voice came out hoarse.
Dr. Vichit gave him a look of quiet sympathy. “They lost a son. They want to secure their future. You can’t blame them.”
Mahasamut clenched his jaw. He understood grief. He understood desperation. But knowing that someone else’s misfortune could save Tongrak, if only he had the money —it made his stomach twist with helplessness.
He leaned forward, hands clasped tightly together. “Please,” he said, voice low. “There has to be something—some way I can—”
Dr. Vichit shook his head. “If you can’t pay, the family will look for another recipient.”
Mahasamut felt like screaming. Like grabbing the doctor by the collar and demanding he do something. But he knew this wasn’t the doctor’s fault.
He gritted his teeth. “Give me some time.”
Dr. Vichit sighed. “I’ll try to stall them. But don’t take too long.”
Mahasamut stood, his whole body tense. His mind was already racing.
He’d sell everything he had. He’d take loans. He’d go into debt for the rest of his life if he had to.
But he would not let Tongrak stay in the dark.
Mahasamut sat on a worn wooden bench in the hospital courtyard, staring blankly at the ground. The faint hum of the city mixed with the distant beeping of hospital machines, but he barely heard any of it. His mind was a storm of numbers, calculations, and impossible choices.
He had already sold most of his possessions. His diving gear—gone. His motorcycle—gone. The savings he had built over the years—vanishing fast. And yet, it wasn’t enough.
I need more time.
But time wasn’t something he had.
He thought about the deep-sea salvage jobs he had rejected before. The ones that paid obscene amounts of money but came with an equally high risk of injury or death. He could take one of those contracts. One dive, one big paycheck. He had been in dangerous waters before—what was one more?
But what if something happened to him? What if he never made it back?
He let out a frustrated sigh, rubbing his hands over his face. No, that’s not an option.
His thoughts drifted to Tongrak’s mother. She had money, certainly more than he did. He could ask her for help, but would she agree? She had never fully approved of him—never said it outright, but he always felt the weight of her hesitation. Would she trust him with something this important?
And then there was Khwan.
His eyes flickered to the hospital entrance. Khwan. Tongrak’s sister. Stubborn, sharp-tongued, and fiercely protective of her brother. She had been visiting every day, making sure Tongrak had everything he needed. Maybe… maybe she could convince their mother.
Before he could talk himself out of it, he pulled out his phone and sent her a message.
A few minutes later, she appeared, arms crossed, her sharp eyes narrowing as she sat beside him.
“You look terrible,” she stated, not bothering with pleasantries.
Mahasamut huffed a short laugh, rubbing his temples. “Nice to see you too, Khwan.”
She glanced at him, then frowned. “You haven’t been eating properly, have you? Or sleeping?”
Mahasamut didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.
She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “I know you’re desperate, Mut. But you can’t keep doing this to yourself.”
Mahasamut hesitated, then slowly turned the wedding ring around his finger. “I was thinking about selling this,” he admitted quietly.
Khwan’s eyes widened. Then, to his complete surprise, she smacked him on the arm.
“Are you insane ?” she snapped. “Selling your wedding ring? The ring my brother put on your finger? Do you have any idea what that would do to him?”
Mahasamut flinched but didn’t argue. He knew it would hurt Tongrak. He knew .
Khwan shook her head, her voice lowering. “You took this entire burden on yourself. You’ve been running around trying to fix everything alone. Have you even once thought about yourself ?”
Mahasamut clenched his jaw. “This isn’t about me.”
“No,” she said, eyes flashing. “But you are his husband. And that means you need to take care of yourself , too. What happens when you collapse? What happens when you break? Do you think that won’t affect Rak?”
Her words struck something deep inside him, something he hadn’t let himself acknowledge.
“I…” His voice wavered. “I don’t know what else to do.”
Khwan sighed, her expression softening.
“I do,” she said simply. “I’ll cover the costs.”
Mahasamut’s head snapped up. “What?”
She shrugged. “I talked to Mom. We’ll take care of it.”
Mahasamut felt like all the air had been sucked out of his lungs. “Khwan, I can’t let you—”
“Yes, you can ,” she interrupted, voice firm. “You’re family. That means we do this together .”
Mahasamut pressed a hand over his mouth, his shoulders trembling. For weeks, he had been carrying this weight alone. And now, just like that, it was being lifted.
Khwan reached out and squeezed his arm. “Go to him, Mahasamut. Be his husband. Not his savior. Just… be there .”
Mahasamut swallowed hard, then nodded.
For the first time in weeks, he let himself breathe .
The hospital room smelled of antiseptic and the faint trace of fresh linen. The evening sunlight filtered in through the blinds, casting soft golden streaks across the white walls. The world outside felt distant, but inside, everything was still.
Tongrak sat up in his hospital bed, his fingers running over the coarse blanket in his lap. His hands had memorized textures more than colors now—his world had become a canvas of sound, scent, and feeling. But right now, all he could feel was the tightening in his chest.
“Where’s Mahasamut?” he asked, his voice quieter than he intended.
Khwan, standing by the window, let out a long sigh before pulling up a chair. “Finally asleep,” she said.
That answer shouldn’t have made his stomach drop. But it did.
“What do you mean finally ?”
Khwan hesitated for a moment before she spoke again. “I mean, he hasn’t been sleeping properly, Rak. Or eating properly. Or living properly since the accident. It’s been weeks, and he’s been breaking himself apart trying to fix everything for you.”
Tongrak’s fingers curled around the blanket.
“He doesn’t tell you because he doesn’t want you to worry ,” she continued. “But I see it. Mom sees it.“
Tongrak swallowed. “I… I didn’t know.”
Khwan let out a short, humorless laugh. “Of course, you didn’t. You’re recovering, and he won’t let you see how much of a mess he’s become. But Rak…” She leaned forward, her voice lowering. “He is a mess.”
The words hit like a punch to the gut.
Khwan’s voice softened. “Do you know what he’s been doing all this time?”
Tongrak shook his head slowly, his throat too tight to speak.
Khwan exhaled. “He’s been searching for a donor. Day and night. Making calls, visiting clinics, reaching out to charities. He even went to places that weren’t exactly… safe . He begged people, Rak. He begged . And when he couldn’t find a match quickly enough, he started looking for ways to pay for private treatment.”
Tongrak felt his breath falter.
“He sold his diving gear first. Then his bike. Anything he had of value.” Khwan’s voice wavered. “But that wasn’t enough. He was desperate. He started looking for deep-sea salvage jobs—dangerous ones. The kind of work that could’ve—” She cut herself off, shaking her head.
Tears pricked at Tongrak’s eyes. “No…”
“Oh, yes,” Khwan said, her tone sharper. “And when even that wasn’t enough, he…” She paused, watching his face carefully before continuing. “He considered selling his wedding ring.”
Tongrak flinched as though the words had physically struck him.
Khwan sighed, reaching out to squeeze his hand. “He never did, of course. I yelled at him before he could even try. But he thought about it. That’s how far he was willing to go.”
Tongrak sat frozen, his hands trembling. He suddenly felt small , unbearably helpless .
“I don’t deserve this,” he whispered. His voice cracked on the last word.
Khwan clicked her tongue, reaching out to wipe away the tear that slipped down his cheek. “Don’t be stupid. Of course, you do.”
Tongrak let out a shaky breath. “I didn’t ask him to do all this. I never wanted him to—”
“Of course, you didn’t,” Khwan interrupted. “But when has Mahasamut ever needed you to ask ? You’re his husband, Rak. He loves you more than anything in this world. And when you love someone like that… you’d do anything to save them.”
That was what broke him.
A sob escaped his throat, and before he could stop himself, the tears came. Hot and relentless, spilling down his cheeks as if every ounce of emotion he had been holding back finally collapsed.
Khwan pulled him into a tight embrace, her arms wrapping around his shaking frame.
“You have a good man, Rak,” she murmured. “A very good man. But love isn’t just about saving someone—it’s about taking care of each other .” She pulled back slightly, pressing a hand to his chest. “And right now, Mahasamut needs you too.”
Tongrak sucked in a shaky breath, gripping her arms as he nodded.
Khwan smiled gently. “Get some rest. And when he wakes up, tell him you love him. Not because he needs to hear it, but because you need to say it.”
Tongrak swallowed hard, his heart twisting with something deep and raw.
He didn’t just love Mahasamut.
He needed him.
And he would spend every day making sure Mahasamut knew that.
Mahasamut woke with a start. His body ached, his head was pounding, and his limbs felt impossibly heavy. But for the first time in weeks, the crushing weight in his chest had lifted—just a little.
A donor had been found.
Tongrak was going to see again.
The thought sent a rush of relief through him so strong it almost made him dizzy. He sat up, rubbing his tired eyes, and ran a shaky hand through his hair. He had spent the last few weeks fighting, clawing his way through desperation and exhaustion, throwing away everything he had to fix the one thing that felt impossible to fix.
And now—there was hope.
He stood up, legs unsteady, and pushed open the door to Tongrak’s hospital room.
Before he could even take a step inside, a voice rang out, bright and full of something he hadn’t heard in too long.
“ Mahasamut! ”
Mahasamut froze.
Tongrak couldn’t see him. But he still knew .
A broken smile formed on Mahasamut’s lips. “I didn’t even say anything yet.”
Tongrak let out a soft laugh, holding his arms out. “I could smell you.” His voice wavered slightly. “Come here.”
Mahasamut felt something deep inside him shatter.
He crossed the room in two strides, letting himself be pulled down into Tongrak’s embrace. His arms wrapped tightly around his husband, feeling the warmth of him, the solid weight of him—the only thing in this world that kept Mahasamut from completely falling apart.
Tongrak clung to him. “You weren’t here when I woke up earlier.”
Mahasamut buried his face in his shoulder. “Khwan forced me to rest.”
“Good,” Tongrak whispered. Then, more firmly, “You should have.”
Mahasamut said nothing, just held him closer.
Then, after a long silence, Tongrak murmured, “Khwan told me.”
Mahasamut stiffened. His breath stalled in his throat.
“Told you what?” His voice was hoarse.
Tongrak took a shaky breath. “Everything.”
Mahasamut felt like he had been punched in the gut.
“She told me how hard you worked,” Tongrak continued, voice soft but unrelenting. “How you ran around for weeks searching for a donor. How you skipped meals, how you didn’t sleep, how you threw away everything you had to fix this. She told me you even thought about taking dangerous deep-sea jobs just for the money.” His breath hitched. “She told me… you almost sold your wedding ring.”
Mahasamut shut his eyes. Guilt burned through his veins like fire.
“Tongrak—”
“Why?”
Mahasamut opened his eyes to find Tongrak’s fingers trembling as they reached out, tracing blindly over his face. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Mahasamut swallowed hard. “Because I didn’t want you to worry.”
Tongrak let out a small, disbelieving laugh. “You didn’t want me to worry? You’re the one who nearly destroyed yourself!”
Mahasamut clenched his jaw. “I couldn’t just sit back and do nothing. You lost your sight because of me. I should’ve—I should’ve done more. I should’ve protected you—”
“Stop.”
Tongrak pressed a hand against his chest.
“Stop blaming yourself.” His voice trembled. “If anything had happened to you while you were out there doing all of that… what about me?”
Mahasamut sucked in a sharp breath.
Tongrak clenched the fabric of his shirt. “If you had drowned while taking some dangerous job, if you had disappeared, if something had happened to you—what would I have left?” His voice cracked. “What would I have wanted to see if you weren’t here anymore?”
Mahasamut’s throat closed up.
“I just… I just wanted to give you back everything you lost,” he whispered.
Tongrak let out a broken laugh. “Mahasamut… you are everything.”
Mahasamut made a choked sound—half a sob, half a laugh. His grip on Tongrak tightened, his forehead falling against his husband’s. His entire body shook as the weight of everything— weeks of pain, fear, guilt—finally came crashing down.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I’m so sorry.”
Tongrak’s arms wrapped around him, holding him steady as if he were the one who needed to be strong now. “It’s okay,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss against Mahasamut’s hair. “We’ll be okay. Together. ”
Mahasamut lifted his head, his teary eyes searching Tongrak’s face. He gently cupped his husband’s cheek, brushing away a tear with his thumb.
“I found a donor,” he whispered. His voice wavered, thick with emotion. “You’re going to see again.”
Tongrak inhaled sharply.
For a moment, he didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
Then, with a shaky, disbelieving laugh, he reached up, cupping Mahasamut’s face between his hands. His fingers trembled as they traced over his features—his forehead, his cheeks, his lips.
“Really?”
Mahasamut nodded, his lips pressing against Tongrak’s palm. “Really.”
Tongrak let out a sob that was equal parts joy and relief—and then pulled Mahasamut in.
The kiss was deep, desperate, overflowing with everything words could never say. Love. Gratitude. Relief.
Mahasamut melted into it, pouring his entire soul into the moment, one hand cupping the back of Tongrak’s head, the other wrapped securely around his waist.
When they finally parted, Tongrak pressed his forehead against Mahasamut’s, his breath uneven.
“I love you,” he whispered.
Mahasamut exhaled shakily, brushing a kiss against his lips. “I love you more.”
They held each other, their hearts still racing, their breaths still trembling—but for the first time in a long, long while, hope burned bright between them.
No matter what came next—no matter how uncertain the future was—one thing was clear.
They had each other.
Mahasamut’s hands were ice-cold.
He stood outside the operating room, his fingers clenched into fists, his jaw tight, his heart thundering so loudly it was all he could hear.
Tongrak sat in a wheelchair beside him, dressed in a hospital gown, his hands folded neatly in his lap. Compared to Mahasamut, he looked… calm. Almost peaceful.
When the nurse came forward to take him in, Mahasamut instinctively reached for him, squeezing his hand tight. His grip trembled.
Tongrak turned his face up, as if searching for him.
“Mut.” His voice was steady. “Don’t look so scared.”
Mahasamut swallowed hard, his throat too tight to speak.
Tongrak smiled. It was small but genuine. “It’s going to be okay.”
Mahasamut’s chest constricted.
How could he be so calm? How could he be the one comforting him ?
Mahasamut knelt down in front of him, cupping Tongrak’s face with both hands. His thumbs brushed gently over his cheeks. “Are you sure about this?” His voice was hoarse. “You’re not scared?”
Tongrak hesitated for the briefest second. Then he covered Mahasamut’s hands with his own, squeezing lightly. “Of course I’m scared.”
Mahasamut exhaled shakily.
“But I trust the doctors,” Tongrak continued. “And more than that…” He tilted his head slightly, as if smiling through his fear. “I trust you .”
Mahasamut sucked in a sharp breath.
The nurse cleared her throat gently. “It’s time.”
Mahasamut felt his entire body stiffen.
Tongrak squeezed his hands one last time. “I’ll see you soon,” he said softly.
And before Mahasamut could say anything—before he could beg him to stay just a little longer—Tongrak was wheeled away, disappearing behind the heavy doors.
The second he was gone, Mahasamut’s legs nearly gave out.
Mahasamut stood frozen in place long after the doors swallowed Tongrak. His arms felt heavy, his legs unsteady, as if the weight of months of exhaustion had finally caught up to him.
He didn’t even realize he was trembling until warm hands found his shoulders.
“Mahasamut,” Khwan’s voice was gentle but firm. “Come here.”
Before he could respond, she pulled him into a tight hug. He stiffened at first, but when she didn’t let go, he exhaled shakily, allowing himself to collapse into the embrace.
“You’re shaking,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “Have you even eaten today?”
Mahasamut tried to answer, but his throat closed up.
“Mut, you need to take care of yourself too,” she continued, her tone somewhere between scolding and worried. “Do you think Rak would forgive you if you collapsed before he even wakes up?”
Mahasamut let out a shuddering breath.
Then, a second pair of arms wrapped around him.
Tongrak’s mother.
She was shorter than him, smaller, but the strength in her embrace was overwhelming. She didn’t say anything at first, just held onto him like a mother comforting her own son. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft but unwavering.
“You’ve done so much for him, Mut.”
Mahasamut shut his eyes tightly.
“I know how hard you’ve fought for him,” she continued. “I know how much you love him. And I know you’ll never stop fighting for him.”
A choked sound escaped his throat. He clenched his jaw, trying to suppress the sob clawing its way up.
But then, she reached up and cradled the side of his face. A warm, motherly gesture.
“You’re my son too, Mahasamut.” Her voice cracked. “Please, let yourself rest.”
That was all it took.
The dam broke.
Mahasamut clenched his fists into the fabric of her blouse as his shoulders shook with silent sobs. He had held everything in for so long, pushing forward on sheer will alone. Now, with Tongrak’s family surrounding him, it was as if his body had finally allowed itself to feel the exhaustion, the helplessness, the fear.
Khwan tightened her grip. “It’s okay, Mut. We’re here.”
And for the first time in months, Mahasamut let himself lean on them.
For the past week, Tongrak had lived in darkness.
It was a strange kind of waiting—knowing that sight was just beyond reach but being unable to grasp it. After the surgery, the doctors had explained that his eyes needed time to heal, that the corneas had to settle, that the swelling and sensitivity would be unbearable if they removed the bandages too soon. The risk of infection, rejection, or even scarring was too high.
So for seven days, he had been left in the dark, relying on Mahasamut’s voice, his touch, the small reassurances that everything was going to be okay.
He had been patient.
But today, that patience was running thin.
He could hear the subtle excitement in the way Khwan was pacing near the window, the nervous energy in his mother’s soft murmurs to the nurse. And Mahasamut—his husband had barely spoken all morning.
Tongrak could feel him beside him, unmoving, radiating tension.
Then, the doctor spoke.
“Well, it’s time.”
The room fell into a heavy silence.
Tongrak’s stomach flipped, but he grinned, trying to shake off the weight of the moment. “About time. I’ve been stuck like this forever.”
Mahasamut let out a choked sound—something between a laugh and a breath he had been holding too long.
The doctor chuckled. “I’ll supervise, but Mahasamut—why don’t you do the honors?”
Mahasamut inhaled sharply beside him. Tongrak turned his head slightly, reaching for his husband’s hand. “Me?” Mahasamut rasped, barely above a whisper.
“Of course,” the doctor said gently. “You fought for this.”
Tongrak felt Mahasamut shift, but he wasn’t moving yet. His breath was uneven, and when he finally took Tongrak’s hand, his palm was damp and trembling.
Why was he so nervous?
Tongrak giggled, squeezing his fingers. “Why are you so tense?” he teased. “I can’t wait to see you, husband.”
Mahasamut’s breath hitched.
Tongrak didn’t miss the way his fingers twitched against his own.
Finally, Mahasamut moved. He reached out, his fingertips ghosting over the soft gauze, hesitating at the knot that held it in place.
Tongrak could hear his shaky inhale.
“I’ll finally get to see you again,” he whispered, and the room felt smaller, heavier.
Mahasamut exhaled slowly. His voice was thick, barely holding together.
“Yeah… you will.”
With careful hands, he began to unwind the bandages.
The gauze slipped away in slow, delicate movements.
Tongrak held still, his heart hammering against his ribs.
There was nothing but silence.
Then—
A sliver of light.
His breath caught.
It was dim, blurred, but it was there. A glow beyond his eyelids.
Mahasamut’s hands hovered over his face. “Open them,” he whispered, voice unsteady.
Tongrak did.
And the world flooded in.
Mahasamut was still.
His breath was stuck in his throat, his fingers frozen just above Tongrak’s cheeks as the last of the bandages fell away.
And then—he saw them.
Tongrak’s eyes.
They were different. A shade lighter than before, the irises holding the faintest ring of gold that hadn't been there once. But they were still his. The same eyes that used to look at him with warmth and mischief. The same eyes that crinkled at the edges when he laughed.
Mahasamut swallowed thickly, his throat burning.
He didn’t realize he was shaking until he heard his own voice—raw and uneven.
“…Rak?”
Tongrak blinked slowly, adjusting to the light, his pupils dilating as his gaze finally settled. He stared straight ahead, his lips slightly parted. Then, his brows furrowed in concentration.
His gaze landed on Mahasamut.
The moment their eyes met, something in Mahasamut shattered.
“…Can you see me?”
A beat of silence.
Then—Tongrak’s lips curled into the softest, sweetest smile. He blinked again, then let out a small, breathy giggle.
“I can.”
Mahasamut’s world tilted. His hands flew up to cup Tongrak’s face, his fingers brushing over soft cheeks, feeling real warmth under his touch. Tongrak’s eyes—his beautiful eyes—were watching him.
Looking at him.
Seeing him.
A strangled noise broke from Mahasamut’s throat, and before he could stop himself, he was leaning in, pressing his forehead against Tongrak’s. His whole body shook.
“You can see me,” he whispered, voice trembling. “You can really see me.”
Tongrak giggled again, the sound light and teasing. His hands came up to Mahasamut’s shoulders, gripping them gently. “You’re crying,” he pointed out.
Mahasamut let out a broken laugh. “Of course, I am, you idiot.”
Tongrak laughed too, soft and full of warmth. “I knew I’d see you again.” He brushed his thumbs under Mahasamut’s damp eyes, feeling the wetness there. His voice softened, growing fond. “You’re just as handsome as I remember.”
Mahasamut let out a shaky breath, his lips curling despite himself. “And you’re just as beautiful,” he whispered, his thumb brushing over Tongrak’s cheek. “I thought—I thought I’d lost you.”
Tongrak hummed, tilting his head slightly in Mahasamut’s hold, drinking in every inch of his face now that he could. “You found me.”
Mahasamut bit his lip, his breath hitching.
“I love you,” he choked out. “I love you so much, Rak.”
Tongrak’s smile widened, eyes glistening.
“And I love you, Mut.”
Mahasamut’s resolve crumbled. He surged forward, capturing Tongrak’s lips in a deep, desperate kiss. Tongrak sighed against his mouth, his fingers curling in Mahasamut’s hair, his whole body melting into the warmth of his husband.
He could see him.
He could see his world again.
And his world was Mahasamut.
The hospital room was quiet, the air thick with the scent of antiseptic and fresh linen. The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast gentle shadows on the walls, wrapping the space in warmth.
Tongrak lay curled against Mahasamut’s chest, his fingers idly tracing over the fabric of his husband's shirt, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. Their legs were tangled beneath the blankets, bodies pressed close, fitting together like they always had—like they always would.
It felt surreal. After everything.
“I’m still mad at you.”
Mahasamut chuckled, the sound a low rumble against Tongrak’s ear. “I figured.”
Tongrak lifted his head slightly, attempting a glare, but Mahasamut could see the pout forming on his lips, the faintest furrow of his brows.
“You sold everything,” he huffed. “Your gear, your boat—do you even realize what you’ve done?”
Mahasamut smirked, his fingers brushing through Tongrak’s soft hair. “I got you back. That’s all that matters.”
Tongrak scoffed, but Mahasamut could feel the way his grip tightened, the way his hands fisted into his shirt like he never wanted to let go.
“I’m going to do something extravagant,” Tongrak declared, tilting his chin up.
Mahasamut raised an amused brow. “Oh? Like what?”
Tongrak paused, narrowing his eyes. “…Something.”
Mahasamut laughed, pulling him even closer. “Sure, baby.”
Tongrak exhaled dramatically. “I’m serious. First, I’m taking you on a trip. Somewhere ridiculous. Somewhere expensive. With ridiculous hotel suites and rose petals on the bed and champagne I won’t even drink.”
Mahasamut chuckled. “Romantic.”
“I am romantic,” Tongrak said, nudging him. “I just had to lose my sight and get it back to prove it.”
Mahasamut groaned. “Too soon.”
Tongrak giggled. “Fine. But I’m not done. Second, I’m buying you new gear. The best gear. The best boat. Something absurdly expensive, just to be petty.”
Mahasamut rolled his eyes fondly. “That’s not how marriage works.”
“That’s exactly how marriage works,” Tongrak countered. “You do something stupid, and I make an even bigger scene about fixing it.”
Mahasamut huffed a laugh. “I don’t need any of that, Rak.”
Tongrak looked up at him then, his eyes soft, glistening under the dim light. “But I do.” His voice wavered just slightly. “You gave up everything for me. I want to give back to you. I need to.”
Mahasamut’s throat tightened. He reached up, cradling Tongrak’s face between his hands, brushing his thumbs along his cheeks.
“I already have everything I want,” he murmured.
Tongrak rolled his eyes, but Mahasamut could see the emotion behind them, the way they shone with unshed tears. “Cheesy.”
Mahasamut smirked. “You love it.”
Tongrak smiled, letting out a soft hum. “I do.”
Mahasamut pressed a lingering kiss to his forehead, his lips warm and tender against his skin.
“I’m just glad you’re back,” he whispered, his voice filled with so much love it made Tongrak’s heart ache.
Tongrak melted into him, his fingers curling into Mahasamut’s shirt, gripping tightly.
“I never left,” he whispered back, closing his eyes. He pressed his lips against Mahasamut’s collarbone, breathing him in. “I’m always here.”
Mahasamut closed his eyes too, holding him even tighter.
After everything, they had made it back to each other.
And that was all that mattered.