The morning sun filtered weakly through the hospital blinds, painting pale stripes on the floor. Win's eyes slowly fluttered open. His vision was blurry, his body felt bruised from the inside out, and the hollow ache in his chest pulsed with every breath. Everything felt heavy. His limbs. His thoughts. His heart.
Krit sat in the chair beside him, arms crossed tightly, legs stiff, posture rigid. He hadn't changed positions in hours. His hair was messy, eyes bloodshot, but his expression was a cold, unreadable mask.
He didn't greet Win. He didn't ask if he slept well. He didn't even blink.
"Good morning, Krit," Win whispered, voice trembling.
Krit didn't look at him. "Morning," he said flatly, tone clipped and sharp enough to cut. His gaze stayed fixed on the wall past Win, as if looking at him would ruin the thin thread of control he was holding onto.
Win swallowed hard. "Krit… can you—"
"I'll take you home," Krit cut in, voice suddenly loud and authoritative. "You'll rest there. My parents are still in the States."
Win's eyebrows trembled. "But… I—"
"No arguments," Krit snapped. "You're coming home with me. That's final. I'm not repeating myself."
A nurse entered the room with a cheerful smile. "Good morning, Win. How are you feeling today? Let me just check your vitals."
"Morning…" Win whispered, trying to force a small smile.
Krit didn't bother to smile. He spoke in a clipped tone, eyes still cold. "He's fine. Just do whatever you need to do."
The nurse blinked. "Oh… o-okay."
Win shifted awkwardly. "I… I need to go to the washroom."
Krit scoffed loudly, sitting straight. "Then why am I even here? Huh? I'm literally sitting right here to HELP you. But no— you don't tell me anything. As usual."
The nurse blinked, blushing slightly. "You two are… um… really cute together."
Krit snapped his gaze to her with a glare, and she fled the room immediately.
Krit leaned closer to Win, voice low and sharp, though laced with bitter sarcasm. "Can I help His Majesty? Or would you like to fall onto the floor first and THEN call my name?"
Win looked down quickly. "I… I didn't want to bother you…"
Krit let out a cold, breathy laugh. "Burden? Wow. You really know how to make a guy feel appreciated." He stood abruptly, muttering under his breath, "Unbelievable."
He grabbed Win's arm—not gently, not roughly, but with firm determination—and helped him stand. Win winced.
"What?" Krit barked. "Does it hurt? Good. Maybe next time you'll actually TALK to me."
Win didn't reply. His throat was too tight to speak.
Inside the washroom, Krit leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching every tiny movement through the half-open door. His eyes never left Win—not even once.
When Win came out, Krit immediately supported his arm again, guiding him back to the bed.
"Sit. Slowly. You're not breaking anything else under my watch," he muttered.
Win lowered himself carefully. "Thank you…"
Krit scoffed. "Yeah, amazing. Now you suddenly remember manners."
Moments later, the doctor walked in. "Good morning. Win, we've prepared your discharge papers. Follow the instructions strictly. Rest, avoid stress, and don't hesitate to come back if anything worsens."
Win nodded weakly.
Krit's voice softened just a fraction, respectful. "Thank you, doctor."
But as soon as the door closed, his eyes snapped back to Win with that same icy intensity.
"You're coming with me," Krit said, voice firm and unwavering. "To MY house. I will take care of you. I don't care if you agree or not. You can whine, you can pout, you can sulk, but I'm NOT giving up on you."
Win looked up, stunned. "K-Krit… I… I agree. I'll come."
Krit's jaw tightened, and for a second something flickered in his eyes—relief, frustration, maybe even hurt—but it vanished quickly.
"Good," he said curtly. "One thing today is going right at least."
He adjusted Win's blanket. Not gently. Not harshly. Just intensely.
"Now rest," he ordered. "No more arguments. You used up all your chances."
Win nodded, eyes glossy. "Okay…"
"And stop looking at me like that," Krit muttered, turning away. "I'm not softening."
Win looked down again, silent.
Krit sighed, frustrated, running a hand through his hair. "Just… don't make me worry again. I swear, Win… I swear, if you disappear into your problems again, I'll—"
He stopped himself, jaw clenching as he exhaled sharply.
What followed was quiet but tense.
Krit guided him through each step—standing, walking the corridor, waiting at the elevator. His grip was firm, protective, even when he pretended to be annoyed.
In the elevator, Win leaned on the wall briefly, dizzy.
Krit immediately snapped. "Don't lean! You'll fall again!"
"S-sorry…"
"You're always sorry," Krit muttered. "If apologies fixed anything, you'd be a saint by now."
By the time they reached the car, the air between them was thick—full of words spoken too harshly and emotions too raw to name.
When Krit unlocked the front door, Win hesitated for a moment on the threshold. The house was quiet, still smelling faintly of cleaning spray and cologne—Krit's cologne, the one Win had spent months missing. The silence made Win's shoulders tighten. He took a weak step inside, clutching the strap of his bag.
Krit didn't even look at him as he said sharply, "Go to my room. I'll get you towels."
Win nodded and walked slowly through the hall, trying not to limp. He didn't know if he was walking too loudly, breathing too hard, existing too visibly. Krit's footsteps were heavy behind him, each one filled with irritation. When they reached the bedroom, Krit pushed the door open.
"Sit," he ordered.
Win sat immediately on the edge of the bed, head lowered. Krit tossed a towel and fresh clothes beside him, the towel hitting Win's hand a little harder than necessary.
"Take a shower. Not too long. You're still weak," Krit muttered, arms crossed tightly.
Win hesitated. "I… I don't think I'm hungry. Maybe I'll just rest—"
Krit's head snapped toward him so fast that Win flinched.
"Did I ask if you're hungry?" Krit's voice rose sharply. "I told you to eat. I didn't ask for your opinion."
Win's breath caught. "I… I didn't mean—"
"Oh, don't do that." Krit threw the towel onto the bed with a frustrated smack. "Don't get shy now. You had no problem making decisions without me before, right? So suddenly you can't decide if you want food?"
Win looked down, hands trembling around the towel. "I'm sorry…"
"Whatever. Just—shower. Now."
Win rushed into the bathroom, closing the door softly behind him. His chest ached. Hot water ran down his back but did nothing to wash away the sting of Krit's voice.
By the time he returned, hair damp and steps small, Krit was in the kitchen. He didn't look up when Win sat at the dining table. The smell of rice porridge filled the room, warm but suffocating.
"I said eat," Krit reminded him coldly.
Win swallowed, picked up the spoon, and took tiny bites. His hands shook. Krit pretended to wipe the counter, but his eyes flicked toward Win every few seconds.
"You're eating like a bird," he muttered. "Do you want to faint again? Should I call the doctor to spoon-feed you?"
"No… I'm eating," Win whispered.
"Then eat properly."
Win forced himself to take bigger bites, trying not to choke. When he finished, he placed the spoon down quietly.
Krit stepped closer and placed medicine in front of him. "Take it."
Win took the pills with water, lowering his head. "Thank you…"
Krit scoffed. "Don't thank me. It's just medicine."
He grabbed Win's wrist and pulled him gently—but firmly—toward the bedroom. Win stumbled slightly from the sudden movement.
"You'll sleep here," Krit said, opening the door.
Win froze. "I… I can sleep alone. You don't have to stay with me."
Krit's eyes narrowed. "And if something happens while you're sleeping? You think I'll hear you from the guest room? Or magically know if you can't breathe?"
"I just… I don't want to bother you," Win whispered.
Krit stepped closer, intense. "You really think I care whether I'm bothered? I stayed with you all night in the hospital. I carried you. I watched you cry in your sleep. And you're still worried about 'bothering' me?"
Win's chin trembled. "I… I didn't know."
"You never know anything," Krit muttered bitterly. "You just cry."
Tears welled up in Win's eyes instantly.
"Crying again?" Krit sighed, leaning back. "Win, listen carefully." His voice hardened. "Your tears aren't going to fix anything. Crying won't undo what happened. Crying won't make things normal."
Win wiped his cheeks quickly, ashamed. "I'm sorry… I'm really trying…"
"Then stop arguing and sleep," Krit said, grabbing an extra pillow and tossing it onto the bed. "I'm sleeping here. Right here. Next to you. No more debate."
Win lay down slowly, curling slightly under the blanket. Krit turned off the lights, climbed into bed beside him—though facing away—and pulled the blanket over both of them.
The silence was heavy.
At some point in the night, Win murmured something in his sleep, a quiet "Don't leave…"
Krit's back tensed, but he didn't move. He just closed his eyes harder.
Morning came with soft clattering from the kitchen. Win opened his eyes slowly, hearing voices—one stern, one playful.
"Krit, you sound like an angry grandfather," Phum teased.
"Shut up and pass me the plate," Krit muttered.
Win sat up, rubbing his eyes. He stood carefully, walking toward the bathroom. After using it, he flushed.
Krit instantly bolted from the kitchen, nearly bumping into the wall.
"Win!" he barked. "Why didn't you call me?!"
Win blinked, startled. "I… I can walk. It's okay."
Krit didn't reply, just clenched his jaw and turned away sharply.
In the kitchen, Phum waved brightly. "Morning, Win!"
"Morning…" Win said softly.
Phum grinned. "So… are you two still fighting?"
Krit didn't bother to look up. "We're not in a relationship to fight."
Win's heart dropped a little.
Phum smirked. "Really? That's convenient. Because Narin called me this morning."
Krit froze.
Phum continued cheerfully, "He was asking about Win's condition. Said he heard you guys broke up. And—oh!—he said he wants to ask Win out."
Krit stared at him like he was seconds away from murder. "Get out. Before I kill you."
Phum laughed. "Wow. Jealous much?"
Krit stayed silent, jaw clenched hard.
Phum leaned toward Win. "So, Win… what do YOU think? I think Narin is actually a good guy. Very gentle. Good temper. Not like someone else here."
Krit grabbed the nearest pillow and threw it at Phum's face. Phum caught it easily and cackled.
"WIN," Phum said dramatically, "tell us. Do you want to go out with Narin?"
Win looked at Krit.
He said nothing.
Krit stood abruptly. "Get. Out. Phum. And don't ever bring that Narin to this house. I will break his legs."
Phum laughed all the way out the door.
The front door clicked shut behind Phum, and the house instantly fell into a thick, suffocating silence. Krit stood frozen in the middle of the living room, hands clenched at his sides, chest rising and falling sharply. Win sat quietly at the dining table, fingers trembling around the edge of his mug.
Krit didn't move for a full ten seconds.
Then he turned slowly—too slowly—toward Win.
"Are you seriously considering it?" Krit asked, voice low and dangerous.
Win looked up in confusion. "W-what?"
Krit took one step closer. "Narin."
Another step. "Are you planning to go out with him?"
Win shook his head quickly. "No! I never said that—"
"But you didn't deny it," Krit snapped, cutting him off. "Phum asked you. You looked at me. And you said nothing."
Win's throat tightened. "I didn't know what to say… I didn't want to make things worse."
"Oh, so staying silent is better?" Krit scoffed. "Great. Amazing. So you're just going to let another guy come and take you because you 'don't want to make things worse'?"
"Krit… please…" Win whispered. "Don't be mad…"
"Why shouldn't I be mad?" Krit's voice rose suddenly. "You want to go out with him? You want him to take care of you now? You want HIM in this house instead of me?!"
Win flinched so hard the mug nearly slipped from his hands.
"I never said that," Win whispered, voice breaking.
Krit sat down across from him, leaning forward, pinning Win with an accusing stare. "Do you like him?"
"No!" Win gasped immediately.
"You hesitated," Krit shot back.
"I didn't—"
"Yes. You. Did," Krit said through clenched teeth. "You looked at me first. Why?! What? Were you waiting for my permission?"
Win's eyes filled instantly. "I just… didn't know what you wanted me to say…"
Krit scoffed loudly. "I wanted you to say NO."
Win wiped his tears fast, shaking. "I… I didn't think I had the right anymore."
Krit's face twisted, fury and pain clashing. "What the hell does that mean?"
"You told Phum we're not in a relationship," Win whispered, voice cracking. "So I thought… I thought maybe I shouldn't say no."
Krit froze.
Win pressed a shaky hand to his chest. "I thought if I acted like I still belonged to you… you'd get angry. You already hate me."
Krit's jaw clenched, breath heavy. "I never said I hate you."
"You don't have to say it," Win whispered, tears streaming. "Your face… your voice… everything feels cold."
Krit looked away sharply, eyes flickering, throat bobbing.
Win lowered his head, shoulders trembling violently. "I'm trying my best, Krit. I don't know what I'm allowed to be anymore. I don't know if I'm your responsibility, or a burden, or nothing."
Krit stared at him—really stared—something fierce burning behind his eyes.
Then he asked quietly, "Do you want him to take my place?"
Win's head snapped up, eyes wide. "No! Never! How can you even say that—?!"
Krit slammed his hand on the table, making Win jump. "Then why didn't you SAY IT?!"
"I was scared!" Win cried, voice cracking. "You get mad at everything I say, Krit! Everything! I don't want to upset you again!"
Krit's breath hitched.
Win's tears fell harder. "You don't talk to me. You barely look at me. You won't tell me how you feel. And I'm trying so hard not to… not to make it worse…"
His voice finally broke into a sob.
"Oh my god…" Win whispered, covering his face. "I'm so tired…"
Krit's eyes softened—just for one second—but then he shoved the emotion down, hardened his expression, and stood abruptly.
Before he could speak, Win's phone buzzed on the table.
Both of them froze.
The screen lit up with a name neither of them wanted to see.
Narin:
Good morning, Win.
Phum told me you're recovering.
If you're free this week…
Can I take you out for dinner?
Just to cheer you up.
Win's breath stopped.
Krit's entire body went rigid.
Very slowly, he turned his head toward Win, a smile spreading across his face—but it wasn't a nice smile. It was sharp. Cold. Dangerous.
"Well," Krit said softly, venomously, "looks like someone can't even wait."
Win grabbed the phone quickly. "Krit, no—please, it's not like that—"
"Oh really?" Krit leaned forward, palms slamming on either side of Win's chair, trapping him. "Then what is it like, Win? Huh? Tell me."
Win's tears fell harder. "I didn't ask him to message me—"
"But he did," Krit cut him off, voice low and trembling with jealousy he couldn't hide anymore. "And he thinks he has the right to ask you out.
Krit's fists clenched at Win's shoulders.
Win stared at him, eyes glossy and wide. "K-Krit… you're hurting me…"
Krit loosened his grip but didn't step back. He stayed dangerously close, breathing unevenly, jaw tight, as if holding back something explosive.
Win whispered shakily, "Why… why can't I say it…? You said we're just friends…"
Krit's eyes snapped to his. "Because I didn't mean it."
Win froze.
Krit swallowed hard, fingers twitching where they held Win's shoulders. "You think I wanted to say that? You think I like pretending I'm not—"
He broke off, turning his face away as if the words were too heavy.
Win's heart pounded painfully. "Not what…?"
Krit's voice cracked. "Not yours."
Win's breath hitched. His fingers tightened on his blanket. "Then… why did you say we weren't together…?"
"Because I was angry!" Krit exploded, stepping back and running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I was angry you didn't trust me. Angry you hid everything. Angry that I wasn't there. Angry at myself. Angry at you. Angry at everyone!"
Win flinched at his raised voice, tears spilling again.
Krit saw the flinch — and guilt flickered across his face.
But the jealousy was stronger.
His eyes dropped to Win's phone still lit up with Narin's message.
"You didn't even decline him," Krit said bitterly.
"I didn't get the chance!" Win cried. "You… you were yelling…"
"That didn't stop you from reading it," Krit muttered. "Did it make you happy? Someone else wanting you?"
"Krit!" Win gasped, horrified. "How can you even say that? Do you think I want anyone but you?!"
Krit's eyes widened for a split second.
Win covered his face with trembling hands, voice breaking. "You're the only one I ever wanted… even when it hurt… even when you were cold… I still—"
A sob strangled his words.
Krit stood there, chest heaving, watching Win cry — really watching.
And something inside him snapped.
Quietly, he walked back.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
He reached out… and took Win's wrists gently, pulling his hands away from his face.
Win looked up through tears — vulnerable, scared, exhausted.
Krit's voice dropped to a whisper.
A soft, broken one.
"Don't cry for him."
"I'm not crying for Narin…" Win whispered. "I'm crying because… because you're angry and jealous and you won't tell me what you want from me…"
Krit's breath hitched again.
"You want to know what I want?" he asked softly.
Win nodded, tears falling silently.
Krit leaned down, forehead nearly touching Win's.
His voice, rough and trembling, spilled out:
"I want you to stay here."
"I want you to eat the food I make."
"I want you to rely on me."
"I want you to call my name when you need help."
"I want you to stop pushing me out."
"And I want you—" he inhaled sharply, knuckles white, "—to stop thinking anyone else can replace me."
Win's lips parted, breath trembling.
Krit closed his eyes for a second, trying to stop himself from going further.
But he failed.
"I get jealous, okay?" he blurted out. "I get jealous when someone looks at you. I get jealous when someone else talks to you. I get jealous when someone thinks they can have you. I get jealous because—"
He cut himself off again, chest rising too fast.
Win whispered, "Because…?"
Krit opened his eyes.
"Because you're mine."
Win's eyes widened, tears stopping mid-fall.
Krit caught the shock on his face and scoffed, frustrated at himself, frustrated at Win, frustrated at everything. "Don't look at me like that. You asked me what I wanted, so I'm telling you. You're mine. You were mine then. You're mine now. And I don't care what label we have."
Win's voice trembled. "Krit… I…"
But before he could finish—
Buzz.
Narin sent another message.
Krit froze.
Then his expression transformed into pure, cold fury.
He grabbed Win's phone off the table.
"K-Krit! Don't—!"
But Krit was already typing, jaw clenched, eyes icy.
He typed slowly, deliberately.
Krit:
Win won't be going anywhere with you.
Stop calling. Stop texting.
Stay away from him.
Win's eyes widened. "Krit! You can't just—!"
Krit lifted the phone, showing the message with a cold smirk.
"Oh? I already did."
"K-Krit…" Win's voice wavered. "You have no right to—"
Krit leaned down, eyes burning with possessive anger. "I have every right."
Win's breath stopped.
Krit tossed the phone back into Win's lap and stepped even closer, staring down at him with unfiltered emotion.
"Because I'm the one who stayed by your side."
"I'm the one who carried you home."
"I'm the one who held you when you cried."
"I'm the one who didn't sleep for two nights because I was scared you'd stop breathing."
"And I'm the one who loves you, Win."
Win choked on a sob, covering his mouth.
Krit finally cupped Win's face gently — the first gentle touch in weeks — thumbs brushing away the tears.
"So tell me," he whispered. "Do you still think you're single?"
Win shook his head quickly, voice breaking. "N-No… I don't…"
Krit exhaled hard, forehead dropping to Win's shoulder as if he had been holding in the words for too long.
Win lifted a trembling hand, resting it shyly on Krit's back.
Krit whispered into his skin, voice so soft Win almost didn't hear it:
"Good. Because I'm not letting you go again."
Win froze for a second before melting against him, sobbing into Krit's chest. His fingers clutched weakly at the fabric of Krit's shirt, bunching it as though afraid he would slip away if he didn't hold tight enough. His entire body trembled—part fear, part relief, part exhaustion after everything that had crashed down on him.
"I… I'm sorry…" he choked out, voice muffled against Krit's chest.
Krit's jaw, tight with anger moments ago, slowly loosened. His breath eased. His voice softened, the sharpness falling away and leaving something warm, protective, almost fragile beneath. "You don't have to be sorry. You just have to stop running from me," he murmured, brushing Win's hair back with steady fingers. "You hear me? You stay. Let me deal with the rest."
Win nodded weakly, gripping the front of Krit's shirt harder, as if anchoring himself. "I… I trust you," he whispered, and the quiet honesty in his tone hit Krit like a punch to the chest.
Krit cupped the back of his neck, thumb lightly stroking the tense skin there, lowering his forehead to Win's. His tone was low, steady, but fierce with something like determination and fear tangled together. "Good. Because I'm not letting you go again. Not now. Not ever."
He didn't let go immediately. He held Win like he was made of glass and fire at the same time—too precious to lose, too important to release. His arms stayed wrapped tight around Win's trembling frame, as though if he loosened even a little, Win might disappear again. Win's sobs slowly softened, thinning into shaky breaths, his face still pressed against Krit's chest, feeling the steady rise and fall that grounded him.
The silence stretched—heavy at first, then strangely soothing. Krit exhaled slowly, the sound rough at the edges. "You know, you're terrible at timing," he muttered, a faint attempt at humor slipping through the sadness. "Show up half-dead, make me panic, then tell me you're leaving again. You really know how to torture a guy."
Win let out a weak, broken laugh between sniffles, pulling back just enough to look up at him. His eyes were red and glassy but softer now. "You always said I was dramatic."
"Yeah," Krit said, brushing away a tear with his thumb before it could fall again, "but I didn't think you'd make it a hobby."
That earned a small smile from Win—soft, hesitant, but real. The kind of smile that looked like it took effort but still reached his eyes for a moment. Krit felt his chest loosen, tension slipping away inch by inch. He reached up, gently tucking a strand of messy hair behind Win's ear, fingers lingering for a heartbeat longer than necessary.
"You're staying here," he said quietly. Not a suggestion—something rooted deep inside him. "End of discussion. You don't have to prove anything. Not to me. Not to anyone."
Win nodded, voice barely above a breath. "Okay…"
Krit gave a small nod of approval, stepping back only when he had to, just enough to grab a tissue from the table and hold it out. Win's hand brushed his as he took it. "Good," Krit added, tone lightening. "Because if you make me chase you one more time, I'm charging you for emotional damage."
Win laughed again—weak, but clearer this time—wiping the tears from his face. "You'd still do it."
Krit's smirk softened into something warm. "Yeah," he admitted. "Every time."
The heaviness in the room finally eased, replaced with something fragile but peaceful, like the calm after a storm. Krit gently guided Win to the couch, his hand resting at the small of Win's back as he helped him sit. Win leaned into him more than he intended, exhaustion tugging at every inch of him.
Krit fetched a blanket, shaking it out quietly before draping it over Win's shoulders. His hand stayed there for a moment after, warm and steady, grounding him. "Sleep," Krit murmured, voice low, almost a whisper. "You're safe now."
Win's eyes fluttered, heavy and unfocused, exhaustion pulling at him hard. As he drifted off, he felt the faintest brush of fingers through his hair—slow, gentle, comforting. A quiet promise threaded through every touch.
A promise that this time, he wasn't alone.
Their embrace earlier had deepened—not rushed or overwhelming, but tender and desperate in a way that said more than any apology ever could. Two people clinging to what they almost destroyed. It wasn't forgiveness, not fully, but it was a start. A beginning. Words faded, replaced by soft breaths, trembling hands, and the steady rhythm of two hearts trying to remember how to beat together again.
Later, when they finally lay side by side on the couch, wrapped in the soft glow of the night lamp, the silence between them no longer hurt. Krit's arm stayed around Win's waist, protective even in sleep, keeping him close like an instinct he couldn't ignore. And Win's fingers, barely curled, rested against Krit's chest—feeling the steady, calming rise and fall that lulled him into a rare peace.
For the first time in a long time, neither of them felt alone.
The morning sunlight spilled softly into the kitchen, warm and golden. Win sat at the counter, hair still messy from sleep, wearing one of Krit's oversized shirts that hung loosely on his frame. He looked small but calm—like the tension that had wrapped around him for weeks was finally starting to loosen.
Krit moved about the kitchen with surprising ease, flipping eggs in a pan, humming under his breath. "You're staring," he said without turning, a small smirk curling his lips.
Win flushed, looking away quickly. "I'm not!"
"Sure," Krit teased, sliding a plate in front of him. "Eat before you pass out. You barely ate anything yesterday."
Win pouted but obeyed, taking a bite. "You're bossy in the morning."
"I'm always bossy," Krit replied, leaning against the counter with folded arms. "You just never stayed long enough to find out."
Win froze mid-bite, eyes darting up. Krit's tone was teasing, but there was warmth beneath it—no anger, no accusation, just quiet honesty. Win smiled, small but genuine. "Then I guess I'll stay long enough this time."
Krit blinked, the faintest flicker of surprise in his eyes before he chuckled softly. "You better. I made enough breakfast for a week."
They ate together, the conversation flowing easily between teasing, laughter, and quiet moments that didn't need words. Krit reached over occasionally to steal food from Win's plate, earning indignant glares and half-hearted slaps. The sound of laughter filled the small apartment, bouncing off walls that had once echoed only with silence.
By afternoon, Win found himself helping Krit tidy the living room. He moved carefully, still a little tired, but the color in his face was back. Krit watched him from the doorway, pretending to scroll on his phone. "You look better," he said casually.
Win looked up, surprised. "I feel… better," he admitted softly. "I don't wake up scared anymore."
Krit smiled faintly, walking over. "Good. That's how it should be." He reached out, flicking a strand of hair from Win's forehead. "But don't overdo it. Doctor said you still need rest."
Win rolled his eyes, grinning. "You sound like my mom."
"I can be worse," Krit said, mock-serious. "I can follow you to class and make sure you eat lunch."
"Don't you dare," Win said, shoving him lightly. Krit laughed, catching his wrist and tugging him closer, the familiar playfulness sparking between them again.
Over the next few days, normal life began to return. Krit went back to work, but always came home early to check on Win. Win started sketching again, sitting by the window with a mug of tea. The nightmares came less often. The silence between them had changed—it was no longer heavy, but peaceful.
When university reopened, Win hesitated at the gates. Krit nudged his shoulder. "You've got this," he said simply.
Win took a deep breath, smiled, and walked forward. The world felt different now—safer, warmer. And when he turned back, Krit was still there, watching, smiling in quiet pride.
Weeks passed, and the rhythm of life settled into something steady and comforting. Mornings were slow and soft—Win making coffee, Krit stealing kisses before classes, both of them laughing more than they had in months. The ghosts of fear had faded, replaced by warmth and quiet companionship.
One Saturday afternoon, Krit insisted they go out for lunch. "Dress nicely," he'd said, lips twitching like he was trying not to laugh.
Win eyed him suspiciously as they walked down the street. "You're acting weird. What's going on?"
"Nothing," Krit said too quickly. "Just lunch."
"Lunch with who?" Win pressed, narrowing his eyes.
"...Family," Krit admitted finally.
Win stopped in his tracks. "Your parents? Krit, you didn't tell me!"
"That's because you'd overthink it," Krit said, grabbing his hand to keep him walking. "They asked to see you again. They like you."
"They think I'm the one who made you late to family dinners," Win muttered, cheeks flushed.
Krit chuckled. "That's because you did."
When they reached the restaurant, Krit's parents were already there. His mother stood first, smiling warmly. "Win! It's so lovely to see you again, dear." She hugged him before he could protest, and Krit's father gave him a polite nod.
Lunch was surprisingly pleasant filled with teasing, laughter, and only mild embarrassment when Krit's mother asked, "So, are you two behaving yourselves this time?"
"Mom!" Krit groaned, face red. Win laughed so hard he nearly choked on his drink.
After lunch, Krit led Win to the park nearby. The sun was dipping low, casting golden light over everything. Win was relaxed, smiling softly as they walked. "That went better than I expected," he said.
"Yeah," Krit replied, though his voice had softened. "But I had one more thing planned."
Before Win could ask, Krit stopped near the lake, turned to him, and pulled a small velvet box from his pocket.
Win froze, eyes wide. "Krit… what—"
Krit's voice was steady, but his hands trembled slightly. "I don't want to wait anymore. We've been through everything—the worst parts of ourselves, the darkest days. And somehow, you're still here. You still look at me like I'm worth loving."
Win's eyes welled with tears immediately. "Krit…"
Krit took a shaky breath. "So, Win Thammarat, will you marry me? Not tomorrow, not next year—whenever you're ready. I just want the world to know you're my home."
Win covered his mouth with trembling hands, tears spilling freely now. "You idiot," he laughed through the tears. "You're supposed to warn me before doing something like this!"
"Where's the fun in that?" Krit grinned, his own eyes glistening.
Win nodded, his voice breaking. "Yes. Of course, yes."
Krit slipped the ring on his finger just as his parents appeared from behind a nearby tree, cheering. Win gasped, mortified. "You made them watch?!"
Krit's mother waved a hand. "We wanted proof, dear!"
Everyone laughed, and Win, still crying, threw his arms around Krit's neck. "I hate you," he said between happy sobs.
Krit smiled into his hair. "You love me."
"Unfortunately," Win sniffled, then laughed.
As they walked home hand in hand, the world felt impossibly light. There was no fear left—only warmth, safety, and the promise of forever shared in laughter and love.
Months later, Krit's parent's house they once shared was replaced by a quiet townhouse near the edge of the city—a place with soft light, pale curtains, and the faint scent of jasmine that Win insisted on keeping by the windows.
The morning sun filtered through the half-open blinds, casting gentle lines across the wooden floor. Win sat curled up on the couch, sketchbook balanced on his knees, pencil moving in slow, thoughtful strokes. Krit came from the kitchen, hair still damp from his shower, holding two mugs of coffee.
"You're up early," Krit said, handing him one.
Win smiled faintly. "Couldn't sleep. The light was too pretty to waste."
Krit leaned over and kissed the top of his head. "That's what you said yesterday. And the day before."
"Then maybe every day's pretty now," Win replied softly, eyes glinting with quiet humor.
They sat together in comfortable silence. Outside, the world hummed gently—birds, wind, the distant sound of laughter from children walking to school. It was ordinary, and that was what made it beautiful.
Krit reached out, tracing the faint scar on Win's wrist with his thumb. Win didn't flinch anymore. He just looked at Krit, eyes steady and full.
"It doesn't hurt?" Krit asked quietly.
Win shook his head. "Not anymore. Sometimes I remember… but it doesn't break me like it used to. You helped with that."
Krit smiled, pulling him closer until Win's head rested on his shoulder. "You did the hard part yourself," he said. "I just stood beside you."
Win chuckled. "You're terrible at taking compliments."
"And you talk too much in the morning," Krit teased, making Win laugh softly.
They spent the day painting a wall in the living room—a soft cream color that Win claimed "felt like peace." Krit teased him for his poetic choices but secretly loved watching the concentration on Win's face, the little smile whenever he accidentally smudged paint on Krit's cheek.
When the wall was done, they sat cross-legged on the floor, tired but content. The sunlight caught the ring on Win's finger, making it glimmer faintly.
"Do you ever think about the past?" Win asked quietly.
"Sometimes," Krit said. "But only to remember how far we've come."
Win leaned against him, their fingers intertwined. "Then maybe that's enough," he whispered.
As the evening light melted into gold, Krit kissed his temple and murmured, "We made it home, Win."
Win smiled, eyes soft, heart steady. "Yeah," he said. "We really did."
The house was quiet, but it was the kind of quiet that held peace—not emptiness. It was the sound of two hearts that had finally stopped running, beating together in a place that was wholly, safely theirs.
The End.