Back in the condo, Daotok leaned against the closed door with a sigh, the weight of the day finally catching up to him. The room was quiet, save for the soft hum of the air conditioning. He slipped off his shoes and padded over to the living room, phone still in hand.
"Back in the room now," he said, settling onto the couch.
"Alright. What time will you sleep?" Arthit's voice came through the video call, low and familiar, even with the time difference.
"Around midnight, I guess."
"Then it should be around noon here. Call me to wake me up, okay?"
"I will. Good night."
"Good night. Hey... give me a goodnight kiss."
Daotok smiled faintly and leaned toward the camera, blowing him a kiss. "Mwah."
They talked for a little while longer—Arthit's face bathed in the muted light of his New York penthouse, exhaustion evident in the way his eyelids drooped. Eventually, he yawned, muttered a soft goodbye, and ended the call.
It had been three days since Arthit left for New York. Though Daotok was proud of him and all he was achieving, the ache of missing him settled deep in his chest every night. The only balm was these video calls—their daily ritual.
With the final year of university in full swing, everyone was drowning in thesis work, Daotok included. The moment he got back from campus, he'd reached out to Arthit. Not out of habit, but necessity—Arthit wouldn't rest until he knew Daotok was home safe. That was just like him: protective to a fault.
Six months had passed since Direk decided to go all-in on the music label, setting up its headquarters in New York. Arthit, being both an artist and a producer under the label, had to travel often. He never complained about the flights or the long hours. His only complaint was being away from Daotok.
The label had skyrocketed in popularity, backed by an all-star lineup of producers and artists. Arthit, as one of the stakeholders, played a key role in its success. His music had always been praised, but now it was reaching global ears. Just a month ago, his latest single surpassed 100 million views—solid proof of his growing international fame.
More than his talent, it was Arthit's openness that earned public admiration. With nearly ten million followers on Instagram, he didn't shy away from posting about his relationship with Daotok. Their photos, their videos, the small, intimate glimpses into their life together—it was all there. The fans mostly responded with warmth and support. Of course, there were always a few who spewed hate, but Arthit ignored them. So did Daotok. Still, he worried for others who might not be as resilient. Words could wound deeper than knives.
Daotok looked around the spacious condo. It wasn't the size that made it feel empty. It was the absence of the man who filled it with life. At least Khun Jeon, their loyal cat, remained. After feeding and playing with him for a bit, Daotok showered, then settled into his desk chair to continue his thesis. The silence of the room helped him concentrate, but the stillness also reminded him of what was missing.
Midnight came faster than expected. His alarm buzzed, and right on cue, he hit the call button again. Arthit answered, eyes half-closed, hair tousled from a restless morning. The soft lighting in his penthouse barely illuminated his sleepy face, but to Daotok, he looked perfect.
"It's already 1 P.M there," Daotok said.
"Yeah, I'm awake now," Arthit replied groggily, rubbing his eyes.
"What are you doing this afternoon?"
"Recording vocals."
"Got it. And me? I'll sleep soon."
"Still working on your thesis?"
"A bit. It's coming along."
"Good. Now go to sleep. It's late."
"I usually sleep later than this."
"Don't argue with me. I'm not there to keep an eye on you, so at least pretend you're being good."
"Alright, alright. Half an hour, okay?"
"Fine. Ugh, I'm so tired. I can't sleep properly without you. Why didn't you come with me?"
"How could I? I still have my thesis."
"Quit school then."
Daotok snorted. "And waste all the effort I've already put in? I just have to finish this last part."
"Yeah, yeah. I know. Fine. I'll go. Just... don't forget to eat."
"I won't. You eat too. Don't starve yourself just because I'm not there."
"Food here's fine. But I miss your cooking. Even if it's a bit burnt sometimes."
"Wow, rude."
"I love your cooking, burnt or not. Happy?"
"I'll make something awful when you get back."
"Can't wait." He grinned. "Love you."
"Love you too."
"Take your shirt off for me."
"Nope. Go shower."
"Ugh, you're no fun. Just wait until I'm home."
"Okay."
The call ended. But the warmth lingered. Just last night, Arthit had convinced him to try something... intimate over the phone. It had been embarrassing at first—Daotok was shy, easily flustered—but Arthit's teasing eventually gave way to genuine tenderness. In the end, desire overtook hesitation. Even miles apart, they still found ways to feel close.
He stretched, checked on Khun Jeon again, and then stepped out to the balcony for some fresh air. The night was calm. After the promised thirty minutes passed, he turned in for the night. Another lonely sleep. Just a few more days.
☆☆☆☆☆
The next day, Daotok swung by the supermarket on his way home from university. He wanted to make stir-fried cabbage with fish sauce—simple, but it reminded him of Arthit. As he pedaled down a quiet street, a motorcycle burst out from an alley at reckless speed. A flash of metal. A blaring horn. A violent crash. The world turned sideways.
When he opened his eyes, the sky was spinning above him. Heat radiated from the asphalt below. What... happened? People shouted nearby. Someone helped him sit up. His limbs trembled. His groceries were scattered, cabbage crushed and smeared on the street. Another motorcycle had toppled near him. The rider, dusty and dazed, staggered over.
"Are you okay? Should I call an ambulance?" a concerned woman asked.
He shook his head lightly. "No, I'm alright. Thank you."
"You should get your wounds looked at. The hospital is close."
"Okay, I will."
The other rider approached, brushing dust off his clothes. "I'm really sorry. I was in a rush and didn't see you."
"It's not too bad. Just be more careful next time. You were in the wrong,"
Daotok said evenly, though irritation simmered under his calm tone. He glanced at the ruined cabbage with a sigh. "You're paying for that cabbage, right?"
"Huh? Oh—yeah. I'll cover the damage, the bike repairs, your medical costs."
"Good."
"Do you want me to take you to the hospital?"
"No need." Daotok inspected his bike. The headlight was cracked, scratches marked the fender, and one side mirror hung loose. He tried to realign it, but it wouldn't budge.
"How much do I owe you?" the rider asked, fumbling for his wallet.
"Just give me your number. I'll contact you later."
They exchanged details and parted ways. Daotok instinctively pulled up Arthit's number—but paused. He didn't want to worry him, especially when he was likely buried in work. He pocketed his phone and pushed the bike to a nearby repair shop.
The mechanics assured him they'd call once the repairs were done. Dusty, aching, and frustrated, he caught public transport home. His jeans were torn at the knee, a shallow scrape visible. Both elbows were grazed, his upper arm stinging where the skin had been peeled.
Khun Jeon greeted him at the door, rubbing against his leg. "Hey, were you a good boy today?" Daotok asked with a tired smile. He ruffled the cat's fur before heading inside to fetch the first aid kit.
"I was going to make cabbage stir-fry," he muttered while treating the wounds. "But now... guess it's instant noodles."
He sat on the couch with his sad bowl of noodles and sighed. This was only the second time he'd crashed. Both times, it hadn't even been his fault. Arthit would be furious if he found out. Daotok could already imagine the tone of his voice—sharp with worry, soft with guilt, and smothered in that possessive protectiveness Arthit never quite managed to hide. Would he scold him again like the last time Daotok got hurt? Would he sulk in silence, or worse, hop on the next flight from New York just to make sure Daotok was really okay?
Knowing Arthit, the chances of him dropping everything and coming home were dangerously high. But if Daotok didn't tell him, the man would be even angrier once he returned and saw the injuries with his own eyes. Bruises and scrapes didn't vanish in just a few days—not ones like this. He sighed, the weight of the day sinking into his bones. Before he could spiral any further into anxious what-ifs, his phone vibrated.
Arthit was video calling. Daotok blinked in surprise, then reached for the phone with hesitant fingers. He accepted the call and lifted the screen until Arthit's face appeared—sleepy-eyed, hair a mess, but still beautiful even in the low hotel lighting.
"Work's done. I'm about to sleep. Are you in the room?" "Yeah, I'm here,"
Daotok replied, turning the camera briefly to show his surroundings.
Arthit squinted. "You look pale. What's wrong?"
Daotok hesitated. "Arthit..."
"What?"
"I have something to tell you, but... you have to promise not to get mad."
"What? Why would I be mad?" A teasing smirk curled on Arthit's lips.
"Don't tell me you're cheating on me? Had someone over already? Seriously, I leave for a few days and this is how you act?"
But when Daotok didn't laugh, the humor faded from Arthit's eyes.
"Alright, what's going on?"
Daotok slowly turned the camera to reveal the scrape on his elbow.
Arthit's face changed instantly—his mouth parted in shock, brows drawing low with alarm.
"What the hell happened?! Who did that to you?"
"I... fell off my scooter," Daotok admitted, feeling small under Arthit's intense stare.
"Damn it, Tok! Are you hurt anywhere else? How bad is it?"
"My knee's scraped too," he said, tilting the camera to show the other wound. "It's not too bad. I cleaned and treated everything already."
"You treated it yourself?"
"Yeah."
"Are you sure it's cleaned properly? Why didn't you go to the clinic or hospital? Do you want me to arrange for someone to take you?"
"There's no need," he assured. "It's all taken care of. I promise."
Arthit wasn't convinced. His jaw clenched. "Just go to the hospital anyway—for a proper check-up. Please?"
Daotok gave in. "Alright, if it'll ease your mind."
There was a brief pause as Arthit put the call on hold. When he came back, his voice was firmer.
"How did it happen?"
"A motorcycle sped out of an alley too fast."
"Who was it?" The anger returned, laced into every syllable.
"I don't know. He gave me his number though. I'll contact him later after I get the scooter fixed."
"Give me his number."
Daotok blinked. "It's fine, really. He apologized. It wasn't on purpose."
"How do you know that? For all we know, he targeted you. Could've been waiting there just to hit you."
"That's ridiculous. Who does that?"
"You never know. Just give me the number."
"Why?"
"To investigate."
"You're not going to threaten him, right?"
"Why are you protecting him?"
"I'm not. I just... it really wasn't intentional."
"Fine. I won't do anything. I just want to check if it really was an accident, okay?"
Daotok sighed. "Alright. I'll send it to you."
"Good. Now show me the wound again." Arthit's voice had softened, but his eyes still burned with worry. Daotok obeyed, adjusting the camera once more.
"I'm coming back."
"Knew you'd say that. No need."
"Why not? I'm worried sick. You're out there, getting into accidents, riding that damn motorbike... What if something worse happened? What if you didn't make it home? Do you think I'd be able to sleep then?"
"Accidents happen, Arthit..."
"If I were there, picking you up and dropping you off, this never would've happened."
He looked visibly frustrated now, ruffling his hair as he frowned.
"I'm fine. You've got important work. Don't come back just for this."
"It wasn't serious this time. But what about next time? You said it yourself—accidents happen. You're careful, but others aren't."
Daotok stared at him, momentarily speechless. He knew Arthit was right.
"I'll start taking public transport," he offered.
"Let me arrange a driver. With security."
"No. That's too much."
"Stop being so difficult." Arthit's tone turned firm again. "You either let me come back or let someone else take care of it. Pick one."
Daotok pursed his lips. "Is that really all I get to choose from?"
"Yes."
He sighed. "Fine. The latter."
There was a beat of silence, then Arthit spoke again. "Good. The team should be downstairs to take you to the hospital now. Want them to come up?"
"I'll head down myself."
"I'll wait."
"You should sleep."
"I'll wait."
"Fine. I'll call you after."
Daotok ended the call, grabbed his phone and wallet, and made his way downstairs. A sleek black car was waiting outside the condo, flanked by three intimidating men in black. Their presence turned heads, but they didn't so much as blink.
One of them opened the door with a courteous bow. Daotok nodded and stepped inside. The ride to the hospital was silent—professional, efficient. At the hospital, a wheelchair awaited him. Two nurses swept him into it before he could object. He didn't bother fighting it.
They ran the usual checks—X-rays, blood pressure, blood work. He was given oral medication, antibiotic cream, and painkillers. It was well into the evening by the time he left. As they dropped him off back at his condo, one of the men asked, "What time should we come pick you up tomorrow?"
"Around 9:30 A.M," he replied.
"Understood." The man gave a respectful bow before Daotok returned to his room, limping slightly. The pain wasn't unbearable, but it was annoying. Thankfully, the scrape on his elbow wasn't on his dominant arm. He called Arthit the moment he got inside.
"How's everything?" Arthit answered immediately.
"Not too bad. Just scrapes. I got the medicine."
"Good. I've arranged for the housekeeper to cook and clean for you. Eat well—it'll help you heal. She'll be back in the morning to take care of things until I return."
"Okay... thank you."
"And the three men I sent—are they bothering you?"
"Not at all. They've barely spoken a word."
"Good. Let me know if anything changes. I can replace them. But they're reliable."
Daotok smiled faintly. "They're fine."
There was a pause, then Arthit murmured, "I should've done this from the start. You shouldn't have stopped me."
At first, Daotok had thought Arthit's insistence on extra security was excessive. But after the accident, he could no longer argue.
"Just think of it as giving me peace of mind," Arthit had said during their call earlier that evening.
Daotok sighed and relented. "Alright, fine."
They chatted for a while longer before ending the call. After dinner, Daotok quietly washed the dishes, fed Khun Jeon and spent a few minutes playing with him until the feline lazily sprawled out on the carpet, purring in contentment. Weighed down by the day's exhaustion, Daotok collapsed onto the couch, flipping on the TV. But he barely made it through half an episode before drifting off to sleep.
He woke some time later, a faint heat prickling beneath his skin and a dryness clinging to his throat. Groggily, he turned off the TV, wandered into the kitchen for a cold drink, and then headed toward the bedroom. As he passed by the laundry basket, something caught his eye—Arthit's favorite black T-shirt lying crumpled on the floor.
He bent down to pick it up, intending to toss it in with the next load, but as he held it in his hands, something stopped him. The fabric still carried Arthit's scent—warm, masculine, comforting. Daotok brought the shirt to his nose and inhaled deeply. That familiar smell hit him like a wave, stirring memories of Arthit's strong arms wrapped around him in bed, of whispered goodnights and shared breaths.
Arthit's side of the bed had been empty for days. Without thinking, Daotok carried the shirt with him to bed. He climbed under the sheets, curling around the soft fabric as if it could replicate the feeling of being held. His fingers fisted the material near his chest as he switched off the lamp. The scent was intoxicating—so familiar it made his heart ache.
And then, it made something else ache too. A slow, simmering heat began to unfurl in his lower abdomen. His body stirred, tense and needy. He shifted restlessly beneath the sheets, biting his lip. "No... not now," he whispered to the darkness, but his body wasn't listening. His breath quickened, and his heart pounded in his ears. Slowly, hesitantly, his hand slipped beneath the waistband of his pants, fingers wrapping around his growing arousal.
"Mm... Arthit..." he whimpered softly, his voice barely a whisper as his strokes became steadier. His thumb swirled over the tip, slick and sensitive, while his palm applied pressure in slow, needy movements. Despite the cool temperature of the room, his skin felt like it was burning.
After nearly ten minutes of teasing and stroking, the ache refused to subside. Frustrated and overwhelmed, Daotok reached for the small bottle of lube in the drawer. He slicked his fingers and reached behind, gently pressing one inside.
"Ahh... ngh..." His hips shifted, welcoming the sensation as he added another finger. He moaned softly, picturing Arthit's eyes—dark and hungry—and the way he always murmured praises against his ear. It felt good, but it wasn't enough.
He glanced at the clock. Past midnight here—just after 1 P.M. in New York. Arthit might be awake. Biting his lip, Daotok opened a video call. To his surprise, Arthit answered almost immediately.
"You're still up?" Arthit's voice was warm, familiar, a lifeline across continents.
"Ah... Arthit..." Daotok murmured, voice breathy.
Arthit paused, then asked suspiciously, "Why does your voice sound like that?"
"I... I need your help with something."
"What is it?"
"Turn on your camera."
"Okay..."
Daotok switched on the bedside lamp and propped his phone on a pillow.
He adjusted his position so that the camera had a full view—his bare thighs spread, pants discarded, and fingers still moving in slow, deliberate circles behind him. His arousal stood proud, flushed and leaking. When Arthit's screen lit up and he appeared—shirtless, towel slung low around his waist—his eyes widened.
"Holy... damn. Dao..."
Arthit's gaze roamed over the screen, jaw clenching as desire flared in his eyes. His towel barely held his arousal in check.
"I caught your scent on your shirt," Daotok confessed breathily, "and it turned me on. I couldn't help it. Can you help me?"
Arthit didn't hesitate. He moved to his bed, setting the phone on the nightstand. The towel dropped to the floor, revealing him fully.
"Get closer to the camera, baby."
Daotok obeyed, shifting forward, his lips parted, cheeks flushed. He watched as Arthit wrapped his hand around his thick length and began to stroke, slow and steady.
"I wish I could be there, Dao. To touch you. To fuck you properly."
"Then do it... please..." Daotok gasped. "My fingers aren't enough. I need you ."
"Push two in. Spread yourself for me... yeah, just like that. God, you're so perfect..."
They both fell into a rhythm, skin flushed and slick, breaths ragged and synced through the screen. Daotok imagined Arthit's fingers instead of his own, his mouth, his heat. The moans grew louder, the desperation sharper, until both their bodies tensed, shuddered, and finally released. Silence hung heavy for a moment, only their breathing filling the space.
"A few days ago, you were still shy about this," Arthit teased, smiling breathlessly. "Was it really just the shirt?"
Daotok flushed, grabbing tissues to clean himself. "We usually do it every day. You've been gone for a week. I couldn't hold back..."
"Doing it with you and doing it alone are not the same thing." Arthit leaned back, running a hand through his hair. "But watching you like that... it helped."
"Mm... I missed you."
"I missed you too. Are you going to sleep now?"
"Yeah... finally."
"Sweet dreams, baby. And if anything happens, call me— immediately ."
"What if you're busy?"
"I'll find a bathroom and answer anyway."
"You're insane," Daotok mumbled fondly.
"Insane for you."
They said their goodnights, and Daotok drifted off, the ache in his chest finally soothed—for now.
☆☆☆☆☆
The next day, Daotok stood at the airport surrounded by the three bodyguards assigned to him since the incident. His heart thudded in anticipation. And then—he saw him. Arthit emerged from the terminal, his pace quickening the moment their eyes met. He closed the distance in seconds, pulling Daotok into a fierce hug. Daotok melted into him, feeling like everything had finally fallen back into place.
"Are you sure you're okay, standing here?" Arthit asked, pulling back just enough to check his face.
"I wanted to greet you. My injuries are fine now."
"Let's go home then."
The ride back to the condo was quiet but warm—hands intertwined, smiles barely suppressed. As soon as they entered the unit, Arthit shut the door and kissed him hard. There was no time for words, no need for pretense. They stripped each other hastily, making love against walls, furniture, the balcony rail—marking every space with their reunion.
Two hours later, Daotok lay sprawled in bed, boneless after a shared bath. Arthit sat beside him, stroking his cheek.
"How about another round tonight?"
Daotok groaned. "Not sure... you're wearing me out."
"I've been gone a week. I'm catching up."
"You have too much stamina..."
"You're still in one piece, right?"
"I think so..."
Arthit leaned in, pressing a kiss to his temple. "I love you."
"I love you too."
"I hate being apart. When I heard you were hurt, I nearly lost it. I wanted to drop everything and fly back."
"I know."
"You're almost done with school, right?"
"Yeah."
"Then come live with me. After you graduate. In New York."
Daotok blinked. "Are you serious?"
"I've never been more serious. I don't care if it's a condo or a mansion. I just want you with me. No more empty beds. No more missing you. I need you."
Daotok's eyes softened, heart full. "Okay," he whispered.
Daotok made his decision in that quiet, weightless moment. He nodded, slow but certain. The tension that had subtly lined Arthit's face melted away, replaced by a smile so bright it made Daotok's chest ache. He'd already decided long ago—if it was Arthit, he'd follow him anywhere. No hesitation. No second thoughts.
"Were you hesitant at first?" Arthit asked teasingly, ruffling Daotok's hair like he always did when he wanted to lighten the mood.
Daotok blinked, slightly flustered. "No. Just... a little stunned."
"Alright then," Arthit grinned, his eyes alight with energy. "Let's start planning. What kind of place do you want to live in?"
Daotok shrugged, still overwhelmed. "Anything is fine."
"Okay... how about a mansion?" Arthit's grin turned a bit mischievous.
"Somewhere on a mountaintop. Peaceful, private, beautiful."
"Okay," Daotok said again, not really hearing the details, just content listening to his voice.
But suddenly, the conversation shifted. Arthit fell silent, eyes narrowing slightly as if a thought had just struck him hard.
"What nationality are you holding right now?" he asked.
Daotok furrowed his brows. "Thai. Why?"
Arthit looked straight at him, voice softer but filled with something serious.
"Would you be okay holding American citizenship?"
"Huh?"
There was a pause. Daotok tilted his head, confused. Then—
"Marry me."
Daotok froze.
His breath caught, brain stalling entirely. Did he hear that right? But Arthit was already reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a small white box and flipped it open to reveal a simple, elegant ring nestled inside. Daotok's eyes widened. His heart thudded painfully in his chest as he stared, unable to speak, unable to breathe.
"Well?" Arthit prompted gently, his voice shaky now. "What's your answer?"
"Y-yes," Daotok finally managed, his voice trembling as tears began to pool in his eyes. "Yes... Yes, I will."
He barely noticed when Arthit took his left hand and slid the ring onto his finger. It fit like it had always belonged there.
"Perfect fit," Arthit said with a proud grin. "My instincts are just that good."
Before he could say anything more, Daotok surged forward and threw himself into Arthit's arms. Arthit caught him instantly, hugging him so tightly it felt like he was trying to shield him from the whole world.
"Thank you," Daotok whispered against his neck.
"Thank you for saying yes," Arthit replied just as quietly.
Daotok smiled into his shoulder. "Mm... I love you so much."
"I love you too."
They stayed like that for a long moment, wrapped in each other's warmth. When Daotok finally pulled away, he glanced down at the silver band on his hand. It looked strange on him—he'd never worn rings before—but he couldn't stop staring at it.
Then Arthit handed him a second ring, nearly identical in design but a size larger. Daotok took it gently, heart full, and slipped it onto Arthit's finger with shaking hands.
"Does it suit me?" Arthit asked, lifting his hand and inspecting it with mild uncertainty.
Daotok smiled. "It suits you perfectly."
Arthit chuckled. "At first, I thought about getting you a big diamond ring, you know. Really dramatic. But then I thought—what if someone tries to mug you? Flashy things like that just invite trouble."
"This one's perfect," Daotok said sincerely. "I love it."
"Good. From now on, wear it every day," Arthit said, grinning. "So everyone knows you're taken."
"You too," Daotok said firmly. "You have to wear yours all the time."
"Yeah, even if you didn't tell me to, I'd still wear it. You know how much I love showing off," he replied with a wink, clearly high on joy. "Let's get our marriage registered soon, okay?"
Instead of answering, Daotok leaned in and pressed a kiss to his lips. Then, still holding his gaze, he slowly shifted to straddle Arthit's lap, hands moving to undo the buttons of his shirt.
Arthit blinked. "I thought you were tired."
Daotok gave him a soft, wicked little smile. "I'm giving my wonderful fiancé a reward."
Arthit's eyes darkened with desire, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.
"Stopping halfway isn't an option anymore, huh?"
Daotok's only response was a soft moan as Arthit leaned in, his mouth tracing a hot line down his chest, tongue flicking over a sensitive, reddened peak. And just like that, the night deepened—full of love, promise, and the heat of a new beginning neither of them ever wanted to end.