Work Text:
“Sky. Oh, Sky,” Prapai whispers, biting his lip and feeling stinging in his eyes.
He won’t cry. He refuses to cry.
He starts crying.
His hands grip a sketchbook he found lying next to Sky’s desk in the office he shares with Sky. Achara, their beloved cat, must have thrown it on the floor by accident, and Prapai picked it up when he entered the office to clean it up a little. When he opened it, not thinking much about it, curious what works filled the pages (he had Sky’s full permission to touch his things and drawings) he certainly didn’t expect to see this.
Pages upon pages filled with sketches of him.
He goes through each sketch, unbelieving, gaping, finding it difficult to breathe; a whirlwind of emotions buzzing inside him, clashing, melting and becoming one, overwhelming fire that spreads through him. Love for his fiance explodes with force that knocks air out of his lungs and makes him unable to think for a long, long moment. All he can do is simply stare and make sure his tears don’t fall on the pages, preventing them from smudging the drawings.
There are hundreds of sketches, more or less detailed, but there are literally hundreds of them, each numbered, and when Prapai checks the last page filled, there’s a 365 neatly written at the top.
365 sketches of him. In Sky’s sketchbook. Sketches that his Sky did.
One sketch a day. Sky’s been drawing them for a whole year.
Prapai sits on the floor and starts from the very beginning, once again.
These are little scenes, almost photographs, from their day to day life. Prapai napping, features relaxed, lips slightly parted. Going over contracts, focused, his mouth a thin line. Working on his computer, glasses on. Cleaning. Doing the dishes. Cutting vegetables for Sky to use later, wearing the apron Sky bought him two years ago.
Prapai playing Mario Kart with his siblings. Prapai ruffling Rain’s hair. Hugging his mom from behind. Rolling his eyes at his dad. Clinking glasses with Sky’s dad. Bickering with Phayu. Being teased by Saifah. Giving uncle Frost a fist bump.
Laughing. Smiling. Winking. Yawning. Exhausted. Sick. Excited. Pouting.
Prapai knows Sky loves him, more than anything, more than anyone. He doesn’t need to say it out loud—it’s all in the little gestures he does, each gentle touch and soft smile, the way he looks at Prapai. It’s in the way he pulls Prapai’s hair and whispers his name, it’s hidden in quiet panting and moans. It’s obvious with how Sky kisses him, may it be feverishly and hungrily, or when it’s just a delicate peck, a butterfly-touched brush of Sky’s lips against Prapai’s. It’s how Sky hugs him, perfectly fills the space by his side, cuddled, playing with Prapai’s fingers absent-mindedly.
Sky doesn’t have to say “I love you” for Prapai to know.
But this—this is the biggest confession Sky’s ever made. It’s louder than any scream, says more than a million words. If Prapai ever wondered if he can fall in love with Sky even deeper then yes, yes he can. He’s just done that: fallen deeper and harder, more fiercely; the love and adoration he has for Sky burns inside him, scorching hot and alive. He loves his Sky so much, so much it physically hurts him.
To be honest, what he feels for Sky might have transcended what people describe as love. It’s more, so much more, something he cannot explain or comprehend. A mystery he wants to keep exploring, discovering. He never wants to stop.
There’s a soft click behind Prapai followed by a quiet meow. He turns his head and sees Sky who enters the office, Achara trailing behind him. Sky’s expression is puzzled, turning worried and scared when he sees Prapai’s face adorned with tears that keep falling.
“Pai? Why’re you crying? What happened?” Sky sits next to him, cupping Prapai’s face ever so gently, and wipes the tears with his thumbs.
“I love you,” Prapai whispers and crawls into Sky’s lap, wrapping his arms around his waist and pressing his forehead against Sky’s shoulder. “I love you so damn much, Sky.”
Sky doesn’t reply at first, trying to understand what’s happening, but then he catches a glimpse of the sketchbook lying behind Prapai, forgotten for now. He chuckles, shaking his head, and places a kiss atop Prapai’s head.
“I love you, too.” Sky hugs him tightly, strokes his back and kisses him again.
“I know.” Prapai looks up at Sky’s face; the most beautiful face in the whole universe, the face he’s blessed to see every day. “I know.”
FIN.