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Khaotung has always been a magnet for affection. His kindness, gentle demeanor, and his dedication to connecting with everyone made him cherished by friends, family, classmates, and colleagues alike. His empathetic nature has not just endowed him with a high awareness of emotions, but it's also a skill he diligently cultivated, understanding both his own feelings and those of others. Forging a friendship with Khaotung was was a testament to his persistent efforts in making people feel comfortable and valued.
Despite all that, when he first encountered someone his age named First in an acting class, there was just something about him that grated on Khaotung. First was the type of person that exuded an easygoing, infectious, positive energy. He was loud and bright, and chatted with everyone with a wide smile — the smile of someone who had seemingly never gotten hurt by anything or anyone in his life. When First laid eyes on him across the room and waved at him warmly that day Khaotung’s guard went up. From then on, he aimed to minimize their interactions as much as possible, suppressing his usual affable nature in their exchanges.
It was not easy to make First give up, though. As if he were on a personal mission to get to know Khaotung and become friends with him, he approached him everyday to try and launch a conversation, even after countless of Khaotung’s cold dismissals being his only response. Khaotung was just annoyed by it all. He didn’t want to be mean and he didn’t like doing it either. He usually was not like this. He just wanted the guy to stay away so he could avoid this whole situation.
It was like First drew out a facet of Khaotung’s personality that he was not consciously aware of; that realization unsettled him strongly and he didn’t want to have to deal with it.
Finally, after a few months, First slowly stopped bothering him. He must’ve had finally acknowledged Khaotung’s adamance on not wanting to have anything to do with him. At that point, he would just greet him with an awkward smile and sometimes, when they’d have acting workshops together, Khaotung’s eyes would meet First’s fleeing ones. It always seemed like he wanted to come up to Khaotung and talk to him like before but stopped himself, which Khaotung was grateful for.
One day, all of that changed. He was still in university, and had a very big end-of-year project he had to present. But just half an hour prior to the presentation, disaster struck: he realized he’d left his USB drive at the acting workshop room the night before. At that time, none of his actor friends were available and he would have never made it in time driving to the building with all the traffic, but then he suddenly remembered that First had acting class in the morning. With how he had been treating and had been avoided by him, he was certain First would just send him off. He still tried calling him, out of desperation, and asked him if he could maybe meet him halfway with the drive. But never would he have expected First to come running towards him just minutes later, clutching the USB drive as he had barely exited the university campus.
That night, he had treated First to dinner, grateful beyond words. The way First seemed like he held absolutely no grudge and had selflessly helped him brought a mix of emotions within Khaotung. How could he still be this nice to him after how Khaotung had been treating him? After that day, it triggered constant worry and anxiety within Khaotung, afraid that First’s easy-going, trusting nature might be taken advantage of.
Khaotung slowly opened up to First despite himself. Of course, it was easy — First’s friendly nature speeded things up, and, after all, First had been there since the beginning, ready and just waiting for Khaotung — but he didn’t expect becoming friends with First would feel this… natural. Each time he would call First to grab a meal with him, the latter would immediately accept regardless of how last-minute his invitation was. He found out that they actually had a lot in common, from their love for cats to even their lifestyles. First revealed to him one day that whenever he wasn’t forced into social gatherings, he preferred to relax at home by himself. And when it was just them both, First was actually pretty quiet and calm; most of the time even, Khaotung was the one leading the conversation between them, rambling on heartily about his day while First listened to him patiently.
Oddly enough, Khaotung found solace in First’s company, a sense of warmth and ease that enveloped him when they were together. He felt the most comfortable with him, more than with anyone. He liked that First never expected him to behave any certain way around him; he could be at his lowest or his highest, and First would accept him either way.
And, eventually, he started feeling something else too. Something that made his heart beat faster whenever First was near him, that made him nervous whenever they were alone in a room.
As time passed, Khaotung found himself increasingly captivated by First, sneaking glances when he was not looking. His desires had shifted along the way. First had always shown his interest and appreciation for Khaotung, he had, since their very first meeting, and he had always behaved the same way around him. Khaotung should be glad for that but what once sufficed now fell short; he yearned for more. He wanted First to look at only him. He longed for First’s undivided attention, and it was an ache that grew with each passing moment.
During events where they were asked emotionally charged questions about their friendship, Khaotung’s yearning became palpable. He’d lean into First’s embrace greedily, craving deeper connection, silently wishing First would hold him tighter, spread his palm on his back wider. He’d lay his head on First’s shoulder so as to maintain as much physical contact as possible, but it would always end too fast. First would bear his usual angelic smile that could light up a dark room, though. But he’d never hold him as tight as Khaotung needs. He’d hold him like a best friend — because that’s all they are.
And it’s hard not to wish they were more than that when First sleeps over and smells like Khaotung’s body wash fresh out of the shower. He loves how domestic they are and how they share everything with each other. First loves him very much, that Khaotung is aware of. But he knows he could never actually have First and be his and that kills him inside.
It’s a Saturday night. First came in the afternoon to hang out and play with Montow and time slips away unnoticed. Conversations about recent fan meetings and events flow casually between them until the sky outside becomes blanketed by darkness and it is only when Khaotung has to stand up to turn on the living room lamp that they realize how late it is. First makes to go home but the storm brewing outside prompts Khaotung to invite him to stay over and First easily accepts: it’s not uncommon for them to spend nights at each other’s places, but even after all these years, they’ve always liked to ask first, out of consideration to the other.
“I’ll turn off the lights then,” First announces before he clicks off the bedside lamp, the room hushing into darkness. He slides in the sheets, lying on his side.
Khaotung switches off his phone and sets it on the nightstand, the soft glow of its charging screen a subtle presence in the room. Nestling into the freshly laundered sheets, he turns to his side, his favorite sleeping position, facing First. Moonlight from the window seeps through the thin blinds and reflects off of the gentle curves of First’s cheek, the bridge of his nose, the graceful outline of his collarbones. When his eyelids are shut, his eyelashes look even longer than usual, grazing against his face delicately. The word appears into his mind easily like it always does when he thinks of First.
Beautiful.
Khaotung’s eyes trail to First’s lips, full and inviting, the same lips that have been on his countless times during their acting scenes. Khaotung gulps sharply. He forces himself to yank his gaze away. The storm grumbles lowly, it’s still pouring outside.
He gradually hears First’s breathing pattern falling into a slow and even rhythm, indicating that he’s succumbing to slumber. Khaotung does not want to sleep yet; not when it is the only time in their daily lives that he gets the chance to contemplate his best friend’s face like this, as much as he wants.
There have been many times Khaotung imagined a world in which he could tell First how he feels towards him; how deep his love for First actually runs. How First completes him in ways that he never would have thought were possible before. He imagines being able to love, hug and kiss First freely. Intertwine his fingers with his, smile at him and kiss his cheek. He does most of those already, but it’s either as a best friend or when they’re acting. And when Akk tells him that he loves him, when Sand looks at him like a lover and leans in to kiss him, he lets himself indulge in the illusion that First loves him back, because he will take anything that First is willing to give.
It hurts, though, it hurts having to pretend he loves First only that much and not with all of his heart, all of his being, when they spend day and night together, when he already knows the tenderness of First’s hugs and the warmth of his kiss. When they sleep in the same bed every night, like this, First beside him, his presence a small bed of light in the quiet darkness of his room, this ache throbs and he wishes he could make it stop.
Khaotung scoots closer to First, the distance between them suddenly unbearable. It gets better when he’s this close, their arms almost touching. He closes his eyes and lets himself breathe in the scent of his body wash on First. Citrusy and sweet. He feels his face grow hot.
He can see the little mole on the bottom of First’s chin from here. The ache grows more painful, like his heart wants to tear away from his chest. It makes him feel like if he doesn’t do something about it right now, he might really lose it.
In a trance-like state, his trembling hand reaches for First’s, resting by his side. It is getting harder to breathe, but he continues. Eventually, his hand finds the knuckle of First’s thumb, and he carefully drapes his hand over it.
First shows no reaction, emboldening Khaotung to resume his actions. First’s skin is soft and warm to the touch, a bittersweet comfort against his own turmoil. He slides his hand into the nestled space between First’s thumb and forefinger. And then, in an act of quiet desperation, intertwines their fingers.
First does not stop him.
For a moment, time stills, while he hopes the tremble of his hand will not rouse First from his sleep. First’s hand is just slightly bigger than his, enveloping him warmly in its hold. Gently guiding their entangled hands up, he places First’s palm on his cheek, a tender touch that ignites a cascade of sensations. The warmth seeping from First’s palm against his skin sends shivers down Khaotung’s spine, a tingling sensation that mingles with an overwhelming surge of desire coming from deep inside. Goosebumps dance across his flesh as he quivers with the intensity of his own longing.
Drawing a shaky breath, Khaotung dares to slide First’s hand from his cheek down to the sensitive skin of his neck. The touch is electric, setting his nerves ablaze, stirring a riot of emotions within him. A strained sigh escapes his lips as a wave of pleasure courses through him, interlaced with an ache that clenches at his core, evoking a tumultuous mix of yearning and despair. Tears well in his eyes, unbidden, as he clenches the bedsheets with the hand not holding First’s in a desperate attempt to ground himself amidst the whirlwind of emotions.
As First’s hand lingers on his neck, Khaotung feels his heart pounding furiously, a symphony of emotions echoing in its beats. Khaotung can’t think anymore, his mind a clouded haze — all he knows is he needs more. With a trembling hand, he guides First’s palm to his chest, right over his heart, the steady throb of it resonating beneath First’s touch. A silent plea, a wordless confession, his heart laid bare in the tremble of his fingertips and the unsteady rhythm beneath First’s gentle hold. If First reached inside his chest and pulled his heart out it would hurt less than the pain he’s feeling right now.
Khaotung feels the tears escaping despite him, tracing silent paths down his cheeks as he grapples with the storm of emotions that are going through him, each beat of his heart painfully reminding him of his longing for the one that could never be his.
First remains asleep.