Daotok stood in the middle of the spacious penthouse, his gaze lingering on Khun Jeon, who was comfortably curled up in the plush cat condo. The sight of the cat dozing so peacefully made him smile, but the moment was fleeting.
A wave of nervous excitement coursed through him as he took in his new surroundings. Moving in with Arthit was an entirely new experience—one that felt both exhilarating and slightly daunting.
Sure, they had spent nearly every day together over the past few months, but actually living together? That was something different. This penthouse wasn't just a place to stay; it was a home— their home. And the thought that Arthit had chosen this place specifically so they could share it made Daotok's chest tighten with something warm and indescribable.
Everything in the penthouse had been designed with him in mind. From the art corner set up near the massive windows overlooking the mountains, to the cat condo for Khun Jeon, and even the ample space dedicated for his drawing supplies—every detail reflected Arthit's thoughtfulness. It wasn't just a place for them to live; it was a place meant for them to build a life together.
The moment he had stepped inside, he had to hold his breath, overwhelmed by the sheer size and elegance of the place. Unlike Arthit's old apartment, this penthouse felt like an entire house floating above the city. It had everything—high ceilings, an open floor plan, and luxurious furnishings.
Arthit had eagerly given him a tour, showcasing each room with pride. His personal music studio was a medium-sized space, soundproofed and filled with instruments and recording equipment.
The bathroom was so grand it felt larger than Daotok's childhood bedroom, and the bedroom itself boasted a king-sized bed positioned before towering glass windows, their curtains drawn at the moment. Even the kitchen—though Daotok had little intention of using it—was fully stocked and state-of-the-art.
His fingers trailed over the shelves where his collectibles had been neatly arranged. Arthit had even hired someone to carefully unpack and organize his belongings earlier that day. He inspected a few figures, ensuring nothing had been misplaced.
"And what about the utilities?" Daotok asked, breaking the silence.
Arthit, who had been sitting nearby, barely glanced up. "What about them?"
"Should I chip in? I didn't pay for the rent, after all."
Arthit scoffed lightly. "No need. The bills will go up anyway with you around."
Daotok narrowed his eyes. "How much more could it possibly cost?"
"Just let me handle it, okay?"
A sigh escaped Daotok's lips. "Fine."
Arthit smirked. "How's your stuff looking?"
"Everything seems fine." Daotok sat down beside him, picking up one of his figures to examine it.
Arthit tilted his head, watching him closely. "You like that one?"
"Yeah."
"More than me?"
Daotok blinked, thrown off by the random comparison. "Why are you comparing yourself to a figure?"
"Just answer me."
With an exasperated sigh, Daotok relented. "I like you more, Arthit."
"Good." Arthit nodded in satisfaction, though his eyes lingered on the figure, as if mentally challenging it. Then, with feigned casualness, he mused, "Should I get a figure of myself made?"
Daotok shot him an unimpressed look. "Why?"
"So you can collect it. Maybe I'll order a hand-sculpted one from Japan."
"If you want to, go ahead."
Arthit chuckled. "What kind of narcissist gets a figure of themselves made just so their partner can collect it?" Shaking his head, he suddenly noticed something on the shelf. "Hey, is this the lighter you bought from me?"
Daotok nodded. "Yeah."
"It's still in great shape."
"I take good care of my stuff."
Arthit leaned in slightly, a teasing glint in his eyes. "So... does that mean you'll take good care of me too?"
A brief pause. Then, softly, Daotok answered, "Yes."
Arthit chuckled, clearly pleased. "Your face says, 'Fine, whatever you want.'Typical of you."
Daotok rolled his eyes. "That's not it. But if you want to think that, go ahead."
"Whatever makes me feel better, huh?"
"Exactly."
Arthit stretched his arms behind his head, grinning. "Hey, since we have a fully equipped kitchen, can you cook something for me?"
"Why?"
"My friends' boyfriend's all cook for them. I just want my partner to do the same."
Daotok gave him a blank stare. "Did you forget my fried egg disaster in San Francisco?"
"Come on, people improve! I just want to eat something you made, that's all." Arthit leaned closer. "I'd even take it to the hospital with me."
A heavy silence stretched between them.
"Come on, your husband is begging you!"
Daotok let out a long sigh. "I won't promise anything, but I'll try."
Arthit beamed. "Great! Let's have dinner then. Check the fridge; I had someone stock it up. There's stuff in the top cupboards too."
Daotok hesitated. He wasn't sure why he had agreed to this. His cooking skills were atrocious. He had tried learning from Grandma Puangthong multiple times, but every attempt had ended in disaster. Cooking just wasn't in his skill set.
"I'm not expecting it to taste great," Arthit reassured him. "I just want to eat something you made." He scratched behind Khun Jeon's ears. "Even if it's just uncooked rice in a bowl."
"Even dogs wouldn't eat raw rice."
Arthit shrugged. "I have an iron stomach. I've eaten local dishes from all over the world. Hell, I can even eat a cat." He looked down at Khun Jeon. "Honestly, I wouldn't mind trying cat food once."
"Please don't."
"So, what are you planning to make for dinner?"
"I have no idea." Daotok stared blankly at the kitchen counter. "My brain's blank."
Arthit's brows lifted. "Why not ask North? He's good at cooking."
"Yeah, North is really good at it," Daotok admitted, already pulling out his phone. Within seconds, North answered the video call.
"North, are you free?"
"Yeah, what's up? Have you moved in yet?"
"I have."
"Let me see!" North sounded excited, and Daotok spun the camera around to give him a quick view of the penthouse.
"Wow, your boyfriend really went all out. I'll visit when I get the chance."
"Sure."
"Wait, are you actually cooking?" North asked, looking utterly skeptical.
"You? Cooking?"
"Yeah, me."
"Have you ever cooked before?"
Daotok shook his head. "Not really."
North sighed. "Then why are you cooking?"
"He wants to eat something I made," Daotok explained, glancing at Arthit, who was still playing with Khun Jeon.
"What do you want to make?"
"Massaman curry."
North groaned. "Massaman? That's ambitious. How about something simpler? Ask your husband what he wants to eat."
Daotok turned to Arthit. "What do you want to eat?"
Arthit grinned. "Anything's fine."
"Alright, I made soup earlier. How about that?"
"What kind of soup?" Daotok asked, already wary of the suggestion.
"Just a simple clear soup, light and healthy."
"That works. I can redeem myself."
North chuckled. "Redeem yourself? What happened before?"
"I tried making it once, but it turned out inedible."
"Alright, put your phone down so you can start. But wait, if you put it down, how am I supposed to see? Arthit, hold the phone for my friend, will you?"
Arthit, who had been lounging nearby, arched an eyebrow. "Me?"
"Yeah, isn't your name Arthit?"
With a sigh, Arthit stood and grabbed the phone, adjusting his grip before angling it towards Daotok's workspace. "Fine, fine."
North's voice carried a sense of authority, a digital mentor overseeing the kitchen chaos. "First things first, are you cooking rice?"
"Yeah, you need rice, or you won't be full," Arthit answered before Daotok could.
"Okay, rinse the rice first. Grab the rice from the cupboard."
Daotok reached up to open the top cupboard, only to realize he was too short to reach. Without a word, Arthit extended his arm and easily grabbed the bag of rice, handing it over with an amused smirk.
"Man, being short must be tough."
"You're so tall, North. I bet you need a step stool just to cook," Daotok shot back.
"Hey! That's not true! How'd you even know about that?"
"P'Johan told me."
"P'Joe's been gossiping about me?"
"What does 'gossiping' mean?"
North huffed. "It's northern dialect for talking behind someone's back."
"Ah, I see. So, should I get a step stool for you too, just in case you visit?"
"No need. I'll grow taller soon. I'll be able to reach it myself eventually,"
Daotok mumbled, taking the bag from Arthit. He cut a corner of the bag and began pouring rice into the cooker. "How much should I use?"
"Just estimate how much you'll eat."
"I can't guess. It doesn't look like cooked rice yet," Daotok admitted, pausing to look at Arthit. "Is this enough?"
"Add a bit more."
Nodding, he poured in a little more rice, waiting for North's approval.
"Let me see."
Arthit held the phone closer. "Here."
"That's a lot of rice."
"It's fine. I'll eat it all."
"Fill it with water and rinse the rice. It's easy."
Daotok turned on the tap and filled the rice cooker, only to realize too late that most of the rice was now flowing down the drain. He gasped. "North, most of the rice just poured out!"
"Well, great. Now the drain's going to clog."
"Oh..."
"No worries. Just use your hand to keep the rice in or find a strainer."
Daotok glanced at Arthit. "Do we have one?"
Arthit shrugged. "I don't know."
"Sigh, one second." North disappeared from the screen momentarily before returning, holding up a strainer. "Something like this."
Scanning the kitchen, Daotok spotted a similar strainer hanging on the wall.
He grabbed it. "What next?"
"Pour the rice back in and rinse it again."
Following North's instructions, he managed to rinse the rice more effectively this time. But the next challenge arose when it came to measuring the water.
"Just use the first knuckle of your finger as a guide. One knuckle's worth."
"Whose finger?"
"Whoever's eating it, Arthit's, maybe."
"My finger?" Arthit frowned.
"Yes, press your thumb against the knuckle of your index finger. How are you two this confused?"
Daotok smirked. "Wash your hands first."
Arthit obeyed, then dipped his finger into the pot. After a few more rounds of adjustments, the rice was finally cooking.
But the soup was another disaster in the making. Every instruction North gave was met with minor miscalculations. The final blow came when Daotok reached for what he thought was soup stock but instead dumped dried curry paste into the pot.
North's horrified voice rang out. "Let's see the soup. Why is it red?"
"I grabbed the wrong jar."
"I told you to use soup stock!"
"Sorry."
Arthit crossed his arms. "Hey, my boyfriend apologized. No need to yell."
North groaned. "You two are driving me insane! All these mistakes could've fed you for a week!"
"What do we do now?" Daotok asked weakly, staring at the overly spiced concoction.
"What else? Call it jungle curry and eat it as is!"
Dinner was served—an unholy combination of jungle curry and soggy rice that barely resembled a meal. Daotok slumped in defeat. "You don't have to eat it."
"No way. I stood here for hours, I'm eating it no matter what," Arthit said firmly.
Daotok took a bite. The taste was... lifeless.
"It's awful," he admitted.
"Yeah, it's bad."
"Should we order something?"
"No, I'll eat this. You made it."
"But it's terrible."
"It's terrible, but I'm eating it because it's yours. I told you, I'd even eat plain rice if you made it."
Something warm settled in Daotok's chest at those words. Despite the disaster of a meal, they finished together, cleaning up afterward as if this had been a normal dinner.
Later that night, unable to sleep in the unfamiliar apartment, Daotok stared at the city lights. Arthit, half-asleep, shifted and reached for him, pulling him close without waking.
"Can't sleep?"
Daotok smiled. "Still getting used to the place."
Arthit hummed in acknowledgment. "What are you looking at?"
"The view. I've only ever seen views like this in movies."
"Do you like it?"
"I do."
"Good. Whatever you want, I'll give it to you. Just let me know."
"Is this part of some promotional period?"
"It's a lifetime promotion."
Daotok chuckled. "I already have my 'sun,' so I don't need the moon."
Arthit grinned, leaning in to kiss him softly. "Didn't you say your biggest dream is to open a gallery?"
"Yeah."
"Want me to buy you one?"
"Huh? No, it's fine. You want to be a musician, right?"
Arthit nodded, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. "Yeah."
Daotok grinned. "Then let's work on achieving our dreams together."
Arthit chuckled, reaching out to softly ruffle Daotok's hair. "Wow, that was a good line."
Daotok huffed, leaning slightly into the touch before straightening up.
"Hey."
"Hm?"
"If you couldn't make music, what else would you want to do?"
Arthit tilted his head, thinking for a moment. "I'm not sure. Honestly, like I said, if it weren't for you, I probably wouldn't have continued making music. I'd finish med school and maybe... go fishing."
"Fishing?" Daotok asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yeah," Arthit said, stretching his arms behind his head. "I've always wanted to be a fisherman. I feel like a man should experience life at sea at least once. I've even thought about going out on a boat with fishermen a few times after I graduate."
Daotok smiled. "That sounds fun."
"Doesn't it?" Arthit's eyes gleamed with excitement. "Want to come?"
"Sure."
"Great! I also want to fight a bear."
Daotok froze mid-nod, staring at him in disbelief. "A bear?"
Arthit nodded seriously. "Yeah, like hand-to-hand combat with a grizzly. No weapons, just wrestling it barehanded. You can stand by with a gun, though, in case I'm about to die."
"So, I'm your backup, huh?"
"Exactly. Just don't accidentally shoot me."
"I can't promise that. I've never shot a gun before."
Arthit smirked. "Really? I'll teach you someday."
Daotok hummed in response, watching Arthit's expression soften as he gazed at him. A comfortable silence settled between them before Arthit spoke again.
"You know," he said, his voice quieter this time, "life has gotten so much more exciting lately. I've never really tied myself down to anyone except Direk—and that was just for the money. I've always gone wherever I wanted, done whatever I felt like doing. But after meeting you..." He hesitated, his fingers twitching slightly. "I feel like I can't leave anymore. Life was already fun, but now it feels like it has real meaning."
Daotok swallowed, his heart clenching at the sincerity in Arthit's tone. "And are you okay with that? Being stuck with me like this?"
Arthit scoffed, shaking his head. "Are you seriously asking? I'm more than okay." He exhaled, glancing away before murmuring, "It reminds me of a song lyric: 'Your eyes could steal a sailor from the sea.'"
Daotok smiled. "Are you a sailor now?"
Arthit chuckled. "Do you think I look like one?"
"A bit, yeah. But you don't need to stay anywhere, because I'll go with you," Daotok said, his voice gentle. The song lyric lingered in his mind—the original meaning was about someone who couldn't stay, someone who belonged to the sea. But Arthit wasn't like that. "Because I'm your home, right?"
Arthit's expression softened as he lifted a hand and patted Daotok's head again. "Yeah. You're my home."
Daotok flushed but grumbled, "I don't think so. You're way cuter, Arthit."
Arthit snorted. "With a face like mine? I'm far from anything remotely cute."
"I mean your personality."
"Oh, so my horrible personality is what you call cute?" He nodded teasingly before letting out a yawn. "Are you sleepy yet?"
"Just a little. If you're tired, you can sleep first."
"Without you?" Arthit scoffed. "I wouldn't be able to sleep anyway. How about I sing you a song?"
Daotok's lips quirked up. "Sure, that'd be nice."
Arthit grinned, standing up to grab his guitar. He sat down in front of the large glass window, the city lights casting a soft glow over his face. He patted the floor beside him, and Daotok immediately joined him, leaning against the cool glass.
"Looks like I'm about to get a live performance from a future world-class musician," Daotok teased lightly.
"You're always boosting my ego, huh?" Arthit smirked, tuning his guitar. "I guess you're just head over heels for me."
Daotok rolled his eyes, but the warmth in his chest remained. "Maybe."
Arthit's expression turned serious as he strummed a soft melody. "No matter what happens in the future, I'll always sit here and sing for you like this."
Daotok felt his breath hitch. "Promise?"
"Promise." Arthit tested a few chords before glancing at Daotok. "Alright, give me a request."
"I don't know. I can't think of anything. Is there a song you'd like to sing for me?"
Arthit hummed thoughtfully. "There are a million songs I'd love to sing for you."
"Well, start with the first one."
"This one came to mind," he said, fingers dancing across the strings as a familiar melody filled the room. Daotok's heart swelled when he recognized the song. Arthit's voice was rich, filled with so much intention that every word seemed to sink into his skin.
"When your legs don't work like they used to before... And I can't sweep you off of your feet..."
Daotok found himself nodding gently to the rhythm, his focus locked onto Arthit's expression as he sang. The lyrics, filled with promises of unwavering love, felt like they were meant just for him. Then Arthit's eyes met his, and the world seemed to shrink down to this moment—just the two of them, a song, and the quiet understanding between their souls.
And Daotok knew, without a doubt, that no matter where life took them, he would always follow Arthit. Because love wasn't just about staying in one place—it was about walking the same path, side by side.