The dreams from the night before were a blurred, frantic montage—a fast-forwarded reel of scenes that defied logic. It felt as though his mind were trying to process ten years of suppressed memories in a single night. But the moment the morning sunlight stung his eyes, the images evaporated, leaving nothing but a lingering sense of exhaustion.
Santichai blinked twice, his vision adjusting to the bright intrusion of the sun. As clarity returned, so did the sensation of warmth. He was still tucked firmly into KK's embrace.
An immediate wave of discomfort washed over him. It wasn't that he disliked the warmth, but rather that he didn't know how to exist within it. In his life with Asnee, they were like ships passing in the night. Because of their conflicting schedules, Santichai would often return at one or two in the morning, his body aching from the shift. To avoid disturbing Asnee's light sleep, he had perfected the art of the "silent life"—taking quiet showers in the dark and curling up on the hard floor rather than the bed. He had spent years conditioning himself to believe that his presence was something that needed to be minimized.
Now, with KK's hands draped over his stomach, Santichai felt like he was taking up too much space. With careful, trembling fingers, he began the delicate task of peeling KK's hands away, trying to slip back into the solitude he understood.
As he moved, a sharp, familiar tug in his lower back reminded him that while his heart was confused, his body was still very much broken. The chronic strain on his lumbar region—the "burning" he felt the night before—was still there, a physical debt he was still paying for those years of sleeping on the floor and working double shifts.
"Where are you going?" KK's voice was thick with sleep, his arms tightening momentarily before he let go.
"Bathroom," Santichai whispered.
KK loosened his grip and rolled onto his back, the small bed groaning under the shift in weight. He let out a long yawn, stretching his arms over his head. "How is your back?"
"Better," Santichai lied automatically. He sat up, looking at the man occupying the space where he usually suffered alone. "KK, I am..."
"What's wrong?"
"I have to step over you."
KK chuckled softly in the dim light. "Um... don't trip over the bag on the floor."
Santichai paused, confused. "Huh?"
"Just don't trip over the bag," KK repeated.
As Santichai carefully climbed over KK, he saw a large, dark shape sitting on the floor by the bedside—a medical bag KK must have brought in while Santichai was asleep. He made his way to the bathroom, and when he finished, he couldn't bring himself to go back to the intimacy of the bed. Instead, he sat on the sofa in the living room, trying to slowly stretch out the stiffness in his spine.
KK hadn't fallen back asleep. He waited, listening to the quiet sounds of the apartment, and after thirty minutes, he followed Santichai into the living room. He stood in the doorway, watching Santichai stretch until the man eventually rested his head back against the cushions and closed his eyes.
KK approached silently. He leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to Santichai's lips. Santichai's eyes flew open, wide with surprise.
"Are you hungry?" KK asked, his smile warm and genuine.
"Mmm," Santichai breathed.
"I'll reheat your food," KK said, stealing another quick kiss. "After you eat, you should go back to sleep."
"Why?"
"You have an appointment at nine."
Santichai stiffened. "What kind of appointment?"
"I scheduled an appointment with a spine surgeon for you," KK said casually, as if he were discussing the weather.
"What? KK, I said I'm fine!" Santichai's voice rose in panic. To him, doctors meant money, and money meant debt—a cycle he was terrified to restart.
KK returned from the kitchen with a warm bowl of porridge. He sat beside Santichai, handing him the bowl but keeping hold of his hands. "But for how long, Santichai? You said it yourself last night—the pain is getting worse." He looked directly into Santichai's eyes, his gaze steady. "If you don't want to do this for anyone else, please... do it for yourself."
Santichai looked down at the steam rising from the porridge. "KK... please don't be too kind to me."
"What are you afraid of?"
"I'm afraid of the unknown future," Santichai admitted, his voice trembling. He was afraid that if he got used to this kindness and it vanished, he wouldn't survive the crash.
KK smiled, pulling Santichai's hands closer to his chest. "Me too. But I'm less scared now because I have you to walk into that future with me." He let out a soft sigh. "Let me accompany you, Santichai. If you are afraid of the dark, my hands are only a reach away. If you fall, I will be right there to catch you."
The wall Santichai had built around his heart finally cracked. Tears began to track down his cheeks. "Hinata Suwannarat... don't be too kind to me. It's scary."
KK chuckled gently, pulling Santichai into a protective embrace, letting the porridge sit forgotten on the table. "Okay... okay. Whatever you say."
The hospital lobby was a sea of sterile white and hushed voices. Santichai returned from the radiology department, looking smaller than usual in the vastness of the main building. He clutched a ticket—number sixty-four—and sat down beside KK, who had been watching the door for him the entire time.
"Are you hungry?" KK asked, his eyes sweeping over Santichai's pale face.
"Just a little," Santichai admitted.
KK stood up immediately. "Wait here. I'll get you something."
When KK returned from the crowded cafeteria, he was out of breath, carrying a small plastic bag. He handed Santichai a sandwich and soy milk but kept only a bottle of water for himself.
Santichai looked at the lone bottle in the bag and frowned. "KK, why did you lie and say you were hungry?"
"I didn't lie," KK insisted, though he made no move to eat. "Just eat. It's almost our turn."
Santichai didn't back down. He knew the signs of a man who neglected himself for work. "Have you even eaten yet?"
"I'm fine," KK said dismissively. "I'm used to it."
"That's why you have a stomach problem," Santichai countered, his voice firm. He tore the sandwich in half and pressed the larger portion into KK's hand. "Eat. I'm not that hungry."
KK's heart skipped. It was a small gesture, but for Santichai—a man who usually only gave and never took—this act of "taking care" of KK was a massive step. "Don't be too considerate of me," KK teased softly. "I'll be very sad if you decide to leave after our three-month trial ends."
"But we could still be good friends," Santichai murmured. "I wouldn't miss the chance to have someone like you in my life, Hinata Suwannarat."
KK let out a light chuckle, shaking his head at the sentiment with a soft, lingering smile.
"KK? Is that you?"
The voice belonged to Lek, an old classmate. As the two men shook hands, Lek proudly pointed out his pregnant wife, joking about being "shackled" by family life. When he asked why KK was there, KK didn't hesitate.
"Accompanying my boyfriend to an appointment," KK said, gesturing to Santichai.
Lek's eyes widened, darting to Santichai. The surprise was evident—the elite, bachelor doctor Klaew Kla had finally chosen someone, and he had chosen a man who looked like he belonged to a different world entirely. "He... is he your boyfriend?"
"Yes," KK replied, his smile widening, daring Lek to say more. "Is there a problem?"
Lek laughed, sensing the protective edge in KK's voice. "No! I just can't believe the bachelor king finally decided to have his hands and feet shackled, too."
"KK, our number," Santichai interrupted, standing up. He felt the weight of Lek's gaze, but KK's hand was already on the small of his back, guiding him toward the examination room.
Dr. Lin's office was quiet, the only light coming from the glowing monitors displaying the skeletal map of Santichai's history. She pointed to the screen, where the vertebrae of his lower spine shifted in an unnatural, leaning curve.
"According to your chart, you are twenty-five," Dr. Lin said, her eyes searching Santichai's face. "Is that accurate?"
"Yes," Santichai replied, feeling a sudden, heavy shame.
The questions that followed felt like a judgment of his life. What is your job? Are you married? Do you have children? When Santichai admitted he was a dishwasher, the room felt even smaller. Dr. Lin didn't mince words: his spine was curving to the left, and without surgery, the "burning" would become his permanent shadow.
"Is surgery the only way?" Santichai asked, his voice barely a whisper.
"For now, you are the best candidate," she replied. "But if you choose not to, you must find a different job. No more heavy lifting. No more standing for twelve hours. An office job."
Santichai looked at his hands—hands that only knew how to scrub, lift, and serve. The idea of a "full year" of recovery felt like an impossible luxury. He turned to KK, seeking an anchor. "Let's go home and discuss this first."
"Whatever you decide," KK said, his voice a warm blanket over Santichai's anxiety. "The body is yours, and you are the one suffering. I will support you every step of the way."
Once Santichai was safely back in the lobby, KK returned to the room. The professional mask between him and Sarah Lin dropped, revealing a long-standing friendship.
"Thank you for skipping lunch," KK said, leaning against the doorframe.
Sarah laughed, finally reaching for a snack. "No problem. He's handsome, by the way. I really thought you were going to be an old bachelor until you called me to squeeze your boyfriend into my schedule."
"Thank you," KK said, a rare, genuine softness in his expression.
"If you really want to thank me," Sarah said, pointing a finger at him, "take him home for the New Year. Stop hiding."
KK chuckled, though his eyes remained thoughtful. "Okay... if he agrees."