As the days passed, Daotok gradually adjusted to their shared space. For Arthit, moving had never been an issue, but what stood out this time was the feeling of truly growing accustomed to another presence in his daily life. Waking up each morning, he would find breakfast prepared for two.
At first, the meals were simple, but as time went on, the flavors improved, each dish carrying the warmth of someone who put effort into making it. Daotok even started packing lunch for him before they parted ways for their respective classes.
Evenings became a cherished routine—returning home, eating dinner together, sharing a shower, and settling into bed side by side. Their intimacy was a natural extension of this closeness. Daotok's body had slowly adapted, the discomfort fading, though the exhaustion lingered at times.
Because of this, Arthit made a conscious effort to lessen the frequency and intensity of their physical encounters, ensuring Daotok wouldn't be too drained for his studies. Still, it was undeniable how deeply Arthit desired him.
A single touch, a glimpse of skin beneath a loose shirt, or even the scent of him lingering in the room was enough to drive him insane. His craving for Daotok only grew stronger with each passing day.
Music had always been a part of Arthit's life, and after the overwhelming success of his first song, which had amassed millions of views, he started working on a second. This time, he wanted it to feel more personal, incorporating live instruments.
He played the drums while Daotok accompanied him on guitar. Though the song was still a work in progress, the process felt exhilarating, a shared passion bringing them even closer.
Daotok's art corner, something Arthit had set up with care, had transformed in their new home. The wall was no longer bare; it was adorned with sketches and paintings they had made together.
Arthit's contributions were far from masterpieces, but it wasn't about skill—it was about the moments they shared. Daotok had laughed, assuring him that the artwork looked good despite his lack of talent.
Nearly a month had passed since they began living together. By now, Daotok's petite figure moving around their space had become a familiar and comforting sight. Whether it was tidying up, cooking, doing laundry, sketching in his corner, or occasionally working on the balcony or the sofa, he was always there. They often watched movies together, composed music, or simply sat in comfortable silence, absorbed in their own tasks yet never truly apart.
Living together also revealed Daotok's quirks. Whenever he hit a creative block, he would soak in the tub for extended periods, stare blankly at the cityscape, or retreat to the balcony with his guitar. But the oddest habit of all was his fondness for sitting inside the closet.
One day, Arthit had come home and found the apartment empty. Panic set in for a brief moment—had something happened? But then he discovered Daotok curled up inside the closet, typing away on his laptop.
When asked about it, Daotok had simply explained, "It helps me focus. It feels like a world of my own, without distractions."
He would leave the door slightly ajar for ventilation and had even placed a small fan inside. It was such a distinctively 'Daotok' thing that Arthit couldn't help but find it endearing. While he personally would have felt suffocated in such a confined space, for Daotok, it was a sanctuary.
It was also during one of their late-night talks that Daotok mentioned his imaginary friend, Emma. The name coincidentally matched Arthit's mother's, but what struck him more was the revelation that Emma had faded away. "She was born from my loneliness," Daotok admitted softly. "But now... I don't need her anymore."
Arthit understood. He had become the presence Daotok once lacked. Their differences extended to their habits as well. Daotok disliked mess, while Arthit thrived in chaos.
Yet, Daotok never complained. Instead, he quietly tidied up after him, organizing the scattered clothes and rearranging his shoes without a single word of protest. When asked if he wanted Arthit to change his ways, Daotok had only smiled. "It doesn't bother me." And so, Arthit remained his usual messy self, trusting Daotok to keep their space in order.
One morning, Arthit had to leave early for his hospital shift. Unlike most days, there was no neatly packed lunch waiting for him on the counter. He glanced toward the bed and saw Daotok still fast asleep, his face buried in the pillow. He must have stayed up late studying. Arthit hesitated for a moment before leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead.
"Bye," he whispered.
"Mm," Daotok mumbled drowsily, barely stirring.
At lunchtime, Arthit had to find food outside, which led him to the usual mediocre restaurant he and Johan frequented. It wasn't good, not by any means, but somehow, it had grown on him.
"You've really gotten used to bad food," Johan remarked after taking a bite of Arthit's dish.
"Hey, are you saying my boyfriend's cooking isn't good?" Arthit countered, feigning offense.
"You're the one who said this place is terrible."
"Oh... right." He frowned before letting out a chuckle. "Damn, have I developed a crocodile's tongue? Eating bad food until it tastes normal?"
Johan snorted. "That's actually a good thing. Now everything tastes good to you."
Just as they continued eating, Arthit's phone vibrated. It was a message from Daotok, accompanied by a screenshot of his bank account. A deposit of two hundred thousand baht had been made. Frowning, Arthit muttered, "What's this?"
Johan raised an eyebrow. "Something wrong?"
"My dad transferred two hundred thousand baht to Dao."
"What for?"
"No idea."
Curious, Arthit called his father who picked up after a few rings.
"Hey, why did you transfer money to my boyfriend?"
"That's your salary."
"Huh?"
"Yeah, the money I usually give you every month."
"Then why didn't you send it to me?"
"Because you're terrible with money. Dao can manage it better."
Arthit groaned. "Direk, are you serious right now?"
"If you need anything, just ask your boyfriend."
"Direk! This is ridiculous!"
"I'm just teasing you."
Before Arthit could argue further, Direk hung up. Frustrated, he ran a hand through his hair.
"What did he say?" Johan asked, amused.
"That from now on, my salary goes to Dao because I'm 'too extravagant.'"
Johan burst out laughing. "That's actually a good thing."
"How is this good?! Now I have to ask Dao if I want to buy anything. Where's my dignity?"
Later that evening, while eating dinner, Daotok hesitated before bringing up the subject.
"So... you really want me to keep this money?"
"Yeah."
"All two hundred thousand? Does that mean you normally earn that much a month?"
"Yep."
"And you still call yourself broke?"
"Who has enough these days?"
Daotok sighed, shaking his head. "Maybe you should ask why it's not enough."
"You're so frugal. Good thing you're the one keeping it now."
Smiling, Daotok nodded. "Alright. Just let me know if you need anything, and I'll transfer the money to you."
Arthit agreed without hesitation, offering a small nod. The money wasn't something he had planned to use anyway. After finishing dinner, he and Daotok worked together to clean the dishes, their hands brushing, occasionally as they moved in sync. Later, they showered together, a routine they had fallen into effortlessly.
The half-hour spent there was filled with warm touches and soft laughter, water cascading over their entwined bodies. The remaining time before bed was dedicated to something far more intimate—once in the bathroom, and again on the bed. Tonight, Arthit held nothing back, knowing they both had the luxury of a day off tomorrow.
They had already planned to spend the night at Daotok's house, making the moment even sweeter. The next morning, the smell of breakfast drifted through the air. Arthit, stood in the kitchen, holding his phone up as he filmed Daotok moving fluidly between the stove and counter.
"Turn and look at the camera," he prompted cheerfully. Daotok, spatula in hand, paused and shot him a puzzled look.
"What are you filming?"
"A video."
"A video?"
"Yeah, a memory video. Something to keep and look back on," Arthit explained.
Daotok hummed in understanding, turning his attention back to the pan.
"Oh."
"What are you making this morning?"
"Stir-fried vegetables."
"Have you tasted it? Is it good?"
"It's okay. Want to try?" Daotok asked, scooping a small portion onto the spoon. He turned to Arthit and held it up to his lips.
Without hesitation, Arthit leaned in, letting Daotok feed him. He chewed thoughtfully before nodding in approval. "It's good!"
"Really?"
"Your cooking skills have improved," Arthit said, reaching out to ruffle Daotok's hair. The moment was effortlessly captured on video, a small smile tugging at his lips as he watched Daotok's expression.
"Or maybe you've just gotten used to eating bad food?" Daotok teased, arching an eyebrow.
"What makes you think that?"
"You told me before."
"Oh, yeah. But who cares? If it tastes good to me now, that's all that matters."
Daotok gave a small, satisfied nod, dishing out the stir-fried vegetables into a bowl and setting it beside a plate of warm rice. Arthit, still playing,cameraman, didn't miss a single detail. Even the smallest movements seemed impossibly endearing. He was so cute—so effortlessly charming—that Arthit felt an irrational urge to edit the clip with fancy subtitles and post, it somewhere just to show off his boyfriend's unparalleled appeal.
But for now, he set the camera aside and focused on breakfast.
"So, what did your family say?" he asked as he took a bite.
"They said they want to meet you."
Arthit blinked. "Wow, that's straightforward."
Daotok shrugged. "It's not a challenge. They just want to meet my boyfriend."
"I get it. So, what should I do when I visit? Any etiquette rules I should know? That might be tough—I don't exactly have refined manners."
"It's nothing formal. Everyone's nice, especially Dad. He's looking forward to meeting you."
"And how should I dress?"
"Casually."
Arthit smirked. "Can I just wear boxers?"
"You could, but Dad might want to punch you for walking around half naked in the house."
Arthit laughed. "Seriously? What would you do if he actually hit me?"
"I'd watch."
"You wouldn't even worry about me?"
"What's there to worry about?"
Arthit gasped in mock betrayal. "Come on, your dad's pretty big."
"And you're not exactly small either."
"I'm not that big," Arthit said playfully, watching as Daotok looked up at him with a mix of amusement and exasperation. Shaking his head, he finished packing his overnight bag, ready for their trip to Daotok's house.
As they settled into the car, Arthit took the wheel. "I'll drive," he insisted. "I want to be the one to take you home."
Daotok glanced at him. "If you get tired, we can switch."
Arthit's gaze flickered toward the small figurine resting on Daotok's lap. A pang of jealousy hit him—for the millionth time. He was jealous of anything that got to stay close to Daotok, even an inanimate object. At this rate, he'd probably end up commissioning a figurine of himself just so Daotok could collect it too.
He exhaled and grinned. "It's fine. Just relax and enjoy the ride."
As the car pulled out of the parking lot, Arthit glanced at Daotok curiously.
"Hey, how did your Dad and Daddy fall in love anyway?"
Daotok didn't hesitate. "Dad was Daddy's love at first sight. They met at a coffee shop."
"Oh, but our story wasn't love at first sight, right? It took forever for you to start liking me. If you hadn't moved next door, what would've happened?"
"We would've met some other way."
"Why's that?"
Daotok turned to face him. "Oh, I never told you?"
"Told me what?"
"Remember when I read your fortune?"
"You said my love graph was rising, but there was something else you didn't mention."
"Oh... it was that we're soulmates."
Arthit's hands tightened on the wheel as he turned to look at Daotok in surprise. "Really?"
"Yeah."
"Wow, I'm blushing now," he admitted, warmth creeping up his face.
Soulmates. That was... amazing.
Daotok smirked. "You're blushing?"
"Yeah. So, does that mean no matter what happens, you'll stay with me like this?"
"Uh-huh."
"Did you figure that out from my fortune?"
"No, from my heart."
Arthit inhaled sharply. "Whoa. Can I just let go of the steering wheel and kiss you right now?"
"Are you crazy? Keep your eyes on the road."
"The road's nowhere near as interesting as you."
"Drive properly," Daotok scolded, voice firm. Arthit chuckled, giving in without protest. Risking their lives wasn't worth it—especially if Daotok got hurt.
The scenery blurred past as they drove, talking and teasing each other until they finally arrived at Daotok's house. Arthit parked in the driveway, scanning the house with interest. A moment later, a man—slightly taller than Daotok—walked out with a warm smile.
Daotok's father greeted them first, immediately pulling Daotok into a hug. Arthit stepped back, watching, feeling something ridiculous stir in his chest. Whoa, calm down, Thit. You can't be jealous of his dad.
Another tall man followed, and Arthit immediately recognized him as Gavin. As introductions were exchanged, Pai extended a hand toward him.
"You can speak Thai, you know," Arthit said after greeting him in English.
Pai laughed. "Oh, right! I forgot you're half-Thai."
As the four of them walked into the house, Arthit stole a glance at Daotok.
"Your dad's nothing like you."
"How so?"
"He's not cold like you. He's all smiles."
Daotok smirked. "Oh, yeah. Dad's always been like that."
"So, you take after your mom more?" Arthit asked, analyzing him.
"More like Uncle Akara from next door," Daotok answered, his tone as flat as ever.
Arthit frowned. "Seriously?"
"Yep. Uncle Akara's just as quiet as me."
"Liar."
Daotok finally let a small smile slip. "Just kidding."
Arthit huffed, shaking his head. He almost had me there. He let it slide, stepping inside the house after removing his shoes. It was a modest home, neither grand nor cramped, just right for a small family.
Daotok had mentioned that his grandmother lived here too. The moment he stepped in, Arthit noticed an elderly woman seated on the couch, watching television. Out of politeness, he offered a small bow.
The woman returned the gesture before calling out, "Daotok, my little grandson! It's been so long. Come sit next to Grandma. And you too, young man, come here."
Arthit obeyed, taking a seat beside her. The moment her sharp eyes settled on him, he felt scrutinized, as if she were evaluating every inch of his presence. A moment later, her wrinkled face broke into a delighted grin.
"Wow, so handsome! Both my child and grandchild. I've really hit the jackpot with this son-in-law."
Arthit chuckled at the comment. "Son-in-law? That's a little fast, don't you think?"
The grandmother waved off his words. "Oh, don't be shy! What's your name, young man?"
"Arthit," he introduced himself.
"Oh, what a lovely name! I heard you're half-Thai?"
"Thai-American," he clarified.
Grandma nodded, then continued chatting with him, shifting to fond memories of Daotok's childhood. Meanwhile, Daotok excused himself, heading to the kitchen to help Pai prepare dinner. Left alone with the old woman, Arthit found himself in an unexpectedly easy conversation.
"He's been quiet since he was little," Grandma mused. "Didn't have many friends. His kindergarten teacher even called us in a few times, worried he wasn't socializing enough."
Arthit smirked. "Still not very talkative. Back then, if I asked him something, all I'd get was a 'Hmm' or 'Yeah.' Talking to him was like pulling teeth. Uh—ma'am." The elderly woman chuckled, waving off his formal tone.
"No need to be so polite. Speak however you're comfortable."
"Really? I'm not the most well-mannered speaker when I go casual. Are you sure?"
"Just don't go full English on me like Gavin does. I can barely understand a word when he gets going. When Pai first introduced him, I was so stressed! Not because I disliked him, but because I couldn't follow a thing he said.,Even now, we struggle—our conversations are mostly 'Hey, come on!' and that's it."
Arthit laughed, shaking his head.
"So," Grandma leaned in with a knowing smile. "How did you fall for my grandson? I used to wonder if anyone would fall for him. He's so reserved, probably has more ghost friends than human ones!"
Arthit paused, then answered honestly. "I don't really know. After spending time together, I just started liking Dao for who he is. Hard to explain."
Grandma hummed in satisfaction. "Good, good. Love each other for a long time. Just take care of each other. Dao's my only grandchild, and I'm getting old. Having someone to be with him gives me peace of mind."
"Don't worry. I'll take care of Dao the best I can."
Her smile deepened, and after a moment, she extended her hand toward him. "Let me see your hand."
Arthit hesitated, then placed his palm in hers. She traced the lines with her fingers, her voice steady. "You've got a strong destiny. Brave, unafraid of challenges, always surrounded by people who support you. Whatever you pursue will lead to success." Her smile turned amused. "And your destiny aligns with Dao's. A pair meant to complete each other."
"Can you read about the next life? Will Dao and I still be together then?" he asked playfully.
She chuckled. "Let the next life handle itself. People try to force fate, but love will find its way if it's truly meant to be."
Arthit nodded, taking in her words.
Their conversation continued easily. He'd always been good at talking with people when they were approachable, and Daotok's grandmother had that warm, welcoming air that made him feel at home. Eventually, she inquired about Daotok's friends.
"Does he have many close friends in college?"
"A few. Three, I think. Not many in his faculty—mostly the boyfriends of my friends."
"That's good. Does he get along with them?"
"Yeah. They're good people, though some of them can be a bit annoying."
"That's a relief," she said. "Dao's had a tendency since childhood to attract the wrong kind of people."
Arthit stiffened. "Wrong kind of people?"
Was she talking about me too? Crap.
"He changed schools often when he was younger. Either he was bullied, or someone accused him of things he never did. It made him even quieter. But if you approach him sincerely, you'll see how kind he is."
"Yeah, I've noticed," Arthit said softly.
She nodded. "But because he didn't want to interact with anyone, people resented him. His silence made it seem like he was giving up, but he's actually incredibly strong-willed."
"Absolutely."
Before long, Daotok returned, calling them to dinner. He had helped Pai cook, and while Arthit found the food delicious, the others seemed to notice something was off.
"Pai, doesn't this taste a little strange?" Gavin asked, squinting at his plate.
"Oh, that dish? Dao made it," Pai revealed.
"Dylan, doesn't it taste weird to you?" Gavin turned to Arthit.
Arthit shrugged. "Nope. I eat this every day."
Later that night, Daotok led him upstairs to his bedroom. The room was exactly how Arthit had pictured it—neat, orderly, with shelves full of novels and art supplies.
"It's a bit small. Will you be okay sleeping here?" Daotok asked.
"No problem. I've slept in smaller spaces."
As Arthit wandered around, his eyes landed on a long object propped against the wall. "What's this?"
"A sword."
"For?"
"Traditional swordsmanship class."
Arthit stared. "Seriously? Why didn't I get to learn that?"
Daotok smirked. "Depends on the school."
Arthit huffed. "Not fair. I had to suffer through traditional dance. Pure torture."
"You did traditional dance?" Daotok asked, surprised.
"Yeah. Went to school in Thailand, remember?"
"Which school?"
"Something Academy. I don't remember the name."
"Not an international school?"
"Nope. Direk wanted to send me to one, but I refused. Wanted to experience real Thai student life."
Daotok's lips quirked up slightly. "Oh."
"What's this? A yearbook?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as he glanced toward Daotok, who sat cross-legged on the floor nearby.
Daotok barely looked up, his focus still on his phone. "Yeah, from high school."
Intrigued, Arthit plopped down beside him, flipping open the heavy cover.
"Let me see. Which class were you in?"
"Class 9."
Arthit's eyes scanned the page until he found the group photo for Class 9, a sea of neatly arranged students, some smiling, some more reserved. He examined the faces carefully, but no matter how long he searched, Daotok's wasn't among them.
"Where are you?" he asked, flipping back to double-check.
"I didn't take the picture."
Arthit turned to him, frowning. "What? Why not?"
"I wasn't interested," Daotok said simply, reaching out to turn the page.
Arthit followed the motion and soon found Daotok's picture in a different section. Unlike the rest of his classmates, whose portraits were taken against the school's standard backdrop, Daotok's was a simple student ID photo, sterile and unremarkable. His name, surname, and student ID number were printed beneath it—no motto, no contact details, none of the extra little details his classmates had.
"Wow, you really weren't into it." Arthit shook his head. "Why?"
"Didn't care," Daotok replied, voice neutral.
Arthit's gaze lingered on the page before he glanced back at Daotok. "Was it because of your friends?"
Daotok's lips pressed together, and after a beat, he nodded. "Yeah."
Arthit hesitated for a moment, debating whether to pry. But then he remembered something Daotok's grandmother had mentioned in passing.
"Your grandma said she's worried about your friendships."
Daotok let out a short, humorless laugh. "Haven't I ever told you?"
"Nope. Tell me now."
A sigh escaped Daotok's lips before he spoke, voice quieter than before. "I was already used to being alone. Then one day, someone started getting close to me. At first, I didn't think much of it—we just chatted, nothing deep. But then I found out they were only talking to me to dig up information and gossip about me to others."
Arthit's brows furrowed. "What the hell? Who does that?"
Daotok gave a small, tired smile and shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe they thought they'd uncover some big secret. Too bad for them, I didn't have any. But for a while, there was a rumor that I had a sugar daddy just because I could afford expensive art supplies."
"What?" Arthit nearly choked. "That's ridiculous."
"The best part?" Daotok continued, voice thick with irony. "The person who got close to me? They were the one who started the rumor."
Arthit scowled, shaking his head in disbelief. "That's low. But hey, I've had my fair share too. People used to say I was some mafia kid just because I got into fights."
Daotok's gaze flicked to him, curiosity replacing some of the tension in his expression. "Really?"
"Yeah. Not that I cared. Besides, with the way Direk acts, he's just one step away from being an actual mafia boss."
Daotok let out a small chuckle, but the amusement didn't quite reach his eyes. "Still. What hurt the most wasn't the rumors—it was that I actually cared about them. I thought they were a friend."
Arthit exhaled sharply. "Man, your grandma's right. You really do attract the worst people. First Kram, then Guard, and now this asshole?"
Daotok arched a brow. "You too."
"Hey, hold on!" Arthit laughed. "You're lumping me in with them?"
Daotok smirked. "Just kidding."
"Don't joke like that," Arthit huffed. "Do it for your husband."
"Alright."
Before they could continue, a knock at the door interrupted them. Daotok got up to answer it, revealing Gavin on the other side.
"Football. You in?" Gavin asked, holding out a set of sports clothes.
Arthit grinned. "Hell yeah."
Later that evening, after an intense game under the streetlights, Arthit leaned back on the sidelines, wiping sweat from his brow. His team had fought hard, and despite Gavin stepping up his game in the second half, the match ended in a draw.
"You played well," Gavin said, offering a fist bump.
Arthit knocked his knuckles against Gavin's. "You too. But you're still no match for me."
Gavin smirked. "We'll see about that next time."
As they made their way back to Daotok's house, the streetlights cast long shadows on the pavement. Inside, Arthit showered quickly before finding Daotok sitting on the bed, his phone in hand.
"What are you doing?" Arthit asked, toweling his hair.
"Editing a photo," Daotok replied without looking up.
"What photo?"
"You and Gavin fist-bumping." He turned the screen toward Arthit, revealing a perfectly captured moment—two hands meeting, the glow of the setting sun in the background. The colors blended beautifully, making the image look almost cinematic.
"Even Dad liked this one," Daotok added.
Arthit chuckled. "It's a great photo. Send it to me."
"Mm. I will. Let me shower first," Daotok said, standing up.
As he disappeared into the bathroom, Arthit sprawled out on the bed, exhaustion creeping in. But when Daotok returned, fresh and warm from his shower, he immediately curled into Arthit's side, wrapping his arms around him.
"Feeling clingy?" Arthit teased, tilting his head to look at him.
"No. I just haven't hugged you today."
Arthit's expression softened. "Oh."
They lay there in comfortable silence, warmth seeping between them. Then, without thinking, Arthit leaned in, their lips meeting in a slow, deep kiss. A shiver ran down his spine, and his desire stirred—but he quickly pulled away, cursing inwardly. Not here. Not in Daotok's house. He needed to get a grip.
"I'll be right back," he muttered, darting off to the bathroom to cool down.
Later that night, long after Daotok had fallen asleep, Arthit found himself awake, wandering downstairs for water. But as he passed by the back door, he noticed two figures sitting outside, their voices low. Curious, he stepped closer.
It was Daotok's dad and Gavin, sharing a drink. And from the way their conversation was heading, they were talking about him.
Smirking to himself, Arthit stepped outside. "Can I join?"
Daotok's father looked up, momentarily surprised to see Arthit. His brows lifted in brief curiosity before a warm smile tugged at his lips.
"Couldn't sleep?" he asked, gesturing to the empty seat across from him.
Arthit shook his head lightly. "Not really. Just... thirsty," he replied, stepping closer.
Without hesitation, Daotok's father reached for the bottle and poured a glass of the amber liquid, sliding it across the table toward Arthit.
"And you... uh—"
"Call me what Dao calls me," the older man said, cutting in gently. "And as for Gavin, just use his name. We're not that formal around here."
"Oh... okay," Arthit replied, his tone still a little cautious, uncertain.
The older man let out a low, amused chuckle. "No need to be so stiff. Relax."
Arthit gave a sheepish grin. "Right. Sorry. I guess being polite isn't exactly second nature to me."
"Let's switch to English," Daotok's father suggested, glancing at Gavin. "So he doesn't feel left out."
"Sure," Arthit agreed instantly, grateful for the change in language—it made him feel less like an outsider.
"I heard you two have moved in together?" the older man asked, tone casual but curious.
"Yeah, that's right," Arthit answered, sitting back a little.
"You sure that's alright? The penthouse is yours, after all."
"It's ours now," Arthit said without hesitation, his gaze steady. "I wouldn't want it any other way."
Daotok's father regarded him for a moment, then raised his glass and took a thoughtful sip.
"I don't doubt you love him. I can see it. But he's my only son... and he's been through a lot. I just want to be sure he's with someone who really sees him. Who protects him. Who chooses him."
Arthit didn't reply right away. He reached for his glass and knocked the liquor back in one go, the burn in his throat a welcome distraction from the emotions rising in his chest.
"I understand," he finally said, voice steady. "If Dao's happy, then I'm happy too."
The older man nodded slowly. "Thank you. I've never seen him this happy before."
Just then, Gavin spoke up, clearly trying to lighten the mood. "Wait—Dao?
You mean Michael, right?"
"I told you to learn his Thai name," Daotok's father sighed, shaking his head with a grin.
"It's hard to remember!" Gavin defended himself as he poured another drink, topping off both their glasses. "But hey, I call him Bamboo Shoot. He's like young Pai—still growing. Still bending with the wind."
Arthit let out a bark of laughter. "What? My boyfriend's a bamboo shoot now?"
Gavin grinned. "Hey, it fits."
The tension eased. The three of them drank and laughed like old friends, the night air warm with shared stories and subtle glances of mutual understanding. Arthit never thought he'd find himself here—sitting with Daotok's father and his partner, feeling almost like family.
But as the bottle wore down, Daotok's father began to sway, his eyes growing heavier with each sip.
"He always forgets his limit," Gavin muttered, steadying the man with a hand to his shoulder as he started to slump over.
Then the older man raised his glass again, his voice slurred, his eyes glassy but sharp with sudden emotion.
"Hey, Dylan."
Arthit blinked. "Yeah?"
"If you ever make my son cry... I'll kill you. You understand me?"
He pointed the glass at Arthit like it was a blade.
"Gavin, you hear me? You deal with him if he hurts Dao."
"I will," Gavin said without hesitation, his tone quiet but firm. He looked straight at Arthit. "Kid, I won't let you off easy. Not even a little."
Arthit nodded solemnly. "If I make Dao cry... I'll let you kill me."
"You promise?"
"I swear on my life."
There was a beat of silence, and then Daotok's father leaned back, satisfied.
"Good," he murmured before slowly dozing off against Gavin's shoulder.
Arthit sat in silence for a moment, the weight of those words settling into his chest like iron. He glanced toward the hallway, where Daotok was still sleeping, blissfully unaware of the pact that had just been made in the shadows of night.