Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

xxiii.

occultation – the passage of one object in front of a smaller one, temporarily obscuring all or part of the background object from view

In the pale gray-blue-gold lights of daybreak, Night stirred awake from a fitful sleep.

His senses slowly adjusted to his surroundings— he was in bed, lying under the covers, with a warm body curled up against him— their limbs intertwined as close to comfort as possible. An arm was draped across his middle, clutching onto his sides, and someone's head rested on his shoulders, their deep breaths fanning rhythmically across his neck.

He dipped his nose into the nest of fluffy hair and inhaled the sleepy warm scent of North— and felt relief washing over him, soothing his restless subconscious.

After they came back last night at around three thirty, North had been exhausted— more so emotionally than physically. He’d clung onto him all the way home, shuffled his way up the narrow stairs and across the flat— and made a beeline for Night’s bedroom, immediately curling into the covers without a single word.

Gun had let them into the apartment, taken one look at both of them, and tactfully didn’t ask questions, even though Night could see the growing worry and alarm in his eyes. 

“I’ll explain everything in the morning, I promise,” Night had mumbled, and Gun had simply pressed his lips together, nodding in tacit understanding. 

Night was absurdly grateful, because he didn’t know what he’d say, or how he’d even begin to explain everything that had gone down.

But deep down, he also knew that the extent and magnitude and weight of tonight had forever changed both of them— him and North. 

He’d made a quick call to LiMing to briefly explain what happened at the club and to give him a heads up, because they now needed to be wary of any potential tailing Suppang might already be doing on them. 

But LiMing, like the protective older brother-figure he’d been to Night all these years, had immediately sensed that something had majorly gone very wrong— and his stubborn, no-nonsense, but reassuring voice had finally made Night break down and spill everything— the pier, North’s figure teetering over that edge, the frantic way he’d jumped across that final distance and caught him at the last second. 

By the time he was done, his grip on the phone was shaking, his breaths coming shallow. 

LiMing’s steady, soothing voice in his ears was a blessing— as he talked him through the immediate next steps. Night was beyond grateful, because it seemed like his brain had decided to shut down completely for now, his whole body suddenly feeling bone deep exhausted.

He didn't realize until he'd finished talking— but sharing the whole thing with LiMing had been for the best— his frazzled nerves had settled down a lot by the time he ended the call.

Afterwards, he’d quickly dried and changed, then slipped into his tiny room with a spare set of clothes— the biggest, loosest t-shirt he could find and a pair of sweatpants— and coaxed North up to get changed out of his soaked dress shirt and trousers. 

North had been strangely quiet— not protesting when Night started unbuttoning his attire and peeling off the soggy layers. He'd stayed put obediently and let Night slip the t-shirt over his head, push his arms through the sleeves, even standing up quietly and slipping into the sweatpants when Night nudged him into the motion. 

But when Night had started drying his hair with a towel, he’d finally reached out wordlessly and bracketed Night between his legs— pulling him closer and tipping forwards into his chest.

For a while, they just breathed in sync with each other— the moment feeling fragile and precious in the silence of the night. 

The rain still pitter-pattered on the window panes, softer now, and the glow of the streetlamps filtered in through the gaps of Night’s cheap, gauzy curtains with patchwork repairs done by his brother- because heaven knows Night never had the patience for housework. He should probably thank Gun one of these days, for keeping them both alive and afloat in life.

He let out a trembling sigh and hunched over North— circling his arms loosely around his shoulders, swallowing down the wave of terror that threatened to wash over him anew.

To think that he’d come so close to losing North today— so close to seeing him just… tip over that edge and fall straight into the maws of the rushing, unforgiving, tidal waters below— was something he’d never imagined in his wildest nightmares.

All his life, he’d been prepared to sacrifice himself, to do whatever it took to save his family— his mother, when she was alive— and then his little brother, when it was just the two of them left. 

He didn't mind pushing himself to the limit, over and over— suffering near death injuries and dodging crippling blows during crazy fights was nothing new to him. Because at the back of his head, he’d always had that speck of reassurance— that whatever happened to him, at least his loved ones would be safe.

So now, when he was suddenly thrown at the opposite end of that morbid deal, he felt terrifyingly unbalanced. 

He realized how agonizing it was— to see someone he loved trying to sacrifice their own life, because they thought it would somehow be better that way.

He realized how much worry and pain he’d been causing to Gun and LiMing and to North too, now— everytime he went into the ring and fought in dangerous matches, every time he went to thoughtlessly gamble with his own life and health and well being— on the pretext of making his family’s lives better.

It had been incredibly selfish of him, to have forced them to watch him get injured and beaten up and nearly die- so many times now- and then compelling them to look the other way, pretend that everything was fine.

At the end of all this, if he survived, he realized he owed them all a big apology. 

So he squeezed his eyes shut and hugged North closer still, his heart swelling with gratitude and relief— the warm weight of his lover in his arms grounding his restless thoughts. 

And just like that memorable day weeks ago, even though he didn’t believe, he sent a prayer to whoever was up there— Please, no matter what happens, let him be safe. Let him live. That’s all I want. 

“I can hear it,” North murmured quietly, his face pressed into Night’s chest. “Your heartbeats. They’re so fast.”

Night stilled, his hands pausing in carding through North’s hair for a moment. 

North's voice still sounded a bit faraway, like he was talking in a trance— just like that moment after he’d caught him from that ledge barely in the nick of time. 

He’d looked into North’s glassy, unseeing eyes, flitting in and out of focus like he was simultaneously recognizing Night and wasn’t— and Night had been so terrified he could barely think.

But now when North looked up, his eyes were clear, focused, and luminous in the semi-darkness— a stark difference from hours ago— and Night secretly let out a relieved breath. 

“You know what I thought, right at that moment? When I- when my foot slipped?” North continued, in a quiet whisper. “There was just one thing I regretted— one thing I wish I could have done.”

He paused, hesitating for a beat, eyes flitting between Night’s— wide and vulnerable and mournful.

“I… I thought of how much I wanted to see you one last time, how much I wanted to say goodbye.” 

A single tear slid down his face, and North didn’t even seem to notice. 

Night shuddered at the words, the implication hitting him once more like a ton of bricks. He’d been so close, so fucking close to losing the boy he loved. He gulped down past the lump at his throat and clutched at North’s shoulders tightly. 

“Don't ever do something like that again, North, promise me. If it gets too much, then… then talk to me first, about whatever is bothering you— I promise I’ll listen, I’ll understand, even if I can’t do much to help. You don't have to keep everything to yourself anymore, we're in this together. And like I said before, none of this is your fault, you know that, right?” He held North's face between his hands, fervently willing him to understand.

North’s pretty eyes gleamed with unshed tears as they swept between his own, filled to the brim with a mix of regret and sorrow— but also, shining from deep within with hope and relief and gratitude.  

The dim, buttery yellow glow of the bedside lamp bathed the whole space in a soothing, comforting glow—and the half shadows provided Night enough of a cover to say the next few words, dredging them up from the most scared, helpless, defenseless parts of him deep within. 

“And I know it’s rich, coming from me, but please don’t… don’t shut me off like that ever again, don't push me away and try to carry everything yourself. I know I realized it far too late, but just like you don’t like seeing me get hurt, I don’t like seeing you hurting this way either. I really thought that I'd- I’d lose you today… god… fuck…” 

He tried so hard, but the tremble in his voice gave him away, and the sob he was trying to keep at bay finally escaped him— 

But before his tears could fall, there was an abrupt pull— a pair of arms circled his waist and North yanked him over into himself— both of them toppling sideways onto the bed. North wrapped him up in a desperate, crushing hug, his arms squeezing Night’s shoulders and their legs tangling together— and they curled into each other, until there was no space left. 

“I know, I’m sorry, I’m really sorry,” North sobbed into his neck, and Night could feel his tears— warm and wet and heartbreaking — falling onto his skin and melting into his own sorrow like summer rain. He could only clutch North back tighter— threading his fingers into the back of his head and inhaling his scent (so warm), holding his weight in his arms (so dearly familiar) and listening to his breathing (so blessedly alive). 

North pulled away after a few minutes and peered up at him. He seemed to be hesitating over something, eyes a bit unsure— as if he didn't know how to say whatever he wanted to say— so Night gently brushed a thumb under his eyes and offered an encouraging nod. 

“I wasn’t going to, you know,” North began, a little halting. “I really wasn’t- because I… I met my mom.”

Whatever Night had been expecting, it was definitely not those words, spoken in that particular order— and the surprise must have shown on his face.

North threw him a rueful smile.

“It sounds crazy, doesn't it? I know it does… but it’s true. My mom was there, I talked to her. It was… it was unexpectedly nice.”

Night was at a loss for words. He couldn't fathom what North's mental state at that time would have been like, but he could make a guess. 

Had it been literally anyone else saying these words, Night would have scoffed at them— but North was someone who would never voluntarily fib about imaginary happenstances, his real life was crazy enough— so for him to be saying this, it had to mean something. 

He thought back to the years after his own mother’s death— the days and nights blurring into an overwhelming tangle of grief— times when he’d wished nothing more than to speak to her once more, see her for one last time, the void in his heart never to be filled again. 

Maybe there was a place beyond death, afterall. Maybe, all the love that bound people to others on this earth did leave a trace— and maybe our loved ones never really leave us, watching over us from a place beyond the veil. 

So Night pressed closer, offering a smile— hoping North could see it in his eyes, that he believed him. 

“What did she say?”

North stared at him for a moment, surprise blooming over his face, as if he hadn't expected Night to believe him so quickly. 

“She asked me if I would be leaving people behind, and when I said yes, she told me that I had a choice. That I could choose- to not let go. And I- I chose that, Night- I chose to not let go, I chose to come back, to live.”

And then he smiled back softly, his face lighting up with an infectious, giddy sort of joy.

Once upon a time, in happier days of childhood, Night had had a foolish dream of studying astronomy when he grew up— he wanted to know the stars, learn their names and chart their paths— little knowing that life had other plans in store for him. 

But now, as he looked into North’s eyes- that were alive- lit with a spark that was brighter than all the stars in the sky combined— it suddenly occurred to him that maybe the universe had granted his wish in a different form altogether. 

He blinked back the mist in his eyes, swallowed past the tightness at his throat, and craned his neck to press a kiss over North's forehead. 

“I'm so proud of you,” he smiled, feeling North's relief and joy radiating across the space between them, soaking up his skin and bones too. 

They were both here, both alive , just for now, and that was all that mattered. 

North flushed a pretty pink, squirming under all the attention. 

“I think it was all in my head, but maybe… dunno…. Maybe some part of it was true- maybe I desperately wanted to see her one last time, and the universe somehow made it come true,” he finished quietly.

“I'm sure it did.”

He tipped closer and pressed a chaste kiss to North's lips, and felt him respond back— soft and sweet and tender. 

He yawned by the end of it, though, and it was rather adorable — how his blinks got  longer and slower, as exhaustion seeped over him. 

Night pulled the blankets over both of them, and North got the memo, snuggling closer and wrapping his limbs around him like a koala. 

“Get some sleep,” Night brushed a kiss over the top of his head. 

“You'll be here when I wake up?” North mumbled back in a childlike demand, his words already slurred and slow. 

Night didn't have the heart to say no, because how could he? 

“I'll be here,” he pressed another kiss to North's temple, and between one second and the next, North was out cold to the world. 

But sleep evaded Night for the longest time— he rested in fitful bursts, his mind chasing after half formed threads of logic and unanswered questions. 

He slowly disentangled himself to sit up against the headboard— careful not to jostle North— and pondered about his murky, dismal future. 

The final match looming at the end of the month that would decide his fate at The Polaris, that bastard Tem spying on him and North for his father, the lethal drugs- apparently supplied by Suppang- and lastly, Night’s face and god knows what other data, locked in the same man’s computers.

But more importantly, even amidst all that chaos, one thing kept bothering Night no matter how much he tried brushing it away.

It was the face of the guy he’d badly injured in the last fight just hours ago, which kept popping up at the forefront of his mind, over and over.

Now that the adrenaline had finally leached out of his system, he could finally recoup with himself and reevaluate exactly what he’d done. 

Night had never pushed himself this far, never given himself permission to be this violent, as much as he had been in that last bout. Serious injuries were commonplace in his line of work, but somewhere along the way, he’d developed his own personal moral code— a list of rules and boundaries he wouldn't cross, unless it was solely for survival.

But today was one of those days when he had crossed them— his punches and kicks and maneuvers being far more violent than he had intended them to be. The crowd had loved it, of course— because in Polaris’ world, the more the violence, the better the show. But Nightshade had never cared for using cheap, underhanded, grisly tricks— and he’d grown somewhat of a reputation in that regard. 

The other guy would probably make it— Praew had texted him an update half an hour ago— that he was currently hospitalized, but had a decent chance of pulling through. 

But that reassurance wasn’t enough to dilute the guilt swirling heavy and nauseating at the pit of his stomach. 

Now that he thought about it, it had been incredibly easy for him to switch off all rationality and turn into an amoral beast— purely a creature of instincts and muscle brawn— the moment the safety of someone he loved was threatened. 

Night had had uncountable bloody, messy fights until now— but rare were the times when he truly regretted the choices made in the heat of the fight. 

But now, in the privacy of his own head, he admitted to himself that today he’d gone too far.

It was an unwritten rule of thumb in the pits— keep your heart out and head on, let only your fists do the talking, or you were more likely to end up as dead meat than win a fight. 

But today, he’d gone against that rule, let his rationality leave him and dragged his heart into the mess— letting emotions take over. 

In his panic and single minded goal of finishing the fight as quickly as possible, he hadn't cared for finesse or techniques— simply bulldozed his way through his matches, to the extent that even Jom had given him a wide berth when he’d snarled in his face to Get the fuck out of my way— as the man had come snivelling on about some bullshit Night couldn't care less about right then. 

His one and only objective had been finding North, and he’d let that focus consume him— running through the rain and midnight traffic all the way across the city to the location P’Heart had sent him.

Night couldn't fathom how much North must have been hurting inside— maybe for months and years— for him to reach the end of his tethers like he’d done today.

His own mother’s death had been hard, he'd been filled with grief and sorrow for years, but neither he or Gun had felt guilty over it. 

They were very young, just ten and eight, when their mother fell ill within months after they had moved to Pattaya following their dad’s accident. She was diagnosed with a rare, complicated liver disease, and added to that was the stress of working down to her bones to provide for him and Gun. 

She was looked after by Uncle Jim and the old aunties from their neighborhood, and even on occasion by P’Wen, when he stayed over during his breaks and accompanied her to consultations in the next town over. 

And when her illness progressed, one of his mom's closest friends from Bangkok came to visit her. That aunty was apparently the one who bore all the treatment expenses, right until his mother passed away— Night got to know years later from Uncle Jim.

Night didn't remember her name, neither did he see her after those first few times— but remembered her as a kindly, gentle person, who had come around their house in Pattaya a few times with gifts when they’d first moved. He'd see his mother crying into her shoulders in the months after his dad's death, the two of them talking in quiet voices at the corner of the verandah for hours. 

The day his mom got hospitalized for the first time for an endoscopy— the beginning of a chronic chain of such admissions— that aunty had crouched down and talked to both him and Gun, holding onto their hands gently. 

“You both have to be very brave from now on, darlings. Take care of each other, and keep each other safe, okay? I promise I'll do everything I can to help your maa.”

Then for the next four years, his mom was under stressful treatment regimens. It seemed like an on and off case, the disease stabilizing for sometime and then deteriorating again. 

But even after all the help, his mother's condition had progressed, and then one day, she got hospitalized and never returned. 

So, long story short, Night had never borne the guilt of his mom's passing, because health and illness was something far beyond human hands. 

His only regret was that he was too young to have understood the details of it, getting to know only fragments from Uncle Jim and P’Wen years later. 

So try as he might, he couldn't truly relate to or imagine the burden North must've been carrying within him all these years— the way he felt responsible for that car accident, and later, for his brother’s disability— even though logically he knew no one blamed him for any of it, he’d barely made it out alive himself.

And now, this whole mess resurfacing from his father and his connection to the drugs, and Night’s fate at Polaris, North kept blaming himself for all of that too.

I’m sorry for ruining your life, he had kept on saying, over and over, through a tear streaked face and terrified eyes, just hours ago.

Night felt a little lost— he didn't know how to make North believe that it wasn’t true, any of it, that it couldn't be farthest from the truth. 

He didn't know how to make North understand that he’d made Night’s life better just by being in it, despite their diametrically opposite places in life. He’d filled Night’s days with warmth and joy and friendship— accepting him for who he was, with all his flaws and insecurities. He’d looked at Night as an equal, like a person worthy of holding on to— so vastly different from the way Night had been treated by most people in his life. 

But most importantly, he had gifted Night with the irreplaceable feeling of being seen, when he was just another dime a dozen faceless fighters scrambling to survive in the murky waters of Bangkok's underground rings. 

North had gambled on him, had thrown all his bets on him— at a time when no one else had put stock to his name; he’d singled out Nightshade from so many others in the club, genuinely respecting and admiring his skills, his fighting prowess, without any ulterior motives at all— and that was the one thing Night was absurdly grateful for, and would always be. 

He just wished North could see himself the way Night saw him — a bright, charming, wonderful (and an unfairly pretty and gorgeous) person — a little eccentric and childish and stubborn too, once you got to know him — but with a heart that was so, so big, despite everything he’d been through. 

The clock ticked on in the silence, filled only by the sounds of his and North’s quiet breathing. Outside, the overcast sky was in its darkest hours before daybreak— the rain continuing to fall softly against the windows.

His mind swirled with random fragments of old memories and wispy thoughts and half formed questions— growing restless and fatigued.

His eyes fell on North's sleeping face— the sharp, beautiful lines of him relaxed in slumber, looking so very young and boyish and vulnerable— and abruptly, a single, crystalline truth rushed through Night’s mind, unbidden.

Trailing his fingertips through the soft tufts of hair over North’s forehead, he thought, I’d do it again, a thousand times over, if it means I get to keep him safe. 

North didn’t stir at the faint touch, remaining curled up against his hips and dead to the world— and the fierce surge of protectiveness that flared inside Night wasn’t new, or even surprising.

But what did surprise him was the absolute lack of remorse, the absence of any contrition, any guilt, that failed to accompany the vow he’d just made to himself. 

He was suddenly hit with the clarity that if it came down to the worst one day, if he had to go as far as he had done today, or even more— he’d probably still not hesitate to do whatever it took, if it meant he could keep North out of harm's way. 

It was a rather terrifying realization— one that unbalanced him, his moral code shifting and bending and rewiring to accommodate the new rules just as easily, between one breath and the next. 

He looked down at his hands, curled into the sheets absently— at his battered, scraped knuckles, the tape marks and bruises from tonight still not faded away— and wondered if love was supposed to feel this violent, this powerful, this all-consuming?

And if it did, would he ever end up hurting North with the force of it, destroying the precious, beautiful tenderness of this thing between them— simply because he didn't know of any other way of showing he cared?

But then, North mumbled something in sleep and frowned, turning over to snuggle closer into his warmth. One of his sleep heavy hands dropped onto Night’s, and his fingers blindly shuffled along his skin as if seeking for something, then curled into Night's palm, right over his knuckles—

Then he relaxed back into sleep once more, grasping onto Night’s hands like a child.

And Night let out a shuddering breath he didn't know he was holding in— his eyes prickling at the corners and heart jolting frantically, as if it would beat out of his chest. A surge of something warm and bright and precious and overwhelming welled up inside him, pushing away all of his flimsy doubts and beating at the ragged, worn down, fragile seams of his soul, weaving it back anew.

He realized it didn’t matter— none of his calculations or plans or worries could accurately tell him his future, or prepare him for what was to come.

But this- now- this simple warmth of a hand clasped into his own, the sleepy soft breaths of a boy lying next to him, trusting Night to keep him safe, that innocent demand of Will you be here when I wake up? felt like a bigger promise, a heavier binding, testament to a more profound faith in him than some people’s gods or even gold rings on fingers— and Night had never, in his wildest dreams, deemed himself worthy of something like that, before today.

Something prompted him to grab his phone from the bedside stand and capture this moment— he didn’t want to forget this, no matter what the future had in store for him. 

***

He must've fallen in a fitful sleep sometime later, because now, he blinked awake— his senses slowly adjusting to his surroundings. 

He was in bed, lying under the covers, with a warm body curled up against him— their limbs intertwined as close to comfort as possible. An arm was draped across his middle, clutching onto his sides— and someone's head rested on his shoulders, their deep breaths fanning rhythmically across his neck.

He dipped his nose into the nest of fluffy hair and inhaled the sleepy warm scent of North— and felt relief wash over him, soothing his restless subconscious.

He slowly shifted back, taking care not to disturb North, and gazed all over his face.

The pale silvery-blue-golden light of morning filtering through the gaps in his curtains painted everything in soft colors, and Night wished he could hold onto this warmth for a little longer.

There was a bruise blooming over North’s cheek, right where Night had punched him yesterday— and he felt a twinge of regret, looking at the mottled, angry purple-red patch of skin.

North looked otherwise unhurt, and that was the most important part.

“I can feel you staring, you know?” North mumbled, his voice raspy from sleep and lips curving up into a faint smile.

Night stilled, flustered at getting caught— but he decided he didn’t particularly care about being embarrassed anymore, especially not right now— so he scooted forwards and bumped their noses together, huffing out a laugh.

“And? Can’t I stare? After all that you put me through last night?” he teased back, and North’s eyes flew open.

Night was hit by a sense of déjà vu— it occurred to him that they’d had this exact conversation before— that first morning-after, when North had stayed over, the day when they’d finally gotten together. 

Only that time, these words were flipped— with North asking him that very same question.

It seemed his brain had unconsciously mirrored those words from so long ago— and he could see it in North's amused eyes too, that he was thinking of the same thing. 

“What is this, payback?” North grumbled, with faux annoyance and a pout.

“Yeah, it definitely is,” Night poked at his puffed up cheeks, smiling. “You look terrible, by the way,” he added, just to be a little shit, gesturing at the bruise.

North leveled an unimpressed look at him. 

“Good morning to you too.”

Then he flopped over, rolling away from Night dramatically like an affronted cat— and Night couldn't help but reach out and catch him around the middle, peppering kisses all over the back of his neck and shoulders, skittering his fingertips over his sides where he knew North was ticklish— 

And was rewarded with North's delighted shrieks and giggles as he tried to get away from him. 

This- Night thought, burying his face into the back of North’s neck and hugging him from behind, his heart feeling several sizes too big for his chest with the sheer amount of joy he was feeling right now— this- was what he must protect, this was what mattered, and nothing else.

“You okay?” North asked quietly, after a moment. 

Night took a long, deep breath, inhaling the dearly familiar, warm scent of the boy he loved— and it was crazy how grounding that simple gesture felt.

“Yeah,” he mumbled back, just as softly. “I’m… I’m glad you’re here, North. I’m glad I met you.”

North went quiet for a long minute, his hands slowly coming up to intertwine with Night’s— where it rested over his heart.

“Me too,” he whispered back, voice thick with emotion.

Outside the closed doors, the sounds of stomping feet intensified, accompanied by clanking of pots and pans and clinking of cutlery, of cupboard doors slamming closed. 

Gun’s booming voice hollered from somewhere down the hall.

“Oiii, lazy bums! Get your asses out here! Breakfast is ready!”

xxiv.

precession (n.) – periodic change in the direction of an object's axis caused by the gravitational influence from another body.

That morning, just before the office rush hour began, a red vespa was seen parked at the street corner of a certain neighborhood in the northern part of Bangkok.

The rider was a delivery man of one Moonlight Cafe, decked in uniform and strapped with his trusty carrier of what appeared to be food deliveries. He was masked up, with a black cap pulled over his glossy raven hair, hiding half of his face easily.

The guy was seemingly busy with his phone, presumably checking addresses and directions— his strong, nimble fingers flying over the keypad, a red watch gleaming at his right wrist. 

No passerby paid him more than a cursory glance, as he blended in perfectly with the background of the streets and passing traffic just like thousands of gig workers similar to him did in the city everyday. 

His eyes, however, were secretly tracking the people going in and out of a certain high-walled, two-storied, posh looking white residential building a couple of houses up the street.

At 9 a.m. : a housekeeper— an elderly lady— presumably leaving for the market to get essentials. 

At 9:20 a.m. : The housekeeper returned with two grocery bags. By that time, two middle aged ladies, presumably kitchen staff— also reached the staff gates at the back of the house. They greeted each other cordially and the three of them entered the compound together. 

At 10:10 a.m. : a burly, squat, middle aged man, attired in an average business suit, thinning hair gelled excessively to the point of looking vulgar, and with a long scar along the left side of his face, arrived in a cab. The man haggled rudely with the cabbie about the fare, threw some dirty cuss words, and ultimately settled on a stingy price in exchange for what appeared to be ample threats of violence shouted in the poor driver’s face— exact words being ‘You messed with the wrong man bastard, let’s see how you keep that driving permit.’ 

He was Suthidon— the right hand man of Khun Suppang— the politician the house belonged to.

“Nasty fucker,” the delivery guy cursed quietly, matching Suthidon’s face with the photo he had received on his screen days ago, and committing it to memory. 

He needed to get acquainted with these names and faces and routines as soon as possible— because his gut instincts told him that things were moving fast and were going to get messy real soon.

He made himself comfortable against the scooter, because as per his hunch, there should be a lull in activity for at least an hour, until the owner of the house left for the day. He’d need to note down the car model and number— and preferably, get a good visual of the bastard too. 

About ten minutes later, his phone dinged with a text message.

From: Gun 🎶🎸

hia li where the fuck are u

Despite the atrocious grammar and the absolute lack of respect, LiMing’s face stretched into a fond smile.

I’m at my job 🤨

 Where are YOU ?

oh pls🙄 

the diner doesn’t open until 2 

You went to see p’heart didn’t u

Night has been asking after u

I can’t keep covering for ur ass for long

U know u weren’t supposed to loiter around there right ?

That crazy bastard apparently has been tailing all of us

Or so p’north suspects

Huh big deal 🙄

I’m literally a delivery guy

Part time, but still

It's my job to go around places

Let that fucker tail me all over the city if he wants to 😒

🙄🙄🙄

Ok suit urself

Just… dont get beaten up/ kidnapped/ drugged/ taken hostage

We don't have the money to rescue ur sorry ass

👎👎👎

u don’t love me ?

I’m hurt 💔

devastated 💔

After everything I’ve done

birthed u raised u fed u 

taught u how to walk and talk

This is the respect I get in this household ?

😔😔😔

ur so dramatic GOD

I’m gonna go

got morning classes

do whatever u want 

not like u ever listen to us anyway 😑

You’ve got it soooo bad for p’heart it's embarrassing to watch honestly ☠️🤠

Ha ha very funny

says the boy making mooney eyes at that nerd 24/7 😒

You’re still on thin ice young man

I don’t approve

And I don't approve ur disapproval 

👎👎👎

Tinn is literally an angel sent from the heavens okay 

no further arguments 

go talk to a wall 🙄✋

Whatever

we’ll see

Btw how is North… and Night?

They’re… alive? I think?

Came in at ass o’clock last night

both of them dripping wet from the rain

looking like total zombies

then crashed here

p’north went back to sleep after breakfast… 

… he doesn’t look too good :(

And neither does night

His eyebags are so big u could prolly fit a hippo in there 

Something horrible happened yesterday and neither of them will say WHAT 

God I’m so sick and tired of all ur dramatic asses!!! 🙄

Even tinn is hiding something and I can TELL

He literally has the WORST poker face in the history of poker faces 😭

I wish you’d all stop treating me like a child for once !!!

…… we can’t help it

I know it sucks, Gun

But you’re the youngest among all of us

I guess we all subconsciously want to protect you 

as much as we can

as long as we can 😔

…….ugh… ok. Fine. I get it.

Don’t go all big bro mode on me now

Night is a pain in the ass already… 😭

anyway gtg now

good luck serenading p’heart from a tree outside his window or whatever😒

hope u fall down and break ur geriatric waist 👍

bye 👋

U lil shit

Wait till I get back home 😠🫵

Have a good day at uni

Stay safe

See you later

After another half an hour, a little past 11 a.m., a black car emerged from the front gates of the house, and LiMing's senses stood on high alert.

He tugged his cap lower and hunkered down over his vespa, hiding his face with his phone, but his sharp eyes tracked the car with keen interest.

Suthidon was in the driver's seat, with the owner of the car in the back, talking over the phone.

The man was middle aged, graying at the temples. He had the sort of face and build that might have once been called handsome in his youth— but there was something unnervingly cruel and severe about the set of his jaw, the sour curl of his mouth— that immediately raised LiMing’s hackles. 

It seemed as if the man was permanently displeased with the world. The irritated frown of his brows and the annoyed look in his eyes seemed to convey an arrogant confidence, as if he believed that the rest of the world and its people were beneath him.

But more than any of those details, what struck LiMing the most was the fact that he had Heart’s hands and North’s eyes. 

The resemblance was uncanny, and anyone would be able to see it at a glance— that this man was their father. 

(Oddly enough, it was just like with Night and Gun— in how they both grew up to be splitting images of their dad, from what LiMing had seen from their childhood photos.)

But that superficial resemblance is where the similarities ended between Heart and North, and their father— because this man couldn't have been more different from his sons if his life depended on it. 

LiMing was suddenly immensely glad he’d met the two brothers first, under wildly different circumstances too— that he was sure Suppang wouldn’t have approved of.

Seeing this man and his cold, oppressive aura— he was absurdly glad neither Heart nor North had inherited his foul, cruel disposition.

They had probably taken after their mother— in how warm and caring and genuine both of them were, albeit in different ways.

The car passed him by, slowly picking up acceleration as it went— and LiMing carefully recorded a video and snapped a few photos from certain strategic angles.

He relaxed back into his seat now that there were no more suspicious vehicles to keep watch for.

But after another fifteen minutes, he started to get antsy. 

Heart should have left for his uni by now. Or did he not have classes today? 

Or maybe he had online lectures?

Wait, was he sick, by any chance?

His worry grew as the clock struck noon. Dark monsoon clouds had started rolling in overhead, dimming the light of day to a feeble, diffuse glow— it would probably start raining heavily soon. 

He knew he was simply stalling, he could just… text Heart instead of stalking his household like some major creepo. 

But, he was also feeling strangely apprehensive.

He knew that Heart was aware of what happened with his brother yesterday. 

Night had told LiMing briefly how things had gone down at Polaris, that North had been badly shaken up when he found out about the connection between his father and some guy called Tem — who’d apparently been spying on them at Polaris, the fucker— and then he’d stormed away, leaving Night to run after his ass and bring him back home from some pier at the periphery of the city, once Heart had informed him of North's location. 

At first, Night wouldn't elaborate what exactly happened, but that made LiMing’s worry grow even more— because he could sense that whatever went down had shaken Night up badly too— and after a few minutes of strategic coaxing, Night relented. 

“Hia Li, North… he- I think he tried to take his own life… he was gonna jump, you know? Into the- the…”

And Night’s thin, terrified voice over the phone had sent chills down LiMing's spine at 4 in the morning.

“If I had been even a second late, I don’t know what would’ve happened.”

LiMing’s blood turned cold, he couldn't imagine the sheer terror and panic Night must've gone through— watching his lover in those last few crucial seconds. 

LiMing wasn’t a believer, but right then, he thanked whatever powers there may or may not be up there— that both North and Night were safe. 

“After what he heard at the club- that his father was spying on me, maybe on all of us, and the drugs too… I don’t know… I think he felt responsible for this whole mess — he kept saying how he ruined my life. And he thought… he thought removing himself from all of this… would be the best option.”

Night finished in a tired, exhausted voice— the words tumbling out of him in broken whispers, and LiMing cursed silently.

He remembered what Heart had told him weeks earlier— that North still blamed himself for his mother’s death all those years ago— and now, something very similar was happening again, putting the people he cared about in danger. 

From what he’d seen of North till now, he seemed to be an empathetic, rather impulsive guy— his emotions running more intensely than the average person. LiMing could only guess how much the whole thing must have been tormenting that poor boy, pushing him to the brink finally.

He would need to talk to Heart soon— he was sure Heart had guessed it by now, or maybe Night had told him outright— and if the news had shocked him, as a total outsider, to this extent, he couldn’t imagine how badly Heart must have taken it. 

He needed to make sure Heart was okay— and maybe discuss their next steps too. 

“Night, listen carefully. Don’t let him out of your sight, yeah? If you can take a day off, do so, and stay with him. Don’t get out of the house unless you absolutely need to, I’ll ask one of my guys to get food over for the next couple of days.”

Night had only hummed tiredly— it seemed he was too exhausted to come up with any sort of retort or protest— like he normally would have, because he’d always hated owing people favors or inconveniencing them over something trivial.

But this was decidedly not trivial, and LiMing was prepared to put his foot down in case Night started arguing back. 

He suddenly got the feeling that he and his little family were suddenly thrown into some very real, very fucked up shit— that this wasn’t just a bunch of rich brats rebelling against their daddies and throwing money at underground clubs anymore. LiMing had the growing suspicion that this had the potential to turn extremely nasty. 

After he and North had forced out Suppang’s name from that asshole Jom, Night’s final big fight at the end of the month was starting to feel more and more like a ruse to serve a different goal altogether. 

They still didn’t know why Suppang was collecting info on Night and having him tailed. It was as if they were all deliberately being ensnared into a trap and forced to make choices in a game whose outcome was probably already set in stone by the corrupt, rotting powers behind the scenes. It felt as if a vile spiderweb was closing in around all of them— and LiMing couldn't see the head or tail of it, or even how to untangle the mess and escape, without being swallowed whole.

So here he was, feeling antsy and paranoid in the middle of the day, keeping watch over that bastard Suppang’s house— and being worried sick if Heart was okay.

After another few minutes of stalling, he couldn't take it anymore. He decided to just get over it, even at the risk of sounding like a stalker— and pulled out his phone.

He didn't let himself think too hard about whether it would come across as too nosy or cross any invisible lines— he and Heart had gone out on a date, right? And Heart had asked for his help too — and maybe they did mean a little more to each other by now than just casual friends, right?

Whatever, he was not going to overthink this— better to trust his gut instincts and be safe than sorry.

To: Heart ♡ 

Hey

Where are you?

Did you leave for uni?

There were no replies for fifteen minutes, which was the first red flag— because Heart was usually glued to either his phone, his computers, or his numerous other devices, fiddling away at his beloved codes, even when he was at uni— so there was no way he’d miss a text alert— texts being his primary communication method. 

In all the weeks he’d been talking to LiMing, his longest response time had been three minutes at the most. (LiMing knew, because he might have been observing. But anyway. Not important.)

He frowned at the screen now, running through possibilities in his head— maybe Heart had gone to the washroom, maybe he was napping, eating, or doing literally any number of regular chores that might require him to be away from his phone for a temporary amount of time. Perfectly logical.  

But LiMing still couldn't shake off the feeling that something was off.

His phone dinged after another ten minutes.

From: Heart ♡ 

hey

I’m at home

Okay, LiMing was now sure that something was majorly wrong. 

No flirty hi hellos, no emojis, no string of cute messages. 

Alarm bells started pinging off in his head.

are u… okay?

……..
Not really 

And no, not in actual danger, before u ask

I’m fine

I just…. I'm not feeling ok

LiMing calmed down after the immediate reassurances— trust Heart to know he’d be panicking even before he said something. That guy somehow had him figured out uncannily well for someone who'd known him for a relatively short duration, and that realization made a warm, tingly feeling flutter inside his chest even amidst all his worry.

have u eaten?

A plan was forming in his head. 

Whatever mental state Heart was in right now, LiMing had learnt over the years that there was nothing a good warm meal could not fix.

……. You are such a… mom (¬_¬ )

has anyone ever told u that?

LiMing rolled his eyes, fondness rushing over him. Heart was starting to tease back, that was a good sign, right? 

I’ll take that as a no then

brb in half an hour ✌️

……. wait

wdym brb?

hello?? 

Ming where are you? 🤨

Oh shit. That had been a major slip of hand, LiMing bit down on his lips, feeling a little flustered now. 

Whatever. He’ll just have to make it up with food, like he always did.

He slipped his phone back into his pocket and floored the accelerator— if all went well, he could wheedle P’Saleng to pack him a meal— all of Heart’s favorites, of course— and be back here in a while.

Today was his day off anyway. 

***

Forty minutes later— because midday traffic was preposterous and the sudden heavy downpour absolutely did not help, LiMing— now dripping wet and soggy— stood in front of the staff gates like Heart had insisted on last time he was here, and rang the doorbell.

He had taken precautions of course— mask, cap, gloves, his backpack slung over his shoulders and a big parcel of warm food in his hands— at least the food had been safe in his watertight carrier, thank god— he would be unrecognizable from any random delivery guy that came around to this neighborhood.

His phone had been pinging on and off all the while— and he was sure they were messages from Heart, no doubt trying to work out the meaning of LiMing’s cryptic message from earlier. 

Heart’s natural curiosity and his childish eagerness to figure out stuff he couldn't understand was so damn endearing, it made LiMing smile absently everytime he thought about it.

The elderly housekeeper he’d seen this morning let him in without a word, then disappeared through a side door presumably to her quarters— and so he took off his mask, adjusted the food packets comfortably in his arms, and stood there in the foyer, waiting for Heart to come down.

The house was silent and empty— just like it had been that very first day LiMing had stepped foot into it— but it didn't escape his notice how vastly different his circumstances were from that day until today.

LiMing had been a stranger then, simply a delivery guy sending food to another hungry patron— and Heart had been just another customer.

But since then, their lives had gotten inexplicably tangled together in the wildest possible ways— and now, today, LiMing was bringing food for his… What exactly were he and Heart to each other?

Friends? Yes, but not quite, not anymore.

There was something more— from both his and Heart’s sides, he surely hadn’t read everything wrong— but he was also aware of how nebulous and tentative it was. 

And maybe it was cowardly, but LiMing wanted to hide behind that veil of undefined, unacknowledged feelings a little longer— until he could be absolutely sure.

There were sounds of someone padding hurriedly down the wooden staircase, and seconds later— Heart appeared in the foyer.

He was clad in a t-shirt and lounge pants, with a dressing gown thrown hastily over him, the ties stringed haphazardly. His hair was a mess, his eyes red around the edges and face puffy.

Heart had been— he’d been crying. 

He stood there in the dark shadows of that cavernous foyer like a lonely, lost boy— and LiMing's chest twisted with an inexplicable sadness— he wished he could simply lunge across the distance and wrap Heart up in a tight hug, tell him that it was going to be okay.  

“Hey, I’m back,” LiMing mumbled, with a small smile, his throat feeling like it was closing up.

For several long moments, Heart simply looked at him in disbelief, like he couldn't believe LiMing was really here — and then he was rushing across the space— and next thing LiMing knew he was being wrapped up in a tight, bone crushing hug. 

Heart swayed into him— the momentum of his much taller frame threatening to tip LiMing off balance— but he managed to steady himself, and hugged him back with an arm, holding the food packets safely out of the way in the other. 

Heart was so warm and solid against him— LiMing could feel the way he was clutching onto his back urgently, the way he buried his face into his shoulder and held on— and all LiMing could do was rub soothing circles over his back, over his shoulders and he felt Heart trembling a little— his breaths coming uneven and shaky, as if he was holding back tears. 

A rush of protectiveness flared inside LiMing right then— he silently vowed to himself that whatever happened from now on, he’d see it through till the end, that he’d do everything he could to help Heart, shield him as much as he could, if need be.

“It’s okay, it’s going to be okay, I’m here… we’ll figure it out,” he murmured into Heart’s ears, over and over like a lullaby, the words slipping out of him even without his conscious thoughts. He didn't know if he was trying to reassure Heart or himself— but at that moment, it didn't really matter.

He let himself hold Heart tighter, buried his nose in the warm skin of his neck and inhaled his scent— of crisp papers and ink, of something clean, metallic— like wires and steel and electric sparks, and underneath all that, there was something warm and sweet and comforting, like plumeria blooming at night— and LiMing pressed closer, his heart thudding inside his chest and an odd feeling of vulnerability seeping over him. 

He squeezed his eyes shut and fervently wished that no harm would come upon this boy in his arms.

He’s been through so much already, please, whoever is up there— let him be at peace.

Heart pulled away after a while and looked LiMing up and down— noting his attire, the food packets from the diner— and then fixed LiMing with a stern, disapproving frown.

Where have you been? He signed, raising an eyebrow. What did you mean when you said “be right back?”

There were actual air quotes around the gesture.

Uh oh. 

LiMing shifted on his feet, suddenly feeling like he was five and being told off for getting into trouble. Not fair! He was the older one between them, for crying out loud. 

But under Heart’s very strict, judgmental stare, his bravado was fast dissipating.

Uh… I’ve been… around? He tried, getting nervous.

Heart’s eyebrows disappeared into his bangs. It was impressive how intimidating he could be, when just a few minutes ago he’d been close to tears in LiMing’s arms.

“Around?” Mind elaborating? 

Ugh. Okay fine, you win, thought LiMing grouchily. 

It had been years since he’d been on the receiving end of someone’s scolding— the last time he remembered was Uncle Jim in senior year of high school, and that was ages ago.

He grumbled and hedged some more, but Heart did not budge an inch— maybe he was a psychic mind reader or something, and already knew about LiMing’s snooping earlier this morning by some outlandish tech miracle. 

He wouldn't put it past Heart.

Okay, don't get mad, but I was sitting at the street corner near your house since morning, he signed slowly, carefully gauging Heart’s reaction— which went from grim to confused.

Why? He asked.

LiMing flushed— his actual reasons seemed childish now that he was having to explain them.

It was… to keep an eye on your dad… and that man, Suthidon. You gave me their names and pictures for enquiry at CIB… through the guy I knew, remember? 

Heart’s face went from confusion to downright alarmed in point three seconds flat.

What? Why on earth would you do that?  

LiMing raked a hand through his hair, suddenly feeling a little out of his depth. 

I- I don't know! I was… I was just worried about you, okay? After last night , when I heard about what happened with North- I got worried about you, he gestured back, getting stressed out now. I wanted to make sure you were okay.

For a long moment, Heart stared at him, totally dumbstruck— and then his face went through a series of complicated emotions too fast to catch— worry, indignation, gratitude, and finally settled on a peculiar look of fondness, mixed with exasperation.

He reached out and grabbed LiMing’s shoulders tightly.

That was incredibly impulsive, and risky, do you realize that? What if he saw you? My dad is an asshole- we don't even know what he’s plotting, what his goals are. What if he hurts you too? I’m already worried sick about North and I can’t…  I won’t be able to help if things get really bad, you understand that? I’m useless in actual fights, unlike North and Night and the rest. What if my father —

LiMing reached out to grab his frantic hands out of the air, stopping him mid rant. Heart’s breaths were coming rapid fire, worry creasing his face— visibly upset and anxious.

It struck LiMing then— that he and Heart had both acted out of the same impulse— he couldn't rest until he made sure Heart would be okay, and in turn, Heart was now panicking over him being targeted too. 

So he gently clasped Heart’s hands in his own and stepped closer, peering into his eyes.

Hey, I am okay. I’ll be safe. He didn’t see me, I promise— I was really well hidden. 

Heart pursed his lips, then let out a long sigh, stepping back reluctantly. 

Okay, if you say so. But promise me- you will have to stay safe. No more playing James Bond outside my house, okay? He fixed LiMing with a stern frown. 

LiMing bit back a fond smile at Heart’s unusual persistence, nodding in agreement. 

This side of Heart was new— this worrywart Heart, grousing over small details and asking LiMing to be safe as if it was a matter of utmost concern— this was a pleasant surprise.

This was also a rare occurrence— he didn't remember the last time someone had worried over him to this extent. Usually, it was always the other way round, since he was the oldest. 

But he found that he… didn’t mind it, not at all. 

If it had been any other person- including Uncle Jim- bossing him around or nagging so much, he’d have practically rioted by now. But strangely, with Heart, he found it oddly endearing instead. 

Just like that day when Heart had opened up to him about his past, LiMing found that he wanted to hide this new side of him somewhere secret— keep it hidden, safe and secure.

Heart suddenly reached out, took off his cap and started patting all over his head, messing up the wet strands. His face morphed into surprise as he looked down and inspected the rest of LiMing’s clothes— as if noticing how drenched they were for the first time.

Wait, how on earth did you get soaked? He signed, alarmed. Did you drive through the rain with no protection? Ming! What the hell, you’re gonna fall sick! Come on!

Then unceremoniously dragged him by the hand— food packets and all— to the rooms upstairs, before LiMing could get another word in.

***

Heart’s room was unexpectedly… messy.  

LiMing had somehow had this pristine and cool image of Heart based on the way he carried himself, his flirty personality and clever, tech savvy ways.

But as soon as he stepped through the doors, all his preconceived notions were instantly dashed to the ground. 

His eyes were immediately assaulted by a pleasant chaos of scattered books and papers, of random boxes of tech junk, wires- thick and thin, running from everywhere to everywhere and tool kits strewn at the corners. 

A huge table near the window was occupied by four gigantic monitors— two of them still on and running some sort of rapidly moving, tiny string of codes on screen. (There was a green pixel frog at the corner of the nearest screen that kept leaping up with a tiny mechanical ‘ribbit’ everytime the progress bar went up… which- okay, sure.) 

Other computer equipment with blinking multicolored lights were whirring away quietly, all crammed together in the small space and held in place by what LiMing could only assume were thoughts and prayers— since the teetering pile of metal and plastic seemed in no immediate danger of falling over the moment someone sneezed too loud.

There were clothes piled on top of a chair at the corner— next to what looked like… a keyboard and a… guitar? (But since they were zipped up in their dusty covers so he couldn’t tell for sure.) A couple of large cardboard storage boxes were stacked next to them.

Heart’s bed— covered with comfy looking duvets and sheets in dark, earthy shades— was tucked away at the corner, with a few photos and posters and other knick knacks taped to the headboard wall and stacked onto a bracket shelf above it.

And finally, a string of fairy lights ran across all the four walls, bathing the whole room in a pleasant warm glow.

It was all surprisingly… homely.

Heart’s room felt incredibly lived in and ordinary— the way the rest of the house didn't— with its gaudy opulence and blank, pristine white walls and expensive furniture scattered like the pictures of rich people’s spare dollhouses in magazines. 

Sorry about the mess, Heart signed back sheepishly, toeing away a few stray papers and tools out of the way and clearing space on the floor.

LiMing waved away his concern with a laugh— he didn’t really mind the mess as much as he thought he would. He deposited the takeout boxes on a little side table (piled with a bunch of folders) and stood there, looking around curiously— while Heart went to the closet and started rummaging around.

After a minute, he padded over with a big fluffy towel, draped it over LiMing’s soggy hair and pointed to a side door— leading to what he assumed was the bathroom. 

Go take a shower, you’re gonna catch a bad cold otherwise, Heart said, steering him towards the direction.

LiMing hastily raised his hands in protest.

No need, I’ll get going. I just came to give you the food— and to check up on you. Besides, isn't your father gonna get back soon? I’m not even supposed to be here!

Heart simply shook his head. There was a tiny, mischievous smile at the corner of his lips that LiMing immediately understood was him plotting something evil.

Of course not! You’re gonna go take that shower, and then we will both eat. You brought enough food for five people, dummy, he rolled his eyes fondly. And lucky for all of us, my father will actually be away for two days- his party has an election campaign in Sakon Nakhon, so don’t worry. 

LiMing hesitated, finding himself in an awkward fix. 

On one hand, he really shouldn’t be overstaying his welcome— because he and Heart practically alone in the privacy of a room was not a good idea— especially for LiMing’s poor heart. 

There were about a hundred different ways this could go south— they hadn’t even talked about… whatever was going on between them— all that flirting, the growing tension at odd moments, and all the words he knew neither of them were saying out loud. 

But then again, Heart was currently staring at him with his huge round eyes, there was a pout at his lips, and the usual spark of excitement was back in his dark cinnamon irises— and LiMing's resolve crumbled like a freshly baked chocolate chip cookie. 

He suddenly felt like a teenager sneaking into his crush's house when their parents were out. 

Not fair. So not fair, he thought miserably to himself, accepting the towel with a long suffering sigh.

Heart threw him a beaming, megawatt smile— and whoa!  

This was bad.  

Like, really bad. 

LiMing hastily whipped around— snuffing out the tingly, jittery, fluttery sensations shooting through in his chest like tiny sparklers— and all but ran to the bathroom, resigning himself to his fate.

Whatever. A little stay over and a simple meal… couldn't hurt, could it?

After taking a warm shower (in a bathroom that was probably twice the size of LiMing's bedroom), he walked back out, feeling pleasantly warm and clean and smelling of expensive soaps. 

Heart was right, he really had needed that shower— the itchy, stuffy sensation of impending cold building up at his nose and throat a while ago was already gone.

The moment he was about to open the door, however, it occurred to him— that he’d completely forgotten about a change of clothes. 

Fuck. Okay. Goddammit. 

He’d just have to suck it up and ask Heart to let him borrow some of his— and then Heart would probably toss him some absurdly expensive, fancy ass pajamas that cost more than LiMing's weekly earnings— and then he’d have to return them safe and sound the next time he came around. 

It would probably be fine, right? 

Except.  

He’d have to wear Heart’s clothes. 

Which… hooo boi. Oookay. Sure. 

Suddenly Heart’s mischievous smile from earlier started to make a lot of sense. 

That evil brat, LiMing thought, his insides flooding with equal parts mortification and endearment. 

Heart had no doubt planned this whole thing in that horrendously big brain of his by the time LiMing even stepped foot into his room— to try and get LiMing so flustered he couldn't think straight (or gay— since no part of his brain currently seemed to be cooperating whatsoever.)

LiMing knew he was stalling at the door like a middle schooler having a meltdown before a double class with their crush— which was not at all a cool comparison.

Breathe Loetphong. You can do this. 

Fine. you know what? Two could play in this game. If Heart was trying to fluster him, he’d show Heart he could give back as good as he got. 

He was already in his crush’s house, about to have a meal with said crush— and also they had just had a devastating, emotionally charged hug after a stressful, harrowing night. 

What was a little more? LiMing’s stubborn, competitive streak whispered in his head.

And surprisingly, in its wake, his newly sprouted flirty side— the one that had prompted him to exchange all those frankly questionable texts with Heart over weeks— reared its head once more.

He bit down on a smile, secured the towel snugly around his waist, mussed his hair in the mirror as much as he could, plastered a totally innocent, perfectly normal smile on his face and pushed open the door. 

Heart was fiddling away at his phone, unaware of the sounds of the door closing or his footsteps— and that gave LiMing the time to steel his nerves. He padded over until he got into Heart’s peripheral vision and then slowly, strategically— leaned against the bookshelf.

The next few events happened in rapid succession. 

First, as soon as Heart caught sight of him, he stood up so fast from the chair that it clattered against the table, the monitors and teetering pile of machinery wobbling dangerously. 

Second, his phone, not braced for the sudden jerking, slipped out of his hands, with Heart flailing and lunging forwards to catch it mid air by some insane reflex. 

And third, this whole upheaval propelling him forwards into LiMing’s space as he tried to regain balance— depositing him far closer than the respectable four feet LiMing had previously calculated on— forcing LiMing to back away further into the shelf.

LiMing's pulse stuttered, his breath catching in his throat from the sudden proximity— as he and Heart looked at each other, wide eyed and startled, from barely a foot away.

For a long moment, neither of them moved or spoke.

In the dim lights filtering through the windows from the overcast sky outside, the small space seemed to shrink further, the rest of the room with its background noise slowly fading away. 

Heart was breathing unevenly, his startled eyes flitting between LiMing’s.

But then, his gaze dropped from LiMing’s face, down to his exposed chest, then to his torso and then down, down, down all the way — and then back up, moving inch by inch, slow like syrup, unguarded and awed.  

And LiMing shivered, breath catching in his throat, heart pounding in his chest.

He suppressed the urge to recoil because Heart’s gaze felt nearly scorching.  

LiMing suddenly got the feeling Heart himself was unaware of how exactly he was looking at LiMing right now— as if he was seeing someone this way for the first time.

And it might as well have been true, because he remembered what Heart had told him, about his difficulties in participating in social life, the way he’d always felt a barrier between him and the world because of his disability, the way most people who befriended him had ulterior motives. 

Not a lot of people are interested in hanging out with a rich politician's son, a deaf one at that, simply out of the goodness of their hearts .

Heart’s rueful words from that day long ago whispered over his mind.

So maybe LiMing was the first person Heart had ever looked at this way— and also, the first person lucky enough to be seeing this side of Heart too. 

He gulped down, the truth of the realization getting to his head like a rush, potent and dangerous.  

This was- this was not what he had bargained for- not what he had planned for, when he’d brought those damn food packets today, racing through the rainy streets of the city in his hurry to see Heart, to make sure he was doing okay. 

This was what they had both been skirting around for weeks.

This— the air between them thickening with tension, razor sharp and suffocating and palpable, as he stared up into Heart's eyes — which were heavy , darkening as he traced the contours of LiMing’s face silently. Heart’s lips— which were open over silent puffs of air— trembling on words LiMing could feel he wanted to express— but couldn't. 

The silence between them felt loud, magnified , thrumming with the mutual acknowledgement of something LiMing knew the name of, but didn’t have the courage to admit, still now.

Suddenly, his earlier plans to make Heart flustered sounded so damn childish, even in his head. 

Because in retrospect, he’d failed to account for the fact that he and Heart had probably already crossed several lines, gone way past the point of casual flirtation for it not to mean something. And now, when the whole thing had unexpectedly flipped on its head, it all suddenly felt terribly real— in the way no flirty banter or dumb jokes could cover up the truth he knew was swirling in both their eyes.

LiMing should look away, should move away, should crack a joke and break this invisible thread of tension pulled taut— but he didn't want to, not anymore.

And strangely, neither did Heart- like he usually would- because between the two of them, Heart had always been the bold, ebullient, expressive one.

But somehow, today, there was a strange note of vulnerability in his eyes, a strange shade of longing, and a plea— Heart seemed to be waiting for… something— a sign, a permission, anything. 

Maybe it was the culmination of everything that was going on with their families that put him on edge— just like it did to LiMing. 

Maybe it was because of yesterday— the things that happened with North— the way even LiMing was suddenly forced to confront the fact that all of their lives were so precarious at the moment, that anything could probably go wrong at any time.

He couldn't even imagine how hard it must've hit Heart— to be faced with the fact that his little brother, his only real family— had come so close to the brink of death, yet again. 

He remembered Heart crying in his arms that day at the park— when he’d told LiMing about his past, everything he’d dealt with.

He remembered Heart’s message from this morning when asked if he was okay, his response being just two words… Not really. ( I'm not feeling ok .)

So maybe it was just to offer comfort to someone hurting so badly— maybe he wanted to lessen Heart's pain and give him some respite, distract him from the chaos unfolding around them.

But really, who was he kidding? 

Deep down, LiMing knew that more than any of those gallant, magnanimous reasons, when it came down to the bare truths of it— this was just for himself.

Because at the end, he supposed he’d grown far too impatient and selfish and greedy.

He supposed he wanted to know if the thing that had grown between them over weeks— in lingering glances and shared laughter and touches remaining too long— meant something real after all. 

So he let himself look past all his doubts and hesitations, let himself be brave just for once— and pressed a hand over Heart’s chest, feeling the frantic thump of its beats mirroring his own.

Heart looked at him from under half-lidded eyes, swaying forwards into LiMing's space almost unconsciously. His heavy, molten gaze dropped down to LiMing's mouth for one breathless moment, and then back up to his eyes. 

LiMing's fingers were already at Heart's nape, imperceptibly pulling him down. 

“Stop me, if you want,” LiMing heard himself whisper— slow and clear for Heart to follow— and tipped his face up, making sure the invitation was clear in his eyes.

And in the next breath, Heart's lips were on his. 

The first kiss was brief, laced with a sweet innocence— a frozen moment of startled breath and warm press of skin against skin— and Heart was trembling against him, a gasp leaving his mouth. His eyes fluttered open slowly, as he looked at LiMing from barely inches away. LiMing had no idea what his own face was doing, but Heart was looking at him with a devastating wonder, an open, unfiltered sort of amazement— as if he couldn't believe what just happened.

And there was something vulnerable and soft in that expression that undid LiMing— giving him the push he needed, to surge back in once more—

And this time, Heart responded back.  

The sound of the rain outside faded away, LiMing’s eyes fluttered closed, and all he could hear was the rhythm of their drawn out, uneven breaths, the susurrations of the silky fabric of Heart’s dressing gown, the soft, wet sounds of their warm mouths moving against each other- over and over and over- and it was insane, how heady it all was.

LiMing wasn’t new to this, he’d been with a handful of people over the years— even if they were brief flings, very few and far in between. 

Running a business all on his own was grueling work, his personality wasn’t exactly the most charming one, and he was barely getting by on his earnings. 

He’d made his peace with the fact that he was probably never going to have a picture perfect romance, or even a family of his own— and that was okay. Not everything was for everybody.

But now, with Heart’s warm weight pressing into him, crowding him back into the shelves as he shifted closer, growing more insistent and sure— his movements laced with an urgency that matched LiMing's own, he suddenly wanted.

Wanted all of that he’d been pushing away for years— a proper relationship that lasted more than a couple weeks, coming back home to someone who cared, someone who made him laugh with their dumb flirty pick up lines and obnoxious comebacks, someone who was cheeky and got under his skin, someone who riled him up as easy as breathing, someone who loved to eat his cooking at any given time of the day, someone who was hiding a world of pain behind his unflappable positivity and his mischievous smiles.

LiMing wanted Heart by his side, in his life, all of him — for years and years and years to come — and the realization was frightening in its intensity, enormous in how real it felt. 

He squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed down the fierce longing swirling inside his chest— he couldn't make those demands of Heart, it wouldn’t be fair. 

Heart had his own life, his own goals and plans, and this thing between them— whatever it was— was probably just him seeking comfort, a temporary shelter in the storm.

So he ignored all of his maudlin thoughts and focused on the present instead— the way Heart’s movements were a little uncoordinated, the way he didn’t really know what to do with his hands— clutching at LiMing's sides awkwardly. 

It made LiMing smile into the kiss, his heart swelling with endearment. 

He gently grasped Heart’s hands and pulled them in tightly around his back and laced them together, bringing them flush against one another. His smile widened as he felt Heart make a small, surprised sound at the motion— but he quickly got the cue, wrapping his arms around LiMing with a groan, swaying into him— never once breaking the kiss. 

LiMing trailed his fingers along Heart’s wrists, up his forearm, underneath the long sleeves of his dressing gown, his touch skittering, unconsciously wanting to feel more—  

And then abruptly, at one point, he felt them.

The burn scars.

The ones he’d just glimpsed at by accident, that day at the park. 

Heart froze instantly, wrenching away from him with a startled, alarmed look on his face, snatching his arms away.

But underneath the panicked look in his eyes, was something fragile, something that looked awfully like fear— as if he was afraid LiMing would push him away once he saw, once he knew.  

And the implications of that single look hit LiMing all at once— like a punch to the gut. 

You wouldn’t react like that unless…

Unless, sometime in the past, someone or someones had seen those scars and made Heart feel bad, made him feel like he was less than, that he was defective.

Anger simmered under his skin, slow and intensifying. 

LiMing had heard enough stories during his time of volunteering at Pattaya’s old church— of how people were discriminated against and excluded just because of societal biases and false notions about disability. Some people’s relationships fell apart, some were let off from jobs despite being competent enough, some were not granted leaves and benefits they rightfully deserved— not to mention the numerous, subtle, everyday acts of ableism— the lack of disability aids, the lack of infrastructure for those with special needs, the lack of basic compassion, the overheaping of self-righteous pity doled on those who peopled saw as less than them— which was the stupidest fucking thing ever. 

And it boiled his blood that Heart, of all people— had been subjected to it too, probably a lot more than he’d let on, a lot more than he had shared with him. 

It suddenly occurred to him that there was so much more to Heart that he still didn’t know— and probably never would. 

But he was here now, and right at this moment, he had the chance to do things differently, undo a fraction of the wrongs Heart had undoubtedly suffered through. 

So he didn’t let Heart run away from him— catching him by the waist and pulling him gently.

Heart looked at him a little warily, his eyes darting nervously between LiMing’s own. He looked like he wanted to say something, but thought better of it— choosing to follow along LiMing's cues instead. 

And when LiMing slowly held up his right arm, pulling it up and checking in with Heart to see if it was okay— Heart visibly faltered, gulping down, his eyes darting worriedly between LiMing and his hand— but then he seemed to make up his mind, pressed his lips together and nodded once, determined.

LiMing let out a silent, relieved breath— he hadn’t expected Heart to agree so easily, to let him see. He realized that Heart was voluntarily putting down one more of his walls, just for him.

Adoration and gratitude and respect welled up inside him— all for this amazing boy in front of  him. He couldn't imagine the courage it must take, for someone to let down their guard like so.

In the hush that fell between them, LiMing slowly reached out to unfasten the cords of the robe, and then- when Heart allowed that- he slid his palms over his shoulders, all the way down along his arms until the robe fell off into a pool of silken fabric on the floor and then—

He saw them.

All along Heart’s right side, extending from the base of his neck, over his shoulders, and along his arm, his skin was reddish and mottled, puckered and stretched in odd ways— the physical remnant of the accident a decade ago— and LiMing shuddered to think exactly how bad the burns initially were for the scars to remain this large even after eleven years. 

He was sure Heart’s torso had marks too, under the loose sleeveless t-shirt he had on. 

That’s the reason he’d thrown on the robe hastily when LiMing came in— probably didn’t manage to change into his usual long-sleeved sweatshirts.

Heart was looking at him with a wary, complicated expression, unsure around the edges— as if he was waiting for LiMing to pass his judgment, his opinions, or worse, his pity— like LiMing had a hunch people before him had done.

It was not a pretty sight, by societal standards— and LiMing knew that Heart knew it too.

But just because it wasn’t pretty, didn't mean it wasn’t beautiful.

It was beautiful in the way Heart was beautiful— in his resilience, in his kindness, in his determination to push through despite the whole world telling him he couldn't, despite the abuse and neglect from his horrible father— Heart had still persisted, he’d grown, and these scars were proof that he had survived— and hell if LiMing wasn’t going to tell him that.

So he traced his fingertips all along his arms slowly, reverently— feeling a little awed that Heart had trusted him with something so personal. He felt the dips and bumps of it— mapping the extent of it to memory— and Heart shivered, his breaths going uneven.

LiMing finally looked up at him, and hoped Heart could read in his face everything he didn’t have the correct words to say.

It’s unfair how badass you look, he signed emphatically, swallowing past the lump at his throat. 

Heart stared at him blankly for a moment, then barked out a startled laughter— but it tapered off into a sniffle very fast, and LiMing realized his own eyes were getting alarmingly wet too— so he hastily pulled Heart closer and pressed their foreheads together. 

Why are you crying? Heart asked after a moment, reaching up to brush away the tears now rolling silently down his cheeks. That’s not fair, he complained some more, even though he was valiantly trying to stifle his own sobs.

But LiMing only shook his head, unable to explain everything he was feeling right now. 

Dunno if anyone has ever made you feel like you had to hide them away, but when it’s just us, please never do that — I want to see you, and that includes all of you. Promise me?

Heart nodded, a little teary eyed, but starting to smile back finally.

And before he could think it through, LiMing dipped his head and kissed the scar over Heart’s shoulder— right where the wide neck of his top had slipped to expose the skin— and felt Heart shudder underneath him. 

He felt Heart’s fingers slowly threading into his hair- almost instinctively- pulling him in closer, it gave him the courage to continue — as he placed slow, open mouthed kisses all over his shoulder, up the column of his neck, tasting the skin as he went — Heart’s head lolling back to give more access. He was panting heavily now, and the sounds of it filled LiMing's senses to the very brim, until he couldn't think anymore.

He reached up and cradled Heart’s face in his hands urgently, tilting it to get better access— and for a moment, Heart blinked at him, eyes half lidded and glazed over, looking totally out of it— but he didn’t protest at all.

And when LiMing coaxed the pliant seam of Heart’s lips with a gentle swipe of his tongue— Heart stilled for a fraction, a startled little breath escaping him— and then he opened up, and all but melted into LiMing— putting the weight of his much taller frame onto him, going absolutely boneless and trusting LiMing to hold him up as he deepened the kiss. 

Heart tasted of something minty and sweet- like candy. LiMing knew he had a habit of chewing gum whenever he was nervous or stressed, in a way to distract himself— and suddenly, LiMing was absurdly pleased that he knew that little fact, that he knew Heart so familiarly— even if their paths had crossed for just a brief moment in time. 

He pulled Heart into himself, arms curling over his shoulders and fingers threading into the back of his head— the heat of their mouths fusing together in a heady, addictive swirl. 

A noise escaped him before he could stop it— a drawn out, throaty moan— and Heart startled back, his eyes flying open as he broke away from the kiss, his face etched with surprise. 

He was breathing raggedly, pupils blown wild, hair mussed and lips shiny with spit— a dark flush spread prettily all over the high of his cheeks— and the whole sight sent a jolt of something dark and possessive through LiMing's very core. 

Heart looked… he looked thoroughly kissed.

LiMing suddenly wanted to lock this sight deep at his core, hide this side of Heart from the world— so that he could be the only one who ever saw Heart like this, now and forever. 

Fuck. That was bad.  

Supremely bad.

You… did you make a noise, just now? Heart asked, looking awed and amazed.

LiMing froze, then let out a huff of flustered laughter. 

Whatever he’d been expecting Heart to say, it hadn't been that. His face grew warm, embarrassment seeping over him at having it pointed out so plainly. 

But Heart wasn’t paying any attention- not really- instead, he slowly reached forwards and touched the base of LiMing’s throat with his fingers, his eyes round and curious and- oh.

It hit LiMing then— that Heart must've felt the vibrations of him through his touch — and… and damn.

LiMing’s breath caught in his throat. 

That realsation had no right to be as… sensual as it did— but somehow, LiMing’s brain promptly shorted out as he considered the implications, a white hot rush of arousal lancing through his core.

He suddenly wanted Heart to feel him that way — he wanted to see Heart be amazed at the sounds he made, wanted to give him that control , let him experience that sensory cue, even if he couldn't actually hear LiMing in other ways. 

He wanted Heart to feel included in this— via every way they could figure out together. 

It suddenly seemed terribly important to him that Heart shouldn't feel like he was missing out on something that other people took for granted everyday— something as simple, and yet, as precious as getting to hear a lover or partner during shared intimacy. 

So he slowly caught Heart’s hands, and placed one of them flat over his bare chest, and the other at his throat, just over his Adam’s apple— and it felt weirdly unnerving, to let himself be this exposed, this unabashed.

Heart didn't blink even once, tracking LiMing’s movements with rapt attention— and LiMing tried not to squirm under his intense, focused gaze.

“I did,” LiMing said, giving Heart the visual cue that it was okay to touch him there, where he'd placed his hands— and Heart’s eyes widened as he pressed against LiMing’s skin, his palms sliding up to loosely curl around his throat— and LiMing’s eyes instantly, involuntarily fluttered shut… and fuck. 

He suddenly got the feeling that he’d probably bitten off way more than he could chew— goosebumps breaking over his skin as Heart’s hooded, almost hungry gaze followed his every minute reaction way too closely for it not to be intentional— then slowly dropped onto his mouth as he spoke. 

“You can touch me here, and here,” LiMing mumbled, pointing vaguely to his neck, his brain already fizzling out as Heart leaned closer- far too close - “And everywhere else,” LiMing managed, before his lips were captured in a deep, mind melting kiss.

***

Several eternities (and an amazing, earth shattering, and frankly god-tier make out session) later, they were sitting side by side on the rug on the floor, leaning against the bed and digging into the food.

LiMing had to practically peel Heart off him after a while, stop him from clinging onto him with much difficulty— because Heart would not stop kissing (or touching his throat, and other places too, very eagerly, once he got the hang of it), and LiMing had to fight a long, difficult war with his own rational side to decide whether to stop at all— because he’d discovered very quickly that making out with Heart was— to put it bluntly— the best damn thing in the entire goddamn world.  

By the end of it, they were panting, giggling into each other's mouths— while Heart kept nuzzling into him like a cat, rubbing his face all over LiMing's neck and shoulders and pressing sniff kisses wherever he could, bravely thwarting LiMing’s pathetic, half-hearted attempts at putting some distance between them— and it was all so adorable LiMing could’ve died happily right then and there. 

Heart had looked so devastatingly happy — his eyes crinkled at the corners and half mooned, a far cry from the morning— and that simple realization had been enough to crumble LiMing’s resolve and give into Heart’s whiny demands afterall.

But just then, someone’s stomach had growled loudly, and it was decidedly not LiMing’s. 

They’d both frozen, Heart had turned an impressive shade of ripe tomato— groaning and flopping over into LiMing as he laughed silently. 

The mood was broken, and they decided to eat right there in the room before the food turned cold.

Heart let LiMing borrow a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, vehemently opposing when LiMing brought up the idea of returning them back in a couple of days.

And LiMing soon found out why.

The shirt was pink— and written in a cheeky, quirky font were the words “TOUCH ME! IF YOU CAN : )”

LiMing raised an eyebrow at him. Seriously?

Heart only smirked, stuffing the t-shirt into his hands.

You’d look very cute in that, phi.

Then the brat had smoothly leaned forward, kissed his cheeks, and casually walked past him— before LiMing could process what was happening. 

LiMing’s brain had shorted out for a second time that day, and he’d stood there, rooted to the spot for a solid half minute, his heart somersaulting inside his chest. 

He had the growing realization that this was going to be his life now— flirty comebacks and sneaky kisses. This was what he’d apparently signed up for. 

He sighed, dramatic and long suffering. 

Okay Loetphong. Whatever . 

He supposed he had survived worse. 

So here they were, digging into the takeout containers (that LiMing had filled to the brim generously), and as much as Heart had teased him about bringing food for five people, he was having no problem in shamelessly stuffing his face with the major portions of it. 

LiMing observed him fondly, as Heart slurped through his bowl of noodles at record speed. 

Are they good? He asked, grinning. 

Heart made a supremely satisfied face, grabbing for the box of stir fried meat and veggies next.

You know they are. They’re the best. You are the best, Ming, he signed back, (complete with a tacky thumbs-up) then promptly leaned over to kiss LiMing on the cheeks, again— and went back to inhaling his food like nothing happened. 

LiMing squawked, his face warming as he swatted him away (with no actual force behind it, alas.)

Outside, the rain had stopped for a while, but the sky was still overcast— a dim, gray-blue light filtering through the windowpanes and an unusual chill permeating the air. 

They finished their meal in companionable silence, then huddled on the rug against the side of the bed, shoulder to shoulder, sipping on a glass of lemonade Heart had procured from the kitchens. 

Oh, by the way, LiMing began, turning to him. Remember the contact at CIB. I had told you about? 

Heart’s face grew alert, as he put down the empty glass and focused on the conversation.

Well, he ran a search on your mom, and the accident with you and North with the info you gave me— and found… pretty much nothing. He told me that the data was sort of… botched up? LiMing frowned. 

He had forgotten the exact technical terms the uncle had used, but the basic gist of it was that something or someone was blocking access to the files— and he didn’t have clearance, which he said was ‘odd’ for such a cold case, one that had apparently been solved and closed eleven years ago. 

A bunch of fake information was typed down in the local police case report files accessible to him— with the same fudged points about the injuries and circumstances that correlated with what Heart had found in the hospital records— and he showed Heart the pictures his contact had sent over.

Heart’s frown deepened by the end of his explanation.  

So that’s another dead end then, he sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face tiredly.

LiMing wished he could help more, but he and Heart were pretty much in the same boat. 

If only there was a way Heart could directly access the archives, like he did for the hospital…? For one wild moment, he wondered if he could ask his contact to help Heart hack into the data— but then, he'd probably be asking the uncle to do something borderline criminal, not to mention he’d be putting himself under suspicion for requesting such a favor too.

Suddenly, an idea struck him.

He tapped on Heart’s shoulders.

Listen, this might sound wild, and probably stupid, but what if… you could ask your cousin, the doctor guy, to help out? 

Heart looked at him confused, still not following— and LiMing grew flustered. But it was worth a shot, better than being stagnant at one place— so he pressed on.

I mean… don’t they have forensic doctors there, at the CIB? People who have access to medical records of cases as staff…? Tinn could… dunno, ask around and see if he knows somebody there? In those doctor teams, I mean? I’ve seen a bunch of crime shows where they showed these docs teaming up to solve cases and such, LiMing finished, feeling a little foolish.

Heart stared at him dumbfounded for another long moment, then barked out a startled laugh.

And LiMing would’ve felt supremely offended, if not for the spark of excitement he already spotted in Heart’s eyes— the kind he got when a new, whacky idea was forming in his head— as he grinned at LiMing in a feral sort of way. 

You, Ming, are a genius, Heart declared, grabbing his shoulders and leaning right into LiMing’s space.  

I hadn’t even thought of that. Knowing Tinn, he probably has some or the other senior or professor he knows through the grapevines. That guy has always been very resourceful, even if he looks like an adorable nerd, Heart laughed, shaking his head. We might actually have a solid chance there. 

LiMing grinned back at Heart, his enthusiasm infecting him too, pleased that he was able to help Heart in some meaningful way. 

He just hoped Tinn had the connections they were hoping for, by some miracle. 

The sky outside had darkened again, heralding another spell of rain, and the afternoon rolled into a sleepy hush around them. They cleared away the remains of their impromptu luncheon and Heart pulled him up onto the bed.

I’m feeling sleepy, he declared, then unceremoniously dragged LiMing down under the covers and proceeded to wrap himself like an octopus all around him.

LiMing sighed, resigning himself to his fate. He wiggled further into the warmth of the covers— surrounded by Heart’s things and Heart’s smell, his brain supplied rather unhelpfully— and contemplated his next steps. 

There was no moving out now, he supposed. 

A short nap surely couldn't hurt. 

It was also his day off. So… 

Heart, for an added measure, had now started making very loud, very fake snoring noises lying next to him on the pillow— as if that would aid in convincing him to stay.

Which was… unfortunately working . 

LiMing heaved out another massive sigh and poked at Heart’s cheek. (Why the hell was it so soft?)

Heart peeked out from under one eye, and LiMing raised an eyebrow at him.

And I need to stay here because…?

Heart blinked at him.

Then blinked some more — a glimmer of mischief shining behind his warm cinnamon irises.

Then he scooted forwards and smoothly pressed a kiss just under LiMing's ears, making him release a very startled, very undignified noise.

Would you abandon me after everything that happened, phi? Heart blinked slowly, from underneath his unfairly long lashes— the little shit.  

Are you really planning to get out of this splendid, heavenly warmth of these duvets and play James Bond in the chilly rain outside on my street again, hmm? He fluttered his lashes with a cheeky smile, and LiMing pushed his smug face away, embarrassment creeping over him rapidly. 

And besides, Heart added, growing serious, I did have an ulterior motive when I invited you today.

Oh? Did you now? Who would have thought? LiMing asked, amused despite his grouching.

Heart stuck out his tongue at him in retaliation— and it would’ve been hella weird on literally anyone else his age— but it was Heart, and so LiMing's insides flooded with an obligatory abundance of endearment and he cooed at him instead— making them both immediately burst into a fit of giggles. 

(Thank heavens neither Gun or P’Saleng were around, they’d never let him live this down, ever.)

Will you help me look through my mother’s stuff, later? Heart asked eventually, a little unsure.

And LiMing paused— jogging his memory to the favor Heart had requested of him that day at the park.

Of course, he mouthed, because there had never been any other answer, really— and Heart’s relieved, joyous smile was worth all of it.

xxv.

umbra (n.) -  a region of complete shadow resulting from total obstruction of light.

An indeterminate amount of time later, Heart woke up to the sight of LiMing's sleeping face just inches from his.

His internal clock told him it couldn't have been more than two hours since they had fallen asleep, and sure enough, when he peeked over LiMing’s shoulders, the clock on his nightstand showed it was barely five thirty in the evening.

He still felt a little bad about hijacking LiMing’s day off like this, but on the other hand- this- LiMing in his house, in his bed, sleeping soundly— was a surreal occurrence. 

It was beyond anything Heart would have dared to hope for, or even entertained in his wildest fantasies.

After last night, he’d been reeling from what had almost happened with North.

He was thrown straight back into the memories of those terrible days back when North was still in high school— especially the day he had found him passed out in some abandoned parking lot in the middle of the night, his skin frozen cold— and Heart had almost thought he’d lost his brother, his only family left.

Yesterday, it was completely by luck that he happened to glance at North’s location— while texting him to ask when he’d be back from Polaris, or if at all— since from his hunch, Night probably wouldn’t want to let him go (after he’d apologized for being an idiot and freezing out his boyfriend for an entire week), and hopefully, they’d have made up amicably.

But when he found North’s GPS stuck in an old abandoned pier for nearly half an hour, panic flooded him.

His mind couldn't stop rushing through the worst possible scenarios, each one more grim than the last— and finally, he’d got himself together enough to ring up Night, since he’d been the closest to North’s location— and had the best chance in knowing what the hell was going on.

An excruciating hour later, Night had texted him back, let him know about the fiasco with some guy named Tem, and the fact that their dear daddy was spying on North— which wasn’t entirely unexpected to Heart, to be honest. He’d been suspecting something was up for a while, since Suppang seemed unusually disinterested in antagonizing them at home recently— looked like he had been getting his information from elsewhere.

Night had also let him know, in vague, awkward terms, that North was… feeling unwell. That he wasn’t in a state to talk to Heart right now, but he was doing okay— Heart need not worry, he’d ask North to get in touch the next day. 

And Heart had immediately put two and two together— realized that something very wrong had gone down, and he was nearly certain as to what it could have been. 

Night was perhaps trying to protect North’s privacy until he came to terms with whatever he was struggling with, or maybe he was sparing Heart the shock of the words directly, lighten the weight of the guilt and sadness that would follow— but whatever it was, he was strangely grateful that Night seemed to understand that this was something he and North needed to talk about in person, as brothers. 

He didn’t manage to get any sleep, tossing and turning in bed all night, with a heavy, suffocating weight over his chest and a thousand different worries running through his mind— and he couldn’t help but wonder if he should’ve looked closer, paid more attention to North as his brother, and realize that he might have been falling apart on the inside, over and over— even though he had looked fine on the outside. 

He wondered if there was even a way he could help North— because this wasn’t something he could figure out rationally, slap on a plan of action or run a flawless code, and know it would hold up and resolve the issue. He could feel the creeping tendrils of guilt at the periphery of his thoughts— whispering over his mind and asking him, Did you really do everything you could?  

His thoughts kept going back to his childhood, those few short years with his mother and little brother, when Heart had probably been the happiest— and he missed them both so acutely he didn’t even notice when his tears had soaked through the pillows.

But if yesterday had been a never ending nightmare, then today had been something from his dreams. 

LiMing’s text had been unexpected— pulling him out of his restless stupor— surprising him even more when he said he’d ‘be right back.’

And later, when he found out that LiMing was so worried about him that he’d apparently staked-out outside his house since god knows when in the morning— disregarding the danger he put himself in— and it was so stupid, but also, such a… LiMing thing to do, that Heart couldn't even get mad. 

Then that insane guy had rushed through the downpour all across the city just to bring him warm food and check if Heart was doing okay— which was so very wild and anomalous in Heart’s life— having someone be worried about him to that extent, to be looked after and taken care of that way— that when faced with the reality of it, Heart didn't know what to do with so much of genuine affection. 

He’d simply given in to his instincts and hugged LiMing desperately, hoping all the words he couldn't say would be understood instead. 

LiMing himself probably wasn’t aware of what that gesture had meant to someone like Heart— someone who had been brushed aside to the sidelines of social connections, overlooked during gatherings, omitted from invitations to parties and left alone in the uni cafeteria just because his classmates couldn't be bothered to make an effort to just ask. 

Heart thought he had grown used to it— the casual distancing, the subtle cues of you’re not wanted here, you don't have a place at this table, or, I’m so sorry, but we’re full capacity— phrases that had been directed at him countless times by now. 

But they still stung, nonetheless. 

So now, when a stubborn, prickly, sassy, amazing guy had somehow simply barged into his house with an offer of simple comfort of food and companionship, and a shoulder to lean on, Heart grew weak.  

Because LiMing’s simple hey, are you okay? over a random text message held so much more unfiltered kindness and compassion than all of the offers of superficial ‘inclusivity’ he had been subjected to. 

LiMing had pretty much nothing to his name— and Heart knew that deep down, he felt a little insecure about imposing himself in places he felt he wasn’t wanted, he was wary of people who belonged to a different social class than him— people like Heart and North and their father, with all their wealth and family name and influence in the world.

But despite all of that, LiMing had still cared— cared enough to keep showing up for him, day after day, until he took down Heart’s walls one by one, and expected nothing in return. 

He silently gazed at LiMing's face— now relaxed in sleep.

The perpetual stern, prickly expression that seemed to be LiMing's default— was completely erased, making him look years and years younger, boyish, even— as if only in sleep, LiMing could let go of all his worries and just exist.

His cheeks were flushed from slumber, short strands of glossy raven hair fanning over his forehead, and the two gorgeous moles— one on his nose and one right at the apple of his cheek, standing in stark contrast over his smooth skin. His lips were parted over warm puffs of air, and he must've been snoring softly, because Heart could feel the vibrations of it against his fingertips over the pillow.

It was a marvel— this stolen moment of closeness— because Heart had never imagined he’d get to have this, have someone like this— in his life.

It was a marvel, to look at LiMing now- and know- that LiMing had offered something more too. 

If he closed his eyes, he could still feel the tingles on his lips, on his face and neck and shoulders— everywhere that LiMing had kissed him— the touches now burned forever with crystal clear clarity in his mind. He suppressed a shiver, face growing warm as he replayed the memories, his heart thudding in an incessant, joyous, fluttering rhythm inside his chest. 

One day, when he felt braver, Heart would tell him how glad he was that it was LiMing who was his first— his first proper kiss, his first experience with intimacy, the first person who had ever made him feel this way. 

Because deep down, he had been afraid he’d never get to have it— never thought it would be possible for him to have this— the offer of someone’s companionship this way.

It still felt like a dream— the warm hugs, the deep kisses, the soft, careful way LiMing had held him, the way he’d kissed his scars— and it had made him nearly tear up. 

The way LiMing let him- even encouraged him- to touch his throat, explore as far as he wanted to, letting Heart have the reins of control, checking in with him wordlessly at every step— and never for a moment letting him feel like he was on the outside of it.

And the enormous compassion and thoughtfulness behind that gesture had touched him deeply, even more than the physical aspects of it.

After his single disastrous date years ago with a uni senior, when he’d been coldly brushed off once the guy discovered that Heart was still very inexperienced and couldn't follow verbal cues as well as he’d hoped he would, Heart had promised himself that there would be no more trials.  

That one incident had scarred him deeply, that feeling of humiliation and ‘you’re not enough’ that was so plainly visible in that guy’s face, had shaken him badly— and afterwards, he just stuck to his studies, focusing all of his efforts on building his life instead. 

But somehow, LiMing, of all people, managed to casually disrupt his steadfast vow from the moment he stepped into his life. 

At first, the obnoxious flirting was purely to rile LiMing up, to see what new ways he could make that hothead get mad at him, and it was fun- to push LiMing's buttons and get that quick temper of his to flare up.

But alarmingly soon, the banter turned into something genuine— something Heart didn't realize was happening by the time it was too late.

And now, here they were, napping on the same bed, curled up against each other— LiMing’s weight beside him on the pillows real and solid and safe.

“You are staring at me, aren't you,” LiMing murmured, slow and clear— and Heart read the words on his lips— which were now stretching into a sleepy smile. “I can feel it.”

His instinctive reaction was to duck into the covers and squeeze his eyes shut— feeling like he was a little kid who got caught doing something he shouldn't— and alas, he was too late in holding himself back from doing just that.

He felt LiMing pause, then shake with laughter above him, and then he was tickling Heart under the chin- unfair! Sneaky attack!- making him wiggle out of his hiding spot reluctantly and face a grinning LiMing— eyes crinkled at the corners and laughter etched onto his features.

You have very pretty eyes, Heart blurted out before he could think it through, and then proceeded to turn red in two seconds flat.

LiMing stilled- just for a second- and then his teasing grin was back in place, the tops of his cheeks dusting pink.

Oho? You do like my eyes, huh? No wonder you keep staring at me so much, nong, he signed back, very smug, and proceeded to tickle Heart some more, shamelessly taking advantage of his mortification to press sniff kisses all over his face— which, okay, Heart was not going to complain about that anytime soon.

***

Evening settled in rapidly— and after a while, Heart reluctantly pushed himself off the bed— they had a ton of stuff to go through in those boxes, and they needed to get a head start, or it’d probably take all night.

LiMing helped him pile the boxes at the center, Heart got his laptop set up so he could cross-reference any new info or dates that might come up— and then they were all set.

I’m just confused, why is your father after Night, of all people, it just doesn’t make sense? LiMing asked grimly, as he retrieved stuff from the boxes for inspection.

The question must’ve been bugging him since the day he and North had pulled off that mad stunt with the abduction (and/or threatening with physical violence) of that nasty man called Jom- the exact details of which neither of them would spill, but Heart could guess well enough. 

It was another incredibly dangerous and crazy thing to have done, but somehow, was also in line with both LiMing and North’s common traits of hotheadedness and protective streaks that ran a mile long— and to be fair, Heart couldn’t really complain— because they had managed to get Suppang’s name out of that fucker.

(He was a little miffed though, if those two had actually consulted him, Heart would have made very sure no one found the body later on… But anyway, he was digressing.)

Your guess is as good as mine, he shrugged in lieu of a reply. 

That connection was the one they were trying to uncover— all the why’s and how’s and what next’s— and they needed to do it soon. 

He flipped his laptop open and showed LiMing the codes he’d written that would let him extract data real time from Suppang’s personal devices, thanks to the bug Tinn had placed for him. The program had been running almost non stop for the last three days to decode the sheer volume of encrypted files. His dearest father must have a lot of nasty secrets to keep and Heart was determined to get to the bottom of it.

He pointed at certain folders on screen, gesturing for LiMing to follow.

These are the ones I haven’t been able to extract yet. They are encrypted behind a lot of layers- I’m guessing it's because they deal with his election campaign, party finances, political transactions, illegal dealings and such like. 

Apart from the files on Night, there aren’t any records on Gun, or you, for that matter. I don’t think my daddy dearest has found out about you guys yet, and let’s keep it that way, he signed, making a sullen face. 

I’m guessing he is having Night spied on only by that idiot Tem, and maybe even Suthidon, that guard dog of his. But I doubt he’ll go out of his way to spend any more money unless he absolutely needs to- that asshole is far too fond of his piles of money, Heart grit out, uncharitably. 

He grabbed a large sheet of paper and a couple of multi-colored pencils (fishing them out from somewhere under the bed, for which LiMing gave him a look) , laid the paper flat on the ground and began scribbling out a flowchart as he explained. 

So we have three problems at hand, he began.

First, why was Suppang after Night? What was his goal with the drugs? Why did he bribe Night’s handler and instruct him to practically eliminate Night in the final fight by overdosing him on the worst combination of drugs? 

He exchanged a grim look with LiMing, who shrugged and shook his head tensely.

Second, who was the rival politician who was trying to get Night to fight in that match at the end of the month? 

What was the reason for him to challenge Polaris’ main benefactor— an elderly man named Khun M, belonging to a certain well known political faction— as per Night’s handler Jom? Was it simply politically motivated, a stupid one-upping contest? Or was it because he was recruiting new fighters in his own newly established clubs and wanted to weaken Polaris by crippling its best fighter- kill two birds with one stone, so to speak- and was just making a big show of it? 

And where did Polaris’ owner fit into this whole mess? Was he aware of these drug dealings, was he directly involved?

And third, his mother’s case— the fabricated death dates and covered up road accident, no mention of his or North’s injuries, the financial accounts not matching up, paper companies siphoning out funds from businesses and charities set up by her, forcing them to close down. 

And if his hunch was right, there was money laundering involved too— Suppang and his posse of bootlickers were definitely neck deep in all kinds of shit.

With the problems laid out separately, he and LiMing sat back in silence, staring at the paper like it would miraculously provide some answers.

Heart had never felt more frustrated— it was as if he was failing to grab at the missing piece, a crucial info that was evading him— a single issue that he knew in his guts somehow connected all three.

LiMing gently tapped him on the knees.

Come on, we better get started on these, see if we can find anything, he jerked his chin to the cardboard boxes.

Heart sighed, putting away the papers and the laptop, readying himself mentally. He hoped LiMing was right and they’d find something useful there. This stagnation in the problem was driving him nuts. 

There were three boxes in total— filled with a mish-mash of items ranging from decorative wicker baskets chock full of old crockery probably his grandfather’s time, a bunch of leather bound journals that LiMing sorted by year- eight in total- to read through later. 

There were a bunch of old photo albums— which LiMing snatched up immediately, shushing Heart’s protests and plopping them open without preamble— and they ended up going through his embarrassing baby pictures for the next half an hour.

(Aww you were a chubby little baby! You were so cute! LiMing cood, very delighted, running his fingertips over a toddler Heart smiling gummily up at them from the yellowing pages. 

I still am though? Heart complained, peeved. 

LiMing seemed to consider that seriously. 

You were cuter, he reasoned, Babies are always more cute, relatively speaking, he replied rather seriously, which made Heart burst out laughing. 

But North was so grumpy! Oh my god, wait, I have to show this to Night, this is hilarious, LiMing declared, immediately snapping a bunch of pictures, which Heart thoroughly approved, because having blackmail material as the eldest sibling was always important.)

There was a box of small toys- his and North’s- and Heart remembered playing with them as a toddler, fighting over the best ones with his little brother— memories that now made him smile absently as he ran his hands over their dusty surfaces. 

Strange, that his mom had kept all this old junk so lovingly. 

In the third box, they found an old wooden music box— the kind manufactured in the west probably in the sixties— a family trinket passed onto his mom by her parents. The little blue porcelain dancing fairy with her paper wings lay at the bottom, one of her hands now broken in chunks.

Heart remembered seeing this music box on his mom’s dresser as a kid— he’d always been fascinated by how it could make that lovely jingle when you twisted the key.

He blinked away the prickling of tears and forcefully put it away to the side— it would not make a difference to him now, whether the fairy played any music or not. 

At the bottom of the third box was an old fashioned film camera— and Heart stilled.

He remembered this one vividly— his mom had always had a fascination for film photos, even when digital cameras became popular. As a result, unlike their peers, most of his and North’s childhood moments, especially the important ones— had been captured in film by their mother. If he remembered correctly, this camera had apparently been a present from her grandfather. It was an expensive, vintage model, but the picture quality was still excellent— he’d heard his mom gushing about it so many times. 

He remembered one more crucial detail— on the morning of North's birthday, hours before the three of them had gone on that fateful trip to the theme park, his mom had made them pose in the garden outside, then filled with spring flowers and sunshine— and she’d clicked photos of all of them together.

His fingers shook as he flipped open the little latch that held the film reel, the mechanism subconsciously familiar even years after the last time he’d seen his mom do it.

LiMing leaned over curiously— probably noticing the way heart had gone completely still and silent— and together, they peeked into the film slot.

The last reel was still there.

The last reel— with the last pictures his mother had taken, was still sitting there, undisturbed for over a decade.

Heart didn’t know what to think for a moment. Somehow this innocuous thing— a little roll of film fitted inside an old timey camera, with a few shots still left— hit him unexpectedly hard.

It was as if time itself was frozen still in this contraption of metal and plastic and glass— waiting for the owner to come back any moment and pick it up again, capture precious moments and freeze them through the lens once more. 

LiMing bumped their shoulders gently, breaking him away from the heavy, crushing sorrow building behind his sternum, almost like a physical weight. 

Grief was a funny thing, he supposed. Maybe he’d never really forget it, just… learn to live with it as best as he could.

Do you want to develop this? I know a good place near my home downtown, they are famous for taking care of vintage cameras and films, LiMing asked, and his eyes were kind and gentle— as if he understood the significance of this camera even without Heart saying anything— and that simple, compassionate offer filled him with gratitude, his eyes growing misty. 

His mom would’ve loved LiMing, he was sure of it. 

He nodded back, not trusting himself to say anything yet, and pushed the camera onto LiMing’s lap. 

But LiMing paused abruptly- hunching over the camera for a moment- then pulled at his sleeves urgently. 

Wait, there’s… there’s something stuck here, look.

And sure enough, when he looked closer, there was indeed something stuck behind the reel— the corner of what looked like… paper— curled carefully around the thin sliver of space between the film and its slot.

Heart grabbed a tweezer from his toolbox and carefully nudged it out without scratching the reel— and a square piece of notepaper, barely two inches long and as much wide— a little old but still unlined and crisp looking— fluttered out onto the rug.

And on the paper was written the following words, in his mother’s handwriting :

“When times get dark, 

Remember the music box 

And let its tunes guide you

To brighter days.”

— Love, Mom. 

For half a minute, both of them were frozen still— reading the words over and over— and then LiMing recovered first, lunging for the porcelain music box and flipping it this way and that urgently, trying to find an opening. 

That’s… not it, Heart stopped him with a shaky hand, his mind running a thousand miles a minute.

The message was far too cryptic— his mother couldn’t have known who would find this camera— it could be Suppang, the cleaning staff, or some other family member as well— and therefore, she would not have meant a literal music box, because that would be too obvious. 

And since the note was addressed explicitly to her sons, she must have worded it in such a way that it would be nonsensical to anyone else, but meaningful just to him and North. 

Which could only mean—

He jumped up, his insides feeling like an earthquake was shaking him up, his limbs jittery and nervous and heart hammering inside his chest— as he made his way to his closet and began rummaging around frantically in the storage boxes at the bottom.

If his hunch was right— and of course it would be right— then there should be—

A box. 

The music box. 

Which was not a music box at all.

It was an old tin box, round and sturdy— the kind which used to be gift packs of a certain imported brand of Swiss chocolates and their Christmas special holiday cookies— the kind that used to be all the rage among the kids back in their early childhood.

Music box- because the advert jingle for the brand on TV was very catchy, and North, then just two years old and extremely pleased with anything that was shiny and moving and sparkly— had latched onto the tune like a duckling, and gave the cookies a new name— music cookies. And he had loved said shiny red-and-gold box so much that he clung onto the tin with his chubby little hands even after the treats were finished, long after the holidays were over.

And from then on, it had become an inside joke— just between them and their mother.

The Music Box eventually became a clever way for his mom to get them to apologize to each other when they fought or sulked over something— the guilty party would write a little apology note, and offer a truce— a little gift in the form of candy, or an eraser shaped like a dino, or a brand new magic pencil, and other such incredible treasures— put them in the box and offer it as a token of peace, and all would be quickly forgiven.

When they’d gotten old enough to talk things out instead of throwing tantrums, the music box was forgotten, and eventually ended up in Heart’s closet. He’d thought of throwing it out many times to clear out space— but somehow couldn't bring himself to do it.

LiMing raised an eyebrow when he saw the ‘music box’ but heart simply plopped down without a word, too high strung to explain all the lore at the moment, and flipped open the lid.

His clammy hands shook as he rummaged through the collection of trinkets— a few apology notes written in his and North’s childish scribbles- which his mom had apparently kept for all those years- a few silver and gold foils, craft supplies, a few yarns of thread, a pair of silver earrings, a few dried flowers, probably from the temple— it looked like his mom had been using it as a trinket box by the end. 

And finally, peeking out from under all of that— was a thick white envelope. 

And from within that envelope, he pulled out two long sheets of paper, clipped together carefully.

It was a letter— entirely in his mother’s handwriting.

Heart was abruptly hit with a violent, awful mixture of emotions— dread and grief and terror and longing— and it all crashed into him at once, his heartbeats going frantic and shallow, making him feel a little nauseous and lightheaded— and the letter dropped from his clammy hands onto the floor.

He wanted nothing more than to read the letter all at once, to know what his mother had to say— what vital information she had hidden so cleverly in the letter— which had somehow stayed hidden for eleven years in plain sight, within an old rusty tin box from his childhood. 

But he was dreading it too— the information contained in those pages— the gnawing, terrible realization that the letter was perhaps the key, the last puzzle piece he had been looking for so desperately for weeks— and suddenly, he didn't want it to be over.

The search for his mother’s mysterious death, the botched up records of the accident, the mismatching funds, all the frantic hours of coding at his machines— it was all a clever puzzle that had been keeping him busy all these months and weeks, and somehow, Heart had felt as if he was getting to relearn his mother’s life all over again— getting closer to her, in a strange way— by finding out bits and pieces of information from a past that his mother had lived through.

And suddenly, here was this letter— these two sheets of plain office paper— that probably contained information he was sure would turn his and North’s whole life upside down. 

He stared at the letter with unseeing eyes, his heart pounding inside his chest and his breaths coming erratic like he had run a mile— and he felt LiMing watching him quietly from the side.

LiMing reached out wordlessly and covered Heart’s shaking hands with his own— the touch of his familiar, warm, calloused fingers grounding Heart in inexplicable ways and calming him down a little.

You don’t have to… right now, LiMing offered, kindly. 

But Heart took a steadying breath and squeezed his eyes shut, gulping past the tightness at his throat.

He knew he had to do this— rip out the band-aid, from a wound eleven years too late in healing— he mused ruefully. 

The sooner it was done, the better it would be for everyone. 

So he gritted his teeth, picked up the letter, and then hesitated a bit… Until he felt LiMing leaning against him— the warmth of his body all along his sides serving as a grounding anchor— and he gave Heart a little smile and a nod of encouragement. 

And for the next forty minutes or so, they read the letter together. 

***

By the time they were done, Heart wished he had never found the letter at all.

My darlings, 

I don't know which one of you found this letter, but in either case, I want you to read whatever I'm about to say very, very carefully and take every word with the utmost seriousness.

By the time you read this letter, I'm sure I will no longer be there by your side. And as your mother, I can only apologize to you, from the bottom of my heart, for whatever hardships you may have suffered in my absence. 

If I could turn back time, I would have been more cautious, more vigilant, more wary of the people around me- people who betrayed me at the end, even after years of me knowing them.

And the biggest one of them all- was your father. 

I don’t know if that piece of information came as a shock to you, or if the circumstances after my passing became such that either of you were already suspecting something was amiss- but in any case, I will leave it entirely up to your judgment to do what you want with the information I am about to give you.

I can only sincerely hope and pray to the gods that Suppang has changed his ways, maybe he became a better father to you both afterwards, when I am gone- but as a pragmatic woman, my hopes are slim, and as a mother, my intuition says otherwise too. 

I only got to know what kind of a man he truly was when it was already too late. 

And for that, I am so sorry to you both again.

To understand everything that went down, I shall need to tell you a story- that began almost forty years ago from the day I am writing this letter.

You probably remember that I grew up in the seaside town of Pattaya. Your great-grandfather started his hotel business there- and managed to expand his chain of establishments very successfully in the post-war years.

I had two childhood friends- a boy and a girl, from the neighborhood I lived in. The three of us were as thick as thieves, growing up together and spending nearly every waking moment with each other- and to an only child like me, they practically became my siblings. 

Up until high school, the three of us were stuck at the hips, always getting into all sorts of troubles and terrorizing the old uncles and aunties in our locality- and I can now see that streak of mischief in you, Heart, don’t you roll your eyes, young man.

But anyway, I digress. 

After graduation, Arun, the boy, went into police academy- he was always an adventurous, daredevil sort of person, with a sense of justice as steadfast as the sun, after which he was named.

Nichaphat, the girl, the gentlest one between the three of us- went on to study classical Thai music, for she had a gifted voice and a talent for the arts.

I moved out too, and got into university to study business, because my father was shaping me up to take over the finances as soon as I could. I had no complaints, really, because somewhere at the back of my mind I guess I had made peace with the fact that my fate would go a certain way, since I was the only heir of an established business family.

Years passed, and my contact with my friends thinned out- because life has a bothersome way of getting in between. 

When I met them five years later, Nichaphat and Arun had freshly graduated from their respective academies- and were soon to start working. Arun got posted in a semi-urban police station, but he had his eyes set on becoming an officer in the investigative forces and was already preparing for that. Nichaphat became a music instructor at a local high school. 

But for me, the biggest surprise was finding out that my two oldest, best friends, were in love, and were planning to get married- as soon as Arun completed his training- and to put it mildly, I practically fell out of the sky at the news.

After a generous amount of teasing them both to bits (like you tend to do with people you grew up with right form snotty nosed-potty training days), I slowly pulled out the details from the two shy love birds- they had apparently had feelings for each other since high school but never acted upon it, out of consideration for me- because they were worried I’d feel left out or awkward around them- which was basically nonsense those two had made up and agonized over, all by themselves.

I was genuinely, truly happy for them, of course- told them they were idiots for ever thinking I’d be unhappy or even opposed to them being together- because nothing could be better than finding out that the two people I cared about the most in the world had found their happiness with each other. 

The three of us reconnected again and began meeting up regularly- as and when we could work out time in between our budding adult lives with growing responsibilities. 

I was already working as an apprentice under your grandfather, and got extremely busy running the hotels in Bangkok. 

That is when I met your father, Suppang. He was a new employee- handsome, hard working and well mannered, hailing from humble backgrounds. He was witty and smart, with a keen eye for business- and he quickly charmed both me and my father- and I fancied myself in love.

In the very beginning, I believe he was a genuinely good person. I also blindly trusted my father’s experienced eye for recognising talent and quality in people- and with his approval, Suppang and I quickly built a working partnership, and also, a relationship with each other. 

The two of us expanded our chain of hotels to a few other highly lucrative holiday locations, and Suppang was also given charge of the real estate business that your grandfather had newly ventured out into. He quickly became as close to a family member to all of us, and was invited to core board member meetings and asked to weigh in on important decisions. 

When he proposed marriage, I had no reasons to doubt his intentions- and neither did my father- and for a while, we were genuinely happy together.

But my young, rose tinted eyes had failed to spot the growing blemishes in the picture perfect image of Suppang- and he had somehow masterfully concealed his true colors even from my father. 

It started as tiny, innocuous things- speaking rudely to the employees under him, throwing temper tantrums during meetings, using muscle power and escalating intimidation tactics during negotiations- because at that time, the political and social climate was far more unstable than the present, and we often had to make deals with the unsavory sort- dubois businessmen, barely legal organizations, and the like.

I chalked Suppang’s growing aggressiveness to the stress of running several businesses on his own- and ended up confiding my worries to my best friends.

Arun was already working as an officer in the CIB, and he promised to look into it- investigate covertly to find out if there really was something going on.

I don’t know how Suppang found out about it- the fact that I had gone to my friends for help- and now that I look back, it should have been the first red flag I paid attention to- but one day, he exploded in anger, quarreling with me about how I didn’t trust him to do his own job, how I was somehow looking down on him as a man, and doubting his capabilities.

We had a major fallout, but thankfully, made up soon afterwards. I made him promise to share whatever burdens he had, so that we could figure it out together, instead of him hiding things from me.

A year later, Heart was born, and for a while, everything was fine on the surface- we were the perfect happy little family. 

But deep in my guts, I could feel that something fundamental had shifted, that there was a weird sense of something going very wrong, that there was a growing veil of mistrust between Suppang and I, and it bothered me.

I think that’s when the mutual distrust started.

I began guarding our core business deals- because on paper, I was still the designated heir and CEO, and had the last say on most executive decisions. I started being secretive of important projects, and keeping a close eye on our finances- and that’s when I noticed the discrepancies in funds.

Suppang had set up a trail of transactions that lead to no effective payouts- and when I covertly asked around from our finance teams, they said he’d been taking out money and investing it off the record in undisclosed business deals, often involving a certain right wing political party’s top brass.

I assumed it was because of those under the table dealings we had to do sometimes, bribe the who’s and who’s to get permits and land sanctions- and hoped that Suppang knew what he was doing. I didn’t bring it up with him because I was afraid we’d have another bout of arguments. 

Two years after North was born, my father passed away, and I discovered that he had divided his assets in a peculiar way- none of which I had any idea about- he’d only disclosed the details to his attorneys. 

Your grandfather had decreed, that after his passing, all his assets- apart from funds to keep the businesses running and maintaining the charities- would be transferred to me, and in the event of my demise, they would be divided equally between you both- his two grandsons- once you came of legal age. 

He made it so that not a single penny would go to your father- and he’d only be left with a townhouse and his own earnings- as long as he would be employed under my father’s corporation and managed the businesses. 

I still don’t know why my father set up that peculiar division, but I think he too had started to suspect something was amiss with Suppang, just like I had- and wanted to secure the future of his only daughter and two infant grandchildren in his absence.

I don’t know if Suppang has told any of this to you, but I wager he probably hasn’t. So just to be formally clear, you may contact XXX law firm, give proof of your identities, and have their attorneys sort out your inheritance for you- it had all been set up by your grandpa years ago, and you should not be facing any disputes from your father. 

Needless to say, Suppang did not take this news well after the funeral was over and the extended family called down to the reading of your grandfather’s will. He saved his face in front of outsiders, but as soon as we were in private, his anger exploded.

We had a massive quarrel, he accused me of depriving him of his rightful inheritance- that I had colluded with my father to humiliate him in front of the family and his employees- and I retaliated back, angry and numb from shock and grief. 

One thing led to the other and he dropped the wildest possible accusation- that he suspected me of having an affair with Arun, my best friend- apparently for years.

He told me he had kept quiet till now only for the sake of our family, but he couldn’t take it anymore. But the worst accusation yet- was him suspecting whether you two were his biological children at all- which was my last straw in the fraught mental state I was in.

I fought back, refuting his absurd, laughable claims- explained that Arun was like a brother to me, he was married to a woman he loved- who was my other best friend- and they already had a child and were expecting another. But nothing I could say could get through to him.

He attacked me verbally with more vicious, horrid words- which I will refrain from putting into writing- and that was the day I realized that the man I had once loved was no longer there. I realized Suppang was already consumed by vindictive jealousy and a twisted sense of possessiveness and mistrust, even towards his infant sons- his own blood- and nothing could root out his suspicions, now that they had taken root so poisonously.

I don’t know how much you remember, sweethearts, but I tried so hard to shield you both from the fallout of our marriage- and for the next decade or so I lived a life of constant deception and lies and parallel efforts to uncover exactly what went wrong with the man I once knew as my husband.

Arun did not give up his covert search into Suppang, especially after I confided everything to him and Nichaphat, the only two people who were closest to a family I still had left, apart from you both. They were livid after hearing everything- and even advised me to get a divorce.

But I weighed the options- Suppang was already too tied into my family business and finances- possibly destroying it from within- and my children were both too young and vulnerable. I was scared how bad his reaction was going to be if I straight up slapped him with a legal document of separation on top of everything. 

So Nichaphat, Arun and I had one long, final discussion and the three of us decided that we’d secretly continue looking into Suppang’s dealings, try and find his weak links and maybe bring him down legally- and apart from them, I trusted three of our oldest advisors, people who had been employed since my grandfather's times, and together, we began our covert search, both inside and outside the company.

And over several years, bit by bit, we found out all that Suppang was doing. 

Reckless, borderline criminal business investments, money laundering, colluding with politicians and getting into illegal mining and lumbering syndicates up in the North, running loan shark dens, and the list goes on. I even suspect Suppang got involved with a number of hushed up homicide cases- victims of different mafia syndicates he had dealings with- poor, unfortunate people who couldn’t pay off the money or were silenced because they found out too much. 

It was as if the man was leading a parallel life altogether- and somehow, through his aggressive leadership and charms, he had lured in quite a number of erstwhile trusted employees in my father’s business- people I thought I could trust, could rely on- and made a veritable lobby of his own- people who would run his dirty deals for him and follow him blind. 

The current situation is such that I feel cornered and alone in my own company, my own businesses. 

The more we looked into the accounts and paper trails and digital records, the more it seemed as if his misdeeds were nearly never ending- or rather, ever expanding- so much so that he is now running an almost parallel business chain under the legitimacy of our hotel and real estate projects. 

The details were too much to put on paper, and I had been pooling them safely in a secure place- when another tragedy happened.

A year before I am writing this letter, Officer Arun Wongwitthaya, of the Special Domestic Intelligence Divisions of the CIB, and my best friend, died in a tragic accident.

It was a car crash, apparently some drunk driver failed his brakes and crashed into his car when he was returning from work- the perpetrator dying on the spot too.

It was as shocking as it was ordinary- one among the many road accidents that happen in Bangkok's streets every month- and the media ran a few sentimental articles about the country losing a competent servant of justice- but Nichaphat and I were devastated. 

The police investigated it, found no suspicious links, and the case was closed. 

But I just couldn’t accept it. Somehow, my mind kept going back to Suppang, and the many unexplained deaths that came up when we were investigating him. Day by day, my fears grew, until I got almost paranoid with worry and told Nichaphat to move- as far away as possible with her two kids- and stay hidden until this blew over. I didn’t want innocents to be punished for the misfortune I had dragged them into. 

I still don’t know how Suppang managed it- if he got help from some syndicate or just hired expendable thugs from some mafia for the job- but the way in which even the CIB didn’t seem all too bothered that one of their officers was so suspiciously eliminated, was a glaring red flag for me.

My worries were confirmed when I overheard Suppang talking to his henchman- that vile man Suthidon- in his office, a week after Arun’s passing. 

I heard him say, “Sniffer dogs who come meddling into other people’s affairs should be put down exactly like that. Bastard was getting too nosy. From now on, make sure that every mongrel stepping out of line is collared swiftly before they can make a single noise.” 

And I remember every word exactly as he said, because they are now forever scarred on my memories. 

I don’t know how I survived from that day on. 

I now look at you both playing in the yard or doing homework at the living room table or one of you laughing at some silly joke your brother cracked- I look at my sons, still alive and whole and breathing- and my hands and feet go frozen with terror in the middle of bright sunlight. 

I have the sinking suspicion that my time is drawing near too, just like Arun’s had.

I think Suppang has connections far higher up in the world of politics and organized crime than I had given him credits for. 

He also has a natural thirst for money and power that stems from hailing from humble circumstances, and a shrewdness and cold cruelty most of us would not even begin to grasp at. I think deep down, he had always envied me and my family because of our money and social hierarchy, the stamp of old wealth and status he as an outsider would never truly get to have- and now I realize that marrying me was just a way for him to climb up the social ladder, nothing more or less. 

He had probably found out that I had been looking into his sordid deals behind his back, maybe he got to know that Arun was secretly investigating him too- I still can’t say for sure. But added on top of all that was his venomous jealousy of Arun and ridiculous distrust of me- and probably that’s the main reason why he eliminated that dearest friend of mine.

Several times, I thought of going to the police with all the data I had, but my fear was too strong. I am still paranoid that Suppang is having me followed, day in and day out, and if his connections run up even to the CIB then what hope do I have? 

I really don’t know what to do, and I have never felt this helpless in my life.

I am still not sure how long I have left- two weeks later is North’s twelfth birthday, I hope I can make it till then. If I don't, then I apologize from the bottom of my heart once more, for abandoning you both- my two precious angels- leaving you behind in a cruel, cruel world.

Everything I have collected on Suppang over nearly seven years is split into two parts- Nichaphat and I decided that it would be the best course of action- so that even if one half is somehow lost or compromised, there would still be the other half left. 

We deliberately hid it in personal items in plain sight, places one usually would not think of- if god forbid- Suppang gets the bright idea to hunt that poor woman down too. The reason I didn't even trust to keep it in bank vaults or with people I trusted either, is because one, Suppang could legally freeze my accounts after I am gone, and two, I realized too late that even trusted people can easily be bought with money, and Suppang was always exceptionally good at manipulating people to his will. 

So, Heart, if you are reading this, these are my instructions to you, as my wonderful, smart, eldest child :

You will find a small microSD card inside the necklace I gave you as a birthday gift on your fourteenth birthday earlier this year- the one with a heart shaped pendant that you complained was ‘too girly’ and promptly chucked into your chest of drawers in a fit of teenage angst, which was rather cute to witness. The pendant can be opened if you press on it a certain way- I’m sure you’ll be clever enough to figure it out.

And North, if you’re reading this, these are my instructions to you, as my little boy with the biggest heart and the brightest smile :

The rest of the data is hidden in another microchip, inside a little packet taped securely to the inside of a guitar belonging to my friend Nichaphat’s youngest child, Guntaphon, who inherited her talent for music. The guitar was a gift from his father, the first instrument he got as a present, so that should help narrow it down.

I don’t know if dearest Nichaphat is still alive, she fell severely ill soon after Arun’s passing, but I fervently pray with all my being, that she and her children, Night and Gun— are whole and hearty. Their family home should still be in Pattaya, the address is provided at the end of the letter.

I want you both to retrieve all data, and if put together, it should be enough to convict Suppang on multiple charges of financial fraud, extortion, violation of employees rights, illegal export of the country’s natural resources, and maybe even abetment of several homicides.

I leave it entirely up to you both to decide what to do with all the evidence. I wasn’t brave enough to go forward, but maybe the times have changed, and they will prove to be helpful, at least in getting justice for all the people wronged by Suppang, both in small ways and large.

It is breaking my heart to write these words to you, my babies- I had to stop my tears at several places, discard several drafts of this letter, and more than once I wondered if I should burden you with any of this shameful, tragic knowledge at all.

But as a mother, even though I am no longer there by your side and I also probably never got to tell you in person- but I want you both to know that none of it was your fault, any of it.

Sometimes life is just that unpredictable and harsh, and some of us are unfortunate enough to pay the biggest prices for it. 

Even though no one can see the future, I somehow know deep in my heart that you both have grown up into two wonderful young men- kind, compassionate, charming and smart- because that’s how I raised my two little boys, and I will always be proud of whatever decisions you make, of whichever path you traverse in life, of whoever you befriend, or choose to love.

Just know this- I will be watching over you both, from wherever I am, and my blessings will always be with you.

With all my love, 

Mom