Archive of Our Own ^beta

Mahasamut had always known silence, but not this kind.

Back on the island, silence was never truly empty. It was the whisper of waves curling against the shore, the wind carrying the scent of salt and sun-warmed sand. It was the creak of boats shifting with the tide, the distant laughter of divers, and the rhythmic pulse of the ocean breathing beneath his feet. But here, in the towering apartment he shared with Tongrak, silence was suffocating. It pressed against his ribs, heavy and airless, swallowing every sound except for the distant hum of traffic and the occasional chime of an elevator in the hallway.

He stared at the ceiling, his body restless against the unfamiliar softness of the bed. The air conditioning hummed—a poor substitute for the ocean breeze that once lulled him to sleep. He turned, careful not to wake Tongrak, who slept soundly beside him, unaware of the storm brewing beneath Mahasamut’s skin.

His chest ached with something he couldn't name. He had chosen this—chased after love, after a future with Tongrak—but some nights, it felt like he had left a part of himself behind, buried in the sand where the tide would never return it.

Mahasamut exhaled slowly, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. He could do this. He had to. For Tongrak.

Morning would come soon, and he would smile like he always did.

The front door swung open with a soft click, followed by the hurried shuffle of shoes being kicked off.

"Mahasamut~!!" Tongrak’s voice rang through the apartment, sing-song and sweet. Mahasamut glanced up from where he sat cross-legged on the couch, halfway through folding laundry, his fingers pausing mid-motion.

"In here," he called back.

He barely had time to blink before Tongrak came bounding into the room, eyes sparkling with excitement. His hair was slightly tousled, his white shirt wrinkled from a long day, and his bag dangled from one shoulder — barely holding on, much like Mahasamut’s heart.

"There you are," Tongrak huffed dramatically, dropping his bag to the floor with zero grace. He threw his arms wide open. "I had the worst day. Please give me a hug. I deserve it."

Mahasamut let out a soft chuckle but didn’t move fast enough. Tongrak flopped onto the couch beside him, immediately wrapping himself around Mahasamut’s arm like an overenthusiastic koala.

"Guess what happened?" Tongrak continued without waiting for an answer. "The editor made me rewrite the entire last section because apparently, my article wasn't ‘heartfelt’ enough." He buried his face in Mahasamut’s shoulder. "Can you believe that? I’m full of heart. I’m all heart."

Mahasamut smiled despite himself. "You’re also very dramatic."

"I’m adorable, that's what I am." Tongrak pouted, tilting his head up, chin resting on Mahasamut’s shoulder. "And I’m exhausted. Please kiss me."

Mahasamut shook his head softly, but his heart was doing flips. "Is that how it works now?"

"Mm-hmm." Tongrak closed his eyes with a contented hum. "You're my boyfriend. Healing me is in your job description."

Mahasamut leaned down and kissed the top of his head, inhaling the faint scent of shampoo and inked paper. Tongrak sighed happily, snuggling closer.

And God, how was this real? How was he real? Mahasamut could barely process the way Tongrak curled into him like he was the safest place in the world. The way he clung without hesitation, warm and soft and utterly his.

"You're clingy today," Mahasamut teased gently.

"I'm always clingy." Tongrak grinned against his shoulder. "You love it."

He did. He really, really did. He loved the way Tongrak's hands absentmindedly played with his fingers, the way he traced lazy circles on the back of Mahasamut's hand without even realizing it. The way he filled every room with laughter and warmth, as if happiness followed wherever he went.

And yet… that warmth only made the cold inside Mahasamut's chest hurt more. Because how could someone this good, this perfect, love him so deeply when he felt so far away from himself?

"You okay?" Tongrak asked suddenly, voice quieter. He peered up with big, curious eyes. "You got quiet on me."

Mahasamut blinked, shaking off the thoughts clawing at the back of his mind. "Yeah," he said with a soft smile. "Just… lucky to have you."

Tongrak beamed at that, nuzzling closer until there was no space left between them. "Good. 'Cause I’m never letting you go."

And Mahasamut melted, just like he always did.

By the time Tongrak had finally peeled himself off the couch to shower, the apartment had fallen into a familiar calm — the kind that settled between two people who fit so perfectly together that words weren't always needed.

Mahasamut moved through the kitchen in quiet efficiency, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a gentle frown tugging at his lips as he sliced vegetables with practiced ease. The sizzling sound of garlic hitting hot oil filled the room, warm and inviting. It smelled like home… or at least the kind he was trying to build here.

The rice cooker let out a soft click, signaling it was done. Mahasamut wiped his hands on a dish towel, exhaling slowly. He liked this part — taking care of Tongrak. Pouring all the love he couldn’t find words for into the little things: the way he set aside extra tofu because he knew Tongrak would steal half of it before dinner, the way he seasoned the soup exactly how Tongrak liked it, with just a little too much pepper because "it tastes warmer that way."

It made him feel steady. Needed. Like he still had a purpose.

"Something smells amazing."

Mahasamut looked up to find Tongrak standing in the doorway, hair damp and messy from his shower. He was wearing one of Mahasamut’s oversized T-shirts — the one that hung off his shoulders a little too loosely — and a sleepy smile curved his lips.

Mahasamut’s chest ached at the sight. How did he make everything look so effortlessly… soft?

"You're just hungry," Mahasamut said with a chuckle, turning back to the stove. "Go sit. It's almost ready."

Tongrak didn’t listen, of course. He padded over barefoot and rested his chin on Mahasamut’s shoulder, wrapping his arms loosely around his waist. "I missed you today," he mumbled against his back.

Mahasamut paused. His hands faltered slightly on the ladle. He swallowed. "You saw me this morning."

"Doesn’t matter." Tongrak hugged him a little tighter. "Missed you anyway."

God. That was the thing about Tongrak. He never held back. Never hid how he felt. He could say something so simple — so devastatingly soft — and it would unravel Mahasamut from the inside out.

He wanted to hold on to this moment. Keep it forever. But the more Tongrak clung to him, the more Mahasamut felt like he was holding on to something he couldn’t quite reach.

They ate dinner curled up on the couch, legs tangled under a shared blanket. Tongrak talked about his day, animated and wide-eyed, laughing at his own jokes. Mahasamut watched him quietly, nodding in all the right places, holding his hand under the table like it was second nature.

And yet… somewhere in the back of his mind, the waves kept calling him home.

Dinner plates sat forgotten on the coffee table, half-empty bowls stacked neatly because Mahasamut could never leave a mess, even when he wasn’t in the mood to care. The TV flickered softly in the background, playing some rom-com Tongrak had picked — not that either of them was really watching.

Mahasamut glanced down at the weight resting against his shoulder. Tongrak had fallen asleep halfway through the movie, cheek squished adorably against his arm, breath slow and steady. His lips were parted slightly, dark lashes resting softly against his skin.

Mahasamut’s chest clenched.

Carefully, he reached out and brushed a strand of hair from Tongrak’s forehead. He lingered for a second too long, fingertips tracing gently over his temple. He looked so peaceful. So perfect.

Mahasamut swallowed hard.

"You’re everything," he whispered, voice barely audible over the hum of the TV. "And I don’t know how to keep up."

The words hung in the air for a moment, heavy and aching, before Mahasamut exhaled quietly. He shifted, sliding one arm under Tongrak’s knees and the other around his back. Lifting him wasn’t hard — he was light, warm, familiar. Mahasamut had carried him like this before, but tonight… tonight felt different.

He walked slowly to their bedroom, careful not to jostle him. Tongrak stirred slightly in his sleep, nuzzling closer into Mahasamut's chest with a soft sigh. It tugged at something deep in him — something fragile. Something breaking.

When he reached the bed, he laid Tongrak down as gently as he could. He pulled the blanket up, tucking it around his shoulders, smoothing it down the way Tongrak liked. For a moment, he just stood there, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest.

He leaned down and pressed a feather-light kiss to his forehead. "Sweet dreams, Rak."

And then he left.

The second the door clicked shut behind him, the tears came.

They hit fast, hot and overwhelming, spilling down his cheeks before he could stop them. He pressed his back against the wall, sliding down until he was sitting on the floor, head tilted back, breaths coming in ragged, uneven gasps.

He didn’t even know why he was crying. Or maybe he did. Maybe he had known for a long time.

Because this wasn’t home.
Because he had left too much of himself behind.

Mahasamut dragged a hand down his face, letting out a shaky exhale. He would keep going. He had to. But here, in the dark, with no one watching — he let himself break.

Just for a little while.

He barely realized he was moving until he felt the cold night air sting his skin. He slipped quietly through the glass doors of the living room balcony, careful not to make a sound. The city stretched out before him, glittering in the dark — lights blinking from skyscrapers, cars rushing by far below. It was beautiful. Loud. So full of life.

And he hated it.

The second the door clicked shut behind him, his legs gave out. He sank down against the railing, pressing his forehead to his knees as the tears came harder. Harsh, shuddering breaths wracked his chest. He clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles ached, but the pain did nothing to ground him.

This wasn’t home.
It never had been.

He gasped in another breath, chest rising and falling too fast. His heart pounded violently in his ears. His face was wet, tears slipping down his chin, but he couldn’t stop.

What was he even doing here?

In Bangkok, he was nobody. No job, no purpose — just a live-in boyfriend living in Tongrak’s apartment, eating Tongrak’s food, spending Tongrak’s money. Every time he swiped a card or signed a receipt, guilt coiled tighter in his chest. He was a guest in his own life, floating through days that didn’t feel like his.

Back on the island, he was someone. He mattered. He could feel the ocean under his feet, taste the salt on his skin, and know exactly who he was. There were things to fix, places to be — he belonged there. Here, he was just… here.

Tongrak deserved better.

He dragged his hands down his face, choking on another breath. Tongrak thought the world of him — loved him with everything he had, as if Mahasamut hung the stars in the sky. And Mahasamut… God, he wanted to believe it. But how could he, when every time he looked in the mirror, all he saw was someone who wasn’t enough?

He wiped his face roughly with his sleeve, but the tears kept falling, hot and endless.

He missed the ocean. He missed the feeling of solid ground under his feet. He missed being useful. Out there, he could dive deep, chase currents, hold his breath until his lungs burned. He could fight waves and win. But here… he was drowning in silence.

And Tongrak had no idea.

Mahasamut tilted his head back against the railing, looking up at the stars — or where they should’ve been, buried somewhere behind the city lights.

He pressed a hand to his chest, where the ache never really went away. "I don’t belong here," he whispered. His voice cracked. "I don’t know how to belong here."

The wind picked up, cold against his damp skin. He pulled his knees closer to his chest, curling into himself, as if holding everything in might stop it from spilling over.

But it never did.

And Mahasamut didn’t know how much longer he could keep pretending.

The first light of dawn spilled softly through the curtains, bathing the apartment in muted gold. The city outside had already started to hum to life — cars rushing by, faint sounds of distant chatter filtering through the windows.

Mahasamut sat at the kitchen counter, hands wrapped around a mug of coffee that had long since gone cold. He stared blankly at the swirling patterns in the dark liquid, eyes heavy with the weight of a night spent sleepless.

He had cried until his chest hurt. Until his throat felt raw and his head pounded with every beat of his heart. By the time the sun began to rise, he’d run out of tears. Now, there was just… nothing.

But he could fake it. He always did.

The soft patter of footsteps pulled him from his thoughts.

"Morning!" Tongrak’s voice rang out, bright and warm as ever.

Mahasamut forced a smile before looking up. "Morning."

Tongrak was wearing his favorite oversized pajamas — and his hair was a mess, flopping adorably over his forehead. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he shuffled over to Mahasamut, slumping dramatically against him.

"You’re awake early," Tongrak mumbled, voice muffled against Mahasamut’s shoulder. "Or did you even sleep?"

Mahasamut let out a low chuckle, pressing a quick kiss to the top of Tongrak’s head. "Slept fine." He hoped it sounded convincing. "You’re just late."

Tongrak gasped in mock offense, pulling back with wide eyes. "Rude. I was having important dreams."

"Oh yeah? About what?"

"Food."

Mahasamut laughed — or something close to it. The sound felt hollow, like it barely reached his chest. But Tongrak didn’t seem to notice. He beamed, resting his chin on Mahasamut’s shoulder again.

"You’re warm," he murmured. "Stay like this forever."

Mahasamut’s smile faltered for half a second. He hoped Tongrak didn’t feel it.

"Forever’s a long time," he said softly.

"Good," Tongrak mumbled sleepily. "I’m not going anywhere."

And God, that was the problem.

Mahasamut exhaled quietly, lifting his coffee to his lips. He took a slow sip, letting the bitter taste sit on his tongue. It was easier than swallowing the lump in his throat.

"So, what’s the plan for today?" Tongrak asked, still draped lazily over him. "We could go to that new cafe you like. Or… ooh, what if we went to the park? I heard they’re doing an art market thing. We could walk around, buy something cute — or just people-watch. You love people-watching."

Mahasamut’s heart ached at how easily Tongrak could include him in everything, like he was the center of his world. Like this life — this bright, bustling life — was theirs to share.

But Mahasamut was just… here. Smiling. Nodding. Pretending to fit.

"Sure," he said. "Sounds fun."

And Tongrak grinned, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before skipping off to get ready. Mahasamut watched him go, heart twisting in his chest.

He could fake it for a little longer.
He had to.

But how much longer until he couldn’t?

By the time Tongrak emerged from the bedroom, freshly showered and dressed in a soft beige hoodie and jeans, his excitement was practically vibrating in the air. He spun in a slow circle, arms spread wide.

"How do I look?" he asked with a grin.

Mahasamut glanced up from where he was still nursing the same cold cup of coffee. "Perfect," he said softly.

And he meant it. Tongrak always looked perfect — in a way that made his chest hurt if he thought about it too long.

Tongrak beamed. "You’re just saying that because you love me."

"Maybe."

"Definitely." He bounced over to the couch and grabbed his phone. "Okay, let me just text Connor and see if he wants to join us at the market later. He was saying something about needing a distraction."

Mahasamut stared down at the counter, fingers tightening slightly around the mug. His heart started to pound, and he hated that it did. Hated the way the walls felt like they were closing in.

He didn’t want to go. He couldn’t.

"Actually…" He hesitated. "I can’t come. I just remembered I have to pick up Meena from school."

Tongrak blinked, caught mid-scroll on his phone. "What? I thought Meena had a ride today."

"Yeah, but her mom just called," Mahasamut lied smoothly. He hated how easily it came out. "She got stuck at work. Asked if I could help."

"Oh…" Tongrak’s face fell just slightly, but he covered it with a quick nod. "Okay. Yeah, of course."

Mahasamut’s stomach twisted.

"I’m sorry," he added quietly. "We can go tomorrow?"

"Sure," Tongrak said, but his voice had lost some of its brightness. He fiddled with the hem of his hoodie, shrugging a little. "It’s fine. I’ll just stop by the publication center instead. I need to check on some deadlines anyway."

He smiled — soft, understanding. But there was something behind it. Disappointment. A flicker of sadness he wasn’t quite hiding.

And it crushed Mahasamut.

"Rak…"

"It’s okay," Tongrak cut him off gently. "Really. I’ll see you later?"

Mahasamut nodded. "Yeah. Later."

Tongrak leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his lips before grabbing his bag and heading for the door. He paused for a second with his hand on the knob, like he was waiting for Mahasamut to change his mind. But when nothing came, he sighed softly and walked out.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Mahasamut sat there for a long moment, the apartment suddenly feeling too quiet. Too empty. He let out a shaky breath, running a hand down his face.

There was no Meena.
No school run.
Just him.

And the weight of everything he couldn’t bring himself to say.

Mahasamut stared at his phone for a long time. The screen dimmed, then went dark, reflecting his tired, hollow-eyed expression back at him. He let out a slow breath through his nose, then tapped the screen awake again.

Palm’s contact stared back at him.

He shouldn’t call. What was he even going to say?
But the weight in his chest was too much — pressing harder, sinking deeper.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he tapped the call button. It rang once. Twice.

“Hey, bro!” Palm’s voice crackled through the speaker, warm and easy as ever. "Long time no call. What’s up?"

Mahasamut exhaled shakily, leaning back against the couch. "Nothing. Just… wanted to hear your voice."

Palm let out a soft laugh. "Okay, that’s weird. Are you drunk?"

"No."

"Hungover?"

"No."

Palm went quiet for a beat. When he spoke again, his voice was softer. "You good?"

Mahasamut closed his eyes. "I miss home."

It came out quieter than he meant. More broken.

There was a pause on the other end. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Mahasamut rubbed his hand over his face, fingers trembling slightly. "I miss the ocean. The air. The way things made sense back there. Here… I don’t know what I’m doing."

Palm sighed. "Bangkok that bad?"

"It’s not Bangkok," Mahasamut admitted. "It’s me."

Another pause. He could almost picture Palm frowning. "What do you mean?"

Mahasamut swallowed hard. "I’m useless here, Palm. I’m just… this un-city boyfriend Tongrak has to drag around everywhere. I can’t keep up with his life. I don’t know how to talk to people the way he does. I embarrass him — I know I do. And I just… I hate it."

Palm’s voice softened. "Mahasamu—"

"I feel like I’m pretending to be someone I’m not." His voice cracked at the end, and he cursed under his breath. "I hate it so much. I hate feeling like this."

Palm was quiet for a long moment. "He never said that, right? That you embarrass him?"

"No," Mahasamut admitted. "But… he wouldn’t. He’s too nice."

Palm let out a slow breath. "Okay. Well, I’ve known you a long time, man. And you’re a lot of things, but useless isn’t one of them."

Mahasamut pressed his lips together. He wanted to believe it. God, he wanted to believe it so badly.

"You ever tell him any of this?" Palm asked gently.

"No."

"You should."

"I can’t."

"Why not?"

Mahasamut blinked hard, staring down at the floor. "Because he loves me too much." His voice broke again. "And I don’t want him to know that… I’m not enough."

Palm sighed again, this time heavier. "P’Mut you’re an idiot."

Mahasamut let out a weak laugh. "Yeah. I know."

They sat in silence for a beat, the distant sound of the city filling the background.

"You coming back anytime soon?" Palm asked quietly.

Mahasamut hesitated. He wanted to say yes. He wanted to get on the next flight and run back to the only place where he ever felt like himself. But that wasn’t fair. Not to Tongrak.

"I don’t know," he whispered.

And that was the worst part — not knowing how much longer he could keep pretending this was enough.

The weekend market buzzed with life — the kind of chaotic, colorful energy that Tongrak loved. Stalls lined the narrow paths, packed with everything from fresh fruit to handwoven scarves. The air smelled like grilled meat and sweet coconut, and people bustled past with arms full of shopping bags.

Tongrak walked with an easy bounce in his step, a woven bag slung over his shoulder. "You should try these," he said, holding out a piece of ripe mango on a toothpick. "Best in Bangkok."

His mother chuckled softly, taking the bite. "You always say that."

"Because it’s true." He grinned. "You think I’d lie to my own mother?"

She rolled her eyes with a fond smile. "You’re sweet-talking me because you want me to buy you those ugly shirts again."

"They're not ugly — they're trendy," Tongrak shot back, laughing. He turned to pay for a bag of fresh herbs when his mother spoke again.

"Where’s Mahasamut?" she asked casually. "I thought you two were spending the day together."

Tongrak shrugged lightly. "He had to pick up Meena from school."

His mother stilled for half a second. It was so slight that anyone else might’ve missed it — but not Tongrak.

"Hmm," she said quietly. "I see."

Tongrak smiled, oblivious. "Yeah. He felt bad about bailing, but I told him it’s fine. We’ve got all the time in the world, right?"

"Right." She smiled back, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

They continued walking through the market, but something in her expression had changed — softer, more thoughtful. She asked Tongrak about work, about his writing, about his plans for the week.

But all the while, the thought sat heavy in the back of her mind.
Meena is at her friend’s house today.

She glanced at Tongrak as he enthusiastically bargained for a new tote bag, still cheerful, still beaming. He seemed so certain that everything was fine.

And yet… something didn’t sit right.

She kept the thought to herself.
But the feeling — that quiet, uneasy feeling — lingered.

Maybe she should stop by to see Mahasamut.
Just to check.

The sun dipped low on the Bangkok skyline as Tongrak climbed the steps to their apartment, humming softly under his breath. He juggled the grocery bags in one hand, reaching for his keys with the other.

The key turned smoothly in the lock. He pushed the door open with a familiar creak.

"I’m home!" he called out brightly.

Silence.

Tongrak frowned, stepping inside. The apartment felt… still. Too still. No TV murmuring in the background. No soft clatter from the kitchen. The air hung heavy, as if it were holding its breath.

"Mut?" he tried again, setting the bags down on the kitchen counter. "You home?"

Nothing.

He glanced at the shoes by the door. Mahasamut’s sneakers were still there, neatly tucked where he always left them. Tongrak exhaled, a nervous chuckle escaping his lips. Maybe he was in the shower.

But the bathroom was empty.

The bedroom too.

The bed was unmade — messy sheets tangled together, the pillow slightly damp as if someone had pressed their face into it for too long. Tongrak’s chest tightened. He pulled out his phone and dialed, pressing it to his ear.

The ringing echoed through the apartment. The phone was still here.

His heart began to pound.

He checked the balcony next — empty. The laundry room — empty. By the time he circled back to the living room, his breaths were coming fast, panic clawing at his chest.

Where was he?

And then his gaze fell on the coffee table.

A small amber bottle sat there, the label half-hidden under a discarded tissue. Tongrak picked it up, his hands trembling.

Antidepressants.

His stomach dropped.

He blinked rapidly, his breath catching in his throat as he looked around the room with fresh eyes — noticing things he hadn’t seen before.
A journal, left open on the couch. Pages scribbled with messy handwriting, full of half-finished sentences. Frustrated words scratched out so violently they tore through the paper.

"I don’t belong here."
"I’m trying, but I feel useless."
"Rak deserves better."

Tongrak’s breath hitched. He flipped to another page.

"I miss home."
"I’m just… tired."

The walls felt like they were closing in. He set the journal down carefully, his hands shaking. His eyes flitted across the room again — to the untouched breakfast from this morning, still sitting on the dining table. To the pile of unopened job application letters. To Mahasamut’s dive gear, stuffed in a corner gathering dust.

How long had he been feeling like this?

How long had he been hiding it?

Tongrak sank down onto the couch, running his hands through his hair, panic crashing over him in waves. He reached for his phone again, dialing quickly. It went straight to voicemail.

"Mut," he whispered, voice trembling. "Where are you?"

He stood up again, pacing the room, heart pounding painfully against his ribs. He checked the bathroom trash — crumpled tissues, more empty pill sleeves than there should have been.

Tongrak pressed his fist to his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut. His breathing turned shallow, ragged.

How could he have missed this?

How could he not know?

He grabbed his keys.
He had to find him.

The rain had started halfway through his walk — light at first, a gentle drizzle that clung to his skin. By the time Mahasamut reached the familiar house at the end of the street, it was pouring.

He stood outside the gate, chest heaving, breath clouding the air. The porch light spilled warm and golden across the driveway, and through the window, he could see her — Tongrak’s mother — sitting at the dining table with a cup of tea.

For a moment, he hesitated.
He shouldn’t be here.
She was Tongrak’s mother.
She didn’t need to deal with this. With him.

But his feet were already moving.
Before he could think twice, he knocked.

The door opened within seconds.
"Mahasamut?" she blinked, surprised. "What are you doing here, dear?"

He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He stood there instead — soaked from head to toe, hair dripping onto the porch, fists clenched at his sides. His breathing was ragged, uneven.

She frowned. "Are you alright?"

That was all it took.
The dam burst.

"No," he choked out. His voice cracked. "I… I don’t think I’m okay."

Her expression softened instantly. "Oh, sweetheart…"

She pulled him inside without another word. He let her guide him to the couch, let her wrap a towel around his trembling shoulders, let her press a warm cup of tea into his hands.

And then she sat beside him. Gently. Patiently.

The moment her hand rested softly on his knee, the tears came.

They fell hard, fast — gushing down his face before he could stop them. He tried to wipe them away, but it was useless. His chest heaved with every sob, breaths ragged and broken.

"I don’t know what I’m doing anymore," he gasped between breaths. "I feel so… lost. I… I left everything behind for him, and I love him so much, but…" His voice broke. "I don’t belong here."

She didn’t interrupt. She didn’t tell him to calm down. She just let him cry.

"I’m trying," he continued shakily. "I keep pretending I’m happy because I don’t want him to worry, but… I feel so useless. I’m just… his live-in boyfriend who can’t even find a job. I don’t fit in here. I miss home. I miss the ocean. And I’m scared I’m just going to embarrass him."

His voice cracked on the last word. He buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking violently. "I’m scared I’m not enough for him."

The room was quiet except for the sound of his muffled sobs filling the space. The weight of his own words hung heavy in the air.

And then, softly, she spoke.
"Oh, honey…"

She reached over, gently pulling his hands away from his face. He looked at her, eyes swollen and red, cheeks streaked with tears.

"You listen to me," she said softly, brushing the damp hair from his forehead. "You are not a burden. You’re not useless. You are not just… some boyfriend. You’re family."

His chest ached. His breath hitched.

"And I love you too," she added. "You are not alone in this."

He blinked at her through the tears.
She had no idea how much those words meant.

She was the only mother figure he had ever known.
His own parents had abandoned him long before he could even understand what he had done wrong. He had spent years pretending it didn’t hurt — telling himself that family didn’t matter. That he was fine on his own.

Until he met her.

She treated him like he belonged. Like he mattered.
And now, as she sat there holding his hand, it broke something inside him — something he hadn’t realized he was holding onto.

He exhaled shakily, tears still slipping down his cheeks. "I’m scared I’m going to ruin everything."

"You’re not going to ruin anything," she said gently. "You and Tongrak… you’re strong. Stronger than you think."

"I don’t know," he whispered. "I feel like I’m just… hiding everything from him. I don’t want him to worry. He’s got so much going on with work, and he’s so happy here. I don’t want to be the one to bring him down."

She sighed softly. "Have you tried talking to him about how you feel?"

Mahasamut swallowed hard. "No."

"Why not?"

He looked down at his hands, fingers tightening around the cup. "Because… what if he realizes I’m not who he thinks I am? What if I tell him how I feel, and he sees me differently?"

Her expression softened further. "Honey… Tongrak’s not going to love you any less because you’re struggling. Love isn’t about pretending to be okay. It’s about being real. About letting each other in."

Mahasamut looked down at his hands. The tears slowed, but his chest still ached. "I don’t know how to tell him."

She reached over, squeezing his hand gently. "You start with the truth."

He exhaled shakily.
The truth.
The truth was terrifying.
But maybe… maybe he owed it to Tongrak to try.

For now, though… he just let her hold his hand.

And for the first time in weeks, he let himself rest.

The apartment was dark except for the faint glow of the kitchen light. Tongrak sat curled on the couch, arms wrapped around his knees, his eyes swollen from hours of crying. His phone lay discarded beside him, the screen littered with unanswered calls and messages.

His heart had been hammering against his ribs all night.

Where was Mahasamut?

The sound of the door unlocking sent him lurching to his feet.

And then—

Mahasamut stepped inside.

Drenched from the rain. Eyes heavy with exhaustion.

Before he could say a word, Tongrak was on him.

A choked sob tore from his throat as he crashed into Mahasamut’s chest, arms locking around his waist so tightly it was as if he were afraid he would disappear again. Mahasamut barely had time to catch his breath before he felt Tongrak shaking against him, fists clenching into the damp fabric of his hoodie.

"Where the hell were you?" Tongrak’s voice cracked, muffled against his shoulder. "I thought—I thought—"

His breathing hitched violently. He couldn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t want to.

Mahasamut exhaled shakily, wrapping his arms around him just as tightly. "I’m sorry," he whispered. "I’m so, so sorry."

"You didn’t answer my calls," Tongrak hiccupped, pulling back just enough to look at him. His face was a mess—tear-streaked, flushed, raw. His lips trembled. "You just—left. And I—" He inhaled sharply, his nails digging into Mahasamut’s back. "I thought I lost you."

Mahasamut’s chest clenched. Guilt swelled like a tidal wave, crashing over him in relentless waves.

"I wasn’t thinking," he admitted hoarsely. "I just—I couldn’t breathe, Rak. I felt like I was drowning."

Tongrak’s hands tightened around him. "Then why didn’t you tell me?" His voice broke. "Why didn’t you let me help you?"

Mahasamut swallowed hard, pulling back just enough to meet Tongrak’s eyes. They were glistening, wide and desperate. He reached up, hesitantly brushing his fingers along Tongrak’s damp cheek.

"Because I was scared," he murmured. "Scared that if I told you how I really felt, you’d see me differently. That you’d realize I don’t belong here."

Tongrak’s breath caught. His brows knit together, something breaking in his expression. "Mut—"

Mahasamut shook his head, stepping back slightly, his arms sliding down to clasp Tongrak’s wrists. "I have to tell you something," he said, voice barely above a whisper. His throat burned. "And I need you to listen."

Tongrak sniffled, nodding quickly. "Okay," he rasped. "Okay. I’m listening."

Mahasamut inhaled deeply, his fingers trembling where they held onto Tongrak. He had spent months burying this, pretending, pushing it down so far that he thought he could outrun it. But now, with Tongrak looking at him like this—like he was the most precious thing in the world—he knew he couldn’t keep running.

"I miss home," he admitted. The words left his lips in a shuddering breath. "I miss the ocean. I miss… feeling like I have a purpose."

Tongrak’s fingers twitched against his.

"I love you," Mahasamut continued, voice breaking. "More than anything. But I feel like I’m just… existing here. Like I’m floating with no direction. I wanted to be strong for you. I wanted to be enough." He squeezed his eyes shut, his breath shuddering. "But I don’t know if I am."

Silence.

Then—warmth.

Tongrak cupped his face in his hands, tilting his head up until Mahasamut was forced to meet his gaze.

"Mut," he whispered, his thumb brushing away the fresh tear slipping down Mahasamut’s cheek. "You are enough. You’ve always been enough."

Mahasamut’s breath caught.

"You don’t have to pretend with me," Tongrak continued, his voice thick with emotion. "You don’t have to hide. If you’re struggling, then we’ll figure it out. Together." His fingers curled against Mahasamut’s jaw, desperate, aching. "But don’t ever think for a second that you’re not wanted. That you don’t belong here with me."

Mahasamut felt himself shatter.

His walls, his fears, his exhaustion—everything collapsed under the weight of Tongrak’s words. A ragged sob tore from his throat, and Tongrak caught him before he could fall, holding him close, holding him together.

"I was so scared you wouldn’t come back," Tongrak admitted, voice muffled against Mahasamut’s shoulder. "I don’t care if we have to leave this city, if we have to start over somewhere else—just don’t leave me like that again."

Mahasamut clung to him, fingers fisting into his shirt.

"I won’t," he whispered, pressing his face against Tongrak’s hair. "I promise."

For the first time in a long time, the weight on his chest lifted.

Tongrak pulled back slightly, his breath still shaky, his hands still clutching Mahasamut as if afraid he would vanish if he let go. His fingers trembled as they slid down Mahasamut’s arms, finally coming to rest against his wrists.

And then he took a deep breath.

"I need to show you something," he murmured.

Mahasamut blinked, his brows furrowing. Tongrak hesitated, searching his face, as if gauging whether he was ready for what came next. Then, with reluctant hands, he pulled a small pill bottle from his hoodie pocket and held it between them.

Mahasamut froze.

His breath caught in his throat as he stared at the familiar label—the one he thought he had hidden well. The name of the antidepressant glared back at him in bold, clinical print, and for a moment, he couldn’t breathe.

"I didn’t mean to snoop," Tongrak said softly. "I found them by accident when I was—" He swallowed thickly. "When I was looking for you."

Mahasamut’s stomach twisted.

Tongrak wasn’t supposed to know.

A sharp sting of shame curled in his chest, a reflexive urge to retreat, to pull away—but then he looked at Tongrak. Really looked at him. The way his lower lip trembled, the way his fingers tightened around the bottle like it physically hurt him to hold it.

Like it hurt him to know Mahasamut had been carrying this weight alone.

"And this," Tongrak continued, voice barely above a whisper, as he reached into his hoodie and pulled out a folded piece of paper.

The letter.

Mahasamut’s heart lurched.

His body went rigid as Tongrak carefully unfolded it, smoothing out the creases with the pads of his fingers. The paper trembled between them.

"I read it," Tongrak admitted, his voice raw, thick. "I know I shouldn’t have, but I did. And, Mut—" His breath hitched. "I thought my heart was going to stop."

Mahasamut’s throat burned.

He clenched his jaw, looking away, shame coiling like a noose around his chest. He didn’t want to see the hurt in Tongrak’s eyes.

But then Tongrak reached out, gently cupping Mahasamut’s cheek, forcing him to look at him.

"You were ready to leave," Tongrak said, voice cracking. "And I—" His breath came out in a shudder. "I don’t know what I would’ve done if you were gone."

Mahasamut’s chest tightened painfully.

"I thought you hated me," Mahasamut confessed hoarsely. His voice felt like sandpaper against his throat. "I thought… maybe it would be easier for everyone if I just—"

"Don’t."

Tongrak’s hands tightened against his skin, desperate, trembling. "Don’t ever say that," he choked out. "Not you. Not to me."

Mahasamut exhaled sharply. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, his body tense, as if bracing for impact. But then—

Warm arms.

A fierce, unrelenting embrace.

Tongrak threw himself against him again, arms wrapped so tightly around Mahasamut’s torso that it knocked the breath from his lungs.

"I don’t care how hard things get," Tongrak murmured into his shoulder, voice wet with unshed tears. "I don’t care if we fight or if we don’t always understand each other. But you have to talk to me, Mahasamut. You have to let me in."

Mahasamut squeezed his eyes shut.

"You can’t just shut me out and suffer in silence. You can’t decide you’re a burden and disappear when things get too heavy." Tongrak’s grip on his hoodie tightened. "That’s not how this works. That’s not how we work."

Mahasamut’s breath shuddered. He felt like he was being unraveled, piece by piece, stripped down to the raw, aching parts of himself he had tried so hard to hide.

But Tongrak saw them all.

And he still held him.

Still wanted him.

Slowly, Mahasamut lifted his arms and returned the embrace, burying his face into the crook of Tongrak’s neck. His fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie, holding onto him like a lifeline.

"I’m sorry," he whispered.

Tongrak sniffled, shaking his head. "I just need you to promise me, okay?" His voice cracked. "Promise me you’ll talk to me next time. That we’ll figure things out together."

Mahasamut hesitated—then nodded against his shoulder.

"I promise," he whispered.

Tongrak pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, searching, pleading. "And you’re staying, right?" His voice was barely audible, as if he was afraid of the answer. "With me?"

Mahasamut exhaled shakily.

And for the first time in months, he felt certain.

"Yeah," he murmured. "I’m staying."

Tongrak let out a breathless, relieved sob before crashing their lips together in a desperate kiss. It was messy, uncoordinated, filled with the weight of every unsaid word and every fear that had threatened to pull them apart.

Mahasamut kissed him back just as desperately.

Because he was still here.

And that meant everything.

Tongrak wiped the last of his tears with the sleeve of his hoodie, sniffling as he pulled back from Mahasamut’s embrace. His hands still lingered on Mahasamut’s arms, grounding them both in the moment, like he was making sure Mut wouldn’t disappear the second he let go.

And then, with a decisive huff, he straightened up.

"I’m gonna cook for you," he announced.

Mahasamut, who was still emotionally drained from everything, blinked at him. His brain was still catching up, the weight of their conversation still lingering in his chest like a dull ache—

Until it processed what Tongrak had just said.

"You’re what?"

"I said I’m cooking for you," Tongrak repeated, determined, already making his way to the kitchen. "You need food. I need food. We’ve both been crying, and you especially look like you need something warm in your stomach."

Mahasamut let out an exhausted chuckle, rubbing his face with his hands before slumping back against the couch. His limbs felt like lead, his body drained of all energy—but his lips were twitching upward despite it all.

"You don’t know how to cook."

"I do!" Tongrak shot back, glaring over his shoulder.

Mahasamut raised a brow, amused. "Since when?"

"Since now," Tongrak huffed. "Watch and learn, sweetheart."

Mahasamut, still shaking his head, somehow found enough strength to push himself off the couch and trail behind him. His exhaustion was overwhelming, but the sight of Tongrak rolling up his sleeves like he was about to go to war with the stove filled him with something light and warm.

God, he adored him.

Mahasamut leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, a slow smile playing on his lips as he watched Tongrak rummage through their kitchen with the confidence of a man who absolutely did not know what he was doing.

"You’re staring," Tongrak muttered without looking up.

"Can you blame me?" Mahasamut drawled.

Tongrak shot him a look. "I’m literally just chopping onions."

"And yet you look so hot," Mahasamut said, lips curling.

"Shut up." Tongrak’s ears were definitely pink.

Mahasamut, despite his exhaustion, felt something melt in his chest. He had spent the past few months trapped in his own head, feeling like a burden, like something unwanted. And yet here was Tongrak, trying to cook for him—despite having zero skills—just because he wanted to take care of him.

It was devastatingly endearing.

Mahasamut rested his chin in his palm, watching with something close to reverence as Tongrak stirred something in a pan, his brows furrowed in deep concentration. His hair was still messy from earlier, his hoodie slightly wrinkled, his sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal his forearms.

Beautiful, Mahasamut thought absently.

Completely, hopelessly, stupidly in love.

"You’re still staring," Tongrak muttered.

Mahasamut smirked. "I’m appreciating my darling boyfriend. Is that a crime?"

"It should be," Tongrak grumbled.

Mahasamut chuckled. "What are you even making?"

Tongrak hesitated. "…Food."

Mahasamut laughed.

"Shut up!" Tongrak protested, smacking him lightly with a spatula. "I’m trying my best, okay?"

"I know, I know," Mahasamut said, still grinning. "It’s just—what exactly are you making?"

Tongrak pursed his lips, glancing at the bubbling pan. "Something edible. I hope."

Mahasamut let out another breathless laugh, and god, it felt good to laugh like this again. To let himself just exist in this moment, without the weight of his thoughts dragging him down.

After a few more minutes of Tongrak aggressively stirring (and Mahasamut trying to contain his amusement), Tongrak finally scooped some of the food into a bowl and thrust it toward Mahasamut.

"Eat," he ordered.

Mahasamut raised a brow but accepted the bowl. The food looked… passable. Maybe even decent. He took a cautious bite.

A pause.

Tongrak stared at him, eyes wide, waiting. "Well?"

Mahasamut chewed slowly. Then, after a long moment, he swallowed and gave him a considering look.

"…It’s not terrible."

Tongrak gasped, scandalized. "What do you mean ‘not terrible’? It’s good, right?"

Mahasamut grinned, eyes twinkling. "I mean, I wouldn’t serve it to guests, but—"

"Give me that." Tongrak tried to snatch the bowl back, but Mahasamut lifted it out of reach, laughing as he held it above his head.

"Nope," Mahasamut said, taking another bite. "Too late. I’m eating it now."

"You suck."

Mahasamut, still grinning, swallowed another bite and leaned in, voice dropping just slightly. "And yet, you still made this just for me."

Tongrak’s lips parted slightly, and Mahasamut watched as his teasing expression softened just a bit, the pink in his ears returning.

"Of course I did," Tongrak murmured, almost as if it was obvious. "You’re mine."

Mahasamut’s breath caught.

God, he was so in love with this man.

He set the bowl down on the counter and cupped Tongrak’s face, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips.

"Yeah," Mahasamut whispered against his mouth. "And I’m not going anywhere."

Tongrak exhaled shakily, then smirked. "Good. Because if you leave, who else is gonna suffer through my cooking?"

Mahasamut laughed again, and for the first time in a long, long while, he felt like he was home.

The night wrapped around them like a cocoon, the city’s distant hum muffled by the safety of their bedroom. The bedside lamp cast a soft golden glow, and the blankets were a tangled mess from how much they had clung to each other earlier. Now, they lay in a comfortable quiet, tangled together but no longer desperate—just… there , together.

Mahasamut rested on his back, his fingers absentmindedly running through Tongrak’s hair. Tongrak lay draped over him, head nestled against Mahasamut’s chest, listening to the slow, steady heartbeat beneath his ear.

They had cried too much today. Talked too much. Loved too much.

But somehow, the exhaustion that usually weighed Mahasamut down felt lighter. Like something had finally been loosened inside him.

Tongrak, who had been drawing little patterns on Mahasamut’s stomach with a lazy finger, hummed softly. “I was looking at some things earlier.”

Mahasamut made a noise in the back of his throat, barely paying attention. He was too busy watching the way Tongrak’s hair caught the light, the way his lashes fluttered when he blinked, the way his fingers never stopped touching him, grounding him.

“Hmm?”

“Jobs,” Tongrak murmured.

That caught Mahasamut’s attention. His fingers stilled in Tongrak’s hair, and he blinked down at him. “Jobs?”

Tongrak nodded, shifting so his chin rested against Mahasamut’s chest, eyes warm and drowsy but filled with quiet determination. “Stuff that’s not here. Something that lets you be by the ocean again.”

Mahasamut’s breath caught. His first instinct was to push back—what would be the point? He had already tried. He had already failed.

But Tongrak wasn’t done. “You don’t have to do anything now,” he said, voice softer. “Just… think about it, okay?”

Mahasamut swallowed. “Rak…”

“I know you’ve been trying to hold everything together,” Tongrak whispered, fingers pressing lightly against his skin, as if he could physically anchor him. “But, Mut… you don’t have to. Not alone.”

Mahasamut exhaled shakily, and Tongrak lifted a hand, resting it gently against his cheek. His thumb brushed against his skin, featherlight. “You love the ocean,” he said. “You always have. I don’t want you to stay in Bangkok just because of me.”

Mahasamut’s chest ached. He reached up, capturing Tongrak’s hand in his own, pressing it to his lips.

“I’m not staying just because of you,” he mumbled.

Tongrak gave him a look , one that made Mahasamut’s ears burn. “Mut.”

Mahasamut sighed. Okay. Maybe he was. A little.

Tongrak’s expression softened. “We can leave,” he whispered. “We can go back to the island. If that’s what makes you happy.”

Guilt twisted in Mahasamut’s stomach. “But your career—”

Tongrak huffed and pinched his cheek. “I’ll figure it out.”

Mahasamut winced. “Ow.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Tongrak corrected, tapping his nose. “Together.”

Mahasamut stared at him, torn between frustration and affection. “You’re stubborn.”

“And you’re my idiot,” Tongrak said cheerfully, poking his forehead.

Mahasamut groaned, but his lips twitched.

Tongrak shifted again, moving so he was completely sprawled on top of Mahasamut, chin resting on his chest. “What if we just moved as per mood?” he suggested. “Stay here when we want, go back to the island when we feel like it. No pressure. No ultimatums.”

Mahasamut arched a brow. “That sounds ridiculous.”

Tongrak smiled. “But does it sound bad?”

Mahasamut blinked at him. And then, after a moment, he let out a breathless laugh. “No,” he admitted, fingers tightening slightly around Tongrak’s. “It doesn’t.”

Tongrak’s smile widened, and he immediately pressed a quick, giddy kiss to Mahasamut’s jaw. “See? I do have good ideas.”

Mahasamut hummed, pretending to consider. “That’s… debatable.”

Tongrak gasped, smacking his arm. “ Rude !”

Mahasamut chuckled, wrapping his arms around him and rolling them over until Tongrak was on his back, pinned beneath him. Tongrak let out a surprised oof , then a breathless laugh as Mahasamut nosed against his cheek, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to his temple.

“Thank you,” Mahasamut murmured against his skin.

Tongrak stilled, his arms tightening around Mahasamut’s back. “…Always.”

And for the first time in a long time, Mahasamut felt like maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t lost anymore.

Mahasamut had faced rough tides, deep-sea dives, and near-death experiences, but none of those compared to the absolute trial of keeping a straight face while watching Tongrak attempt to cook.

It was a disaster.

A hilarious, adorable disaster.

Tongrak stood in front of the stove, frowning at the pan like it had personally insulted him. He was gripping the spatula with the intensity of a man trying to defuse a bomb, and Mahasamut had already spotted three near-misses—one with the oil, one with the seasoning bottle, and one with his own sleeve catching on fire for half a second .

Mahasamut bit his lip, watching as Tongrak aggressively stirred whatever monstrosity he was making. He had been trying so hard, muttering under his breath the entire time about how "I’m going to take care of you, Mut, you just sit there and be pretty."

Mahasamut, obedient as ever (and very amused), had done exactly that. He sat at the kitchen table, chin resting on his palm, watching his absolute menace of a boyfriend wage war against basic cooking.

Then, it happened.

Tongrak turned, eyes determined, and said, "Alright. Taste this."

Mahasamut hesitated. “…Do I have to?”

Tongrak gasped, scandalized. “You doubt me?”

Mahasamut gave him a slow once-over—the flour on his cheek, the sauce stain on his sleeve, the absolute chaos that was the kitchen behind him. “…Yes.”

Tongrak pouted. Pouted. Mahasamut felt something inside him snap.

“I worked hard on this, you know,” Tongrak grumbled, scooping up a spoonful of his creation. “The least you can do is appreciate my efforts.”

Mahasamut sighed dramatically, leaning forward. “Fine. Give it here, Your Highness .”

Tongrak froze. Then narrowed his eyes. “What did you just call me?”

Mahasamut smirked. “You heard me, baby.”

Tongrak gasped again, this time clutching his chest like he had been mortally wounded . “Excuse me?! I am NOT a princess.”

Mahasamut leaned back, arms crossing over his chest. “Oh, really? Then why do you act like one?”

“I do NOT—”

“Oh no, Mut, my sleeves got dirty,” Mahasamut mimicked in a high-pitched voice. “Oh no, Mut, my hands hurt from chopping too many onions, save me —”

“You jerk! ” Tongrak shrieked, launching the spoon at him. Mahasamut barely dodged, laughing as he caught Tongrak’s wrist before he could commit further crimes against him.

“Don’t get mad at me just because you were born to be pampered,” Mahasamut teased, tugging him closer.

“I am not— ”

“You are literally blushing right now.”

Tongrak’s mouth snapped shut. His ears? Bright red.

Mahasamut grinned, absolutely smitten.

“You—! I—!” Tongrak sputtered, clearly trying to come up with something clever. “I hate you.”

Mahasamut laughed, pressing a kiss to Tongrak’s knuckles. “No, you don’t.”

“…No, I don’t,” Tongrak admitted begrudgingly, scowling.

Mahasamut tugged him closer, nuzzling into his neck. “You’re the cutest princess I’ve ever met.”

Tongrak groaned, hiding his face in Mahasamut’s shoulder. “I hate you so much.”

Mahasamut chuckled, wrapping his arms around him. “Yeah, yeah. Now, are you gonna feed me, or should I prepare for a slow and painful death?”

“…Fine,” Tongrak muttered, still red. “But if it tastes bad, you’re not allowed to complain.”

Mahasamut laughed. “Deal.”

(Reader’s note: It did taste bad. Mahasamut ate every bite anyway.)