Archive of Our Own ^beta

Phichit’s hands are shaking. 

His sister sits in front of him, patient as ever, but the words are dry in his throat. She has always waited for him, when their parents strolled ahead in the crowded streets of Bangkok, his sister would be the one to look back to make sure he hadn’t been left behind. She would reach out her hand and say, Hurry, come along now, Phichit.

She sits in front of him now, curiosity and worry etched behind her eyes, just like Phichit remembers her. But her hand is not outstretched, and Phichit worries that it never will be again.

He tries to breathe, but it feels like he’s going to choke— or maybe, he’s already is. His sister looks concerned. Phichit tries to smile, tell her he’s okay, but the words die on his lips.

He must look sick.

His sister gets up from her seat. Kneels down in front of him. Places a hand on his knee.

“It’s okay,” she whispers. “You don’t have to be afraid to tell me things.”

Phichit feels the words rising in his chest. Months of holding in secrets has made him weak and weary, like a withering flower. Phichit doesn’t want to be a dead flower. He wants to be alive.

“ Phîi săaw , I’m scared,” he admits. It’s not what he wants to say, but it’s something.

His sister furrows her eyebrows. “Why?”

He grapples for the words. None of them feel right.

“I— I’m not sure. But I think… I think I’m afraid that you will hate me.”

“Phichit,” she frowns. “I could never hate you. You know that.”

Phichit stays quiet, and she bites her lip and tries again. “This is not what you wanted to talk about.”

Phichit shakes his head. He feels so very small. His sister rubs circles on his knee and she waits. 

— 

Seung Gil takes a deep breath. 

He knocks on the door in front of him with surprising confidence. His hands feel steady even though his knees are weak.

“Yes?” comes the voice from inside the door.

“May I come in?” he asks.

Seung Gil hears a rustling of papers and the door to his mother’s office opens. She looks annoyed, probably at the interruption, until she sees her son. Her face softens.

“Come in, Seung Gil,” she says. Seung Gil follows her into her office.

His mother takes a seat behind her desk, but Seung Gil stays standing. 

“ Oma , I need to tell you something,” he says. His mother frowns. She’s always been good at sensing fear— in her employees, her husband, Seung Gil’s brothers— but she’s always had a blind spot for him. 

Can she sense it now? Can she see the way it snakes up his and anchors him to the floor like vines? How it wraps around his throat?

Seung Gil’s phone buzzes in his pocket and it makes him think back to the last text he received. You are strong. You can do this. I love you.

Seung Gil takes another deep breath.

“My child, what’s wrong?” she asks, but her face remains neutral. Seung Gil feels tears burning the back of his eyes, but he has been taught that tears are a sign of weakness. He is not sad, nor is he weak.

“ Oma , I am in love with someone.”

— 

Seung Gil’s laptop rings with an incoming video chat. He sits down at his desk and answers it. 

“How did it go?” Phichit asks. He’s lying on his bed with a pint of ice cream, and his hamster Bertha is crawling across his blankets. Seung Gil can see his nose is still a little red.

“It could have gone worse,” Seung Gil says. At least he is still allowed to live in his house. He knows others who have not fared as well.

“I’m proud of you,” Phichit says. His words are earnest and they settle in Seung Gil’s chest warmly.

“You?” he asks. Phichit understands.

“Well, actually. Phîi săaw was really understanding and she hugged me a lot when I cried. And held my hand,” Phichit says with a chuckle. “I told her all about you. She really wants to meet you.”

That makes Seung Gil smile for the first time all day. He’s happy for Phichit, and he’s glad he’s being honest.

Phichit doesn’t pity him, and they don’t pity each other. They both understand the elation of acceptance, both have felt the sting of rejection and endured the heartbreak of losing a friend or a family member. 

They celebrate the successes together. The losses, they take in stride. They lift each other up when things go well, and they hold each other up when they don’t. 

“ Oma needs time,” Seung Gil says. “But I think she’ll come around. She told me she’s happy that I found someone I love.” 

Phichit nods. “She will come around. I’m proud of you,” he repeats.

“Thank you. I’m proud of you too.” 

“Who’s next?” Phichit asks.

Seung Gil checks his list. “Min Jun. He’s visiting this weekend.”

“My grandparents are coming over tonight,” Phichit says. “I don’t think that one will go over very well.” 

Seung Gil nods. Phichit looks like he’s about to cry again, and Seung Gil wants to reach through the computer screen and hug him tightly.

“I’m your family,” Seung Gil says. “You will never lose me.”

Phichit starts to cry, and Seung Gil panics. “I’m sorry—“

“Don’t be sorry, Seung Gil,” Phichit hiccups through his tears. He sighs and blows his nose, startling his hamster. Seung Gil waits.

“That’s a better response than I’ve ever gotten from anyone I’ve told,” Phichit says. “I love you. You’re my family. You always will be.”

Seung Gil swallows hard. He doesn’t want to start crying too. 

Someone calls Phichit from off-screen, and Phichit yells back, something in Thai that Seung Gil can’t make out. 

He doesn’t want Phichit to leave yet. 

“I gotta go,” Phichit says. “Sleep well.”

Seung Gil has one more question. “How are you gonna tell them?” he asks. 

“I think I’m going to take them in a walk when they first arrive. Tell them at the park where they used to take me when I was little.”

Seung gil nods. “That way, if they react badly, you can always run away.”

“You’re very wise, Seung Gil,” Phichit says with a small laugh. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

Seung Gil smiles back and waves goodbye as Phichit ends the call. 

— 

Phichit rolls off of his bed with a heavy sigh. The heavy knot of worry that had loosened during his earlier conversation with his sister is coming back tighter and more insistent. 

In the bathroom, Phichit runs his hands under the cold water, presses them under his eye, and counts to 30. It helps reduce the swelling a bit. 

He’s toweling off when the doorbell rings. He yells, “I got it!” to the rest of the house and takes the steps two at a time. 

He places his hands on the door and notices they’re shaking. Dammit. Why now?

His phone buzzes in his pocket. 

“You are strong. You can do this. I love you,” the text reads. 

Phichit takes a deep breath. Grips the handle. Opens the door. Smiles brightly. 

“Hello, khuṇỳā læa khuṇ pū̀! Would you like to take a walk? There is something I would like to tell you.”