Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Although it wasn’t easy to admit, being the only ones in Thailand to have broken into the Western market gave you a certain sense of superiority. It wasn’t something you openly bragged about, but deep down, you knew it set you apart.

There was a quiet, undeniable pride in knowing that you’d achieved what so many others only dreamed of. It was the kind of success that made you walk a little taller, that added a certain confidence to your step.

It was the dream of every celebrity — to have their name recognized across the globe, to see their work appreciated on stages far from home.

But if you were the one to actually achieve that, if you were the one who made it through the barrier, it meant there really was something different about you, didn’t it? Something special. Something that made you stand out, even among a sea of other talented people.

For Sand and Ray, this was their truth.

The first time Sand went viral was during his appearance at the MAMA Awards, a night that would forever be etched into his memory.

Their single, “Get Away,” had swept through Asia like wildfire, a song that captured hearts and climbed charts with ease.

It wasn’t just another hit; it was a phenomenon.

And that success had led him to the prestigious Korean award show, MAMA — a stage that was almost exclusively reserved for K-pop artists.

Despite the word “Asia” in the title, very few non-Korean performers ever had the honor of standing on that stage. For an artist outside of the K-pop world to be nominated, let alone invited to perform, was nearly unheard of.

But Sand had done it. By the Beach had done it.

And that moment — the moment they stepped out onto that stage, lights blaring, cameras flashing, the energy of thousands of fans vibrating through the arena — was the culmination of years of hard work.

It felt surreal, almost dreamlike, but it was real. It was happening. It was the greatest milestone they had ever reached back then. 

The significance of that moment didn’t end there. Another well-known fact, one that added even more weight to the occasion, was the influence of K-pop in the Western market.

The fact that MAMA had international viewers, millions of them, meant that By the Beach wasn’t just performing for an Asian audience. There were fans watching from all over the world — from Europe, from America, even Africa — people who had never heard of them before that night but were now curious, intrigued.

That night was the first time By the Beach appeared in global trends.

It was the first time they returned home to find their phones blowing up with notifications, their follower count skyrocketing, their names being talked about in countries they had never set foot in.

For a band that had started in the small, tight-knit music scene of Thailand, this was everything.

Even though their initial wave of fame wasn’t for their music — it was more about Sand’s striking looks, his magnetic stage presence — they were okay with that.

Fame, after all, is often unpredictable. Sometimes it doesn’t come for the reasons you’d expect, but if you’re smart, you use that momentum. You turn the spotlight in your favor. And By the Beach did just that.

They didn’t win the award that night. They hadn’t expected to. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was that they had the opportunity to perform, to sing their hearts out in an arena filled with thousands of people, to hear applause and cheers from a crowd that hadn’t come for them, but who were won over by their music, by their energy, by their undeniable talent.

That night, they left with something far more valuable than a trophy — they left with thousands of new fans, a wave of new opportunities, and a taste of what it felt like to be on the world stage.

From that moment on, it was a steady climb upward.

By the Beach continued to go viral across all social media platforms, but this time it was different.

This time, it was their music, their performances, their unique bond with fans that had captured the world’s attention. The hard work, the long nights in the studio, the countless rehearsals — it was all paying off.

Fame, once elusive, now seemed to follow them everywhere.

It was hard to believe how quickly everything had changed. They had started out playing in a small pub, with barely enough money to keep their instruments in tune.

They had no sponsors, no industry connections. They were just a group of friends with a passion for music and a dream that, at times, seemed impossibly far away.

They only started looking for an agency after their social media account reached 1,000 followers, desperate for someone to help them navigate the chaos that came with sudden -yet small- attention.

All members were from ordinary families, except for Sand. Sand’s situation had been different — far more difficult.

He had to work multiple jobs just to make rent, scraping by month after month. He didn’t have the luxury of focusing solely on music. Music was his passion, but survival came first.

Even now, after everything, Sand sometimes found it hard to believe how far he’d come.

He had paid off his mother’s debts, helped her quit her job at that seedy nightclub she had ran for years. He had bought her a beautiful home, a place where she could finally rest, where she didn’t have to worry about money or bills. He had even built a house for himself, a place he could finally call his own.

And yet, despite all of this, there were still moments when Sand forgot he no longer needed to juggle five jobs just to survive. The weight of those years, the constant stress, the grind — it was hard to shake off.

The only time he truly felt the difference was when he was on stage.

On stage, everything made sense.

The noise, the energy, the thousands of fans chanting his name, singing along with him — in those moments, he felt free. Truly free.

His friends stood behind him, their presence steady and reassuring, and he could finally breathe. This was what he had always wanted, what he had fought for, sacrificed for. And now, he could finally dedicate his life to his greatest passion: music.

But even as he stood on top of the world, there was a shadow that lingered.

Sand wanted to enjoy his success, to live in the moment, but he knew that the music industry was far more than just concerts and adoring fans. It was a world full of dark sides, hidden dangers, things he wasn’t yet fully aware of, but already felt the weight of.

Every time their fame grew, every time they reached a new milestone, Sand felt like he was getting closer to a point of no return —a place where there was no going back, no escape.

Ray, on the other hand, had also already experienced his share of highs and lows. He was the most acclaimed model in Thailand, a household name in the fashion world.

Many people believed Ray had an easy path, thanks to his wealthy family and the prestige of the Pakorn name. But those who thought that didn’t know the full story.

They didn’t know how much pain and rejection lay behind his perfect smile.

Ray had always appeared happy beside his father in public, always posing for the cameras, projecting an image of a close, loving family. But behind closed doors, it was a different story. Ray couldn’t recall a single time his father had ever looked at him with pride, not without the cameras around.

One dinner changed everything.

Ray was introduced to a creative director for Jimmy Choo’s new collection. The director said he had the perfect face for modeling. His father, sitting nearby, laughed dismissively.

That moment stung Ray deeply, cutting through his composure like a blade. It was in that instant that he knew — he had to prove to his father that he could make it. There was nothing he wanted more than to hear his father say “Good job, son. I’m proud of you.”

Two months later, Ray made his debut on the runway. His appearance was unexpected, but it made waves.

His walk was seductive, commanding attention with every step. His gaze was captivating, his body language sensual yet elegant. The room fell silent, stunned by his natural talent.

At the after-party, agents flocked to him, eager to sign the young model. His rise in the fashion world was swift.

Years later, Ray had lost track of how many brands he had represented. He had walked for countless designers, but the moment that should have been the most significant — becoming a model for Prada, his late mother’s favorite brand — passed without a word of congratulations from his father.

That was the turning point. Ray stopped seeking his father’s approval.

From then on, he did it for himself. And for his mother. Ray knew that at least she, wherever she was, would have been proud of him.

Despite the ups and downs, Ray had come to love the life he lived. The fashion shows, the designer clothes, the discipline of maintaining his looks — he embraced it all. He was made for this. Born for it. And no one could take that from him.

From the outside, Sand and Ray seemed worlds apart. At first glance, nothing connected them.

Sand, the brooding, enigmatic frontman of By the Beach, and Ray, the effortlessly glamorous and charismatic face of high fashion, moved in circles that, while occasionally overlapping, felt miles apart.

Yet, despite their differences, their lives brushed against each other in ways neither of them could fully comprehend.

The music industry often collided with the fashion world, especially after the meteoric rise of By the Beach.

Offers from high-end brands flooded Sand’s manager inbox, asking him to become an ambassador, to model their latest collections, to attend exclusive events. But he always declined.

The band had dabbled in collaborations, sure, but they weren’t interested in the glitzy world of fashion shows and runways.

It wasn’t that they didn’t understand the potential benefits — increased exposure, new avenues of fame, perhaps even a deeper foothold in the Western market — but it simply didn’t appeal to them.

For Sand, music was the lifeblood. The glamorous sheen of fashion didn’t excite him. It was just another layer of noise in an already chaotic industry.

After their breakthrough, By the Beach limited their fashion involvement to red carpet events and award shows, donning designer suits without a second thought, but never pursuing the fashion circuit.

They wore the clothes, smiled for the cameras, and that was it. They didn’t indulge beyond the surface, staying true to their roots as musicians rather than celebrities.

Despite their mutual fame and status as two of Thailand’s most influential figures, Sand and Ray had never crossed paths.

It seemed improbable, almost ironic, given how small the upper echelons of fame could be. Perhaps it was by design, perhaps by chance, but the fact remained: Sand and Ray had never met.

To Ray, this was maddening.

Why? The answer was simple.

Ray was utterly captivated by Sand.

Even before By the Beach skyrocketed into global trends, when they would only perform at the Yolo pub, Sand had caught Ray’s eye. 

It wasn’t just his talent or his voice — though both were undeniable. No, it was the way Sand could shift between personas so effortlessly.

Off-stage, he was quiet, introspective, with those wide, innocent eyes that seemed to hold a thousand unspoken stories. But on stage? He became someone else entirely. His eyes, once soft and kind, blazed with intensity, as if they could set fire to anyone who dared to look too closely.

His movements, fluid and sensual, commanded attention. He was magnetic.

Ray found himself drawn to Sand in ways that went beyond admiration. He couldn’t stop thinking about him.

At first, he brushed it off as mere curiosity, but it quickly became something more. He wasn’t a fan of By the Beach —not at first, anyway.

He didn’t follow the band for the music. It was Sand’s presence that hooked him.

Ray even began watching their performances online, entranced by the way Sand moved, the way he owned the stage, the way his voice carried not just melody, but emotion, raw and powerful.

Eventually, Ray started to appreciate the music itself. He would listen to their songs during long nights alone, finding pieces of himself in the lyrics.

The depth of their words spoke to him, their stories of struggle, ambition, and longing resonating with his own hidden desires. He had to admit —begrudgingly — that By the Beach had grown on him.

But there was something bittersweet about his “obsession”. No matter how much he admired Sand, how close he felt through the music, Ray knew that Sand was unattainable.

And that drove him crazy.

So, when his manager suggested in February 2023 that Ray attend several music festivals in Europe over the summer to promote the luxury brands he worked with, Ray immediately declined.

The idea of trudging through muddy festival grounds, dealing with the unpredictable European weather, and having to plaster on a smile for days on end was unappealing at best.

Festivals were for influencers, the kind who documented every moment of their lives for clout.

Ray, though he had amassed a large following online, never saw himself as one of them.

He did fashion, art. He didn’t need to parade around in the heat, pretending to care about music he barely listened to.

But then the festival line-ups were announced.

One after the other, each festival revealed its headliners, and without fail, By the Beach was featured at almost every one.

Ray’s heart skipped a beat when he saw their name. It was no longer a matter of whether he liked festivals or not. It was about Sand. It was always about Sand.

A week later, Ray called his manager back.

“I’ve changed my mind. I want to go.”

And so, four months later, when the European festival tour kicked off, Ray found himself in the midst of it all.

From the moment he arrived, Ray complained relentlessly.

The heat was unbearable, the crowds suffocating, and the schedule exhausting. His manager teased him, “You’re the one who insisted on coming.”

Ray would roll his eyes, muttering his discontent, but deep down, he knew why he was there.

He didn’t care about the brands, the events, or even the networking. He was there for Sand.

As the days passed, Ray fell into the rhythm of festival life. He found familiar faces, chatted with other artists and models, and tried to make the experience as bearable as possible. But each day, the anticipation built within him, knowing that By the Beach would soon take the stage.

Finally, on the evening of the third day, it was time.

By the Beach was headlining the main stage, their first time at such a prestigious festival.

The air was electric, thick with anticipation. Thousands of people filled the grounds, their voices rising in a deafening roar as the band’s equipment was set up.

Every movement, every sound check, every flicker of light sent waves of excitement through the crowd.

Backstage, the band felt the weight of it all.

For Sand, the pressure was suffocating. It wasn’t that he was afraid —he had done this before, performed for crowds that stretched into the thousands. But this was different.

This was their first time headlining, and the expectations were higher than ever. There was an unspoken understanding among the band that tonight would either solidify their place as global icons or fade them into the background.

Sand swallowed hard, his throat tight with nerves. His mind raced with the usual worries — What if they didn’t live up to the hype? What if they disappointed the fans who had traveled miles just to see them?

What if they failed?

As they gathered for their pre-show ritual, Sand looked at Nick, his closest friend and bandmate, who stood beside him.

Nick gave him a reassuring smile, squeezing his hand in silent solidarity. Sand glanced at the others — Jack, Jim, Top — and saw the same determination in their eyes. They were ready.

The first few beats of Top’s solo on the drums echoed across the stage, signaling the start of the show.

The crowd erupted into cheers, a wave of sound that made the ground tremble beneath their feet.

As Sand stepped onto the stage, the blinding lights and sea of faces hit him all at once.

For a split second, his body froze, overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of the moment. But then the familiar chords of “Get Away” rang out, and as soon as Sand’s voice broke free, the tension melted away.

The next two hours flew by in a blur of adrenaline and emotion.

Sand moved across the stage with the ease of someone born to perform, his voice weaving through the night air, carrying with it the stories he had kept close to his heart.

Every note, every lyric, every beat felt like a release, a catharsis not just for him, but for the audience too. The connection between them was palpable, almost electric.

And somewhere in the crowd, hidden among the masses, was Ray.

Ray stood in the shadows, his heart pounding as he watched Sand command the stage.

The model had always toyed with the idea of attending one of their concerts. He had watched their rise from the shadows, admiring their raw energy, the way Sand’d voice accompanied by his friends’ melody felt like a pulse that synced with his own heartbeat.

But actually going to one of their shows? That felt too risky. 

He could already picture the chaos that would ensue if someone recognized him in the crowd.

It wasn’t just about being noticed—it was about being swept into a storm of flashing cameras, probing questions, and endless speculation.

His face was too well-known, too familiar in the world of fashion, and the moment someone caught a glimpse of him, the focus would shift.

He’d no longer be just another fan lost in the music; he’d be Ray Pakorn, the model, the celebrity.

The spotlight would find him, and the attention he so often craved in his professional life was the last thing he wanted in a place like that.

The celebrities reserved section wasn’t an option either. Sure, it would have given him a clear view of the stage without the threat of being jostled by the crowd, but it came with its own set of problems. That section was a world apart —exclusive, yes, but exposed in ways that felt suffocating.

And worst of all, it meant the inevitable invitation to meet the band backstage. 

That, more than anything, was what Ray wanted to avoid. He had always imagined his first meeting with them, particularly with Sand, to be something different. Something special.

He didn’t want to be introduced as just another fan, who also happened to be a celebrity, ushered backstage for a quick handshake and a photo for the medias. That wasn’t him.

He couldn’t bear the thought of being seen as one of the many, of blending into a sea of admirers who came and went after every show. He dreamed of something more.

In truth, Ray had fantasized about being at every single concert, of losing himself in the music like the rest of the crowd.

He wanted to feel the bass thrum through the floor, the electric energy of the fans around him, the kind of unity that only happens when thousands of people are singing along to the same song.

But even more than that, he dreamed of watching Sand up close the way he used to when they only perfomed in pubs, of seeing the way he commanded the stage, of feeling the pull of his voice, live and unfiltered.

But to do that, to be there, meant risking everything —his image, his privacy, and more importantly, the dream of meeting Sand the way he had always imagined it: as someone more than just another face in the crowd.

So, Ray kept his distance. He watched from afar, contenting himself with videos, interviews, and late-night streams of their live performances, each one stirring that familiar ache in his chest. He told himself that it was enough. But deep down, he knew it wasn’t.

But now it was surreal, seeing him up close after years of admiring him from afar. Sand was everything Ray had imagined and more. His presence was magnetic, his voice captivating, and Ray couldn’t tear his eyes away.

He could have used his connections to meet Sand after the show, but Ray didn’t want it that way. It had to happen naturally, by chance. He didn’t want to force anything.

For now, this was enough. Watching Sand from the shadows, letting his heart race and his mind wander — it was enough.

At least, that’s what Ray told himself.

A few hours later, Sand’s body was heavy with exhaustion, the adrenaline finally leaving his system the moment they waved goodbye to the fans and the platform lowered them beneath the stage.

The roar of the crowd had slowly faded into the background, but the vibrations of it still lingered in his chest, a phantom echo of the energy that had once surged through him.

He could still feel the beat of the last song under his skin, but now it felt like the kind of thing that belonged to another time and place —a place he had left behind the moment the stage lights dimmed.

The rest of the band, carried by the post-performance high, had chosen to stick around at the festival, eager to lose themselves in other sets, in late-night conversations, and in the swirl of the ongoing celebration.

But for Sand, the night was already over. He had given everything on that stage, poured himself into the performance until he had nothing left to give.

So, with a full heart and a tired body, he made the quiet decision to call it a night.

There was still time to have fun tomorrow. Their next set wasn’t for two days, and he could indulge then —after a night of much-needed rest.

The elevator ride up to his hotel floor was a silent, solitary reprieve.

As the doors slid open, revealing the long, empty corridor before him, Sand felt a strange sense of peace settle over him.

The hallway was bathed in a soft, dim light, the kind that whispered promises of rest, of quiet after the storm. His footsteps were swallowed by the plush red carpet beneath his feet, and for a moment, it felt like he was walking through a dream, each step drawing him closer to the comfort of his room.

But just as he had taken a few steps forward, the second elevator behind him dinged open, spilling out the faint echo of footsteps.

Sand barely registered them, his mind too focused on the bed that awaited him. But then, he heard something that pulled him back to reality —a voice, faint and tired but also annoyed, speaking in Thai.

“No, I’m heading back to my room. What’s the point of going to the after-party? I’m exhausted.”

Sand stopped mid-step, his head turning slightly in disbelief.

Thai? Here?

In the middle of England, during a festival packed with international artists, the sound of his native tongue hit him like a wave of nostalgia.

He hadn’t spoken Thai much since the tour began —most of his interactions these days were in English, a language he had mastered to the point of almost forgetting the familiarity of his own.

The sound of Thai, so unexpected, so familiar, made him turn fully around.

At first, he didn’t see much. The young man who had stepped out of the elevator was preoccupied, his head bent as he fumbled with a sleek designer bag.

Sand’s eyes quickly caught the Prada logo on the side, but what struck him more was the casual elegance with which the guy moved —like he was used to handling high-end fashion as if it were second nature.

His brows were furrowed in mild frustration, but there was an ease to the way he carried himself, the kind of self-assuredness that comes from a life spent in the spotlight.

Sand watched him for a moment longer, curiosity tugging at him. Was this guy part of the festival? Maybe he was another performer, or someone connected to one of the many brands that sponsored the event.

But Sand quickly shook off the thought. Whoever he was, it wasn’t really any of Sand’s business.

He turned back towards his room, but the guy’s voice followed him down the hall, the bored yet slightly playful tone making it impossible not to listen in.

“What do you mean, nine? I don’t want anyone in my room before ten. I need to sleep, and you know I need time to unwind. […] Na na na? Do I really need to get my makeup done eight hours before the festival even starts?”

Sand smiled to himself. So, he was part of the festival.

There was a hint of exasperation in the guy’s voice, but also a kind of charm, like he knew exactly how to handle whoever was on the other end of the call.

He was negotiating, but in that easy, unbothered way that only someone with a lot of power or influence could.

“Okay, okay,” the guy sighed, clearly relenting. “I promise I’ll go to the after-party tomorrow. You’re the best manager in the world! Love you, goodnight.”

The sound of a kiss blown into the phone made Sand’s smile widen. Who talked to their manager like that?

There was something refreshing about the way this stranger interacted with his team, so casual, so affectionate. It was a rare thing in Sand’s world, where most relationships —especially professional one— were marked by formality or distance.

Sand finally reached his room and fished his keycard out of his jacket pocket, ready to collapse into bed. But just as he was about to slide it into the lock, he heard a noise behind him—a loud, frustrated sigh and the light steps halted.

He turned, and there he was again, the guy from the elevator, now standing in front of the room directly next to his.

The man seemed to sense Sand’s gaze on him because he looked up. For a split second, surprise flickered across his face, and Sand found himself freezing under the weight of that look.

Recognition dawned on him almost immediately.

It was Ray Pakorn, the face of Thai fashion.

There was no mistaking him. His image was everywhere —on magazine covers, billboards, and social media. His reputation as a fashion icon was cemented, especially in Thailand, where his name was synonymous with style and luxury. But seeing him in person was something else entirely.

Ray was, if possible, even more striking in real life.

His face was a flawless masterpiece of sharp angles and smooth lines, his makeup perfectly applied even at this late hour.

His hair was effortlessly styled, and his clothes —designer, of course— hung on him in a way that made it look like he had just stepped off the set of a high-fashion editorial shoot.

The black Prada shirt he wore was unbuttoned just enough to reveal a glimpse of his chest, a casual yet calculated display that left little to the imagination.

But what caught Sand off guard wasn’t just how beautiful Ray was —it was the way he was looking at him.

For some reason, Ray seemed just as surprised as Sand, his eyes widening slightly as if he hadn’t expected to run into him here, in this quiet hotel corridor.

For a long, awkward moment, neither of them spoke. Then, with a dry chuckle, Sand broke the silence, clearing his throat as if trying to shake off the tension.

“Ray, right?” His voice sounded hoarse, more from exhaustion than anything else.

Ray’s gaze shifted, his surprise melting into something more relaxed. He turned fully toward Sand, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “Right. And you’re Sand, right?”

“Yeah, that’s me,” Sand replied, trying to sound casual, though the fatigue weighed heavily on his words.

“Finally, we meet,” Ray said, his tone laced with a teasing edge. His eyes sparkled with amusement, like he found something particularly entertaining about this encounter.

Sand couldn’t help but smile at that. “Yeah, it’s strange we’ve never run into each other before.”

Ray made a soft sound of agreement, — a mh escaping his glossy lips— his eyes continuing to wander over Sand’s figure, studying him with a kind of lazy, curious interest.

Sand shifted slightly under the weight of that gaze, feeling a bit self-conscious for the first time in a long while.

He was still dressed in his stage clothes, his light brown leather jacket thrown over a sweat-soaked t-shirt, a stark contrast to Ray’s pristine appearance.

“I loved your set earlier,” Ray said, his voice lowering slightly. There was something intimate in the way he said it, like it was meant just for Sand, even though they were still standing a couple of meters apart.

“Thanks,” Sand replied, offering a tired smile. “I hope we converted you into a fan.”

Ray chuckled, a deep, throaty sound that seemed to carry a hint of seduction. “Oh, I’ve been a fan for a while now. A big one.”

The way Ray’s eyes gleamed as he said those words made Sand pause.

Something about the atmosphere between them shifted —subtle, but unmistakable. It wasn’t what Sand had expected when he had first recognized Ray’s face, but now there was a tension in the air, a current that made him feel strangely on edge, yet intrigued.

“Should I be worried?” Sand asked, his voice light but with a playful undertone.

Ray’s smirk widened. “Not at all. I’m harmless... most of the time. But you look like you could use some rest. Maybe we should save this for another time?”

Sand laughed softly, running a hand over his face. “Is it that obvious?”

“Just a little,” Ray teased, his nose wrinkling slightly as he laughed with him. It was a small, endearing gesture, one that seemed at odds with his otherwise polished exterior.

“Well, then, hope to see you again. Goodnight, singer,” Ray said, finally turning towards his door, though his eyes lingered on Sand for a moment longer, that same mischievous smile still on his lips.

“Goodnight, fanboy,” Sand shot back with a grin, sliding his keycard into the lock.

As the door clicked open, Sand glanced one last time at Ray, who had already disappeared into his room, the soft click of the door behind him the only sound left in the quiet corridor.

And yet, even as Sand stepped inside, shutting the world out for the night, he couldn’t help but smile, the unexpected encounter lingering in his mind like the last note of a song still hanging in the air.

Chapter Text

When Sand woke up the next day, it wasn’t a gentle awakening.

His body felt heavy, pinned down by the weight of the previous night’s exhaustion. Every muscle ached as though it had soaked up the energy of the performance and, now, was paying the price.

For a moment, he simply lay there, eyes closed, wishing he could sink deeper into the mattress and escape the throbbing pain in his limbs.

His mind, however, refused to rest.

It was already drifting back to the night before —back to the stage, the roar of the crowd, the blinding lights that had become familiar, and yet, still managed to excite him every time.

He thought of the fans, their voices mingling into a single thunderous wave of support, of the adrenaline that had surged through him as he hit the final note.

His body was battered, yes, but his heart was still riding high on that rush, that sense of fulfillment he hadn’t felt in far too long.

Despite the heaviness, a smile crept across his face —wide, goofy, uncontainable. It was the kind of smile that overtook his whole being, pulling at his lips, his chest tightening with a strange warmth.

He hadn’t smiled like this in what felt like years.

But the moment of bliss was short-lived. His muscles reminded him of their displeasure, forcing him to shift. With a groan, Sand rolled onto his stomach, burying his face in the pillow.

The softness of it muffled his low, frustrated shout, his way of letting out the overwhelming cocktail of emotions —joy, pain, and something bittersweet lingering just beneath the surface.

Performing had always been his lifeline, his sanctuary. But lately, it had felt like a job, a necessity, something he had to do rather than wanted to do.

Last night was different, though. For the first time in a long while, being on stage had brought him something real —something close to pure joy.

Yet, the double-edged sword of fame hung over him like a shadow. Yes, the recognition was a dream come true, but living under the scrutiny of a million eyes was suffocating at times.

He had never asked for the spotlight to follow him everywhere, invading the small corners of his life that were once private. He wasn’t even sure he wanted it anymore.

But for now, those thoughts felt distant, like a storm on the horizon. Today, he wanted to start fresh. No drama, no pressure, just a day where he could breathe without feeling like the world was watching his every move.

He sighed deeply, inhaling the faint, clean scent of the bedsheets. His schedule was blessedly empty. No meetings, no rehearsals.

The first interview wouldn’t be until the next day. Still, the weight of what awaited him pressed against the edges of his thoughts. He knew the reviews and articles were coming.

Today, the press would swarm like vultures, dissecting every second of their performance. The question nagged at him —had they already been published? And worse, what did they say?

His hand reached for the phone, fingers hesitating for a second before he picked it up.

The bright screen reflected back at him, displaying the time. It wasn’t even nine in the morning yet, far earlier than he had hoped.

He had barely slept, despite the exhaustion that had clung to him after the show. As usual, his brain had been too wired to let him rest. Excitement, nerves, fear —it was a familiar mix by now, the same one that had stolen countless nights of sleep from him over the years.

Sand glanced at his notifications, noting the flurry of messages, but he couldn’t bring himself to open any of them.

The silence of the room was suddenly suffocating, thickened by the tension he hadn’t fully acknowledged yet. He knew what he would see if he opened his socials.

The performance. Endless opinions. Endless scrutiny.

He stared at the screen, paralyzed. His thumb hovered over the icons, his heart beginning to pound in his chest.

What if the response wasn’t what he had hoped? What if the internet, in all its cold and faceless glory, had decided to tear him apart?

The excitement he had felt just moments ago flickered out, replaced by a cold, creeping anxiety.

His eyes flickered away from the phone, seeking anything to distract him from the growing tension. The breeze from the balcony swept in, ruffling the thin curtains, and for a moment, the room felt brighter.

Sunlight poured in, casting golden light over the bed, the soft edges of the furniture. It was a stark contrast to the noise in his mind.

Everything outside looked peaceful, gentle, almost too beautiful for how conflicted he felt inside. The rustling curtain made him shiver slightly, goosebumps spreading over his exposed arms and legs.

Suddenly, the pressure in his bladder reminded him he had other needs to take care of.

With a quick decision, he tossed his phone onto the bed, abandoning it there. Whatever was waiting for him on the internet could stay there a little longer.

Right now, he needed to feel something other than tension. He needed to move, to do something simple —like going to the bathroom.

He then washed his hands without glancing at the mirror, knowing full well he didn’t want to see his reflection.

He could already picture his tired eyes, the smudged remnants of last night’s eyeliner still clinging to his skin.

The image of his worn-out self wasn’t something he needed to see right now, not when the weight of the world —of the reviews— was still looming.

Stepping out of the bathroom, he moved toward the balcony, drawn by the light and the promise of fresh air.

He stretched his arms above his head as he stepped outside, letting out a loud yawn that echoed into the morning air.

The warmth of the sun kissed his skin, the tiles beneath his bare feet radiating heat from being bathed in sunlight for hours.

The day already felt promising, filled with the possibility of something new. Before him stretched a view of luxury apartment buildings, modern and cold.

It wasn’t the comforting view of trees and nature he was used to at home, but it would do for now.

He leaned against the balcony railing, breathing in deeply. The sun washed over him, and for a brief moment, he allowed himself to believe that today might actually be a good day.

That was until the sharp, pungent smell of cigarette smoke invaded his senses.

He wrinkled his nose, the acrid smell cutting through the pleasantness of the morning.

Small, shallow breaths led him to the source. He turned to the right, and there, lounging casually on a deck chair, was..

Ray.

The sight of him took Sand by surprise.

Ray was sprawled out in nothing but his Calvin Klein underwear, a cigarette dangling lazily from his lips. His skin, usually perceived as pale in photographs, glistened under the sun, warm and golden. His hair, which had been so carefully styled the night before, now fell in messy waves over his forehead, giving him an entirely different look —one that felt raw, effortless, and disarmingly intimate.

Ray’s presence commanded attention without even trying.

The way he lay there, almost arrogantly relaxed, the cigarette between his fingers as he exhaled slow, wispy clouds of smoke, held a sensuality that was impossible to ignore.

Sand’s breath caught in his throat, a strange tightening in his chest that had nothing to do with the smoke in the air.

His eyes drifted over Ray's form, lingering on the curve of his muscles, the tattoo on his thigh, and the other one peeking out just above the waistband of his boxers, teasingly visible.

Ray wasn’t built like a bodybuilder, but there was something about his frame —the way he carried himself, the casual grace with which he stretched out on the chair— that exuded a magnetic allure.

Sand's eyes traced the outline of Ray’s V-line, the skin there just barely revealed by the way his boxers rested low on his hips.

It was a subtle detail, but it sent a wave of heat through Sand’s body, unexpected and sharp.

He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry.

It wasn’t just the physical attraction —there was something deeper, something stirring inside him, a mixture of awe, desire, and something he wasn’t quite ready to name.

If mornings set the tone for the day, Sand had no doubt this was going to be an exceptional one.

“It’s rude to stare, Mr. Singer.”

Ray’s voice, low and velvety, pierced through the haze that had overtaken Sand’s mind.

It startled him, dragging him forcefully from whatever spellbound trance he had unknowingly slipped into.

Sand blinked rapidly, as though trying to recalibrate, realizing with a sharp jolt that his eyes had been focused on Ray —more precisely, on some indistinct point of Ray’s body for far longer than could be excused as casual.

He hadn’t even realized it, but now that Ray had spoken, now that Ray’s mocking tone had sliced through the morning’s quiet, Sand’s pulse quickened, a sudden wave of embarrassment creeping up his neck. He cursed inwardly.

His head was still dipped, his body frozen in place as if it had forgotten how to move. The model’s amused voice hung in the air like smoke, curling around his thoughts, clouding them.

Summoning whatever remained of his composure, Sand slowly raised his eyes —just his eyes, not daring to move the rest of his body. Ray’s face was now fully visible, the sunglasses he had been wearing earlier perched carelessly atop his messy hair, giving him an air of casual confidence that was somehow even more disarming.

Those glasses, when worn, gave Ray an aura of aloofness, a kind of untouchable coolness. But now, with his face fully revealed, Sand could see something sharper, something more cunning behind those deceptively innocent features.

Ray’s eyes met Sand’s, and there was a glint there —something teasing, but something dangerous, too.

His lips curled into that same playful smirk he had flashed the night before. It was maddeningly attractive and completely unnerving.

Sand felt a sudden tightening in his chest, an unfamiliar feeling that made him straighten quickly, almost defensively.

His body jerked slightly as if trying to reclaim some semblance of control, but it only made him feel more exposed.

God, stop staring, he told himself.

He turned abruptly, shifting his body toward his room, trying to shake off the sudden heat in his cheeks.

His eyes darted around the room as though looking for an escape, something —anything— to latch onto that wasn’t Ray. But nothing worked.

Every instinct he had was failing him, leaving him in an awkward limbo of self -consciousness, a feeling that had become a stranger to him over the years.

“I wasn’t staring,” he mumbled, his voice cracking at the edges. He winced inwardly at how unconvincing he sounded.

He turned back to face Ray again, but this time there was no escaping the model’s gaze. Ray was watching him, still wearing that amused smirk, his lips just barely twitching with the effort of holding back a laugh.

“Mhm, if you say so,” Ray hummed, dragging out the words with a teasing drawl that sent a small shiver down Sand’s spine.

Ray took a deep drag from the cigarette between his fingers, his gaze never leaving Sand as he inhaled. The gesture was deliberate, slow, like every movement Ray made was designed to command attention.

He held the smoke in his lungs for a long moment, his chest rising and falling in a slow, sensual rhythm before he exhaled it in a long, deliberate stream.

The smoke curled lazily around him, adding to the hazy, intimate atmosphere that seemed to have enveloped the two of them.

Ray’s eyes traveled over Sand again, this time more obviously.

Sand could feel it —the slow, sweeping glance from head to toe, the way Ray’s gaze lingered in places it shouldn’t have.

It made Sand’s skin prickle with awareness, and he fought the urge to cross his arms over his chest or retreat into the shadows.

There was something about Ray —his ease, his confidence— that made Sand feel incredibly small in comparison.

Here Sand was, fully dressed by morning standards —boxers and a tank top— and yet he felt as though he were the one stripped bare.

Ray, in nothing but boxers, lounged against the railing like he owned the world, his body completely at ease, as though he hadn’t just caught Sand staring at him like some love-struck fool.

Trying desperately to regain his footing, Sand blurted out the first thing that came to mind, his voice still shaky. “Does your manager know you smoke?”

He could have kicked himself.

Of all the things to ask.

The question hung in the air awkwardly for a second, and Sand immediately regretted it.

But Ray didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he seemed to find it amusing, his lips curving into a wider grin.

“Of course. Why would I hide it? Even my so-called fans know,” Ray replied, flicking the cigarette as ash fell into the black ashtray perched on the edge of the small table beside him.

“So-called?” Sand asked, tilting his head slightly, grateful for the small distraction, even though it still involved Ray.

Ray took another drag, his gaze softening as he considered Sand’s question.

He exhaled, the smoke curling around him like a protective barrier, and leaned back, stretching his arms over his head. The movement caused the muscles in his torso to ripple, and Sand felt his heart stutter in his chest.

Why the hell am I noticing that?

“I don’t know... I’m grateful, I really am,” Ray admitted, his voice suddenly quieter, more introspective. “But sometimes it feels... strange, the idea of having fans. People who admire me for... what, exactly?”

Sand remained silent, sensing that Ray wasn’t finished. The model moved, standing up from his lazy position and stretching once again, his movements languid and unhurried, like a big cat.

Sand’s eyes betrayed him, following the lines of Ray’s body, watching the way his skin glistened in the early sunlight that poured through the balcony door.

Ray’s confidence seemed to seep through his every movement, a confidence that was both maddening and magnetic.

“I’m not someone who spends hours on social media, pretending to be someone I’m not. And yet, I feel like I have to, you know? Like I owe them something.” Ray’s voice trailed off as he moved toward the balcony, resting his forearms on the railing.

His body was bathed in the golden light of the morning sun, his silhouette stark against the soft backdrop of the city skyline.

Sand swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He couldn’t help but watch the way Ray moved —the way he seemed to command the space around him without even trying.

It was mesmerizing in a way that unsettled Sand to his core. He had dealt with confident people before, but this was something else entirely.

Ray’s confidence wasn’t just about how he looked; it was woven into every fiber of his being, in the way he moved, in the way he spoke, even in the way he held a conversation. It was magnetic, impossible to resist, and Sand hated how vulnerable it made him feel.

“I think you’re underestimating yourself,” Sand found himself saying, his voice quieter now, more thoughtful. “A lot of people want to be where you are. They’d kill for it. That doesn’t happen without talent.”

Ray shrugged, his gaze far away as if Sand’s words hadn’t quite reached him. “Maybe,” he muttered, not sounding convinced.

The quiet stretched between them, and Sand was suddenly acutely aware of the weight of the moment. His skin felt too tight, his thoughts too loud.

His mind raced, struggling to find something else to say, anything to break the intensity of Ray’s presence, but nothing came.

Instead, Ray’s voice filled the silence once more, a low murmur. “Do you smoke?”

“No,” Sand said quickly, almost too quickly. “I’m a singer. How could I smoke?”

That was the first lie Sand told Ray.

Ray raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “A lot of singers smoke,” he replied simply, his tone nonchalant.

The conversation seemed to stall again, lingering awkwardly in the air between them.

Sand wasn’t sure what to say, wasn’t sure where to look.

His gaze flickered nervously back to Ray, who was now moving again, bending slightly as he reached for something near the small table.

Sand didn’t mean to look —he didn’t— but his eyes betrayed him, flicking downward for just a moment too long.

The black fabric of Ray’s boxers clung to his body, and though they didn’t reveal anything inappropriate, the sight still made Sand’s mouth go even drier.

Heat flooded his cheeks again, and he cursed the sun for shining so brightly.

“Doesn’t it bother you, walking around like this, with me, a stranger, watching? Don’t you want to cover up?”

Sand asked suddenly, clearing his throat as he forced the words out, trying to regain some control of the situation. His own boldness surprised him, but the question sounded more ridiculous as it left his mouth.

Ray paused, his gaze sharpening as he looked back at Sand. For a moment, Sand thought he’d overstepped, but then Ray’s lips curved into another smile —this one slower, more deliberate.

“Why?” Ray asked, his voice a soft purr. “Don’t you like what you see?”

He leaned back against the railing, his body angled just so, the light catching the sharp lines of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the softness of his gaze. Sand’s heart lurched in his chest, his pulse quickening as he fought every instinct in his body to keep his eyes where they should be.

What the hell is happening?

Why can’t I look away?

It must be the exhaustion from last night. That’s all.

Where’s your confidence, Sand?

“Isn’t it a bit early for these insinuations, Ray?” Sand’s voice came out more strained than he intended.

Ray smiled again, that same playful, knowing grin.

“It’s never too early to flirt with a handsome man. Especially one who fits my type perfectly.”

For a moment, Sand forgot to blink. He forgot to swallow, even forgot to breathe.

His throat was a desert, words failing him completely, and for a long moment, the two of them stood there, locked in a silent gaze.

The tension between them crackled in the air, palpable and unspoken. Sand could feel it —the pull, the weight of Ray’s eyes on him, the way the model’s gaze roamed over him so openly, so brazenly.

Then, as if the universe itself decided to intervene, a sharp knock broke through the moment.

Sand blinked, the trance shattered by the abrupt sound. He wasn’t sure where the knock had come from at first, so distracted by Ray that it took him a moment to realize the sound wasn’t coming from his own door.

Ray turned toward the noise, his expression unchanged, though the briefest flicker of annoyance passed across his face.

“My team’s here,” Ray said casually, pulling on a robe that had been hanging over the back of a chair.

The fabric swished lightly as he cinched it around his waist, and Sand was struck by how even in the simplest of garments, Ray still looked like he belonged on the cover of a magazine.

The knocking grew louder, more insistent, and Ray spared Sand one last glance.

“You going to the after-party tonight?” he asked, his voice low, almost conspiratorial.

“I don’t know,” Sand replied, trying to mask the shakiness in his voice. “I usually find them... boring.”

Ray’s smirk returned, full of promises that Sand wasn’t sure he was ready to decipher. “I’ll be there, just to let you know. If you come, I guarantee you won’t be bored,” he said with a wink before disappearing into his room.

The chorus of voices that rose from Ray’s suite filled the silence, but Sand was already retreating into his own room, the weight of the morning settling over him.

As he closed the door behind him, he leaned against it for a moment, trying to catch his breath, his mind racing.

Sand had no idea where that robe had come from. It was only after Ray left that Sand realized he hadn’t paid attention to a single detail that didn’t involve the model himself.

He also had no idea what had just happened. But whatever it was, it had left him shaken in a way he hadn’t felt in years.

He needed a cold shower. Immediately.

After that much-needed shower, Sand finally decided to pick up his phone.

The notifications hadn’t stopped for even a moment. His phone buzzed incessantly, filling the room with a low hum that had felt overwhelming at first.

Now, as he sat at the edge of his bed, towel draped loosely over his shoulders, Sand opened the screen, fingers hesitating for a second. His heart fluttered in his chest, a reminder of the weight that came with every performance.

He quickly logged into a few fake accounts on different social media platforms, a necessary tactic in his world to see the raw, unfiltered reactions.

Despite the chaos of endless comments and retweets, the response to their performance last night was undeniable. It was everywhere —accolades, fan accounts gushing about their music, clips going viral.

Their set had been one of the most talked-about performances of the night. Sand couldn't help but feel a small smile pulling at his lips.

Among the posts, he read about people who had been waiting for months to see them live, eager fans who had traveled across cities just for the opportunity. But it wasn’t just the long-time followers; even those who had come for other artists had found themselves swept away by the energy of their show. They were surprised, moved.

His chest tightened as he came across a particularly flattering comment about his vocals.

A part of him always wrestled with doubt, a nagging voice that questioned whether he was good enough. But seeing this, knowing that his efforts had resonated with so many people, brought an overwhelming rush of relief.

It wasn’t for nothing.

Even Top, with his solo drum performance at the start of the concert, had caught the crowd’s eye. Sand smirked to himself, remembering how Top had insisted on playing shirtless, his bare chest illuminated by the flashing lights.

It wasn’t just about the performance; it was the showmanship, the way Top had owned the stage like he was born for it. And it worked. Fans had gone wild, some probably just for that, but others appreciating the sheer skill behind his solo.

Sand’s heart felt like it was about to burst. There was no better feeling than knowing the hours of practice, the sleepless nights, and the nervous energy had all paid off.

All the anxiety that had gnawed at him before stepping on stage suddenly felt trivial, like a distant memory.

Why do I always doubt myself? he thought. He’d been performing for years now, yet the nerves never fully went away. He wondered if they ever would.

But for now, with his heart lighter than it had been in days, Sand got dressed, feeling more at ease than usual. He sent a quick message to his friends, letting them know he was going for a walk to clear his mind before the festival activities kicked off again. Jim responded first, and they made plans to meet and stroll through the city.

Once outside, the two of them wore masks, hoping to avoid unwanted attention. The morning air was crisp, and as Sand inhaled deeply, he could almost pretend, for a fleeting moment, that everything was normal.

No fame, no pressure. Just a simple walk through the streets of an unfamiliar city.

But even with their faces covered, recognition was inevitable. A few people noticed them, a couple of heads turned, but thankfully, no one seemed to follow them.

Some fans approached cautiously, asking for a quick photo, which they obliged, flashing polite smiles behind their masks. It wasn’t a huge crowd, but even these small moments felt like an intrusion into his rare pocket of peace.

Walking without bodyguards or managers had become a small rebellion for Sand.

He knew it wasn’t smart. It was risky. Every time they did it, they were warned about how quickly things could go wrong, how a seemingly harmless encounter could spiral into chaos.

But sometimes, the constant surveillance felt like a cage, and today, more than ever, he needed to feel like he still had some control over his own life.

That was the hardest part of fame —never feeling truly free.

There was always someone watching, always someone ready to document your every move.

Sometimes, he longed for the days when he could walk the streets without a second thought, without the weight of expectations pressing down on him. Back when his face didn’t mean something to thousands of people, back when he could disappear into a crowd and just exist.

He knew it was the price of success, and most of the time, he accepted it. He’d worked hard for this, after all.

But still, part of him yearned for the simplicity of anonymity, for the ability to just be Sand, not Sand, the lead singer of By the Beach .

Maybe, someday, when the excitement of his newfound fame had settled, he could slip back into the shadows, at least for a while. But for now, the attention followed him wherever he went, like an unshakable shadow.

As they walked, Sand couldn’t help but notice the people around them —some oblivious, some curious, some pulling out their phones as soon as they realized who was walking past.

It was a surreal experience, being both seen and unseen, recognized but still hidden behind a mask. He sighed, his mind wandering back to the festival, to the stage where he’d felt so alive just hours before.

This, right here, was the contrast of his life.

The highs of performing in front of thousands, feeling invincible on stage, and the lows of wanting to disappear in moments like this, wishing for just a bit of normalcy.

He looked over at Jim, who was scrolling through his phone, equally cautious but also used to the attention.

Sand envied how effortlessly Jim seemed to handle it all. For him, it was easier to brush off the constant gazes, the whispers, the camera flashes. But Sand was still adjusting. He was still trying to find that balance between being a public figure and holding on to the pieces of himself that no one else could touch.

As they turned a corner, Sand paused for a moment, staring at the bustling city around them. The noise, the people, the energy —it was overwhelming, yet comforting in a strange way.

Even in the midst of everything, he could still carve out these small moments of peace. Moments where he could remind himself why he started this journey in the first place, despite all the challenges that came with it.

With a deep breath, he adjusted his mask and continued walking, the weight of the world still there, but just a little lighter for now.

When Sand returned to his room, the afternoon had already begun its slow descent into evening. Their manager had texted, urging them to get ready soon, as the group would be escorted to the festival once everyone was prepared.

Sand stood in front of his open closet, absentmindedly running his fingers over the fabrics of shirts and jackets. His thoughts, though, weren’t on what he’d wear tonight. They were still circling back to the morning —the moment that had blindsided him. Ray.

He shook his head as if that would somehow clear the memory of Ray’s teasing voice, his gaze lingering just a little too long, his words slicing through Sand’s usual calm.

Ray had said he was his type so casually, yet the weight of it still clung to Sand like an echo he couldn’t shake.

Not tonight, Sand thought. He wasn’t about to let Ray toy with him, at least not without turning the tables.

He pulled out a simple band t-shirt, one from their merch line, and slipped it over his head. His fingers hesitated over the leather jacket hanging by the door, but he grabbed it anyway, shrugging it on as a final touch.

It wasn’t an outfit meant to stand out, but that wasn’t Sand’s style. He preferred to keep things understated, to let the music and his presence speak for itself.

The soft glow of the late afternoon sun poured through the balcony doors, casting a warm, amber hue across the room.

For a brief moment, the light called to him, urging him to step outside and steal a moment of peace before the night descended into chaos. He took a step toward the balcony, drawn by the open sky, when a familiar voice broke through the quiet.

“Sand? Are you in there?”

His pulse quickened. Even before he fully registered the words, he knew who it was.

Ray.

For a beat, Sand’s heart slammed against his chest. His hand froze on the door handle. He stared at his reflection in the glass, seeing a flash of the morning all over again —Ray’s smug grin, the way his eyes had traveled slowly over Sand like he was some kind of challenge.

The thought made Sand’s jaw tighten. This time would be different.

Without thinking, Sand yanked his shirt over his head. He wasn’t the kind of guy to flaunt his body. He didn’t have a gym-toned physique, and most days he didn’t care about it.

But there was something about Ray, about the way he always seemed so sure of himself, so arrogant, that sparked something competitive in Sand. Tonight, Ray wasn’t going to be the one in control.

He glanced down at his reflection, his lean, wiry frame backlit by the soft, golden light.

He wasn’t built like a model, but his body had always drawn attention in its own way. A thin waist, taut skin, a quiet strength that didn’t need to be announced. It was enough to make people look twice, and maybe that’s what Ray needed tonight —a reason to look twice.

With a deep breath, Sand pushed open the balcony door and stepped out.

Ray stood leaning casually against the railing, the narrow gap between their balconies making it easy for Sand to see the lazy smirk that tugged at Ray’s lips as soon as their eyes met.

For a moment, Sand’s pulse skipped —not just because of Ray’s presence, but because of how effortlessly cool Ray looked, as always.

He wore a pale, tailored suit tonight, the kind of outfit that screamed money and carelessness. The collar of his shirt hung open, revealing just enough of his chest to make the whole look seem intentionally undone, like he hadn’t even tried but somehow still managed to look perfect.

Ray’s gaze flicked down, taking in Sand’s shirtless form for a brief second before settling back on his face.

Sand could see the subtle shift in Ray’s expression, the way his eyes darkened, his smirk growing just a bit more pronounced. He was intrigued. Sand could feel it.

Bingo.

“You’re lucky,” Sand said, leaning against the doorframe, his voice smooth and unbothered. “I was about to head out.”

Ray raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. “Seems like my timing’s perfect,” he replied, his voice dripping with that unmistakable arrogance.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The air between them thickened, charged with something unspoken but undeniable.

Sand could feel the weight of Ray’s gaze roaming over him, could almost hear the thoughts swirling in Ray’s head. But he didn’t flinch.

Instead, he stepped forward, closing the distance between them as he draped himself into a chair on the balcony, legs splayed just enough to force Ray’s attention.

Ray’s eyes followed the movement, lingering. For the first time in what felt like forever, Sand felt a thrill rush through him, the familiar exhilaration of playing the game.

It had been a long time since he’d let himself flirt like this, but if Ray wanted to play, Sand was more than willing to join.

“What do you want, Ray?” Sand asked, his voice dropping into a lower, teasing tone.

Ray’s smirk softened, but his eyes sparkled with a mix of amusement and challenge. “Could you take some photos of me?”

Photos?

Sand blinked, momentarily thrown off by the request. Of all the things Ray could have asked, this was not what he’d expected.

“Photos?” Sand repeated, arching an eyebrow.

Ray shrugged, the movement casual but deliberate. “I like the way I look right now. The light’s perfect, but my team’s not here. You’re the only one around.”

The shift in the conversation caught Sand off guard. He’d been ready for more banter, for Ray to push further into the tension crackling between them. But this request? It almost felt too… innocent.

Sand narrowed his eyes, studying Ray’s face, trying to decipher the real meaning behind the request. But all he saw was that infuriatingly cool demeanor, as if Ray hadn’t just derailed the entire dynamic with a single question.

Still, Sand wasn’t about to back down. Not yet.

He stood up slowly, making a deliberate show of stretching, his muscles flexing just enough to catch Ray’s attention. He could feel Ray’s eyes on him, following his every move.

“Fine,” Sand said finally, a teasing lilt in his voice. “I’m pretty good with a camera.”

Ray chuckled softly, pushing off from the railing and stepping closer, close enough for Sand to catch the subtle scent of his cologne—something rich and warm, just like Ray’s voice when he leaned in.

“We’ll see,” Ray murmured, his tone filled with that maddening self-assurance.

Sand extended his hand across the narrow gap between the balconies, his fingers outstretched. 

Ray’s lips twitched into a grin. “What? You want to hold hands?” His voice was dripping with mock innocence, but the look in his eyes was anything but.

“Your phone,” Sand said, rolling his eyes, though he couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips.

Ray let out a low, playful hum, tilting his head. “I’m afraid it’ll fall. How about you use your phone? That way, you’ll have a reason to text me later.”

There it was again —that sharp, flirtatious edge, the one that Ray wielded so effortlessly.

It sent a jolt through Sand, and before he could even think of a comeback, he realized with a sinking feeling that Ray was, once again, taking control of the situation.

But Sand wasn’t going to let him win. Not without a fight.

With a resigned sigh, Sand pulled out his phone, raising an eyebrow at Ray as he motioned for him to start posing. “Fine. Show me what you’ve got, then.”

Ray’s smirk widened, and just like that, the playful, carefree man from moments ago vanished, replaced by someone else entirely —someone who knew how to work the camera, how to turn every angle, every glance, into something magnetic.

Ray moved with the kind of practiced ease that made it impossible to look away, every pose exuding confidence and control.

And Sand… Sand hated how much he was drawn in, how each click of the camera felt like capturing a moment that was too charged with something that went beyond simple attraction. It was desire in its purest form. 

And he couldn’t stop. He didn’t want to.

“So,” Sand said after a few minutes, trying to distract himself from the way Ray’s eyes seemed to be pulling him in with every shot. “This morning. Why were you up so early? I thought no one was allowed in your room before ten.”

Ray chuckled, his eyes glinting with mischief as he struck another pose. “I didn’t realize you were eavesdropping on my phone call.”

Fuck.

Sand’s grip on the phone tightened as he tried to play it off. “Your voice was the only one in the hallway,” he muttered, feeling the heat rise to his face despite himself.

Ray shrugged, clearly enjoying the effect he was having. He sat down in the same chair he had occupied that morning, his posture relaxed, but his eyes still locked onto Sand’s with that same intensity.

“They scheduled a last-minute photoshoot,” Ray explained, “We needed to get to the beach, so they showed up early. They probably expected to find me in bed, but I didn’t sleep much last night.”

Sand nodded, not pressing the matter. Ray was grateful for that. He didn’t want to admit that the real reason he hadn’t slept was because he’d spent the entire night thinking about their encounter, replaying it over and over in his mind.

Ray sighed and walked back towards Sand, who lowered the phone as Ray drew closer, as if under a spell.

“Want me to return the favor?” Ray asked, pulling his phone from his pocket.

“So you can have an excuse to text me later?” Sand smirked, though his heart raced at the sound of Ray’s laugh.

“Exactly.”

Posing in front of Ray felt far more embarrassing than Sand wanted to admit. He tried to appear confident, but he could feel his composure slipping. He only hoped Ray didn’t notice.

“And this morning? Were you sunbathing? Don’t they try to make you guys look as pale as possible?” Sand suddenly asked, breaking the tension with an unexpected question.

“They do, and I hate it,” Ray replied, his voice tinged with frustration. “I don’t understand why our culture still clings to this idea that lighter skin equals higher status. It’s 2024, right? Why should we still act like darker skin is somehow less worthy? This is the skin of our people, and we should be proud of it.”

Sand looked at him, a hint of surprise in his eyes. He hadn’t expected such a serious answer, but there it was, raw and honest. He snapped another photo, catching the exact moment Sand’s big, expressive eyes looked up at him.

Ray had dreamed about those eyes more times than he could count over the years.

“They do the same with us,” Sand remarked. “I’ll never understand it.”

Ray smiled softly, hiding it behind his phone.

“That’s why I was sunbathing,” He continued. “I want to make their job harder.”

Sand chuckled. “Smart move.” He then let out a soft laugh, the tension between them thickening once more. But before Sand could think of a response, a sudden knock at the door shattered the moment, dragging them both back into reality. The spell was broken.

Sand’s heart sank as he glanced toward the door, the disappointment mirrored in Ray’s eyes.

“I’ve got to go,” Sand muttered, already moving to go inside his room.

Ray’s voice was quieter now, almost resigned. “Yeah. See you tonight?”

Sand paused, glancing back over his shoulder. Ray’s smirk was gone, replaced by something more uncertain. For a moment, neither of them said anything.

Finally, Sand nodded. “I’ll guess you need to wait to find that out.”

It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

When Sand finally checked his phone later, his notifications were flooded with Instagram notifications —photos that Ray had sent him.

The photos of him.

Sand still hadn’t followed him back, but as his finger hovered over the button, something inside him shifted. Maybe this time, he would let himself play Ray’s game. Maybe this time, he wouldn’t hold back.

He hit that follow button.

Within seconds, Ray’s message popped up: “See you tonight.”

And if Sand had been hesitant before, now he knew for certain.

He’d be there.

Chapter Text

Spending an evening with his friends, basking in the comfort of familiar voices and their favorite songs, discovering new melodies together —it was exactly what the group needed, especially Sand.

The music washed over them, carrying away the tension of long days and heavy thoughts. For a few hours, it felt like the world outside didn’t exist, like the flashing lights and the cheers of the crowd were the only things that mattered.

Surrounded by the right people, Sand found it surprisingly easy to forget, at least for a moment, about the ever-present wall of bodyguards standing — not so — discreetly around them, a silent reminder of the life they now led. It was also easier than expected to ignore the endless stares, the phones held up like shields, cameras ready to capture their every move. There was always a sense of being on display, living life as a spectacle.

Well, easy —so to speak.

Sand desperately wanted to believe it was easy.

He kept his gaze locked on the stage, the bright lights a distraction from everything else, from the things he didn’t want to acknowledge.

The crowd's cheers seemed distant to him, as if he was watching it all through a thick veil. He rarely glanced away, too afraid that the illusion of normality would shatter the moment he did, reminding him of all the reasons why he sometimes hated becoming famous.

But then again, his friends were there with him, their laughter infectious as they belted out lyrics together, completely lost in the music. And how could Sand not feel happy, standing amidst that whirlwind of joy?

For once, it felt like they weren’t public figures, just a group of friends reveling in a night of freedom. He could almost pretend to be normal —almost. The fleeting happiness was sweet, even if he knew it wouldn’t last.

As the night wore on and the DJ sets began to dominate the stages, the crowd thinned out, leaving behind only the most energetic partygoers and the celebrities heading for the after-party. The real fun was just beginning for some.

The most exclusive event of the night was happening in one of the city's most renowned clubs, a place where power and privilege collided, and where people were known not by name, but by status. For Sand and his friends, the club was just a short walk from their hotel. A dangerous convenience. 

“Are you really coming?” Top asked, disbelief coloring his voice as they all piled into the van.

The excitement in the air was palpable, a buzzing energy that made everyone eager —except for Sand. He noticed the sideways glances from his friends, the raised eyebrows. They were used to him sitting these things out lately.

A few years ago, Sand would have been the first one out the door, the life of the party, with a playful smile and a sparkle in his eyes that drew people to him effortlessly.

He’d loved the nightlife, the thrill of fleeting connections, the way he could walk into a room and know that half the people there wanted him.

He’d flirt with strangers just for the fun of it, knowing no one could resist him, reveling in the fleeting rush of one-night stands, the careless abandon of youth. He had loved being untouchable, carefree.

But that was before.

Before that last relationship —before the two years of feeling like maybe he could have more. Before the heartbreak when he found out his partner had cheated, just when their fame had skyrocketed.

The betrayal had left a wound so deep and somehow fresh that Sand had sworn off love altogether. If someone could hurt him when everything seemed perfect, how could he ever trust again? How could anyone love him now, in this spotlight?

If life were a cliché, Sand would have gone back to his old habits —embraced the emptiness of casual flings and endless nights in clubs. But that wasn’t what happened.

Instead, he retreated into himself. The fire in him dimmed. He found solace in his music, locking himself away in his studio for hours on end, pouring every emotion into his work.

The club scene, which had once felt like home, now felt suffocating. He only ever went out for special occasions —birthdays, celebrations for friends. And even then, it felt forced.

Now, sitting in that van, watching his friends’ faces light up as they sped toward the after-party, Sand wondered why he had even said yes. But he knew. Of course, he knew.

Ray had said he’d be there.

Ray, with his effortless charm and that dangerous smile that made Sand feel more alive than he had in a long time.

He had flirted with Sand boldly, openly, in a way that Sand hadn’t experienced in ages. The playful glint in Ray’s eyes had sparked something inside Sand, a thrill he hadn’t felt in so long. It was hard to deny the magnetic pull he felt. 

Maybe tonight would help him shake off the tension that had been building since the festival announcements.

“I’ve been too wound up lately,” Sand muttered. “I’m coming because drinking alone in my room is just sad.”

A half-truth at best.

When they arrived, the sheer scale of the building loomed over them, towering against the night sky like some monolith of excess.

Neon lights flickered at the top, casting the entrance in a surreal glow, signaling they were at the right place. The group stood frozen for a moment, necks craned to take in the massive structure, awe-struck by its imposing presence.

Inside the elevator, rising towards the penthouse where the party was already in full swing, the atmosphere buzzed with excitement. Celebrities shared small talk, leaning against the walls casually as though they were in any ordinary place.

Everyone was eager, except Sand. He kept his hands in his pockets, eyes cast downward, wondering again if he had made the right choice.

Celebrity parties weren’t like the ones he used to love. There was always an underlying tension, a sense of competition, of being watched —of being on the hunt, or being hunted. The noise, the faces, the false smiles, and the veiled conversations. It wasn’t fun anymore. It was exhausting.

When the elevator doors slid open, the group was greeted with a scene straight out of a fever dream. The penthouse was packed, a blur of people Sand didn’t recognize, their perfectly polished smiles aimed straight at them.

They moved in like ghosts, welcoming the group with exaggerated friendliness, hands brushing against arms, guiding them toward the bar with promises of a good time.

Sand looked around, his stomach tightening as his suspicions were confirmed. On the dance floor, bodies writhed in time with the pounding music, their movements exaggerated and disconnected.

In the corners of the room, people posed for photos with celebrities, others hovered around tables lined with thin, white lines of powder —clear evidence of why the dancers seemed so detached from reality.

“Look at all the people! We’re gonna have a blast tonight!” Top exclaimed, grinning widely. The rest of the group mirrored his enthusiasm, their excitement contagious.

Sand bit back a sigh, scanning the room.

Then, finally, he spotted him.

Ray was on the dance floor, moving with that effortless confidence Sand both envied and admired. He had his hands on the hips of a girl Sand didn’t recognize, her back pressed against his chest, moving sensually to the beat.

But what drew Sand’s attention even more was the man behind Ray, hands roaming over his body, drawing Ray closer with every sway of their hips.

Ray was smiling, wide and carefree, his white teeth and shirt glowing under the neon lights. He stood out like a beacon amidst the chaos, drawing every eye to him.

Unlike Sand, Ray knew exactly how to lose himself in the moment, to enjoy the present without overthinking it. And Sand.. he was completely mesmerized. He could hardly tear his eyes away, watching as Ray’s body moved with the music, completely in his element.

Then, their eyes met across the room, and Ray’s smirk, the one Sand had seen countless times just hours before, spread across his face again.

It was a look that made Sand’s heart skip a beat. And as if that glance had encouraged him, Ray pressed even closer to the man behind him, pulling the girl tighter against him, his eyes never leaving Sand’s.

For a second, Sand forgot to breathe.

Then, like a spell breaking, he realized he was alone. His friends had disappeared into the crowd, leaving him behind without a word. Sand exhaled slowly and turned toward the bar.

He was definitely too sober for this night.

Getting drunk in a place like this was far from the wisest choice, but Sand felt like he had no other options.

The pulsating music, the blur of flashing lights, and the sticky heat of bodies pressing close —all of it weighed on him.

The world felt claustrophobic, even though the club itself was massive, its walls disappearing into dark corners filled with laughter, dancing, and the rhythmic beat of a DJ’s set that never seemed to end.

Every now and then, a wave of laughter would rise from the dance floor, cutting through the heavy air, reminding Sand of just how far he was from the lightness everyone else seemed to carry.

So, with a sigh that felt more like surrender, he ordered a cocktail —something bright, fruity, harmless at first glance. He watched the bartender mix it together, eyes following the swirl of colors, like watching a temporary escape take shape.

The first sip was sweet, a quick rush of strawberry masking the bite of alcohol beneath it. One glass turned into two, the second emptying far quicker than he realized.

And yet, despite the numbing warmth spreading through his veins, there it was again: that same questions buzzing in his head. Why did he have to have such a high tolerance?

It was frustrating. He wasn’t trying to lose himself in oblivion tonight; no, he didn’t want to drink until the world blurred beyond recognition.

He just wanted a break from the constant pounding headache and that tightness in his chest that hadn’t let up since the start of the trip. But the drinks, no matter how many he had, weren’t offering the relief he’d hoped for.

His eyes drifted to the bar’s shelves, stacked high with bottles of every color and shape, their labels catching the flickering lights, mocking him almost.

The laughter around him felt distant, disconnected, like it was happening in another room, another life.

Sand had never been the kind of person who drank until they forgot themselves. He was too methodical for that, too controlled.

He drank until his head felt light, just enough to loosen the edges of reality without tipping into chaos. But tonight, even that was slipping out of reach.

Just as he was beginning to think about calling it a night, a voice, smooth and playful, broke through the haze.

“What’s a handsome man like you doing all alone?”

It was that voice —the only thing keeping him here, tethered in this crowded, suffocating place.

Ray had promised he wouldn’t let him get bored, and Sand was desperate enough to take him up on that offer, whatever it entailed. The idea of going back to his hotel room alone, with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company, felt unbearable.

The words “I was waiting for you” hovered at the edge of his lips, a sharp retort ready to leap out. But he held back, unsure if he liked how easily Ray seemed to get under his skin.

It unnerved him, the way Ray had this quiet, understated control over him. Hours earlier, Sand had sauntered out onto the balcony, shirtless, hoping for a reaction —any kind of spark.

But Ray had barely showed a reaction to it. And yet, not long after, it had been Ray who left him standing there, dry-mouthed and burning.

He wanted that power too —the ability to knock Ray off balance, to make him stumble. But for now, it was enough to feel... courted.

It had been so long since anyone had made Sand feel like the center of attention, and there was something undeniably intoxicating about it.

“I’m drinking. What does it look like I’m doing?” Sand shot back, finally turning to face him.

Ray was leaning casually against the bar, his elbow resting on the counter. His fingers absentmindedly brushed his lips, drawing attention to the subtle smirk playing there.

His eyes roved over Sand with a deliberate, lazy confidence that was infuriating and magnetic all at once.

Sand noticed the faint imprint of lipstick on Ray’s cheek —a smudge of red, probably from the girl who had been dancing with him earlier. She had left her mark, but she wasn’t the one still here, stealing the air from Sand’s lungs.

Ray’s white shirt was half-unbuttoned, exposing a hint of skin that gleamed under the flashing lights.

Whether it had been undone like that earlier or whether Ray had done it intentionally just now, Sand wasn’t sure. But there was something deliberate in the way Ray presented himself, his energy radiating outward, a magnetism impossible to ignore.

Sand stared at him, and for a moment, he saw a younger version of himself reflected in Ray’s easy charm and carefree attitude.

The way Ray moved, how effortlessly he flirted, his lighthearted approach to everything —it sparked a pang of jealousy.

Sand had once been like that. Would shedding his burdens, diving back into that fast-paced life, free him from the suffocating pressure he felt now?

Ray cleared his throat, breaking the silence, and took a step closer. His eyes were playful, but there was something more —something sharp and dangerous hidden beneath his grin.

“Well, your glass is empty, isn’t it? What now? Will you come dance with me?”

The question was delivered so casually, like it was no big deal, yet the intensity of Ray’s smile and the way his gaze flickered between mischievous and serious made Sand’s throat tighten. His tongue flicked across his lips, trying to ease the sudden dryness.

He glanced behind him, searching for an excuse. The girl from earlier was still on the dance floor, lost in someone else’s orbit. The guy? Nowhere to be seen.

“I’m sure you’ve already got someone to dance with,” Sand muttered, trying to deflect.

“They’re boring. I want to dance with you.” Ray stepped in closer, his voice lowering to something more intimate. His arm stretched across the bar, and his fingers grazed the rim of Sand’s empty glass, toying with it.

“No, you don’t,” Sand replied, his tone uncharacteristically serious. There was a flicker of uncertainty in Ray’s eyes, just for a second, as if he wasn’t used to hearing ‘no.’

“Yes, I do. Na?” Ray’s voice softened, his gaze turning pleading, though his other hand, now slowly trailing up Sand’s back, gave away his true intentions.

“You don’t, Ray. We both know what you’re after.” Sand straightened his posture, a small movement that made Ray pull back slightly, though he was still far too close. Dangerously close.

Sand could have said "what we're after," but where was the fun in that? He liked watching people squirm a little, and tonight, Ray was no exception. He wanted to see how far Ray would push before giving in.

“Fine, if you’re so sure you know me, then why don’t we just skip to the part where we go back to your room?” Ray’s confidence flared again, and for a moment, Sand couldn’t help but smirk. He’d almost been convinced Ray was rattled.

Sand’s smile spread wider, and Ray, sensing the shift, mirrored it with a grin of his own. He took that as a sign —a crack in Sand’s defenses.

Ray grabbed Sand’s thighs, turning him around and pulling him closer, positioning himself between Sand’s legs as they opened slightly in response. If Ray hadn’t been so focused on the way those jeans hugged his legs, he might’ve noticed how Sand swallowed hard, trying to compose himself.

By the time Ray’s eyes locked with Sand’s again, he had already decided to play along.

"My room? And for what exactly?" Sand's voice turned teasing, a slow grin spreading across his face, matching Ray's.

Ray chuckled, trying to maintain his suave demeanor. “To talk, of course. Why, what did you have in mind?”

Sand laughed, rolling his eyes in mock disbelief, though the playful tension between them crackled even brighter. “Yeah, of course you want to talk.”

Ray let out a long “Mh,” his voice barely audible over the music. He leaned in close again, lips just inches from Sand’s ear.

“Seriously though, come dance with me?” he asked, more insistent now.

“I meant it when I said no. I don’t know how to dance.”

Second lie.

“Bullshit. You dance all the time on stage.”

Sand felt cornered. “That’s different. I just let the music take over when I’m up there.”

He already knew he’d lost.

“It’s the same thing! Just let the music move you out here too! Come on.”

Sand groaned. “I really don’t feel like dancing. Not in a crowd like this.”

Ray huffed but still kept that amused glint in his eyes.

“You’re so boring. Come on, do it for me,” Ray teased again, his lips curling into yet another smirk.

“For you? Why would I do anything for you? I barely know you,” Sand said, though by this point, he was already standing. The platform shoes he wore for better views at the festival exaggerated their height difference, forcing Ray to look up, something that only added to Sand’s advantage.

But when Ray’s eyes met his, the way the lights reflected in them —so bright, so alive— everything felt different. Inescapable.

“You saw me dancing with that guy earlier, right? He touched me too much, wasn’t really my type.”

“Oh no?” Sand raised an eyebrow.

“Nope. My type is someone else.”

“Like?”

“You.”

Sand’s smirk widened. This was dangerous territory now. The attention, the charm, the magnetism —it was all starting to make him dizzy. After so long without this kind of focus on him, it felt like stepping into a storm.

“I know. You already said that,” Sand teased, poking Ray playfully in the side. Ray’s laugh echoed his own.

“Did I?”

“Mh-hmm. So I’m only dancing with you because your last partner didn’t measure up?”

“No. You’re coming with me because I need protection. And because I’m dying to dance with you.”

As they moved to the rhythm, caught in the crowd, Ray's energy was overwhelming.

Sand felt himself melting into the music, into the beat that echoed in his chest. And whenever Sand glanced around, catching sight of the stranger from earlier, he found himself pulling Ray closer.

Ray alternated between letting loose and grinding into Sand, and soon enough, Sand's head was spinning.

With their foreheads shining from sweat, their bodies tangled together in the chaos, Ray leaned in on his tiptoes to whisper something.

“I’m dying of thirst. Let’s get a drink?”

Even though it was a simple question, the closeness of Ray’s voice, the warmth of his breath against Sand’s ear, sent a shiver down Sand’s spine.

When Ray pulled back, looking at him with innocent eyes, waiting for a reply, Sand found himself saying, “Why don’t we just leave?”

Ray nodded, smiling.

After that, Sand couldn’t tell when or how things escalated.

One minute they were walking back to the hotel, exchanging small talk that felt oddly genuine, like Ray actually wanted to get to know him beyond the surface, beyond the lights and noise.

They had that shared bond —fame— an unspoken understanding of the pressure, the constant scrutiny. For a fleeting moment, Sand wondered if this was all Ray wanted: to talk, to connect in a way no one else could.

But when the elevator doors slid shut, that illusion shattered. Ray was against the wall in an instant, his lips crashing into Sand's with a hunger that neither of them had seen coming.

Ray tasted something bitter, likely from the expensive liquors he still wasn’t used to. But Sand —Sand still tasted like strawberries. That sweet, syrupy flavor lingered on his lips, and it was everything Ray wanted.

By the time the elevator doors slid open again, they didn’t bother to check if anyone was watching.

Hands fumbled over clothes, desperate, unrestrained; Ray’s touch was insistent, burning through the fabric as they stumbled toward Sand’s room.

Sand could feel the heat of Ray’s breath on his skin, could sense the shakiness in his touch, but it wasn’t nerves. No, it was something far more primal, far more dangerous.

Ray’s left hand was buried deep in Sand’s hair, tugging gently, while his right had already slipped under Sand’s shirt, cool fingers tracing patterns over heated skin.

Sand barely registered the door in front of him. His mind had dissolved into nothing but sensation —the warmth of Ray’s body pressed against his, the way his fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. He was lost, completely undone, and the realization that this was only the beginning sent a shock of adrenaline surging through him.

If just this had him so unraveled, then he was in serious trouble.

After what felt like an eternity of fumbling, Sand managed to unlock the door. The second it clicked open, Ray pulled him down, their bodies crashing to the floor in a tangled mess of limbs and breathless laughter.

They sat there for a moment, Ray straddling Sand’s thighs, hands working to free him from his leather jacket and shirt. Sand let him, allowing the cool air to hit his skin as Ray peeled the layers away, leaving him half-naked and exposed, just as he had been hours earlier on the balcony.

But this time, there was no indifference in Ray’s eyes. No, this time Ray looked at him like he was something to be devoured.

Ray paused, eyes raking over Sand’s bare torso as though he were memorizing every inch of him. The way his gaze lingered, the quiet reverence in it, made Sand’s heart stutter.

Ray steadied himself with one hand on Sand’s shoulder, while the other slid slowly across his chest, fingers grazing over goosebumps that sprang to life under the touch. His hand was cool, almost cold against Sand’s burning skin, and it sent a shiver rippling through him.

Sand felt his face heat up under the intensity of Ray’s stare, the flush creeping up his neck and spreading across his cheeks.

To break the tension, he cleared his throat, the sound awkward and forced, but it was enough to pull Ray’s gaze back up to his face. Sand noticed the faint pink hue coloring Ray’s own cheeks, a hint of vulnerability slipping through the cracks in his otherwise confident exterior.

“Well?” Sand’s voice was a low drawl, teasing, as he raised an eyebrow. He didn’t have to say more —Ray knew exactly what he meant.

In response, Ray’s lips curled into a small, mischievous smile, one that made Sand’s heart jump on the spot.

Then, without warning, Sand found himself flat on his back, the soft, expensive carpet cushioning his fall. Ray wasted no time, his lips finding Sand’s lips, diving into an open-mouthed kiss that sent shockwaves of warmth through Sand’s entire body.

As Ray’s mouth moved down to his neck, Sand felt the stress and tension that had been weighing on him for months begin to melt away, dissipating with each touch.

The alcohol still lingered between them, but Sand was no longer thinking about the taste of the cocktails. He was dying to know how Ray really tasted.

The model pulled back for a brief moment, his lips swollen and slick with saliva, their usual glossy perfection now replaced by something raw and real.

His breath was heavy, his eyes dark with want as he looked down at Sand. The sight of Ray like this, disheveled and hungry, sent a wave of desire crashing through Sand.

Ray’s lips returned to Sand’s neck, his tongue flicking out to taste his skin, and his hand instinctively tightened in Ray’s hair, a soft gasp escaping his lips when he felt Ray’s teeth graze the sensitive flesh.

“You can’t leave any marks,” Sand whispered, his voice hoarse, though there was a hint of amusement in it.

“I know,” Ray whispered back, his tongue hot and teasing against Sand’s nipple, causing a shiver to run down Sand’s spine and a quiet whine to escape his lips.

It wasn’t usually something he enjoyed, or rather, let others do to him. He never wanted other people to know how much effect it had on him, but the thought of stopping Ray didn’t even crossed his mind. Especially when he felt Ray grind his erection against his thighs.

Ray’s hand slid further down Sand’s chest, fingers tracing the outline of his accentuated V-line before drifting up to where Sand’s belt rested around his waist. He tugged at it, his movements quick and a little too eager, his fingers fumbling slightly in his haste.

“Wait, come back here pretty boy” Within a second, Ray was again sat right in front of him.

When he pulled him back into a kiss, Sand took control, the dynamic between them shifting in an instant. With a swift movement, Sand flipped them, switching their positions. Ray let out a surprised gasp, his back hitting the carpet with a soft thud, but the grin that spread across his face said he didn’t mind one bit.

“Why are we even on the floor?” Sand asked between kisses, his voice playful, laughter bubbling up as he hovered above Ray.

“The bed’s too far,” Ray muttered against his lips, his own laughter mingling with Sand’s. It was a lie, of course. The bed was right there, within arm’s reach. But the absurdity of it all made them both laugh, the sound of their shared amusement filling the room, cutting through the heated intensity of the moment.

The laughter died down, but the warmth it left in its wake lingered, something soft and genuine settling between them.

Ray’s breath hitched as Sand’s fingers brushed over his bare skin, and soon, soft moans and gasps filled the space between them. Ray was far more vocal than Sand had expected, especially when Sand’s lips found certain spots on his neck.

The way Ray squealed when Sand bit gently into his skin, the way his legs wrapped around Sand’s waist, pulling him closer —it was intoxicating. Endearing and maddening all at once.

Sand could feel the weight of Ray beneath him, the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the way their laughter had given way to something far more primal, far more electric.

And then came the sound Sand would come to dread from that day forward.

A knock at the door.

It wasn’t just a simple knock —it was loud, insistent, almost invasive, cutting through the heat of the moment like ice. The rhythm of it pounded in Sand’s ears, unraveling everything.

Both of them froze, hearts racing, their bodies stiffening in unison, like two guilty kids caught in the act. Their wide, startled eyes met, and in that second, the connection they’d been sinking into shattered.

Sand quickly pulled away, instinctively straightening up as though he’d just been caught doing something he shouldn’t, a flood of adrenaline making his pulse race faster.

“Sand?”

The voice on the other side of the door made him exhale, relief washing over him like a tide. It was just Nick. His best friend. Nothing to worry about.

He swallowed hard, trying to regain composure. “Yeah?” he called out, voice slightly strained, as he cleared his throat and worked to steady himself. It was almost convincing, the way he forced himself to relax, pretending this wasn’t a disaster.

Ray, sensing the shift in Sand’s demeanor, followed his lead. He slouched casually beside him, but there was mischief in his eyes, a defiant sparkle that hadn’t been there seconds before.

His lips quirked into a lazy smile as they found their way back to Sand’s neck, unbothered by the interruption. Soft, wet kisses trailed up his throat, teasing, like they hadn’t just been so rudely interrupted. Ray’s body language was clear: I’m not finished with you yet.

Sand’s hand found its way around Ray’s waist almost reflexively, pulling him closer as if that touch could ground him. His mind, though, was somewhere else, scrambling to process Nick’s words.

“You alright? I’ve been calling you. Thought something happened,” Nick’s voice came again, slightly concerned.

Calling? Sand hadn’t even noticed. He couldn’t remember hearing his phone vibrate, couldn’t recall the sound or feel of it. His focus had been entirely on Ray —the heat between them, the closeness, the electric thrill that left him oblivious to everything else.

He felt his breath hitch, his chest rising and falling faster. It wasn’t nerves, though —no, that was Ray’s fault.

Ray, who was still there, moving to kiss along his jaw, the corners of his mouth, each kiss deliberate, teasing.

“I… I was—” Sand’s voice faltered, caught between a gasp and a word as his mind tried to catch up. Ray was making this impossible, the brush of his lips enough to fog over any coherent thoughts.

“I was in the shower,” he finally blurted out, stumbling over the lie. Ray, hearing it, let out a low chuckle against Sand’s skin. He was enjoying this, thoroughly entertained by Sand’s struggling.

“Right…?” Nick replied, his tone suspicious. “Why are we talking like this? Just open up.”

That snapped Sand back to reality. His heart skipped a beat, and he quickly pushed Ray away, the urgency in his movements clear now. The trance, the haze of lust, was broken.

Ray, always amused, raised an eyebrow, eyes gleaming with mischief as he whispered, “What should I do?”

“Get under the bed!” Sand hissed, casting a desperate glance around the room for his discarded clothes.

He spotted his shirt crumpled on the floor and snatched it up, fumbling with it as he tried to compose himself. But even with the adrenaline pumping, a new panic set in: how was he going to cover the very obvious problem in his pants?

Ray didn’t budge. “What?” he said, half-laughing, half-incredulous.

“Just go!” Sand growled, a note of desperation slipping into his voice. He was barely holding on. Ray, however, was clearly enjoying every second of this.

With a grin, he reluctantly crawled toward the bed, a playful glint in his eye, as if this was all just a game to him. The sight of Ray —grinning, half-dressed, still full of teasing confidence— made Sand want to laugh despite the absurdity of it all. But he didn’t have time.

Quickly, he stripped out of his pants and awkwardly pulled his shirt over his arms, leaving it hanging just in front of where his erection was.

He knew he looked ridiculous, but there was no other option. With a final deep breath, he cracked open the door, keeping his body strategically angled to hide the evidence of what had just happened.

Nick stood on the other side, his brow slightly furrowed, his expression tinged with worry. But the moment he saw Sand standing there, he relaxed.

“You okay?” Nick asked, his eyes scanning Sand’s face for any sign of trouble.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Sand muttered, wishing this conversation would end as quickly as possible.

Nick’s eyes narrowed slightly, his lips twitching in a half-smile. “Was the shower… nice?” he asked, his voice laced with suspicion.

“Yeah, it was fine. Why?”

Nick’s smile grew, playful now. “You’re all red.”

Sand’s stomach dropped. His face flushed even deeper, and he fumbled for a response. In all the years they’d known each other, Sand had never felt more awkward than he did right then, standing half-dressed and caught off-guard.

“I, uh, just... had it really hot,” Sand stammered, but the words sounded weak even to his own ears.

Nick didn’t press further, sensing Sand’s discomfort. “Anyway, we’re heading over to Top’s room. He got some beers and liquor, and we’re gonna watch the sunrise together. You coming?”

The offer hung in the air. On one hand, Sand wanted to go, to escape this awkward situation, to just relax with his friends and forget about the heat still simmering between him and Ray.

But then, there was the undeniable allure of what he’d just left behind —Ray, waiting for him, full of promises and temptation. The choice wasn’t easy.

But he knew he couldn’t refuse. “Yeah, sure. Give me a minute to get dressed, and I’ll join you.”

Nick grinned and clapped Sand on the shoulder. “Alright, man. You know the room, right?” With a final nod, Nick left, and Sand quickly shut the door behind him, leaning against it with a sigh of relief. For a moment, he just stood there, eyes closed, catching his breath.

But then he felt a familiar touch —light, teasing pressure on his leg. He opened his eyes to find Ray kneeling in front of him again, that same sly smile curling his lips.

His shirt was still unbuttoned, the faint red marks from earlier dotting his chest. His hair was messy, a perfect reflection of the chaos they’d left in their wake.

Ray was a sight to behold.

He definitely chose the right career.

“You’re really gonna leave me like this?” Ray’s voice was soft, playful, but there was something deeper in his gaze —something hungry, wanting. He pouted, but Sand could see the remnants of a smirk still lingering on his lips, as if he knew how irresistible he looked.

“I had to say yes,” Sand replied, exasperation creeping into his voice. “Besides, now you can go back to your room and take care of your… problem. I can’t exactly do that.”

Ray’s grin only widened, his fingers tracing a line up Sand’s thigh. “That’s not a problem at all. I can take care of it for you. I’m very good at solving those kinds of problems.” His voice was low, almost a whisper, full of promise.

His touch, so close yet still teasing, made Sand’s mind blur again. A part of him desperately wanted to let Ray prove it, to see just how good he really was. But the rational part of Sand —the part that knew how dangerous this situation could get— fought back.

“No, Ray,” Sand groaned, his voice tinged with regret. “I can’t. Not now. You have to understand.”

Ray sighed dramatically, clearly disappointed. He stood up slowly, his fingers lingering for just a second longer than necessary.

For a brief moment, Sand thought he’d won, that Ray had given in. But just as he began to gather his clothes, Ray was back, pressing against him again, relentless.

“What are you doing?” Sand muttered, rummaging through his closet for something large enough to hide his obvious issue. “I need to get dressed.”

“I have every right to enjoy this version of you as long as I can,” Ray teased, his lips brushing against Sand’s neck again, soft but insistent. “Since you’re making me leave empty-handed.”

Sand laughed despite himself, shaking his head. He didn’t try to fight Ray off this time. Instead, he let himself enjoy it for just a little longer —the way Ray clung to him, the way he didn’t want to let go. It felt strangely comforting, to have someone so present, so insistent on staying close.

When they finally stepped out of the room, Ray was still glued to him, their bodies pressed together as they walked down the hall.

Ray’s arms were wrapped around Sand’s neck, his lips hungrily on Sand’s, always wanting more. Sand pretended to groan in discomfort into the kiss, to push him away, but they both knew he wasn’t going anywhere.

When they reached Ray’s room, it felt oddly natural to stay wrapped around each other like that, standing in front of the door as if it was routine.

Ray’s arms were still looped around Sand’s neck, and Sand’s arms were still holding Ray in place, their bodies and lips pressed together as if they belonged that way.

Neither of them seemed in any rush to part, as though they were caught in a suspended moment that neither of them wanted to end. Sand’s chest rose and fell in sync with Ray’s, their breaths mingling in the narrow space between them.

Even when Ray finally pulled back, his fingers lingering at the nape of Sand’s neck, and told him with a sly smile that he’d better make it up to him, and Sand just nodded.

There was no hesitation, no awkwardness —he simply leaned in and planted one last kiss on Ray’s lips. It was a kiss that spoke volumes, soft yet filled with a quiet promise, a silent understanding passing between them.

The taste of Ray lingered on his lips as he pulled away, a mix of sweetness and something deeper that Sand couldn’t quite define.

It all felt so... normal. Too normal.

And that thought —the strange ease of it, the way everything between them flowed without the usual awkwardness or doubt —embedded itself in Sand’s mind. It was unsettling in its familiarity, a gnawing sensation that something about this was different, and not in the way he was used to.

The door closed softly behind Ray, and yet the feeling didn’t go with it. Instead, it settled, taking root deep in Sand’s chest, refusing to leave him in peace.

The echo of Ray’s presence clung to him, as if his warmth, his touch, had somehow seeped into Sand’s skin.

As Sand turned and made his way down the hallway toward Top’s room, it was as though Ray was still there, walking beside him.

The feeling was too strong, too insistent to shake off.

With every step, the weight of what had just happened, the weight of Ray himself, pressed down on him. His thoughts swirled, a storm of confusion, attraction, desire.

Not even the familiar comfort of his friends could distract him. As he entered Top’s room, the noise of chatter, laughter, and the clinking of beer bottles should have drowned out the incessant hum in his mind.

But it didn’t. He joined them, grabbed a drink, forced himself to smile and laugh along with the others, but it was like his body was on autopilot. Every sip of alcohol did little to dull the sharp edge of his thoughts.

Ray.

It was like the name had branded itself into his consciousness. No matter how much he tried to push it away, it lingered there, stubborn and unyielding.

The more he tried to engage in conversation, the more the image of Ray danced in his mind —the teasing glint in his eyes, the way his lips curled into that maddening smile, the way his body felt pressed so perfectly against Sand’s, like they fit together in some inexplicable way.

The night dragged on, and even when they all moved out to the balcony to watch the sunrise, Sand’s mind refused to quiet.

The sky was painted in hues of gold and lavender, the first rays of sunlight stretching across the horizon, casting everything in a warm glow.  

It was beautiful —breathtaking, even— but Sand couldn’t fully appreciate it. His friends stood beside him, all quietly admiring the view, but Sand? His gaze was far away, lost in thoughts that had nothing to do with the dawn breaking before them.

The only thing Sand could think about was Ray.

Why was he so drawn to him? What was it about Ray that made everything else fade into the background? He didn’t understand it, not fully, but there was no denying the pull. It was like being caught in a gravitational field, impossible to escape, impossible to resist. The intensity of it scared him, because he hadn’t felt anything like this in… well, ever.

Sand had been in situations like this before —fleeting flings, quick thrills that never went anywhere. They were fun in the moment, sure, but they always ended the same way. There was always that awkward promise of “see you around,” a lie that both parties understood and accepted.

It was easy, detached, and forgettable. Sand had always been okay with that. In fact, he’d come to expect it. If something got interrupted, it felt like the universe’s way of saying, This wasn’t meant to be.

And he still believed that. He always would. Interruptions, disruptions —they were signs, right? They meant that whatever was happening wasn’t supposed to go any further.

That was the rule he lived by, the rule that kept him from getting too attached, from falling too hard. He liked it that way. It was simple. Safe.

But Ray was different.

Because when Ray had told him that he’d better make it up to him, Sand hadn’t brushed it off the way he usually would.

It wasn’t a casual, empty agreement made out of politeness, something to smooth over the moment before they both moved on with their lives. No, this time was different.

When Ray had said it, Sand hadn’t just agreed —he believed it. He believed that he would see Ray again, that he wanted to see Ray again. And that scared him more than anything.

In fact, Sand knew, deep down, that this wouldn’t be a one-time thing. It wasn’t a fleeting moment that would be easily forgotten, pushed to the back of his mind like all the others. No, this felt different. It felt bigger, more consuming, like a current that was slowly pulling him under.

Because Ray wasn’t like anyone else. He had a presence that was magnetic, a confidence that bordered on arrogant but never quite crossed the line.

He carried himself like someone who already knew he could get whatever he wanted, who knew that the world would bend to his will eventually. And the terrifying part was that Sand believed him.

Ray didn’t have to ask for things outright —he simply expected them, and people, Sand included, were drawn to that expectation. It made them want to give him what he wanted, to meet those unspoken demands.

As Sand stood there on the balcony, the sun rising higher into the sky, painting everything in soft, golden light, he knew that Ray had already gotten under his skin. And what was worse, he wasn’t even sure he wanted to shake him off.

Because even though a part of him screamed to walk away, to protect himself from whatever this thing with Ray was becoming, another part of him —a louder, more dangerous part— wanted to see what would happen if he didn’t. Wanted to see how far Ray would pull him in. How far he was willing to go.

And the scariest part of all?

He already knew the answer.

Ray had already gotten to him. And Sand would do whatever Ray asked of him. No question. No hesitation.

Because Ray was just… different.

Chapter Text

As soon as the doors clicked shut, Ray felt an overwhelming surge of emotion well up inside him, a force so powerful he had to fight against his every instinct not to scream.

His body felt like it was vibrating with barely contained energy, his pulse racing, his skin tingling. He collapsed onto the soft carpet, his knees giving way beneath him as if they too were caught in the rush.

Laughter bubbled up from somewhere deep in his chest, spilling out uncontrollably, his body shaking as he curled up on the floor, rolling over in sheer glee. His face hurt from smiling so hard, but he didn’t care. This moment was too big, too impossible, too real.

The words tumbled out of his mouth, the same phrase on repeat, as if saying it aloud would make it stick in reality: “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it.”

His voice was a mix of wonder and disbelief, the words growing louder and louder until they echoed in the empty room. He muttered it to himself as he sat up, then again as he rose to his feet, pacing furiously back and forth.

His hands ran through his hair, tugging at it, trying to channel all that adrenaline into something physical. His whole body was buzzing, too small a container for the joy threatening to spill out.

Ray flung himself onto the bed, face buried in the pillow to muffle a scream of release. His heart was pounding so hard in his chest that it almost hurt, as though it were trying to break free from the confines of his ribcage.

He flipped onto his back, staring up at the ceiling, eyes wide and unfocused, feeling the weight of what had just happened settle over him.

Every breath felt like fire in his lungs, his chest rising and falling as if he’d just run a marathon. He pressed a hand over his heart as if to keep it from leaping out. The world was spinning, and yet everything had come into a sharp, crystal-clear focus.

He was dizzy with happiness.

And yet, despite all that excitement, he hadn’t even thought about the problem in his pants, too caught up in this wild whirlwind of emotions to notice or care.

His thoughts were a tangled mess, his mind racing from one fragment to the next. He grabbed his phone, his fingers trembling as he fumbled to unlock it.

There was only one person he needed to talk to, one person who could understand the magnitude of what had just happened.

Before he hit the call button, he paused, mind whirring as he quickly did the time-zone math. Three in the morning here means nine in the morning in Thailand. A wave of relief washed over him.

He knew Mew would be awake. Mew was always up early.

He exhaled deeply, trying to calm the frantic pounding of his heart, then initiated the video call.

The seconds that passed while the screen rang felt like an eternity, but when the call connected and Mew’s face appeared, Ray’s grin only grew wider.

There he was, standing in his bathroom, wrapped in a towel, droplets of water still clinging to his skin, his hair wet and messy from the shower. Mew hadn’t even had time to put on his glasses yet. He must have propped the phone up on the sink, just as Ray had imagined he would.

“Mew!” Ray practically shouted his best friend’s name, his voice vibrating with so much excitement that it made Mew blink in surprise. Before Mew could even open his mouth, Ray rushed on. “Mew, you have no idea what just happened!”

He was pacing again, walking in circles around his room like a madman, unable to stand still. His legs felt like they were made of pure energy, refusing to calm down, as if every step might propel him into flight.

“Ray?” Mew sounded puzzled but also amused, his lips twitching into a smile. “Isn’t it the middle of the night where you are? What are you still doing awake?” Despite his initial confusion, Mew couldn’t help but be infected by Ray’s excitement. The energy was contagious, and Ray’s joy was shining so brightly that Mew couldn’t help but smile too. “What’s going on? Why are you so happy?”

Ray’s heart leapt in his chest, and he felt his throat tighten with anticipation. The words spilled out, fast and breathless, like he couldn’t get them out quickly enough. “Mew! It finally happened! Sand and I!”

Mew’s eyes widened in disbelief. He froze, mouth hanging open, and then snatched the phone off the sink, bringing it closer to his face. “What? Are you serious, Ray? What happened? Tell me everything!”

Ray collapsed back onto his bed, lying on his back as he burst into giggles, unable to contain the flood of emotions coursing through him.

And then, in between breathless laughs, he began to recount everything that had happened, from the first time they met, to discovering they had rooms next to each other, to the flirty conversations on the balcony, and finally, the night that had led them to this very moment.

He told Mew everything —every glance, every touch, every word exchanged. The words came out in a rush, as if speaking them was the only way to make them feel real.

As he recounted the story, Mew listened with a mix of awe and happiness, his disbelief slowly turning into pure joy. He hadn’t seen Ray this happy in… forever.

He could remember all the times Ray had dragged him to Yolo just to watch Sand perform, standing in the shadows, too scared to approach. All the times Mew had urged him to go and talk to Sand but Ray wasn’t as confident as he is now. And now, Ray had lived his dream —something Mew had honestly never thought possible.

When Ray finally finished, almost two hours later, he let out a long, dreamy sigh, his body sinking deeper into the mattress. “I’m so mad, Mew. If it hadn’t been for his bandmate showing up, I’d probably be asleep in his arms right now.” His voice was soft, wistful, filled with the kind of longing he hadn’t realized had been building up.

Mew chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Don’t dwell on it, Ray. You’ll have more chances. Trust me.”

Ray nodded, a sleepy smile tugging at his lips. He stretched out, his body finally starting to relax. “I hope so, Mew. Oh my god, look at the time! It’s almost five in the morning!” He glanced at the clock, laughing in disbelief. “I should probably get some sleep. I have a photoshoot and an interview later today… You know, I’m representing Burberry this week.”

“Yeah, you mentioned it.” Mew smiled warmly. “You better get some rest. We’ll talk later, okay?”

Ray nodded, already heading towards the bathroom to clean up. But just before he hung up, Mew’s voice called out to him again. “Ray?”

Ray turned back, glancing over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“I’m really happy to see you like this. I haven’t seen you this happy in a long time.”

Ray froze, his heart suddenly squeezing in his chest. Mew’s words hit him harder than he expected, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak. The way Mew was looking at him, with so much care and love, almost broke him.

“I… me too,” Ray whispered, his voice barely audible. Then, with a small smile, he blew a kiss toward the screen and ended the call.

An hour later, Ray was lying in his bed, freshly showered, the scent of his expensive bath products filling the air around him. He sank into the pillows, feeling the softness envelop him. The sky outside had started to brighten, the first hints of dawn peeking through the windows. And despite the exhaustion tugging at his body, his mind was still wide awake.

He found himself staring out at the sky, thinking of Sand. He wondered if Sand was doing the same, watching the sunrise with his friends.

Had Sand thought of him at all? Or was what happened between them just a fleeting moment, already forgotten?

Ray closed his eyes, but all he could see was Sand —his smile, his touch, the sensation of finally knowing how soft his lips actually were, his body shaking while recalling Sand referring to him as pretty boy…

Involuntarily —or almost—, his hand found his back to his boxers, and Ray wasn’t surprised to realize he was already half-hard, the simple thought of Sand being able to arouse him to that point.

Before giving it too much thought, Ray slightly opened his legs and bent them to position himself better, and started stroking himself thinking, of course, about Sand.

He threw his head back as he tried recalling Sand’s weight on him, imagined his big yet gentle hands caressing his skin, exploring his own body like the singer was doing not so long ago.

As his breath grew slower and deeper, he brought his free hand to his mouth, his tongue hesitantly wetting his fingers before caressing his chest with it, imagining they were Sand’s wet lips on his skin.

Then he focused back on his hand stroking him, he was fully hard and the sound of his hand around his length becoming wetter as seconds passed by.

If that weren’t his hand but Sand’s hand, what would it feel like? If, even better, it were his mouth, what would that feel like?

His shaky and unsteady breaths were the only sound echoing in that room along with the slimy one coming from his boxers. Even if he couldn’t really imagine Sand doing all that, he could view him sat on the edge on the bed, looking at Ray with his seductive eyes while letting the model take care of himself, desperately wanting the singer there with him.

As he felt his legs slightly tremble, he directed his dick towards his chest, not wanting to make a mess and not having the energy to change the bed sheets either.

When he drove himself off the edge, Sand’s name rolled out of his tongue, his name slipping from his lips like a secret, like pure poetry. “Sand…” The sound echoed gently in the empty room as the city outside slowly woke up.

Ray, exhausted but content, reached for the tissues by his nightstand to clean his hands, and threw his expensive shirt into a corner of the room.

It felt wrong, maybe even unfair, to think about Sand so intensely, but he just couldn’t help it. It was as if every image of him was etched behind his eyelids.

When Ray finally drifted off to sleep, his dreams were filled with images of that night, of Sand. And when he woke up just a few hours later, surrounded by the busy hum of his staff preparing his breakfast, his first thought was still Sand.

With a sleepy smile, Ray grabbed his phone and sent a quick message to Sand. Then, with a hurried glance at the discarded shirt on the floor, he quickly cleaned up the evidence of the night before, not wanting anyone else to know just how deeply Sand had affected him.

Sand woke up only a couple of hours after Ray, already feeling the looming weight of what would be a chaotic day. The agenda was packed: a string of interviews, each one demanding that he prepare, study the questions, and carefully craft his answers.

To most people, interviews seemed spontaneous, like candid conversations, but Sand knew better. Beyond a few moments of genuine improvisation, artists were typically handed scripts —a list of questions, the expected ones and the polished responses they were supposed to give.

But today, for reasons even he couldn’t quite put his finger on, Sand had delayed preparing. Now, here he was, lying in bed, a cup of tasteless hotel coffee in one hand, the interview script crumpled in the other, his body still half-asleep.

His eyelids were heavy, reluctant to open fully, and the dim morning light filtering through the curtains only made him feel more sluggish.

The truth was, it wasn’t just sleep that had eluded him the night before —it was his thoughts. As soon as his head hit the pillow, his mind had been flooded, racing over and over the same few things.

His life, the phase he was in, the uncertain path ahead. But most of all, Ray.

Ray had taken root in his thoughts, refusing to let go. The memory of him was stubborn, lingering, and the more Sand tried to push it away, the more it tightened its hold. How had Ray, in the span of one day, managed to occupy his mind so completely?

Sand didn’t want to fall into his usual pattern of overthinking.

He was used to getting carried away by his own thoughts, to falling down the rabbit hole of analyzing every detail, comparing it to the past, predicting where it might go wrong. He had a tendency to set himself up for disappointment, guarding his heart too closely. And that’s why Ray scared him.

Ray was unpredictable, unlike anyone Sand had ever met.

The sheer intensity of his attraction to Ray terrified him. It was unlike anything he had felt before.

He had been drawn to others in the past, sure, but this —this was different. Ray had a gravitational pull that Sand couldn’t escape, as if he was being tugged along against his will. 

What scared him more was how fast it all had happened. In just one day, Ray had managed to unravel everything Sand thought he knew about himself, and that feeling of losing control shook him to the core.

Sand had come up with a few explanations during those sleepless hours:

First: He was dreaming, caught in a bizarrely long, vivid dream he couldn’t wake from.

Second: He was under some sort of spell. Something otherworldly had to be involved because no one should have this much power over him.

The third, the one that his tired, overthinking brain finally settled on —the one that, strangely, brought him the most comfort— was that Sand hadn’t had sex in a long time, and Ray just so happened to be the most stunning guy he had ever laid eyes on. The fact that Ray seemed to be interested in him only intensified the attraction.

It was simple, right? Just physical attraction.

Sand convinced himself that maybe all he needed was one night with Ray.

Just one night to get it out of his system, and then he could go back to normal, back to his carefully guarded world. No more obsessive thoughts, no more wandering mind, no more of Ray invading every corner of his consciousness.

But deep down, Sand knew it wasn’t that simple, and that Ray wouldn’t have made it easy for him either.

The whole day, that unsettling truth gnawed at him. It was there when they touched up his makeup for the first interview, there when he tried to focus on memorizing his answers.

It was there, persistent and unwanted.

And then, during a rare break, Sand decided to check his phone for the first time that morning.

Two messages from Ray.

His stomach tightened the moment he saw Ray’s name on the screen. There was something electric in the anticipation, something that made his pulse quicken. Without thinking, Sand tapped on the messages, even though he wasn’t sure he was ready for what Ray had to say.

The messages had been sent five hours earlier.

thee.raypakorn :

Good morning, handsome.

Want to know what I did last night in my room?

The air seemed to thicken around Sand. His throat constricted. He blinked at the message, feeling the weight of each word. His mind immediately jumped to all the possibilities, each one making his heart race faster.

He lowered his phone, glancing into the mirror where his makeup artist was still working on his hair, oblivious to the turmoil happening inside Sand.

Good.

He needed a second to breathe, to think.

Sand got up under the pretense of needing to use the bathroom, but really, all he needed was space to process the surge of emotions that message had caused.

Leaning against the cold sink in the small, sterile bathroom, Sand stared at his phone, reading and rereading Ray’s message like his life depended on it.

What the hell was Ray playing at?

Sand quickly typed a reply, trying to sound nonchalant even though his heart was pounding in his chest.

I’m about to start an interview.

I don’t need your nonsense right now.

The reply came almost immediately.

Nonsense?

What’s wrong?

Afraid I’ll distract you?

Sand let out a sharp breath through his nose. He was already distracted, thanks to Ray.

“No, and I just don’t need to know the details, thanks,” he typed, hoping that would be the end of it.

But he could already picture that sly grin on Ray’s face, the playful spark in his eyes as he read the message.

Ray’s response was brief, but somehow even more maddening:

thee.raypakorn:

Okay, if you say so.

Just know that when I came I moaned your name

Oh, he hated Ray so much.

Sand stared at the screen, waiting for something more, unsure if he even wanted it. His heart was still racing when the final message popped up, the one that completely unsettled him.

“Think about me during the interview.”

Sand didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. Ray was already on his mind, whether he liked it or not.

Chapter Text

The day had proven to be far more draining than Sand had anticipated. Every interview, every smiling face, and every carefully crafted answer had taken a toll on him.

Now, as evening fell, they were down to their final interview, this time with Vanity Fair. Normally, Sand enjoyed interviews with them; there was always an air of sophistication and warmth that helped him relax.

The interviewers were kind, professional, and never pried too deeply into personal matters —until tonight, it seemed.

As Sand breathed a quiet sigh of relief, believing they’d just finished answering the last question, the young interviewer cleared her throat, her eyes gleaming with curiosity.

“Sand! Before we wrap up, I have just one more question for you.”

That was odd.

His heart stuttered. This wasn’t planned, and anything unplanned made his stomach flip.

He forced a smile onto his face, the one he had perfected after years in the spotlight, and gestured for her to go ahead. But inside, a sense of dread was building, a knot of unease twisting tighter with each passing second.

“I imagine after the exclusive celebrity after-party last night, someone caught a rather candid moment. A picture was taken on the street that appears to show you and the famous model, Ray Pakorn, walking together.”

Sand felt the blood drain from his face, and his heart raced in response. His gaze darted to his bandmates, silently begging for some sort of backup, but all he got were wide-eyed stares in return.

Then, as if to seal his fate, the interviewer slid a photo across the table, placing it directly in front of him.

The image was grainy, taken from a distance, but there was no mistaking it —it was him and Ray, walking side by side, laughing like it was the most natural thing in the world.

His heart skipped a beat, and suddenly, he couldn’t think. Memories of the night before flooded his mind, but he quickly pushed them down. This wasn’t the time for that.

He had to stay calm. He had to be rational. He could almost feel his manager’s eyes boring into him, silently urging him to be careful. The press was always looking for an angle, always hoping for the next big story. They would twist anything he said into headlines if he wasn’t careful.

“The photo hasn’t been posted on social media yet,” the interviewer continued, her smile saccharine sweet but her eyes sharp, “but we wanted to give you a chance to comment on it first.”

Sand forced himself to breathe, though his chest felt tight. “Ray and I are friends,” he began, praying his voice sounded steady.

“In fact, we met for the first time at this festival. It turns out we’re staying at the same hotel, so we bumped into each other a few times. We ran into each other again at the party, and since we were both heading back, we decided to walk together. It’s nice to have a fellow countryman around when you’re far from home.”

He paused for a breath, realizing he had been speaking too quickly. “I’m really glad I finally got to know him.”

Every word felt like an anchor holding him down, heavy and rehearsed. His mind, however, was anything but calm.

It played over every moment he’d shared with Ray —Ray’s smile, his laugh, the ease with which they’d connected in that short walk.

Sand glanced nervously at their manager, waiting for the unspoken approval. Their manager gave him a small, reassuring nod, and Sand exhaled, the weight on his chest easing just a little. It was over. At least, for now.

The interviewer beamed, seemingly satisfied with his response. “Well, we’re certainly excited about this new friendship. Hopefully, we’ll be seeing more of you two together in the future.”

When the interview finally ended, the tension still lingered in Sand’s body. Even as they wrapped up and left the studio, all he could think about was how relieved he was that they hadn’t done anything else while walking back to the hotel the night before.

If they had, the situation could have spiraled out of control. His mind replayed the moment over and over as they piled into the van, heading out for dinner with the rest of the team.

The silence in the van was suffocating. Sand could feel his bandmates’ eyes on him, heavy with unspoken questions. It wasn’t the usual camaraderie he was used to. Instead, it felt like they were all waiting for him to say something, to confess, or maybe to explain something he hadn’t even fully processed himself.

Their whispers were empty, meaningless words that filled the space but held no real conversation. The tension hung in the air, thick and palpable. Sand’s skin prickled with it until he couldn’t take it anymore.

“What’s going on?” he blurted out, louder than he intended. The van fell into an awkward silence, and for a moment, no one spoke. Finally, Top, always the most direct, broke the tension.

“To be honest, Sand,” Top began, his voice tinged with disappointment, “I’m kind of upset. You met someone as big as Ray Pakorn, and you didn’t think to mention it to us?”

Sand’s frustration flared, hot and immediate. “Is that really important? I met someone. So what? Just because it’s Ray Pakorn, does that suddenly make it newsworthy? We crossed paths and talked. That’s it.” His voice grew sharper, but he tried to rein it in, to not let his irritation get the better of him.

“You don’t get what we mean,” Jim added, his voice calm but serious.

“Then tell me!” Sand challenged, his voice rising. “Since when do I need to tell you every time I meet someone?”

“You do if they’re famous,” Top said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Sand’s brow furrowed in confusion. Was that really what this was about? Fame? Was Ray Pakorn just a name to them? Not an actual person?

He glanced at Nick, who looked just as lost as he felt. Sand didn’t respond. He didn’t know what to say.

He had always prided himself on staying grounded, never letting fame cloud his judgment. He thought the rest of the group felt the same way.

They’d all struggled to make it to where they were, scraping by with just enough to survive. They had been bonded by those shared hardships. They had been desperate together. But now, it seemed like fame was starting to create cracks in that bond.

By the time they reached the restaurant, the tension was still there, unresolved and heavy. Sand excused himself to the bathroom, needing a moment to breathe. He pulled out his phone, the cool glass comforting against his palm, and sent a quick message to Ray.

“During the Vanity Fair interview, they showed me a photo of us walking back to the hotel last night.”

When Sand finally returned to the hotel later that night, he was still in a sour mood. Maybe he should have confronted his friends, tried to talk it out, but he knew how those conversations ended. They would argue, tempers would flare, and they would say things they didn’t mean.

Instead, Sand took a long shower, letting the hot water wash away the tension that had built up over the day. When he was done, he pulled on his pajamas and checked his phone again, hoping for a distraction. To his relief, Ray had responded.

thee.raypakorn:

What do you mean?

We were photographed?

What did they ask you?

What did you say?

Ray’s anxiety was palpable even through the screen, and Sand could feel his own heart beat a little faster.

They asked if I had anything to say

I told them we met at the festival because we’re staying at the same hotel

I said we ran into each other at the party and walked back together

I told them we’re friends

Typing that word felt strange, somehow more vulnerable than saying it aloud. He hit send and waited, watching the screen.

Ray didn’t respond right away. Sand could only imagine what was going through his mind —was he discussing it with his team? Planning some kind of damage control?

“I was careful with what I said,” Sand typed out quickly.

You know how they twist our words

I wanted to tell you because I thought it was only fair

The photo will probably come out with the interview

Luckily, we were just walking

Only after those extra reassurances did Ray finally open the chat.

thee.raypakorn:

Thanks

And I’m sorry

It must’ve caught you off guard

Thanks for letting me know

Ray’s calm, collected response soothed some of the anxiety that had been gnawing at Sand all day.

No problem

The conversation seemed to end there, and Sand debated whether he should just turn off his phone and try to sleep. But before he could stop himself, he typed another message.

Are you in your room?

The second the message was sent, he regretted it. His heart skipped a beat, his mind filling with the fear that he sounded too needy, too desperate. He moved to delete the message, but Ray had already responded.

thee.raypakorn

Unfortunately for you, I won’t be back in my room tonight

I’m out trying on outfits for the final days of the festival

Do you miss me already?

Sand let out a small laugh, more out of relief than anything else. It wasn’t that he missed Ray, exactly. It was more that Ray was the perfect distraction from the chaos swirling around him.

You’d like that, wouldn’t you?

Very much

Sand smiled to himself, the tension easing from his shoulders. With a sigh, he turned off his phone and finally allowed himself to drift off to sleep, Ray’s last message lingering in his mind like a soft echo.

Tomorrow was another day —a day of performances, of fans, of cameras. But for now, at least, Sand could let himself rest.

When he woke up the next day, that strange feeling still lingered, heavy and persistent.

He had thought it was just a fleeting moment of weakness, something a good night’s sleep would sweep away. But as the morning light filtered through the curtains, casting long shadows on the walls, the weight in his chest hadn’t lessened. It had only solidified, sinking deeper into him, wrapping around his heart like a vice.

It’ll pass, he told himself. It had to.

He went through the motions —breakfast, meeting the group— but nothing felt right. The atmosphere was different today, like that little fight never happened.

But the change around him didn’t compare to the storm brewing inside. Every breath felt heavier, every smile harder to maintain.

It’ll pass.

But the hours slipped by like sand through his fingers, and the feeling only worsened, each passing second adding to the weight pressing down on his chest. Sand couldn’t pinpoint the reason.

Today should have been a good day —a celebration even. Why, then, did he feel so utterly unbalanced, as if something inside him was fraying at the edges?

What was wrong with him?

He clenched his fists, trying to ground himself in the present.

I’ll be fine. He always was. He’d go up on that stage, let the music carry him, and by the end of it, everything would be back to normal. It always worked before.

It’ll pass.

And for a moment, it did.

The stage felt like a sanctuary, an hour of bliss where the world faded away and it was just him and the music.

For a brief, fleeting moment, he thought he had found some semblance of peace. His voice soared, each note carrying him higher, lifting him out of the dark cloud that had been suffocating him all day. Maybe he even sang with a power he hadn’t realized he had.

But the moment the lights dimmed and the crowd's applause died down, the weight came crashing back, heavier than before.

He wanted to cry. The urge swelled inside him like a tidal wave threatening to break free, but instead, he forced a smile —one that didn’t reach his eyes— and went through the post-show routine. He hugged his bandmates, feeling their warmth but not quite connecting with it. It felt distant, like he was watching everything happen from the outside.

“I’m just tired,” he mumbled, offering a weak excuse before stepping away from the group.

Nick, always intuitive, pulled him into a tight hug. “Rest, okay? We’ll talk later,” he whispered. The concern in his voice was palpable, and for a split second, Sand felt the prick of tears behind his eyes, but he blinked them away.

The others decided to stay for the headliner performance, their excitement barely reaching him through the haze clouding his mind. He made his way back to the hotel alone, each step feeling heavier than the last, like he was trudging through quicksand.

When he got to his room, the feeling still hadn’t passed.

It’ll pass, he repeated, almost like a mantra now, though the words were starting to lose their meaning.

His chest tightened with frustration, with helplessness, and he leaned his head against the cool surface of the door, closing his eyes. He felt like he was on the verge of breaking, his composure slipping.

A knock on the door startled him out of his thoughts.

For a second, he wanted to ignore it. He was so tired of everything —of people, of pretending. But then, a voice broke through the silence.

“Sand?”

Ray.

He opened the door without hesitation, and before he could process what was happening, he had already pulled Ray inside, closing the door behind them.

There was a charged moment of silence as they stood there, staring at each other. Ray looked surprised —his eyes wide, his lips parted slightly as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. Maybe it was the way Sand was looking at him, eyes searching, desperate, silently begging for something he couldn’t name.

And then, without another thought, Sand closed the space between them, crashing his lips into Ray’s in a kiss that was anything but gentle.

It was raw, hungry, filled with all the emotions he had bottled up. It was a way to shut off his mind, to drown out the noise, the confusion, the crushing weight of everything.

Ray responded in kind, pulling Sand closer, deepening the kiss until Sand felt like he was floating.

The room, the world outside —it all faded. All that existed was Ray, his warmth, his taste, his touch.

Sand hadn’t had a single drop of alcohol, but his head felt light for the first time all day. His thoughts, which had been running wild, finally stilled. For a brief, beautiful moment, he wasn’t thinking about anything at all.

Sand walked backwards, his lips never leaving Ray’s, his hands never leaving Ray’s body.

When he felt the wooden structure behind him, he switched their positions and let Ray fall onto the bad, a sly smile painting his face.

Still desperate for something that would make him feel alive, they stripped without much thought, Ray’s far-too-expensive clothes getting thrown on the ground, forgotten on that antique carpet.

Sand didn’t know what changed that night, what felt different, but Ray seemed as desperate as he was.

When Sand drew a straight line along Ray’s torso, making sure to taste the saltiness of his skin as well and stopped where nothing but the Calvin Klein’s underwear were covering Ray’s bulge, the model quickly stopped him.

He got on his elbows and looked down on him while Sand was forced to look up.

Ray seemed fragile from that prospective, he was painted a deep red, almost as red as his puffed lips. But he still had that pleading look, that burning fire that was the main reason Sand even got to that point.

“What?” he asked, his voice low and rough, the skin on the model’s thighs covering with goosebumps.

“I..” he began, and as he tried to come up with a full sentence, Sand left a chaste kiss on that black fabric.

Ray gasped at that, his left hand quickly reaching for Sand’s hair and leaving caresses, not only in between that softness but on his face as well. A gesture that passed the goosebumps on Sand’s skin.

“Let’s skip that for today, please. I feel like i won’t last at all and I want to enjoy it” Ray blurted out all at once, looking embarrassed right after.

Sand laughed at the sudden shyness, Ray’s confidence seemed to have completely dissipated, leaving behind a vulnerable version of him. This version of him soothed his shaken heart even more.

The singer was deeply appreciating the way all this was making him feel: confident, content, carefree… normal.

He immediately proposed him to get on all four. That was the only position in which Sand had sex with strangers. Not seeing how their faces looked during such a moment created a sort of barrier between the two parties, and it was something he felt he needed the most with Ray.

The arch of his back was immediate, his body responding before his mind could catch up. It felt instinctive, the way his spine curved upward, almost as if seeking more contact, more closeness.

The sensation made his head spin, a dizzying rush that left him breathless. A tremor ran through him, subtle but undeniable, his muscles quivering beneath the weight of his own anticipation.

Sand hovered over him, close enough that he could feel Ray’s shaky breaths. He paused for a moment, his presence both grounding and overwhelming at once.

Then, with a tenderness that contrasted the tension coiling in the air, Sand leaned in, his lips brushing against skin in soft, fleeting kisses.

Each kiss was like a spark —gentle but searing, sending shivers down his spine. There was a slow, deliberate care in the way Sand moved, as if savoring the moment, as if each kiss was meant to calm the tremors coursing through him, to ground him in the now.

But the effect was the opposite —each touch only made the world blur more, each kiss drawing him deeper into the haze, making his head spin even faster.

And when Sand stripped Ray of his underwear, he savored the peaceful feeling of Ray’s hot skin before looking at his naked back.

Ray was, as expected, perfect in every way. Even his ass was perfectly round, and as Sand discovered immediately after, it was even softer than he had imagined.

He took his time admiring, exploring it with his eyes, getting help from his fingers and tongue. Ray was a moaning mess, and a leaking one as well. There was a wet spot on the sheets getting bigger as the seconds passed by.

“Please, Sand. I’m going insane”

Sand smiled on his limp skin.

“I wanted you to enjoy it. I want to enjoy what I’m seeing as well” He whispered, sure that his words reached Ray.

“I’ll make sure there will be more occasions for that. Now, please, just hurry up”

Sand chuckled, his hands already reaching for his wallet abandoned on the nightstand, where there should have been a couple condoms.

“As you wish, young master” With that, the tearing of the small plastic package echoed through the walls, as if it were an announcement. Ray’s head shot to the side, his face hungrily admiring the way Sand lowered his underwear, the way his erection almost jumped out of that cage made out of fabric, the grunt that left his lips as he stroked himself a couple times before wearing that condom.

All that while never leaving Ray’s gaze.

“Are you ready?” Sand asked, Ray was only able to nod, his head spinning from excitement.

Just when he felt like he was being stretched open just by the tip, he knew Sand was going to do it slowly as to not hurt him. So Ray pushed backwards, the collision being harder than he had anticipated, a tear immediately running down his cheek as he whined in pain.

As soon as Sand started moving, the both of them officially, and completely lost any ability to think straight.

This was definitely the right choice, thought Sand. Ray was warm and perfect for him, his cries and begging were music to his hears, a melody he knew he would have dreamed of.

The world felt distant, muted, as though there was nothing beyond the two of them, nothing beyond this moment.

Sand’s mouth was watering at how Ray had so perfectly arched his back, his face smashed into the bed whilst his back was still at his waist’s height, making the motions easier for Sand.

“So beautiful” He muffled in between his own moans, Ray’s whiny sounds growing louder immediately after.

The singer groped the asscheeks in between in hands, spreading them wider, admiring the way he was going in and out of Ray with such ease, the way the skin was turning red around his fingers, the way Ray was melting onto those expensive sheets.

“Sand, I’m so close” Ray cried while trying to steady himself with his elbows. In that moment Sand slowed his pace, his thrusts becoming more moderate yet deeper.

He took Ray by his shoulders, helping him get up. Ray leaned back until his back met Sand’s chest. He didn’t have much space to turn, and didn’t even want to try and kiss him in that uncomfortable position, so he stayed still.

Fortunately for him, Sand seemed to have caught on that. As one hand reached for Ray’s dick, his mouth started a trail from his ear lobe, all the way up to his shoulder.

Ray hugged his arms backwards, around Sand’s waist, as to ensure that he was actually behind him. When he came on the singer’s hand, Sand’s name rolled out of his tongue just like it did when he was alone in his room.

He also felt a sudden warmth spreading from Sand’s own come, the detached sensation making him annoyed at the layer of latex separating them in the most intimate place.

Sand held him tight as he slightly convulsed from the after-shock, the singer’s arms hugging him from behind, a hand resting right where Ray’s heart was beating at full speed.

After that, it was like the world turned dark.

When Sand woke up the next morning, the sun was already peeking through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room. He blinked groggily, his body feeling deliciously heavy from sleep, and turned to see Ray already awake, watching him with a dreamy, almost serene look in his eyes.

Ray’s hand was resting close to Sand’s face, and for a second, Sand wondered if Ray had been caressing him while he slept —tracing the lines of his face, brushing his hair away. It was an intimate thought, one that made his heart stir in a way that surprised him.

Ray was propped up on one elbow, his face still slightly puffy from sleep, his cheeks a soft pink that made him look impossibly innocent. His hair was a mess, strands sticking up in every direction, and Sand couldn’t help but smile at the sight. It was such a stark contrast to the cool, composed version of Ray the world usually saw.

Without thinking, Sand buried his face deeper into the mattress, trying to hide the smile that tugged at his lips.

He heard Ray chuckle, the sound soft and warm, and then the bed shifted as Ray moved closer.

“What’s so funny?” Ray’s voice was gentle, amused. Sand still couldn’t see him, his face buried in the mattress, but he could feel Ray’s gaze on him, hear the smile in his voice.

He turned over, finally facing Ray, and was surprised by just how close Ray was. Their faces were inches apart, and Ray’s arm was draped lazily over Sand’s back, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Sand could only see his eyes, bright and alive in the morning light, and in contrast to the day before, Sand didn’t wake up with that crushing weight in his chest.

“Good morning,” Sand whispered, his voice still thick with sleep.

Ray laughed softly, leaning in to press a kiss to Sand’s shoulder, his lips lingering against the skin. “Good morning,” he murmured back, his voice low and full of affection.

Sand rolled onto his side, and Ray took the opportunity to nestle into his arms, fitting perfectly against Sand’s body. It felt comforting, the warmth of Ray’s skin against his, the steady rise and fall of his breath.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say much yesterday, or if anything seemed sudden and rushed” Sand muttered, the words slipping out  before he could stop them. He felt Ray lift his head, those deep brown eyes searching his face.

“Were you stressed?” Ray asked softly.

Sand nodded, his throat tightening at the memory of how overwhelmed he had felt.

“And now?”

Sand exhaled slowly, his hand finding its way to the back of Ray’s neck, his fingers threading through the messy strands of hair. “I feel better.”

Ray gave him a small smile before tucking himself back into Sand’s chest, his breath warm against Sand’s skin. “I’m glad I could help,” he whispered.

“Can we sleep a little longer?” Sand asked after a moment, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m still tired.”

Ray chuckled again, his breath sending shivers across Sand’s skin. “Yeah… I’m tired too.”

They stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s warmth, and for the first time in days, Sand finally felt at peace.

That would have been a problem.

Chapter Text

The festival in England had ended far better than anyone could have imagined.

By the Beach left with a whirlwind of new fame, a fresh wave of fans eagerly awaiting their next performances, and a rising tide of expectations for the music they had yet to release.

It all felt surreal, like a dream teetering on the edge of disbelief. Every time the band thought they’d reached the pinnacle of their career, fate had a way of lifting them even higher, carrying them on a current of success that seemed unstoppable.

The article —along with the now infamous photo of Sand and Ray— had sparked a firestorm on social media. But instead of the scandal they’d anticipated, the reaction was shockingly supportive.

People wholeheartedly believed Sand's explanation, and beyond a few hopeful voices wishing to see them officially together —maybe in some interviews—, there was no malicious gossip, no sensationalized rumors. Just an initial buzz about their friendship.

From there, they moved on to Germany and then Poland —the latter being a gritty, rock-focused event. The weeks between festivals stretched into a little over a month, and as the days slipped into late July, By the Beach found themselves at their third-to-last show: France.

During that month, Sand had met with Ray more times than he was willing to admit, and though the reasons were always the same, it was Sand who initiated the physical meetings each time. He’d shoot a message, asking Ray to come to his room or directly appearing in front of his hotel’s room. He didn’t need explanation for that, the reason behind it was always the same: have sex.

Their conversations, if you could call them that, were fleeting. Surface-level. They never delved into anything meaningful, never really talked.

Flirting had become a habit, something almost automatic, and their physical connection seemed to be the only real form of communication between them. Even the idea of foreplay had become irrelevant. They always jumped straight to the point, not even allowing themselves some kind of real teasing.

These were boundaries Sand had imposed, walls he’d built between them to protect himself, though Ray never seemed to question them.

He complied without complaint, never pushing for more, as if he understood the unspoken rules and agreed to them. The model, for his part, seemed content —at least on the surface.

Their arrangement had become a mutual release, a way for both of them to unwind in the chaos of their lives. It was as if they had found exactly what they needed in each other at just the right moment. Ray’s body had a way of quieting the storm in Sand’s mind with a simple touch, and after they’d been together, Sand would always feel lighter, his burdens momentarily forgotten.

But that’s all it was: a temporary escape. There was no need for labels, no deeper relationship to be built. Not even friendship. They just had an incredible chemistry in bed. And even that, though explosive, was blocked by Sand, as if it were a flower the singer was preventing from blooming.

If someone asked Sand and he would have to be brutally honest, he wouldn’t even call Ray a friend.

He knew almost nothing about him —what he liked, what he hated, what made him tick. He didn’t know Ray’s story or his dreams. The only thing Sand knew intimately was the way Ray’s body would arch perfectly beneath him, how his name sounded when it tumbled from Ray’s lips in breathless gasps, and the way he sometimes refused to pull away from their kisses, as if clinging to a moment neither wanted to end.

But that wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to call Ray a friend, and certainly not anything more. Sand preferred it that way.

It was safer.

Since their first night together, the fire between them had been relentless, fueled by the spark that Ray had ignited. And Sand had convinced himself that this —whatever this was— was exactly what they both needed.

But was it really?

For Ray, the situation wasn’t so clear-cut. He had dreamed for years about even the smallest chance with Sand. Fantasized about it, even. And now, without much effort, it was Sand who reached out to him, Sand who came to him. Sand who wanted him.

But the reality of it wasn’t what Ray had imagined. Yes, Sand came to him for reasons that would have made Ray’s fantasies seem tame. But there was a bitter aftertaste to it all.

Because no matter how much Ray tried to convince himself that this was enough, it wasn’t.

There was something in the way Sand kept his distance, emotionally locking Ray out, that gnawed at him.

Even in the most intimate moments, Ray could feel it —this invisible wall between them. Sand would allow him to nestle in his arms afterward, to find comfort in the warmth of his skin, but during the act itself, Ray couldn’t shake the feeling that there was so much more lurking beneath the surface. Something deeper they weren’t touching, as if they were only skimming across the top of an ocean with depths they both feared to dive into.

Ray couldn’t help but wonder: what was holding Sand back? Why did he always avoid real conversation, acting as if Ray didn’t interest him beyond their physical connection? Why was he keeping them so distant?

The doubts began to creep in, no matter how hard Ray tried to push them away. He had started to think —really think. But each time, he cut the thoughts short before they could fully form, terrified of the answers that might follow, even when they were already so clear.

But Ray couldn’t allow himself to go there. This arrangement was already more than he had ever dared to hope for. He couldn’t risk ruining it just because, deep down, it wasn’t enough.

Sand clearly wasn’t interested in anything beyond casual fun, and the fact that he chose Ray —again and again— already meant more to Ray than he could admit.

It had to be enough.

But then came the festival in France.

And from that moment on, everything changed.

It all started with a simple message from Sand.

"Which hotel are you staying at?"

The last time they had spoken, Ray had confirmed his attendance at the festival in France. He’d be representing several French brands throughout the week —a pretty big deal in the fashion world, though none of that mattered much to Sand. They were both always in different places, chasing their own worlds.

There had been two weeks of free time after the festival in Poland —two weeks where Sand had tried to convince himself he didn’t need Ray to be able to quiet down those voices.

He had been caught up in the usual whirlwind: his band, had been taking advantage of some downtime to see parts of Europe. His focus was supposed to be on the music, the tour, the band. But still, in the quiet moments, his thoughts would drift towards Ray.

And the fact that the model would contact him every single day —a couple of texts here and there, some flirty banter, and the occasional photo to keep things interesting, but nothing substantial— didn’t help at all.

Ray had become a constant presence in his life.

So Sand’s thoughts would automatically drift towards Ray as soon as the singer would be alone with himself.

Not in a sentimental way, though. No, Sand wasn’t the type to get attached, especially not to someone like Ray. What he missed was simpler, more physical.

The release Ray gave him —the distraction. That was what he craved now as he found himself in France. Ray had always been a good way to escape his own thoughts, to quiet the constant hum of pressure that came with the music industry and everything else.

So, when Ray’s response came through, the decision was already made.

"I’ve got a house here. I’ll be staying there."

A house, of course. It was easy to forget sometimes that Ray lived in a different world —one filled with luxury and the kind of ease Sand had never known growing up. A world to which, after all these years, he still hadn't gotten used to.

"A house, huh?

I forget you’re not like the rest of us.

Will you show it to me?"

"If you want to, you can come over," Ray replied, as casual as ever.

Sand hesitated for a beat before typing his next message, his fingers slowing. There was a small tug of something unfamiliar in his chest. It was easier to laugh it off, to fall back into their usual pattern of playful flirting, even if there was a strange edge to it this time.

"Okay, but I’m particularly interested in your bedroom."

It wasn’t long before Ray responded, just as quick and eager as always.

"Don’t you have anything scheduled today? Can I have you all to myself?"

Ray asked, though the words came out lighter than they felt. Sand was already pulling on his clothes, already preparing to go. But something about the idea of seeing Ray again—here, in France, away from the chaotic moments they usually shared—had his chest tightening in a way that didn’t feel right.

They wouldn’t be meeting after a tiring day, leaving interviews, photoshoots and performances behind. Even though the goal was always the same, it felt a little odd to think about going to his actual house and not his hotel room.

Sand wrote his reply in an instant, a way to set those thoughts aside.

"The others are doing a tour of Paris, but I’ve got… other priorities.

I’ll visit Paris another time."

Ray smirked at that, trying to shake off the weight that had settled over him. Of course, Sand would make it sound so easy. It always was with him —no complications, no expectations. Just two people who knew how to take what they needed and leave it at that.

"What?! You’ve never been to Paris?" Ray messaged back, trying to make a joke of it.

Sand rolled his eyes as he slipped into his jacket. The idea of wandering through the streets of Paris together felt… strange. Too intimate. That wasn’t what this was supposed to be. He wasn’t here to be charmed by the city or swept up in the romance of it. He had come for something else. Something that didn’t require words or sightseeing.

By the time Sand was on the road, driving out of the city in one of the rented cars provided for the band, he had already decided he wouldn’t let Ray drag him into anything outside of their usual dynamic. Ray could insist on playing tour guide all he wanted, but Sand had his own plans.

The villa was exactly what he had imagined —grand and elegant, with the old-world charm of French architecture softened by personal touches that hinted at Ray’s Thai heritage.

As Sand stepped out of the car, he paused for a moment, taking it all in. The house stood out, much like Ray did, as if it didn’t belong entirely to this place. Just like Ray himself, it seemed to straddle two worlds effortlessly.

Sand knocked, expecting Ray to answer, but instead, the door swung open to reveal a woman with short, dark hair and a gentle smile. It took him a second to place her, but then he recognized her: Ray’s manager.

He blinked, momentarily thrown off.

"Hi, you must be Sand," she said warmly, bowing slightly in greeting. Sand nodded, offering a polite smile in return, though he couldn’t shake the unexpected discomfort that crawled up his spine.

He knew her from the background of Ray’s video calls, her voice interrupting their moments with business talk or reminders.

He’d seen the way Ray softened around her, calling her “Mom” affectionately, sending her playful kisses through the screen before cutting the call. She was part of Ray’s life in a way Sand had never been interested in knowing. Maybe.

But now, seeing her in person, standing there at the threshold of Ray’s private world, something inside Sand stirred —a feeling he didn’t want to examine too closely.

"Ray’s upstairs," she said, stepping aside to let him in. "Second floor, only closed door. You two can come down whenever you're ready."

Sand nodded again, muttering a quick "thank you" before slipping inside. The house was as grand on the inside as it was outside, filled with elegant furniture and art.

It felt personal in a way he hadn’t expected. Every corner seemed to carry a piece of Ray, though Sand wasn’t sure what that meant, or why it unsettled him.

As he climbed the stairs, his thoughts became louder, heavier. It was ridiculous to feel uneasy —this was just Ray. The same person he’d been meeting for a couple months now, the same easygoing dynamic. But something about being in Ray’s home made it all feel different. 

At the top of the stairs, he found the only closed door, just as the manager had said. Light spilled out from underneath it, casting a soft glow in the otherwise dark hallway. Sand stood there for a moment, his hand hovering over the handle.

He shouldn’t have felt nervous, but he did. And it pissed him off.

Pushing the door open, he stepped inside.

The room was spacious, almost minimalist in its design. Everything was neat, clean, yet it still felt like a part of Ray. But Sand barely took in the details, his attention immediately drawn to the figure standing by the bed.

Ray was facing away from him, rummaging through a pile of carefully selected outfits, his back bare, muscles flexing slightly as he moved. He wore only a pair of boxers, his focus entirely on the clothes before him, as though he were preparing for a fashion shoot. Through the reflection of a side mirror, Sand caught a glimpse of Ray’s concentrated expression —so serious, so intent.

Sand's lips curved into a smirk, the words slipping out before he could stop himself.

"Deciding which one I can take off first?"

Ray jumped, startled, spinning around to face him. His wide eyes softened almost instantly when he saw who it was, a small, embarrassed smile forming on his lips.

"You scared me," Ray said, placing a hand dramatically over his heart. "Don’t do that."

Sand chuckled but said nothing, his eyes sweeping over Ray’s half-dressed form. Normally, there would have been a rush —a feeling of adrenaline when they met, an understanding that they both knew exactly what they wanted. But right now, as he stood there, watching Ray, Sand felt something else. Something quieter, more uncertain. He didn’t like it.

Ray, for his part, seemed to notice the shift too. His smile didn’t reach his eyes the way it usually did, and his movements were slower, more deliberate as he stepped toward the clothes again. He wasn’t rushing, wasn’t pulling Sand into the rhythm they were both so used to.

It was... off.

Sand took a few steps forward, closing the distance between them, his hands finding Ray’s waist with practiced ease.

Ray’s arms came up, loosely draping around Sand’s neck, and for a brief moment, their eyes met.

There was something different in Ray’s gaze —something softer, almost vulnerable— and it made Sand's throat tighten. Something was disturbing him, and he wanted to know what. But he couldn’t. This wasn’t what he had come for. He didn’t know how to navigate whatever this was.

Without thinking, Sand leaned in, brushing his lips against Ray’s, a quick, almost chaste kiss. It felt unfamiliar, too intimate for the space they usually shared. When he pulled back, their foreheads touched, and for a moment, Sand allowed himself to just breathe, to pretend this was the same as always.

But it wasn’t.

"What’s your manager doing here?" Sand decided to ask, breaking the silence, needing to ground himself in something familiar. He could handle logistics, practicalities. Anything to avoid the strange tension that had settled between them.

Ray chuckled, stepping away slightly, as if relieved to have the conversation shift. He turned back to the bed, grabbing one of the outfits he had been eyeing earlier.

"She didn’t want us wandering Paris alone. So, she’s tagging along," Ray explained, his tone light, though there was something tight in his smile. "But don’t worry, you won’t even notice she’s there."

Sand didn’t respond, letting out an exaggerated sigh. He came there sure he would be able to change Ray’s mind, but with the manager there it was mission-impossible. He flopped down on the edge of the bed, watching as Ray dressed. The model’s movements were graceful, fluid, a constant reminder that his job completely fitted his natural persona.

As Ray finished getting dressed, he gave Sand a small, expectant look, gesturing for him to follow.

Paris was breathtaking. The monuments, the music flowing through the streets —it was everything the photos promised, yet in person, it was something else entirely. It was vibrant, alive. The city seemed to hum with energy, and for once, Sand didn’t mind being a part of it.

Ray had dragged him around for hours. At first, Sand complained, as he always did when asked to do something that required any unnecessary effort. But soon enough, he realized that he didn’t actually mind. Somehow, with Ray by his side, everything seemed lighter, even if Sand couldn’t admit that to himself just yet.

Ray took him to hidden corners of the city, places tourists would never find. Quiet streets where the two of them could stroll without worrying about fans spotting them. In those moments, Paris felt like it belonged just to them. They were invisible, and for once, Sand felt like he could breathe.

But it wasn’t just the places that made the day unusual. Ray talked —a lot. He filled every silence, always with something new to say, some new story to share.

Sand wasn’t unused to people who liked to talk; over the years, he had learned to navigate conversations easily. But Ray’s constant flow of words was different. It wasn’t rehearsed or calculated like Sand’s; it was genuine, unfiltered.

Ray had no off switch, it seemed. He spoke about everything and nothing in particular, moving from topic to topic like he was showing Sand around his thoughts the way he showed him around the city.

He cracked jokes, laughed at his own stories, laughed at Sand’s remarks and threw in random facts about Paris that Sand would never have heard otherwise.

It was all so casual, so natural, that Sand almost forgot he was with someone who, outside of this private bubble, was admired by millions.

The day slipped by faster than Sand expected. Time blurred as they moved from one hidden spot to another, and for a while, Sand let himself enjoy it, even though he could feel Ray's manager lurking in the background, snapping photos. Ray had been right —her presence was barely noticeable. Almost.

And maybe that was where the problem began.

It wasn’t that Sand hadn’t enjoyed the day—he had. In fact, he had enjoyed it more than he thought he would. But now, as they stood in Ray’s bedroom after the sun had set, Sand found himself grappling with an unexpected question: What was he supposed to feel about all of this?

When Ray asked him what he thought of Paris, Sand hesitated. Paris had been beautiful, everything he’d imagined. But now, when he thought back on the day, all that came to mind wasn’t the city’s beauty —it was Ray’s laughter, the way his face lit up when he talked. It was the way Ray had looked at him with that easy, natural smile, like they had known each other far longer than they had. 

And that was dangerous.

Sand wasn’t sure when it happened, but at some point during the day, Ray had slipped past the walls he had so carefully constructed. Sand didn’t know what to do with that —he wasn’t used to letting people in, wasn’t used to letting anyone get close enough to see the cracks.

When they ended up in bed that night, Sand tried to distance himself, falling back into the usual routine that made him feel safe. Detached.

But something was different, and he could feel it in the way his body reacted —or didn’t react. He couldn’t seem to enjoy it the way he usually did. Instead, his mind raced, filled with thoughts that he had spent so much time trying to avoid.

Ray had been a means of escape. When they were together, Sand didn’t have to think about his career or the endless pressures that came with it. He didn’t have to think at all. But now, being with Ray only made him think more. Made him worry about what came next. About how to act, about how close was too close.

None of this was supposed to mean anything. Sand had been clear with himself from the beginning.

He couldn’t let it become more than what it was, couldn’t afford to open that door. He had to protect himself —his career, his emotions. Disappointment was inevitable when you let people get too close.

But after their second time together that night —that being the shower—, Ray didn’t want to let go. He clung to Sand in a way that felt too intimate, too vulnerable, and Sand told himself that it would be the last time. The last time he allowed himself to be lulled by Ray’s softness.

Ray was kind to everyone, that much was clear. It wasn’t personal —it couldn’t be.

But there was something about the way Ray looked at him that made it hard to keep his distance. The softness of his lips, the warmth of his touch, the way his eyes shone every time they broke apart after a kiss —it all made Sand wonder. What would happen if, just once, he let himself go? If he allowed himself to actually enjoy whatever this was, whatever he felt, instead of fighting it?

But in the end, Sand couldn’t allow that. He couldn’t let this turn into something he couldn’t control.

The worst part, though, was the way they always ended up falling asleep together, wrapped up in each other. Sand hated how comfortable it felt, how safe.

He wasn’t supposed to feel that way, not with someone he didn’t care about —or at least, someone he told himself he didn’t care about. But every time he promised himself he would get dressed and leave right after, he found himself staying, sinking into Ray’s embrace, the warmth of it too familiar, too comforting to resist.

The situation was slipping away from him faster than he could manage.

The next morning, the peaceful silence in the room was shattered by the loud ring of a phone.

Ray jerked awake, his head snapping up as he tried to figure out where he was. It didn’t take long for him to remember, not with Sand’s arms still locked tightly around him, anchoring him in place.

Ray glanced up at Sand, but he didn’t seem to hear the ringtone that was clearly coming from his phone.

Sand looked peaceful, his face relaxed, his lips slightly parted as they pressed against the pillow. Ray smiled at the sight. Sand looked like he belonged in some grand museum, a sculpture carved out of marble.

The phone rang again, louder this time, but Sand still didn’t stir. That said a lot. Sand was normally a light sleeper, always the first to wake up at the slightest sound.

For him to sleep through the ringing phone meant he was exhausted, probably from the weight of everything he carried with him. Ray liked to think that maybe, just maybe, he had helped ease some of that weight.

With a quiet sigh, Ray carefully slipped out of Sand’s grip and crossed the room to where Sand’s clothes were scattered on the floor. He found Sand’s phone in the pocket of his jacket and silenced it.

It was Nick calling. Again. 

Why did this boy always found a way to interrupt their peace?

It might have been urgent, given the repeated calls, but Ray didn’t want to wake Sand. Not yet.

As he reached into the pocket to put the phone back, his fingers brushed against something small and hard. Something that instantly felt familiar. Curious, Ray pulled it out and felt a sick twist in his gut.

It was a pack of cigarettes.

Chapter Text

“So, what’s going on between you and Ray?” Nick’s voice rang out, suddenly louder, filling every corner of Sand’s mind.

It was so abrupt, so direct, that for a moment Sand’s hands froze, still gripping the coffee mug that Nick had brought him.

Nick had insisted on delivering breakfast right to his door, the one morning that week Sand hadn’t woken up with Ray beside him. Perhaps it was a rare opportunity that Nick didn’t want to let slip away, a chance to confront him about something Sand had tried to keep hidden, even from himself.

The day before, they had headlined at I-Days in Italy, where the sheer magnitude of the crowd had left them breathless. Nearly 100,000 people had gathered to watch them perform —a record for the festival and an unbelievable accomplishment for a Thai band.

It was another powerful wave that had slammed into them, leaving them exhilarated and stunned, like a blast of icy water on bare skin. The French festival had been just as unforgettable.

Between their performances and the candid shots taken and published by Ray’s manager herself, their follower count —especially Sand’s— had skyrocketed. Nearly a million new fans had joined him in just that week alone.

But while the world celebrated and speculated, Sand felt a strange calm about it all. Maybe he even welcomed the attention; after all, to everyone else, they were simply close friends, the kind of bond people idolized but never questioned.

No one suspected a thing.

Except Nick.

Nick, who was his best friend, his confidant —the person who knew him better than anyone, maybe even better than he knew himself.

Nick, who had once known Sand’s every thought before Sand even voiced it, who had shared almost every late night with him, talking, laughing, unwinding. But now, since the whirlwind of the summer festivals had begun, Nick had barely had a chance to catch up with him.

To him, Sand just seemed more stressed than usual, lost in something he wasn’t willing to share. And Nick, careful and sensitive, held back, letting him be. Until now.

A few days before that, Nick had woken earlier than usual, stopping by a small cafe to pick up Sand’s favorite breakfast. When he reached Sand’s door, balancing the coffee and pastries, it opened before he could knock.

He hadn’t expected to see Sand there, shirtless, with his arms around Ray. Not the way he was, fingers splayed possessively on Ray’s waist, pulling him close while Ray’s hand rested in his hair, the other tracing Sand’s narrow hips with a touch so gentle it could have broken him, while their mouths were busy inspecting the other’s.

Lost in each other, they hadn’t noticed Nick, hadn’t heard his gasp as he froze, stunned, his mind scrambling to process what he was seeing.

Only when they broke apart, when Sand’s lips curved into a soft, private smile against Ray’s lips, did he finally realize they weren’t alone. Sand’s gaze lifted, locking onto Nick’s, and for a moment, his eyes went wide with panic.

Sand’s mouth parted, fumbling for words, and Ray twisted to see what had startled him, nearly jumping at the sight of Nick. He burst into laughter, the tension dissolving in his amused surprise, but Sand looked mortified, his cheeks flushed as he pushed Ray away, muttering under his breath.

“This isn’t funny,” he muttered, though Ray kept chuckling, still clutching him playfully, finding a kind of reckless joy in Sand’s embarrassment.

When Sand finally managed to pry himself from Ray’s grip he shoved him out of the room, dragged Nick inside, and closed the door letting just his head peek through it.

“Get back to your room, Ray.” Sand’s voice was firm, but Ray only grinned, his eyes shining with something unreadable. Standing on his toes, he leaned in to press a final, slow kiss on Sand’s lips. He lingered on his bottom lip, something that would usually make Sand kiss more fiercely, but they didn’t have time for that at the moment.

When he pulled back, his smile had softened, leaving him looking almost vulnerable, his lips slightly red, his shirt slipping off one shoulder to reveal faint pink marks that traced his skin like silent confessions.

Sand felt a pang at the sight, the urge to pull him back almost overwhelming.

It should have been a crime to let him go back to his room while he was looking like that. But Nick was here now, and he was brimming with questions, his presence demanding Sand’s attention, his understanding, his honesty.

They sat down, and Nick, hesitant but determined, began asking questions, one after another, each one bringing Sand closer to the edge of the truth he didn’t want to face.

“Nick, I’ve told you a hundred times, there’s nothing between us. You were the one who pushed me to find someone to relieve stress with, to stop burying everything in music. And now that I finally did, you’re convinced it has to mean something more?”

Nick sighed, looking away, a small frown creasing his face. The guitarist had brought the topic up almost every day since he discovered the little secret.

“I’m glad you found a way to unwind,” he admitted, his voice gentle. “But it’s weird. You two spend all your time together now. When’s the last time we even spent a night together? It’s always you and him.”

“Exactly. We’re together a lot. And guess what we do? We fuck.” Sand shot back, trying to lighten the mood with a smirk, but Nick’s expression remained unyielding.

“First of all, ew. You’re worse than two rabbits in heat. Second, I don’t believe for a second that that’s all there is. You must talk a little between…you know.”

Sand’s face darkened, his gaze drifting toward the window. The morning had started so well, a calm, private morning shared with his best friend. They were supposed to enjoy a day off, to lose themselves in the festival as spectators. But apparently, even here, he couldn’t escape the questions.

“Just small, superficial talk,” Sand muttered, shrugging.

“It’s been over two months, Sand. Surely you’ve learned something about each other?”

“Nick, when Ray and I are together, there’s only one thing on our minds.” He reached for a cigarette, heading out to the balcony, the act alone betraying the tension he was struggling to hide.

“What are you doing?” Nick asked, following him, frowning. “Why are you getting nervous? I just asked a simple question, and you’re acting like I accused you of something.”

“I’m not nervous,” Sand said, lighting the cigarette and taking a slow drag, the smoke curling between them. He hoped the nicotine would soothe his nerves, but he knew better.

“And yet you’re smoking.”

Sand wasn’t a regular smoker; a single pack could last him months. Only during rare, intense moments would he reach for one, hoping it would settle his mind.

He glanced at Nick, then at the cigarette, watching the smoke spiral and disappear. This wasn’t supposed to be one of those extreme urgencies.

With a sigh, he crushed it in the ashtray, retreating back into the room and sinking onto the bed, feeling the weariness settle into his bones.

“I’m not trying to intrude, Sand. I just know you. I know this isn’t going to last. You shouldn’t keep looking for him if he doesn’t mean anything to you.”

Sand propped himself up, frustration bubbling beneath his calm facade.

“Ray’s fine with this. We both are.”

“Has he ever told you that? You just said you barely talk.”

Had Ray ever said explicitly, “This is just fun for me too”? No, not exactly. But he’d never said the opposite either.

Sand thought about all the times he’d called and how Ray had shown up without question. To Sand, that meant he was there for the same reasons. Didn’t it?

“He doesn’t have to say it. His actions speak loud enough.”

“Then I suppose Ray has other people he does this with?” Nick raised an eyebrow.

“No.” The word escaped almost too quickly, a reflex that surprised even Sand. He had no idea if Ray was seeing others, but considering the time they spent together, when would he have the chance?

“No?” Nick’s gaze narrowed, catching the slip.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Just seems strange. Why would THE Ray Pakorn, of all people, want to spend all his time with only you?”

Sand let out a frustrated sigh. “Convenience, maybe? Do you think he drags everyone he’s fooling around with to festivals? I’m sure once the summer ends, we’ll go back to our lives, and he’ll find others who can probably leave him more satisfied than I can.”

Sand never denied the fact that the absence of foreplay or the same position must have become boring to Ray, but he couldn’t bring himself to do anything else with him. 

Nick chuckled, a spark of his old self returning. “So, you’re saying you’re terrible in bed?”

Sand threw a pillow at him, Nick’s laughter finally breaking the tension that had weighed down the room.

“Get out,” Sand groaned, trying to hide a small smile. “I need a shower.”

Nick finally left, but not without planting seeds of doubt that would sprout in Sand’s mind long after he closed the door.

Alone, Sand tried to dismiss it, tried to convince himself that Nick’s romantic notions were nothing but a distraction. Nick had always loved to fantasize, with a hopeless imagination that ran wild. Sometimes Sand thought Nick needed to stop living in stories, to go out and find his own love, something real.

But Nick was a romantic, a true dreamer. After watching Sand’s heart break once, he just wanted to see him love again, to believe in love with the same fire.

But that world —one of fairy-tale endings and happy-ever-afters— had never been Sand’s. It had spat in his face from the start, and even as fame lifted him, he knew better than to hope it would make everything better.

Among all the chaos, love felt like a waste of time, just as love had wasted time on him.

Or so he told himself, every time he saw his reflection, trying to believe it.

“I don’t know, Mew. It’s like… he finds it hard to say no to me, but he’s so distant. Not in an obvious way, but… I can feel it. It’s hard to explain. Maybe I’ve just been fooling myself this whole time?”

Ray’s voice wavered as he finally opened up about the tangled mess of emotions he'd been carrying. It was one thing to feel this frustration internally, but saying it out loud made it all feel painfully real, as if admitting it only deepened the wound.

Mew had been there since the very beginning, silently watching Ray fall headlong into this crush that had consumed him.

For years, he’d listened to Ray’s endless stories, watched as his friend’s eyes lit up at any mention of Sand. And now he was hearing the cracks in his voice, the rare note of doubt that Ray usually kept hidden.

“It’s hard for me to say what I think, especially when I don’t know all the details. Maybe he’s just… guarded. Maybe he needs more time to open up?” Mew’s tone was gentle, as if afraid that saying the wrong thing might unravel Ray even more. “Have you thought about that?”

Ray swallowed, feeling his chest tighten. There was something Mew didn’t know, a few things he hadn’t dared to admit even to himself. Among them was finding out that Sand actually lied to him and that he actually smoked, a revelation that left a quiet but piercing ache.

It wasn’t just that Sand smoked, though that had stung in ways he hadn’t expected. It was the lie itself, that Sand had hidden something so simple, something Ray had thought he knew.

But if it really wasn’t that big of a deal, it shouldn’t have been hard to tell Mew about it, to say out loud, “Hey, he lied.” Ray couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“Ray, are you listening?” Mew’s voice broke the silence, pulling Ray out of his thoughts.

“Yeah,” Ray muttered, though his mind still lingered on Sand, on that hidden truth that seemed to carry more weight than it should. Why did it bother him this much? Why did he care if Sand smoked, or if he lied about it? He took a drag from his own cigarette, watching the smoke curl into the air before dissipating, feeling that lingering ache twist in his chest.

“Look, this is just my take,” Mew continued gently. “I think maybe you’re overwhelmed, you know? Sand’s challenging, and it’s throwing you off because you’re used to people responding to you differently. It’s probably… thrilling and terrifying at the same time, right?”

Ray nodded, feeling the weight of Mew’s words. Sand had captivated him, yes, but with that allure came a distance Ray couldn’t reach. He could feel it in Sand’s reserved smiles, the way he would pull Ray close, only to keep him at arm's length.

And then there were those small lies, those details Sand didn’t think Ray needed to know. Each one left a sting, but it was a sting he kept quiet, a wound he told himself was too minor to matter. Especially when Sand set clear boundaries between them.

Mew continued, pressing gently. “And maybe, when Sand suggests doing things a certain way… maybe you need to tell him what you really want. Not just go along with it because… it’s him. Do you ever do that?”

Ray didn’t respond immediately, his mind drifting back to all the times he had gone along with whatever Sand wanted, hoping it would be enough. Was that why Sand felt so distant? Did he think Ray was happy with the way things were? Did he think Ray didn’t want or need anything more?

“Maybe that’s why he’s cold,” Mew said softly, taking Ray’s silence as an answer.

“Maybe he thinks you’re fine with how things are, so he’s settled there too. But maybe if he saw how much you actually care… things might be different.” Mew’s voice softened. “You need to show him what you want, Ray. Do I need to remind you that you’re usually the one setting the rules?”

A small, genuine smile broke through Ray’s somber expression. It felt like a wave of warmth, something that had been missing for too long. Mew was right. Somehow, in his overwhelming feelings for Sand, he’d forgotten who he was.

He’d forgotten that he was Ray, a force of his own, someone who had captivated Sand in the first place. For once, he wasn’t going to let the situation control him. He wasn’t just going to wait for Sand to decide. He’d show him what he wanted —unapologetically, boldly.

Mew’s voice brought him back again. “So, what are you gonna do?”

Ray took one last, thoughtful drag before stubbing out the cigarette, a newfound resolve in his gaze. He’d let too many things go unsaid.

“I’ll let you know when it happens.”

There was a long silence, and Ray could almost feel Mew’s approval over the phone, a silent encouragement that filled the empty spaces around him.

With a newfound sense of determination, Ray typed, “Will you come to the festival with me tonight?”

As if fate were testing just how far Ray would go, that particular day —the second-to-last of the I-Days— rain was in the forecast.

It started as a warning from the media. Most people brushed it off, saying it was an exaggeration, but by afternoon, the sky wore a heavy, foreboding gray, and clouds hovered low like something waiting to break. The rain seemed to almost mock them, like a daring challenge.

The first few drops had barely fallen when Ray pulled out two masks and offered Sand one of the flimsy ponchos being handed out at the entrance. Sand hesitated, his eyes scanning the weather-worn grounds, searching for any last reason to resist. Yet, when Ray's hopeful smile reached him, Sand’s remaining excuses slipped away, leaving only reluctant acceptance as he took the mask and tugged the plastic hood over his head.

Initially, Sand refused, saying it was too risky. But as the first raindrops fell, Ray suggested they wear both masks and the rain ponchos being handed out at the festival. With no other excuse, Sand could no longer turn him down.

And so, a few hours before sunset, they trudged into the grounds together. Their clothes grew damp, heavy, and strangely grounding —like they had shed their usual selves for a while, lost in the anonymity of the rain and the crowd.

Sand grumbled, each step through the wet grass and muddy patches reminding him why he’d initially resisted. But Ray’s excitement shone through, each sidelong glance from him a quiet reassurance that maybe, despite the discomfort, this was exactly where they were meant to be.

“It was pointless to come here,” Sand muttered for maybe the millionth time, his voice barely carrying over the throb of distant bass as Ray led him through the maze of stages.

His heart was torn between wanting to leave and the undeniable draw of Ray’s infectious energy. Every time Sand looked over, Ray seemed so alive, smiling as if the rain had been summoned just to make the night feel more alive.

They paused, stage after stage, and each one seemed to toy with them. The music would start off captivating, only to dissolve into something that failed to hold them long.

Sand felt himself inching closer to his breaking point, ready to suggest they call it a night, when Ray finally found a set with a massive crowd already caught up in a euphoric haze. The song was unfamiliar, its lyrics lost to the language barrier, but its rhythm was an undeniable pulse, vibrating through them and inviting them closer.

Soon, they were pulled into the thick of the crowd, surrounded by strangers who moved as one, their energy contagious. Ray’s laughter —barely audible but clear in his eyes— sparked an echo in Sand.

He hadn’t heard Ray laugh like this, so free, so unguarded. For a moment, Sand forgot about the rain soaking into his clothes or the crowd pressing close. He was here, with Ray, caught up in a rare, fleeting feeling he couldn’t quite name.

Ray started moving to the beat, his body swaying and his feet slipping slightly in the mud as he jumped with the crowd. Sand joined in almost unconsciously, their bodies slipping and bumping into each other, grounding them amidst the chaos around them.

A stranger jostled Ray, pushing him closer, and Sand’s arm came up instinctively, like he was his only tether to the world. The act was subtle, but Ray met his gaze with a look so open and grateful that Sand’s chest tightened. Being with Ray —even if he’d never admit it out loud— made everything easier, brighter, fuller.

They danced and laughed together for hours. Most importantly, they talked endlessly between sets, their conversations, for the first time, feeling anything but superficial, carrying a warmth they rarely let slip into their brief conversations. 

There was a safety in their anonymity that night, in the rain and the masks that shielded them, allowing them to share words that had been long unspoken, hidden behind guarded smiles and deflections.

When Ray admitted he barely knew most of the songs they heard, Sand teased him, feeling a need to have a deep talk with Ray he hadn’t anticipated.

“I mostly listen to the records my mom left behind... and...”—Ray’s voice softened, a vulnerable edge slipping through—“your songs.” His face was hidden, but Sand could sense the faint blush that often, yet rarely accompanied Ray’s shy smiles.

A mix of surprise and something warmer flared in Sand’s chest, and he was grateful for the mask hiding his own expression. It was these small moments that had accompanied throughout the whole night, raw and unexpected, that left him feeling inexplicably light.

They found themselves near the railings, Ray leaning back slightly, still catching his breath. Sand moved closer, looping his arms loosely around Ray’s waist, trying to create a small cocoon for them amidst the crowd.

“Our songs, huh?” Sand’s tone was teasing, but his voice held a softness Ray couldn’t miss. “So you’re really one of our fans?” he asked, not hiding the disbelief in his voice.

“I told you that the first time we met,” Ray said, his voice earnest. “Did you not believe me?” Instinctively, Sand leaned in, a rare closeness between them that felt as natural as breathing, and Ray’s arms found their way around his neck, grounding them even more.

Sand smirked. “Not exactly. I still don’t believe it.”

“Next time you’re on stage, look for me in the crowd,” Ray said, his voice brimming with sincerity. “You’ll see, I know all the words.”

As Ray’s words hung in the air between them, the stage lights dimmed, drawing their attention back to the music. The final set of the night was beginning, and the anticipation in the crowd was electric, vibrating through the earth beneath them.

Sand felt himself start to relax, even as exhaustion began to creep into his limbs, and he cast a quick glance at Ray, who looked equally worn out yet still captivated, his eyes reflecting the lights from the stage.

It was almost as if the rain had washed away everything they normally hid from each other: their fears, their insecurities, the things they —or rather Sand— never let surface.

He kept stealing glances at Ray, whose gaze was fixed on the stage, his eyes alight with a kind of wonder that softened every part of him.

Ray was exhausted, his movements slower, a bit hazy at the edges, yet he stood there, captivated, almost childlike in his wonder, the brilliance of the lights reflected in his gaze.

For a moment, Sand found himself staring at Ray’s tired, yet curious eyes from the side, transfixed by the rare vulnerability there —this unguarded moment Ray didn’t even realize he was offering. In that quiet, lingering glance, Sand felt something inexplicable start to shift.

Tonight was different.

Unlike every other festival night he had spent with his friends, even though he and Ray were masked, hidden from the world’s scrutiny, somehow, for the first time, Sand wasn’t thinking about all the people they might run into or those who might recognize them.

Being with Ray tonight was like slipping into a hidden corner of the world where no one else existed —no expectations, no lingering stares. Just the two of them, present and imperfect, unencumbered by the roles they played outside this moment. 

When they were apart, Sand often tried to convince himself he didn’t need Ray, that he could manage on his own, stand on his own. And he could; that was the truth. He had survived for years on his own. He was fine being alone.

Yet being here with Ray, in the quiet warmth that Ray’s presence alone seemed to cast around them, Sand realized he’d spent so much time trying to convince himself he could be fine alone that he’d forgotten what it felt like to have someone who made the world easier just by being there.

With Ray, his usual overthinking, his fears and hesitations, seemed to shrink, like shadows retreating from the first light of dawn. In Ray’s presence, there was room for him to just be. But he never actually let themselves simply enjoy the presence of the other, simply putting it all aside by seeking refuge through non-stop sex.

He could feel his heart beat faster, a steady, eager rhythm, as he glanced again at Ray. Earlier today, in the rain and anonymity, he’d caught glimpses of Ray’s true self, free from the mask of confidence and allure he wore so effortlessly.

Sand had seen that person —the one who was softer, maybe even uncertain, and far more real. And it stirred something fierce and unexpected in him, a feeling that was both exhilarating and terrifying in equal measure.

When Ray looked over, catching Sand’s eyes, the world seemed to slow. There was a pause, a fragile moment where Sand wondered if Ray could see right through him. “What is it?” Ray asked, his voice a mix of curiosity and warmth, his tone tinged with a softness that made Sand’s heart tighten.

The words caught in Sand’s throat, a thousand things he wanted to say but didn’t know how to. But before he could find a response, the artist on stage announced the next song, and the crowd roared, drawing them both back into the night, into the music, leaving Sand to grapple with emotions he’d only just begun to understand. The artist’s voice rang out, “Hope you know Always by Daniel Caesar!”

Sand’s eyes went wide, a spark of joy lighting up his face. “I love that song!” he exclaimed, the pure, unguarded excitement making Ray laugh. The melody softened, the crowd shifting, transforming the festival grounds into an impromptu dance floor under the light drizzle that began again.

Ray looked at Sand, a silent invitation lingering in his gaze. And as if by unspoken agreement, they moved closer, closing their bodies into a hug, swaying to the gentle rhythm.

And maybe I’m wrong, for writing this song. Losing my head over you...

The song held something unexplainable for Sand —a yearning he’d kept buried, unspoken, and yet somehow, in this moment, felt painfully obvious. He caught Ray’s gaze, and before he could second-guess it, he gently lowered their masks and leaned in, pressing his lips softly against Ray’s.

Ray froze for a heartbeat, but then melted into the kiss, letting the moment stretch, unhurried, deepening in a way that held every unsaid thing between them. The slow rain, the music, the warmth of Ray’s body and taste —it was all-consuming, and for once, Sand didn’t try to resist it.

They only pulled apart when the song was facing the end, faded, breathless and with foreheads pressed together, letting the quiet fill the space between them, always careful as to hide their faces.

I don’t want things to change; I pray they stay the same, always.

Sand’s voice barely broke the silence, laced with something raw and vulnerable. “Do you want things to stay like this? Or do you want them to change?” he whispered, almost to himself, not realizing the question had slipped out until Ray’s soft, surprised “Hm?” reached his ears.

Realizing he’d spoken his thoughts aloud, Sand’s cheeks flushed under the hood, a moment of panic flashing through him. But Ray only smiled, warmth radiating from him as he leaned in and kissed Sand again. This time much slower, enjoying not only the fading notes of the song, but also the watery taste the rain was adding to their kiss.

As the night slipped away, the two of them were soaked and worn out by the time they finally reached Ray’s room, carrying the quiet weight of a shared understanding. The hours had blurred, and both of them were caught in the hazy afterglow of the night’s honesty and laughter.

Ray was sure the night would end like this as they were looking and walking like zombies. But as he closed the door behind them, he suddenly felt Sand press him against it, the weight of Sand’s body and the warmth of his breath stirring something familiar and yet, tonight, surprisingly gentle.

Sand’s lips traced the damp skin of Ray’s neck, the rain lingering on his skin as if trying to hold onto them both. Ray closed his eyes, letting himself sink into it, savoring the softness, the calm between them —a rare comfort that seemed to settle any lingering doubts.

But just as he felt himself slipping further, he remembered Mew and what he had promised him, a shadow in his mind that made him pause.

“Wait, Sand,” he murmured, pulling himself back to the present. His voice, low and tentative, drew Sand’s gaze up, and Ray saw that same exhaustion mirrored in Sand’s eyes.

Ray wanted to indulge Sand, but he also felt a pull to express his opinion for once. There was nothing he wanted more than giving in to the singer, but that night he actually felt like his whole body was numb. He met Sand’s gaze, softened but firm. “I’m so tired today. Can we just sleep?”

He watched the faint disappointment flicker across Sand’s face before it softened into something understanding. A part of Ray tensed, expecting Sand to grow frustrated, to walk out and leave him there.

But, to his quiet surprise, Sand just nodded, the disappointment in his eyes melting into a look that Ray couldn’t quite name —a respect, perhaps, or maybe something deeper. Without a word, Sand placed a chaste kiss on his forehead and moved toward the bathroom, his movements easy, almost hesitant, as he stripped off his clothes, letting go of any pretense.

Sand was still floating in the glow of the evening, unwilling to disrupt the delicate harmony they had found together tonight. He’d told himself that their relationship was casual, something unspoken yet reliable. But tonight had been different, a glimpse of a bond he wasn’t ready to admit he’d been yearning for.

But aside of what their relationship actually consisted of, he wasn’t about to push for more than Ray was willing to give —not tonight. The night had already given him more than he could’ve hoped for, a closeness that went far beyond the surface, and though he had told Nick just that morning that the only thing he wanted from Ray was the sex, as he looked into Ray’s pleading yet exhausted eyes, he didn’t want him to think he just wanted him for his body. Didn’t actually want Ray to perceive him as someone who was just looking for sex from him.

When they found themselves under the warm spray of the shower, Ray could barely keep his eyes open, leaning into Sand, too weary to do more than let Sand care for him. Sand’s hands moved gently, unhurried, washing away the rain, the day’s tension, all the weariness that weighed down Ray’s frame.

They laughed quietly, teasing each other, sharing small jokes to keep Ray from dozing off, and with every light touch, the intimacy between them deepened, a quiet understanding that felt grounding, soothing in a way neither had anticipated.

Sand, holding Ray with tenderness, felt the importance of this moment settle into him. Tonight wasn’t about desire or expectation; it was about being there in the simplest, most genuine way. As he worked the shampoo through Ray’s hair, he noticed how Ray leaned into him, the subtle trust there, and it made his heart ache in a way he hadn’t felt before.

Finally, as they stepped out of the shower, Sand wrapped a large towel around them both, pulling Ray close, and Ray surprised himself by resting his head against Sand’s shoulder, giving in to the warmth and the quiet peace of the moment.

Even if their naked bodies were pressed together, there was nothing sensual about it.

Yet it felt so intimate, so real. So… familiar.

Sand could have never anticipated how deeply he’d cherish such a simple act —this closeness without demands, the unspoken feeling that this was actually the reality of what could happen if only Sand would let them be themselves with each other.

With a half-smile, Sand dried Ray’s hair, gently tousling it as Ray closed his eyes, leaning into his touch.

Then Ray stretched up, pressing a soft kiss to Sand’s lips, a quiet thanks that needed no words. They let the kiss deepen, Ray guiding them both to the bed.

Still naked and wrapped in the same towel, Ray sat on Sand’s lap, their lips sealed in the most delicate and sweet kiss you could ever share with a person.

They kept kissing, the distant traffic the only sound accompanying the wetness of their mouths.

Not only were they kissing, their bodies were glued together, the heath emanating a reassuring sense of warmth in the otherwise cold room, yet the thought of deepening the act didn’t even cross their minds.

Because that was enough. It was sweet, consuming —a kiss that warmed your chest and made you feel like your heart might burst from how fast it was beating. It was the perfect way to end such a night.

Ray got up briefly to turn off the lights, and when he returned, Sand was already dozing off. He was sprawled out on the bed, but Ray felt no desire to look at him in any other way. He looked at him, and all he felt was an overwhelming sense of happiness.

He lay down with his back to Sand, leaving space for him to sleep comfortably. But as he pulled the covers over himself, Sand turned and wrapped an arm around him, resting his head on Ray’s shoulder.

He’s already sleeping. He would never hug me first.

Then the singer’s full lips lingered on his shoulder, a loud smooch sound that echoed in Ray’s heart.

He was still awake.

Neither one felt like speaking, afraid to disturb that peaceful moment that needed no words. As Ray lay there, feeling Sand’s arms around him, his warm breath against his skin, he fell asleep feeling happy like never before.

For tonight, at least, everything was right. And as his eyes closed, he couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

Chapter Text

After the I-Days, even the festival in Spain—the final stop— passed by in a flash.

This summer had felt like a whirlwind European tour, one filled with pure thrill and unexpected connections with the fans, who seemed to know him even before he stepped onto each stage.

Sand had grown so used to the pulse of festival life that, when the last song of their final summer set ended, he was left standing there, breathless, as the realization struck like a shockwave.

The roar of the crowd pounded in his ears, their faces blurring into a sea of lights and cheers. In that moment, his heart tightened painfully as he understood it was the last time he’d feel this exact magic.

It hit him how deeply he’d wanted this —to perform for thousands, lose himself in their energy, and forget for just a while who he was supposed to be. And now he was here, living it, his long-held dream unfolding night after night.

But how many lives does a person get to live like this? How many times would he get to feel like he was exactly where he was meant to be?

Soon, he’d have to leave the summer behind: Europe, this energy, their fans, and maybe… Ray.

Since that day they’d spent together, something between them had shifted in ways that felt irreversible. The change was sharper, more unsettling than what he’d felt after their time in Paris.

If, before, he’d been able to keep a cautious distance, that resolve was slipping.

Sand tried to remind himself to pull back, to not let himself get lost in the newness of it all, but Ray was changing too, becoming more insistent, more present, as though every moment mattered.

It was disarming —how each time Ray looked at him, something unspoken passed between them, intense and fragile. Ray’s little requests had begun to come more frequently, each harder to refuse, like stepping into a current he didn’t know how to resist.

Sure, maybe they were small things —casual touches, shared looks, lingering glances— but there had been a time when he would’ve laughed off his own hesitation.

A month ago, he could’ve shrugged, turned away, convinced himself that he didn’t want this. Now, though, Ray only needed to tilt his head slightly, and those eyes seemed to double in intensity, undoing Sand completely, leaving him shaky and unsure.

Another thing was how easy it was to talk to Ray.

If, after Paris, Sand had thought he’d let that day stay behind closed doors, there were times now when all he wanted was to lie there with Ray, letting the hours disappear. Some parts of him wanted to kiss him in the middle of Ray’s sentences, just to see how he’d stop mid-sentence, cheeks coloring faintly, before gathering himself to go on as if nothing happened.

And yet, that was precisely the line Sand had sworn he wouldn’t cross.

“Just a summer fling,” he told himself on repeat, like a mantra. “Once the tour ends, we’ll go our separate ways.”

It was his only defense against the things Ray made him feel —the longing, the flicker of possibility that he dared not name. Because if he let himself want more, what then?

The final day of the festival was bittersweet, brimming with a heady nostalgia and a restless energy.

A grand dinner had been organized, gathering all the artists who’d played across the summer festivals circuit. They were in a sprawling villa, decorated in elegant white and gold for the evening.

Sand didn’t know whether the night was supposed to be formal or relaxed, and it hardly mattered; he knew that, as always, there would be people dressed for either mood.

Their stylists had pushed them a little beyond his comfort zone, fitting him into an all-black suit that and wavy hair which, at first, felt stiff and unfamiliar. But as he stepped into the mansion, surrounded by the muted luxury and the hum of voices, he felt himself relax, realizing he might fit right into this strange world.

Halfway through the courses, Sand realized he hadn’t seen Ray. Nor had he checked his phone to see if Ray had tried to reach him.

They’d finally exchanged numbers, though he refused to save Ray’s contact, as if that would keep things casual. Even so, Ray’s number was already etched into his memory, something he couldn’t quite shake.

“Where are you?

Why haven’t we met before finner?

Why aren’t you replying?

Oh, I see you.

Are you having fun?

Alright, but I won’t come over there—I want you to come find me”

The messages had trickled in over the last few hours, the last one barely half an hour ago.

Sand looked around, phone in hand, scanning the room for any trace of Ray. But he was nowhere in sight.

Just as he was about to stand up and go look for him, another course arrived, and Sand sat back down reluctantly, feeling the restless anticipation burn through him.

Finally, after hours, the formal dinner wrapped up, waiters now gliding through with trays of drinks while the crowd around him grew more relaxed and boisterous.

Sand stayed at the table with Nick, though his attention drifted to the open doorways and empty spaces where Ray might be. The urge to find him was overwhelming, and yet, if he stood up now, Nick would immediately want to know where he was going. And “I want to see Ray” wouldn’t cut it. “I need to see Ray” felt too raw.

“I’m going to look for Ray” sounded innocent enough, but to give Nick even a hint of how Ray was burrowing under his skin? Not in a million years.

So he waited until Jim came over, striking up a conversation that drew Nick away, and then, finally, Sand seized his chance.

He stood, trying not to look like he was in a hurry, and began weaving through the crowd in search of the one face that seemed impossible to ignore.

It felt strange, almost embarrassing, to be in a room filled with people he’d admired for years and yet to find himself only searching for Ray.

He could be talking to these people, telling them what their music had meant to him, but instead, he was threading his way through familiar and unfamiliar faces alike, looking for the person he’d sworn he wouldn’t let distract him like this.

He sent a few more messages, each met with silence. A flicker of worry edged its way into his thoughts.

Then his heart stilled when he saw a small group gathered around a couch on the far side of the room.

He moved closer, each step cautious, until he could finally see Ray’s face, cheeks flushed a deep pink, his expression loose and joyful.

Slowly, Sand approached, slipping through the small crowd to reach him. Ray was talking, though the words were blurred with a drunken slur, and Sand wasn’t at all surprised to see how the entire group around him seemed spellbound.

Then Ray’s gaze shifted, searching, until his eyes landed on Sand. The second their eyes met, Ray’s entire face softened, breaking into a smile so big it felt like warmth flooding over Sand.

“Sand!” Ray called out, his voice ringing with unmistakable happiness as he stumbled up and into Sand’s arms.

Sand felt the heat rush to his cheeks, his own arms instinctively closing around Ray, who had hugged him a few times before but never publicly.

He glanced around, feeling self-conscious, but everyone nearby just smiled or laughed, unfazed by the display.

“We think he’s had a little too much to drink,” came a voice from the crowd, amused.

Ray pulled back slightly, his face turning up toward Sand, cheeks still flushed as he insisted, “I’m not drunk! I’ve barely had anything! But, look at him, have you all seen how handsome Sand looks tonight?”

A fresh wave of warmth flooded Sand’s cheeks, the intensity of Ray’s gaze setting off a pulse of emotion he could barely contain.

Ray’s eyes were slightly unfocused but deeply, sincerely fixed on him, a vulnerability there that felt almost like a promise. Sand couldn’t look away, couldn’t bring himself to break whatever this was, though he feared, even as he was drawn into it.

“What have you been smoking?” he asked gently after noticing his eyes being slightly red.

Ray only grinned, dropping his head slightly until his forehead rested against Sand’s shoulder, hiding his face as he giggled softly.

Those around them joined in the laughter, until someone finally explained, “We don’t even know what it was, but Ray only took a small hit.”

Sand nodded, barely processing the English, his thoughts blurred by Ray’s presence, his warmth. All he could feel was the weight of Ray leaning against him.

“Maybe it’s best if I take him somewhere quieter,” he suggested, his voice low. No one objected; they even offered warm compliments about Sand’s performance as he led Ray away.

Ray didn’t seem as intoxicated as they’d implied, but there was a softness in him, a boyish warmth that made Sand’s heart ache.

On the short walk outside, Ray stayed close, practically bouncing with happiness as he walked beside Sand, every few steps showering him in compliments, his voice bright with affection. It was then Sand noticed that Ray, too, was dressed all in black.

When the car finally arrived, Ray slid in beside him, leaning into Sand’s shoulder as if he belonged there.

Sand’s initial plan was to take Ray back to his own hotel. But Ray leaned closer, almost pleading.

“No, let’s go to your room. Please?” His voice was soft, barely a whisper. “I bet your sheets smell like you by now.”

“We can’t, Ray. Nick is gonna come over tonight.” Ray pouted, whined some more and proceeded not to say another word till they arrived at his hotel.

Arriving in the model’s room, Ray immediately threw himself onto the bed, stretching out and releasing a deep sigh of satisfaction. It was as if his muscles were finally allowed to breathe, to relax after an intense summer filled with endless activity and noise.

He yawned loudly, the sound echoing in the quiet room, then chuckled to himself, the kind of soft laughter that hinted at a carefree moment just before reality set back in.

“What’s so funny?” Sand asked, a lazy smile creeping across his face as he approached Ray’s sprawled figure.

Ray propped himself up on his elbows, his eyes glinting in the dim light. As he did, Sand noticed the soft, orangey blush that graced Ray’s cheeks, an unexpected warmth that made him appear even more inviting. There was something about that moment, that lingering summer heat radiating through the open window, that felt oddly intimate.

“This summer was strange. I can’t believe it’s already over,” Ray said, his voice tinged with a bittersweet nostalgia.

In one swift movement, Ray pulled Sand onto him, the mattress cradling their fall, and they both erupted into laughter, a shared release of pent-up energy. It was as if the weight of the world momentarily lifted, leaving only the joyous echo of their voices.

Then, still without words, Ray nudged Sand to switch positions, and in the next heartbeat, they were sitting on the edge of the bed, Ray perched on Sand’s lap.

The closeness felt electric, a spark igniting between them that made the air hum with unspoken possibilities. Sand’s hands naturally wrapped around Ray’s waist, protective yet hesitant, as he met Ray’s gaze, curious about what lay behind those expressive eyes.

Their clothes felt constricting, the expensive fabric a reminder of the reality of their worlds, but at that moment, it hardly mattered. The warmth radiating from Ray enveloped Sand, drawing him closer.

“I like your hair like this. You should style them like this more often,” Ray said, reaching out to run a gentle hand through Sand’s hair, his fingers dancing through the strands. Sand leaned instinctively into the warmth of Ray’s touch, closing his eyes for a moment, allowing himself to indulge in the softness of the moment.

“You’re lucky all those people were around earlier, or I’d have kissed you the second I saw you.” He said it so casually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, yet it made Sand’s heart race, the laughter turning to something deeper and more serious. Ray’s body shook with laughter too, a harmonious melody that filled the air around them.

“I’m serious —even now while you’re laughing. Come to think of it, you’re always lucky my friends were there to hold me back every other time I was really drunk,” Ray added, the playful glint in his eyes dimming slightly.

Sand’s laughter faded, replaced by curiosity and concern. “Mh?” he replied, tilting his head.

”Mh?” Ray mirrored instantly.

“What other times?” he pressed, wanting to unravel this thread of vulnerability that Ray had unwittingly revealed.

Ray’s expression shifted, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features. But he stayed silent, realizing he had spoken too much.

When he moved to kiss Sand, he instinctively pulled back. “You’re tipsy, and I don’t kiss anyone who isn’t sober unless I’m tipsy too.”

Ray pouted adorably, his lower lip jutting out in a way that made Sand’s resolve waver. “Why?”

“I can’t help it,” Sand replied, half-smiling at Ray’s earnestness.

“But I’m completely willing! There’s nothing I want more than to kiss you. Please?” The earnestness in Ray’s voice was irresistible, and Sand felt the familiar pull that had been building between them. It would be a shame to end the summer without at least one kiss, but he also didn’t want to take advantage of Ray’s state.

“Take a shower, and I’ll think about it,” Sand suggested, his tone teasing but firm, nudging Ray to rise.

“A shower? I’m too tired for that,” Ray protested, his playful defiance revealing a childlike vulnerability beneath the bravado.

“Your breath smells like weed. I’m not kissing you,” Sand replied, half-serious, half-joking.

Ray’s pouting intensified, and he began to squirm playfully, looking every bit the reluctant child. “Will you come with me? I need help.”

Without much protest, Sand let himself be dragged into the bathroom, their designer clothes discarded carelessly on the damp floor. Sand’s mind drifted to thoughts of what the night could become, yet he was determined to take it slow.

As the warm water enveloped Ray, it seemed to sap the last of his energy. Sand watched as Ray surrendered to the cascading spray, a different kind of vulnerability radiating from him. The warmth flushed his cheeks and chest a rosy pink, and his hair fell softly around his face, making him appear even more affectionate and open than usual.

Sand’s thoughts flickered back to their first shower together, the heady rush of desire that had consumed them both. They had been nearly ravenous back then, lost in the thrill of new attraction. But now, as he stood there, he felt a tenderness in his chest, a softness that came from caring for Ray without any pretense or expectations.

“Come on, brush your teeth while you’re here,” Sand suggested lightly, but Ray only looked into his eyes, his expression earnest and sweet as he opened his mouth expectantly. Sand understood immediately what was being asked of him.

Stepping out of the shower for a moment, he grabbed the toothbrush and without a second thought, began to brush Ray’s teeth for him. It felt intimate, a gesture that spoke volumes more than words ever could.

Ray seemed too disconnected to fully comprehend, but when Sand sprayed water in his face to rinse him off, the moment snapped back to life, and Ray erupted in laughter, spitting water playfully at Sand in retaliation.

Strangely, Sand found himself amused rather than grossed out. When he finished, Ray took the toothbrush and said, “Now it’s your turn,” and Sand couldn’t help but laugh, a warmth blooming in his chest.

Ray imitated his method, rinsing Sand with the shower spray, and once he was satisfied that Sand’s mouth was mint-fresh, he pressed their lips together. It was sweet and tender, a moment that felt like it had been waiting to happen tasted like fresh mint, like the universe had conspired to bring them to this point.

Under the shower head it felt like they were back at the I-Days festival; Sand almost heard “Always” playing in the background, but this time, he only tasted the mint from Ray’s mouth, the connection between them intensifying, each kiss deepening their bond.

Once they stepped out of the shower, Ray basked in Sand’s attention, his demeanor shifting. He wasn’t nearly as intoxicated as he pretended to be; the long drive had started to sober him up. He seized the chance to be more openly affectionate, knowing that Sand wouldn’t judge him for it.

Maybe Sand found his antics amusing, and as long as he kept making Sand smile, that was all Ray needed. Tonight, though, he felt on edge, as if teetering on the brink of something profound.

Wrapped in a towel around his waist, Ray sat on the sink while Sand, also wearing just a towel, began applying skincare products for both of them. Ray’s playful nature shone through, but there was a weariness about him that tugged at Sand’s heart.

Sand wasn’t entirely sure why he was doing all this; he simply knew he wanted to. He had always been drawn to Ray, and after spending that unforgettable day in Italy together, he had finally accepted that their connection went beyond mere attraction. Still, that didn’t mean he was ready to face it.

As he traced the delicate contours of Ray’s smooth skin with the creams, Sand realized just how vulnerable he was becoming, how deeply he was allowing Ray to reach into his heart. 

When they left the bathroom and Ray lent him a pair of underwear, Sand headed to the bed, where Ray immediately sank into its softness, a picture of comfort and trust.

“I’ll borrow some of your clothes, okay?” Sand said, searching for something to wear.

“Mmm,” Ray replied, his voice soft, already drifting off into the comfort of the bed.

Sand struggled to find something that suited him, finally giving up and opting for a pair of shorts instead. He walked back to the bed, where Ray seemed to be on the brink of sleep.

“Ray? Ray? I’m heading out,” Sand called softly.

Ray’s eyes snapped open, furrowing with confusion. “What do you mean? Aren’t you staying?”

Sand knelt down to be closer, and Ray instinctively leaned over, disappointment flickering in his tired eyes.

“I told you Nick would come to the room. I have to go back,” Sand said, his heart twisting at the look on Ray’s face. Without thinking, he began to stroke Ray’s hair, now soft and falling gently over his forehead, the intimacy of the gesture overwhelming.

“No, don’t leave me alone, Sand. Please,” Ray begged, his voice barely above a whisper, as if the mere thought of solitude terrified him.

“I told you, Ray. I need to go back to the hotel; we’re leaving early tomorrow.” Sand’s voice, though firm, carried a subtle edge of regret, as if the weight of this decision pressed down on him too.

“I’m begging you, don’t go.” Ray’s words were desperate, raw, like he was hanging on by the thinnest thread.

The atmosphere between them thickened, the air heavy with unspoken emotions. It felt like the world had narrowed down to just the two of them, a vast chasm of unspoken fears and aching desires between them.

“You’re never this insistent,” Sand said, his voice betraying the tension building in his chest. “How long does that joint’s effect last?”

Ray’s eyes, already dark with emotion, began to glisten with the first signs of tears. Sand felt something deep inside him twist —a cold weight settling in his chest. The sight of Ray breaking like this, so unguarded, was more than he could bear. The ache that bloomed in his heart was sharp, almost suffocating.

“Ray? Are you crying?” Sand asked, his voice breaking with a tenderness he hadn’t expected to feel. He reached out instinctively, but Ray turned away, trying to hide the tears that streamed down his face. A quiet sob escaped him, the crack in his mask widening, exposing the vulnerability he had tried so hard to shield.

Sand’s breath hitched. The lump in his throat felt too large to swallow. He stepped back, his hands trembling slightly as a wave of anxiety hit him. He quickly walked to the bathroom, his mind spinning. He grabbed his phone, though the movement felt mechanical, detached from the emotions whirling inside him.

He typed a message to Nick, his fingers almost moving on their own. “I’m not coming back to the room tonight. I’ll see you in the morning. I promise I won’t be late.”

When he turned back to Ray, he felt his phone vibrate on the ground, but he ignored it, choosing instead to focus on the broken figure in front of him. Ray was still hiding his face, his shoulders shaking with the weight of his silent cries.

“Ray?” Sand’s voice was a whisper now, soft and tender, as if afraid to disturb the fragile moment.

Ray’s voice came out in a broken murmur, “You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to. I don’t want you to feel forced.”

The resignation in Ray’s voice cut through Sand like a blade. His chest tightened. 

“Ray, talk to me, hmm? What’s bothering you?” Sand’s words were gentle, pleading, his desperation to understand pressing him forward. He needed to bridge the distance, to reach Ray, to pull him back from whatever dark place his mind had gone.

Ray let out a shaky breath, his voice barely audible, “No, Sand, go. You wanted to go back, so go back. No one wants to stay with me; I’m used to it. Just go, please.” The words felt like an accusation, each syllable tearing through Sand’s heart, leaving a trail of guilt and confusion in its wake.

“What are you saying? You’re Ray Pakorn; everyone wants to be with you,” Sand replied, his mind racing to make sense of the painful statement. How could he think that?

Ray’s eyes suddenly locked onto his with an intensity that made Sand falter. The hurt in those eyes felt like a punch to the gut.

“But no one wants me! Everyone wants Ray Pakorn, but not me. Not even you.” Ray’s voice cracked, the weight of his vulnerability crashing down.

The rawness in Ray’s words hit Sand like a tidal wave. His heart stopped for a beat before it started to race again, painfully aware of the emotions flaring up within him. 

Sand’s breath hitched as he struggled to find the right words. “What are you saying, Ray? I—” He trailed off, unable to finish his sentence. How could he explain something he wasn’t sure of himself?

“I’ve gotten used to your quirks. Look at you; you can barely look me in the eye. You do that every time you’re not being honest, you know? I notice a lot of things, Sand; I’m not as stupid as you think.”

“I never thought you were stupid, Ray,” Sand said, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with pain and confusion. “And I don’t even know what you’re talking about. You tried to send me away, and yet here I am, staying for you, to help you —do you even realize what that means?”

Ray fell silent, the space between them thickening, as his vision blurred with tears. He couldn’t believe he was letting himself be so raw, so exposed. This isn’t how I’m supposed to be, he thought, not with Sand, not like this.

“I already feel guilty about that, Sand,” Ray said finally, his voice hoarse, filled with an ache that felt like it was pulling him apart. “At first, you didn’t want to stay, and I’m telling you that you’re not obligated to. I’m giving you a way out, but you’re the one insisting on staying.”

Sand’s heart shattered for Ray, seeing him so broken, so unsure of himself. The walls that Ray had so carefully constructed around himself were crumbling, and for the first time, Sand saw the depth of the loneliness and fear that had been buried beneath the surface. The playful exterior was nothing but a mask, a shield against the world that had never really understood him.

“Ray, staying isn’t a burden. I want to be here with you. Just let me in,” Sand said, his voice breaking, desperate now to bridge the gap between them.

The conversation seemed to linger in the air, thick with unspoken fears and hopes. “But I want to stay.” The words slipped from Sand’s lips like a fragile whisper, almost lost in the heavy atmosphere.

Moments later, Ray collapsed into his arms, the weight of his emotions crashing down as he began to cry again. “I’m scared, Sand,” he choked out between sobs, his body trembling.

All Sand could do was envelop Ray in a tight embrace, feeling the heat of his skin and the rapid beat of his heart. He held him fiercely, wishing he could absorb all the pain and fear that radiated from him. “You won’t disappear once we’re back in Thailand, right? All of this, it won’t just vanish, will it?”

“No, Ray, I promise you.” Sand’s voice was steady, a comforting anchor amidst the storm of emotions swirling around them.

When he had asked that unexpected question during the festival, a wave of joy had washed over Ray, a momentary flicker of hope igniting within him. But it had shattered in an instant as Sand’s face twisted into a mask of fear, as if he had just uttered his deepest regret.

Ray had kissed him after that question, desperate to bridge the gap between them, to solidify what they had started to build. The kiss had been soft and lingering, filled with the weight of unexpressed feelings, a silent promise of what could be.

It was clear Sand had spoken from a place of vulnerability, and despite the terror etched on his features, that moment meant everything to Ray. It signified that their connection was real, that they weren’t just figments of his fantasies. It gave Ray the courage to test the limits of what they shared, to see how much longer Sand would cling to him.

Yet, in the back of Ray’s mind, a shadow of doubt loomed large. They wouldn’t have the luxury of being just minutes apart anymore.

Once they returned to their lives, the distance would stretch between them like an insurmountable chasm, and Ray couldn’t shake the feeling that Sand was secretly waiting for that moment, anticipating the inevitable goodbye.

He would never beg anyone to stay by his side, not after everything he had lost. If he couldn’t convince his father to stay, how could he ever expect to do so with anyone else? But that realization didn’t dull the sting of rejection; the thought of Sand leaving cut deeper than he cared to admit.

That night felt like a moment of utter vulnerability, a surrender to his feelings. He fell asleep cradled in the warmth of Sand’s affection, his heart racing with uncertainty. He was still unsure if the words spoken in the heat of the moment would translate into promises that would last beyond the night.

When morning light seeped through the curtains, Ray awoke to find the bed empty and cold. Panic surged within him as he sat up, scanning the room for any sign of Sand. On his side of the pillow lay a note, the simple scrawl of Sand’s handwriting sending a rush of emotions through him.

“We’re leaving early this morning. I’ll see you in Thailand.”

A wave of disappointment washed over him , mingled with a deep sense of longing.  

As he sat there, lost in thought, Ray couldn’t help but feel the ache of separation settling deep within him, a reminder of the fragility of their moments together.

The note crumpled slightly in his grasp, but he held onto it as if it were a lifeline. It was all he could do.

Chapter Text

Back in Thailand, Sand learned —certainly not from searching his name on social medias— that Ray had left for France and had to head to America, both countries to visit because of work. Ray wouldn’t be back in Thailand until three weeks after him.

When he read the news, his chest tightened with a mix of relief and unease. Part of him welcomed the distance; maybe a break would help him clear his head, give him space to process the confusion Ray seemed to stir in him. But the other part was gnawing at him: why hadn’t Ray told him?

He would have expected some kind of notice, especially after that night —the night when Ray’s mask had finally slipped, when Sand had seen a vulnerable, raw part of him he’d never seen before.

Maybe Ray hadn’t told him out of fear, afraid it would somehow influence Sand’s answer to that faithful question.

The logical part of him whispered that he shouldn’t think about this at all. He needed to focus on music, on the endless hours he’d promised himself he would give to his work. But that last night haunted him —the memory of Ray’s trembling, his silent tears. He told himself the ache would fade in time, but as the days passed, it only grew sharper.

They’d promised each other that whatever connection existed wouldn’t vanish once they were back in Thailand. But what exactly was this connection? They’d never given it a label, and in the beginning, Sand hadn’t even cared. But now… now, the question echoed in him like a whisper he couldn’t silence.

Four days into his self-imposed studio exile, Sand was lost in his music when the door creaked open. Nick poked his head in, carrying coffee and something wrapped in a brown bag that smelled freshly baked and savory.

He knew Sand’s work mode all too well; once in the studio, Sand would forget everything else —even to eat.

“How long have you been holed up here?” Nick asked, settling on the couch far from Sand’s chaotic workstation. He looked at Sand with genuine concern; Sand looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

“I didn’t go home last night,” Sand admitted, biting into the sandwich. It tasted phenomenal —though that was probably his hunger talking.

Nick’s brows lifted. “Sand, you’re not going down that road again, are you?” His voice softened. “We’ve been through this.”

Sand tensed, guilt washing over him. Nick was talking about that dark place Sand had been in two years ago, the endless nights of numbing himself with work, the hollow days where even music lost its meaning. He’d promised himself he’d never sink so far again.

He’d clawed his way out then, and he wouldn’t let himself slip back now. But deep down, he knew that even if he went home, he wouldn’t sleep; he’d just find another excuse to keep himself from slowing down, from really facing things.

“Relax, Nick,” he said, forcing himself to swallow another bite. He coughed, then nodded to Nick, who wasn’t convinced. “The others just got here, any ideas?” Nick pressed on, switching topics but watching Sand closely.

And so, another day slipped by in the haze of studio lights and melodies, his friends managing to coax him out for a break with a few half-joking complaints about his smell.

That night, Sand walked into his apartment, trying to ignore how hollow it felt.

He lingered by the door, feeling the emptiness settle in his chest. It was strange, this ache that felt almost like loneliness, though he couldn’t name who he was lonely for.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and as he collapsed onto the couch he pulled it out, hesitating before unlocking the screen. His heart stumbled a little when he saw Ray’s number among the notifications —messages he hadn’t opened since he’d come back.

In truth, he’d seen them, of course he had seen them. But he’d ignored them, telling himself he didn’t have the energy, that he didn’t want to get caught up in something he might regret. And yet… seeing Ray’s messages stacked there, unread, brought an ache he couldn’t ignore.

He opened the messages, focusing on the last ones he had sent:

Good morningg

It’s the middle of the night there, right?

Hope you’re awake anyway  [Yesterday, 1:53 AM]

Just finished a photo shoot

I’m exhausted [4:47 PM] 

Your songs are playing on the radio [9:22 PM]

The simplicity of those messages cut deeper than Sand wanted to admit. Ray was reaching out, in small, unassuming ways, a gentle reminder of his presence. And each one made Sand’s chest tighten with a strange mix of longing and uncertainty.

It was nearly two in the morning now. Ray was probably in the middle of his evening, maybe out with friends, sipping wine in some dim-lit Parisian bar. Sand’s fingers hovered over the screen, his mind racing with reasons not to reply. He took a breath, forcing himself to type out a reply.

Sorry, I haven’t been on my phone these past few days

It was a lie, but he couldn’t bring himself to admit the truth. He added, “I’ve been holed up in the studio,” as if that would explain the silence, as if Ray would accept it.

The reply came almost immediately.

It’s okay. I understand

Something about those words made Sand’s chest tighten. They felt simple but loaded, carrying a quiet resignation he didn’t quite know how to interpret. He waited, staring at the screen, almost hoping for something more. But there was nothing. Just silence. He found himself typing again.

What are you up to?

Sand wanted distance, but he was drawn in. On impulse, he added, “Do you want to video call?”

He barely processed the words as he sent them. A notification flashed, inviting him to accept the call, and if he hadn’t been seated, his legs might have given out.

Taking a shaky breath, Sand accepted. His dark-circled eyes stared back at him on the screen before Ray’s face appeared. For a moment, Sand was at a loss for words. Ray’s face was surprised; after all that silence, a video call was probably the last thing he’d expected. Sand couldn’t blame him.

Months later, he wouldn’t even remember why he’d suggested it; he only knew it helped. A lot.

Ray looked as beautiful as ever —maybe even more so. He wore a bathrobe, his hair perfectly styled, as if he’d just stepped off a photoshoot. Sand found himself getting lost, taking in every detail.

He’d avoided social media just to not see this face, back when he hadn’t understood, or hadn’t wanted to accept, just how much he missed Ray.

Because, after all, Ray always intimidated him, and that should’ve been an answer in itself.

“Hey,” Ray said, his voice soft, a hint of surprise still lingering.

Sand swallowed, feeling his chest tighten. “Hey,” he replied, voice low and rough from exhaustion.

“You look…rough,” Ray said, eyes drifting over the dark circles, the way his face looked worn, tired. Ray’s smile was tender, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He looked worried, a touch of sadness in his gaze.

Sand let out a tired laugh, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “Yeah, it’s been… a long few days.”

Ray’s smile lingered, but his gaze grew more serious. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked quietly.

Sand nodded, though he didn’t trust himself to speak. For a moment, he was speechless, feeling vulnerable, raw. He managed a small, tired smile. “Yes. Again, like I said, it’s been a long few days. Barely been home,” he admitted, his voice a low murmur.

Standing, he wandered to the bathroom, letting the call follow him, needing the stability of routine. He started filling the tub with warm water, adding his favorite bath products —the comfort of their familiar scent grounding him. He then went back to the living room to get a bath tray, one of those wooden ones often seen on social media. It was a gift from Nick, and Sand treasured it.

Ray lectured him gently for a minute or two, and Sand almost forgot he wasn’t there in person. The only thing missing was Ray’s touch, even a light nudge or a teasing slap on the shoulder. In that moment he needed that more than he had realized.

Changing the topic, he asked, “What are you doing tonight?” And suddenly they were talking as if no distance or silence had come between them.

It was both unnerving and comforting. Comforting because it was one more confirmation of something Ray wanted to believe in; unnerving because it was one more confirmation of something Sand was scared to admit.

As they talked, Sand returned to the bathroom, set his phone beside the tub, and undressed casually, watching as Ray’s gaze followed him. The old urgency between them had softened; this felt like something new, like whatever this was becoming was unfolding in the silences between their words.

When he finally sank into the warm water, Sand felt a deep calm settle over him. Ray’s voice, filtering through the screen, was soothing, cradling him as he closed his eyes, his body relaxing, surrendering to the moment.

Ray continued talking, his words gentle and easy, drawing Sand in like a warm current. “And so they invited me to dinner. Wait, let me show you what I’m planning to wear!” Ray’s eyes lit up with a childlike excitement that Sand found endearing. Watching Ray talk about fashion, seeing that spark in him, was one of the things Sand adored most.

Ray disappeared for a moment, continuing with his story, only to return holding a few outfits. “Actually, I’ve got a few options. I still need to pick,” he continued, grinning. “Honestly, I don’t know how much longer we can stay on because my stylists should be arriving any minute.”

With outfits in hand, he walked back to the phone. “Well? What do you thi—” Ray stopped, his face softening as he looked at the screen. Sand had fallen asleep, his face peaceful, the lines of exhaustion easing as he drifted off in the warm water.

Ray froze, his face softening. He tossed his outfits aside and leaned closer to the screen, watching as Sand’s head dipped forward, almost touching the water. Startled, Sand’s head jerked up, and a few bubbles clung to his chin, his nose.

Ray’s heart swelled with an ache that felt almost unbearable and smiled at the same time. He took a screenshot, capturing Sand in that quiet, unguarded moment, knowing he’d treasure it. He stayed there, watching Sand sleep, unwilling to end the call, only closing it when his team arrived at the door.

What Ray didn’t know was that it was his voice, his presence, that had lulled Sand to sleep. As Sand dozed, he dreamed, not of the studio, not of his music, but of Ray —there beside him, holding him in a way that felt real.

When he finally woke, his phone was dark, the water cold, and he was alone again.

After that call, Sand felt an unexpected rush of inspiration, something deep and urgent, like a flood that had been held back too long.

For the next three weeks, he lost himself in his studio again, days blending into nights as he worked relentlessly, only emerging when absolutely necessary —for the occasional meeting or a short interview to discuss the summer tour. In the studio’s dim light, his only company was the tangle of thoughts and emotions that filled the quiet space.

Video calls with Ray became a ritual, a fragile thread that kept them connected. Texts weren’t enough anymore; there was something in the sound of Ray’s voice, in the way he paused between words, that Sand couldn’t bear to lose. And perhaps, for Ray, it was the same. Messages alone felt hollow —empty spaces where words weren’t quite enough.

Whenever they spoke, Ray would find Sand in the same spot, surrounded by scattered sheets of lyrics and half-empty coffee cups, with headphones around his neck and that distracted, faraway look. Ray would beg him to share a line or play him a melody, but each time, Sand would shake his head with a smile.

The songs felt too raw, too close to something he hadn’t yet figured out himself.

The reason was simple but complicated. Sand had begun working on multiple songs, some of which were early drafts for the band’s next album. Those songs were collaborative pieces he would shape together with his bandmates.

But then there were two others, songs that seemed to have sprung from somewhere deeper. They had begun as just two phrases that echoed in his mind, after that first video call with Ray:

“We never should have met,” and “Let’s try.”

Two contradictory phrases.

Two songs, like two sides of the same coin, both revolving around Ray. Both revolving around Sand.

In the turmoil of his thoughts, Sand found himself writing from places he didn’t entirely understand.

These two songs had become mirrors, reflections of something he hadn’t fully confronted —two opposing forces within him, each vying for control, depending on which song he was working on.

One song felt like a warning, a self-protective armor he wanted to keep between himself and Ray. The other felt like surrender, an acceptance that terrified him even as he reached for it.

He’d nearly forgotten the strange calm that making music could bring him, like sitting across from himself and finally seeing the hidden parts of his own heart. In creating these songs, he was uncovering truths that words alone couldn’t quite capture.

A breakthrough happened the night before Ray was supposed to return.

It was close to three in the morning in Thailand. Ray was already on the plane back, and Sand was on his fourth cup of coffee, its bitterness biting into his exhaustion. He was bent over his notebook, lyrics scattered across the page, when suddenly he felt his pen stop.

He realized he couldn’t keep hiding, not from Ray and not from himself. He needed to face what he felt, whatever it was, and admit that this was more than he could handle alone. But he also knew he might need a lot of time to fully understand it. Maybe he wasn’t ready to be honest about the depth of this, not even to himself. But he knew one thing —it wasn’t something he could turn back.

Sand’s struggle with his own feelings had roots that went back to childhood. He’d spent most of his life hiding behind a mask, forced to contain emotions that never seemed “right” for the moment. He’d learned early on that his emotions were often too intense, too complex, for situations that called for simplicity.

Yet, the cause wasn’t generated from a light situation.

He remembered vividly the day his father left. His father had never been much of a presence in his life, and when he finally walked out the door with a promise never to come back, Sand’s mother had sighed with relief. “Finally,” she had said, her voice light, almost triumphant.

But Sand had felt an ache, a hollow kind of sadness he couldn’t understand. True, his father hadn’t been around much, but was he really walking away forever? Sand felt the sting of that loss, even as his mother didn’t seem to feel it at all.

Sand felt sad; his mother did not.

Sand was about to cry from sorrow, his mother from happiness.

She’d held his face gently in her hands, smiling, “It’s over, Sand. Now it’s just you and me.” And she’d said it with a joy that made him feel somehow guilty for the sorrow he felt.

From that moment on, Sand began to believe his emotions were wrong, that he was out of sync with everyone else. He learned to hide what he felt, to push it down until even he wasn’t sure what lay underneath. It became a habit, so deeply ingrained that he sometimes couldn’t put a name to his own feelings.

He had hoped music would bring him clarity, a way to untangle the knots within him. But here he was, staring at the lyrics of these two songs —one born from defiance, the other from longing— and he felt more lost than ever.

What was he really feeling?

As he looked down at the words he’d written, he could almost hear Ray’s voice, could almost feel the weight of their last conversation hanging between them. The music had brought him this far, into places he’d kept hidden even from himself, but now, he wondered if even that would be enough.

When Ray finally touched down in Thailand, Sand resolved to test himself, to see how long he could resist the urge to reach out, to see how long he could pretend he wasn’t missing something he’d barely had time to hold. He wanted to believe he could endure, maybe even go a week before giving in. 

He lasted two days.

On the third day, he sent Ray a text with the thinnest excuse: “I still have your clothes”

It would have made sense to drive over and drop off those clothes, still folded neatly —although somehow now they’d ended up on his nightstand next to his bed.

But that wasn’t what he wanted. What he wanted was Ray. He wanted to see him, to feel his presence.

When Ray opened the door, Sand’s breath caught. The model looked effortlessly put together, a hint of sun on his skin and that subtle weariness that only added to his easy elegance. His hair was still styled, his whole look so polished that Sand could barely stand to look at him without feeling something break open inside him. He looked perfect.

Ray smiled, and Sand’s carefully held reserve shattered. For three weeks, he’d kept his guard up, filling the time with distractions, telling himself that it would get easier each day. But that smile made him feel like the world had started up again, like he was thawing out from a long winter he hadn’t even realized he’d been weathering.

They hugged —one of those slow, endless embraces that sandwiched all the ache and longing of weeks apart into a single, tender motion. Ray kissed him, lightly, like he was trying to hold back, but the kiss lingered, weighted with unspoken words. Sand couldn’t help but wonder what Ray might’ve done if he hadn’t tried to restrain himself.

He shut the door behind them, sealing them in, and even though they were pressed together, the rush of feeling made Sand feel almost unsteady. He caught himself grinning into the kiss, warmth flooding through him.

Ray tasted like home. He tasted like comfort. He tasted like everything Sand had missed and more, like he was a part of him he hadn’t even known he was missing until now. And more than that, he tasted like happiness —a kind of happiness that Sand hadn’t let himself imagine he could feel so completely.

As Ray drifted through the apartment, glancing around as he was seeing it for the first time in person and not just behind a screen, Sand felt a pang deep in his chest.

He hadn’t cried in months, but right then, with Ray in the same space, he almost wanted to. For the first time in weeks, he felt something tender pressing up against the loneliness he’d been hiding, something almost painful in its sweetness.

With Ray moving from room to room, it was as if life had returned to the apartment, like warmth creeping back into a space that had grown cold in his absence. Just like his name, Ray felt like sunlight filling the dim corners of the place Sand had started to think of as empty and lonely. Even though it was dark outside, Ray had brought light with him.

It was late, and Sand suggested Ray stay the night. It felt natural, easy, as though Ray had always been part of this space.

Ray had come with a few bags filled with small gifts, little thoughtful gestures that showed just how well he’d gotten to know Sand, not just the man but the world he lived in. During their video calls, Ray had taken in the details of Sand’s life with an intensity that now made Sand’s heart ache.

Sand hadn’t realized until now how much attention Ray had paid to him, how much he’d let himself be seen in a way that was both deeply thrilling and a little terrifying.

There was something almost surreal about it. Just a moment before opening the door, he’d been nervous, worried things might be awkward, but now, with Ray here, it was as if those three weeks of separation hadn’t happened at all, as though Ray’s tearful goodbye before he’d left had only been a passing storm.

They ordered food —Ray craving the familiarity of Thai dishes he’d missed while away— and Sand put on some music, filling the space with soft melodies.

Ray’s attention drifted to Sand’s bookshelf, full of records and vinyls. He looked intrigued, almost reverent as his eyes scanned over the collection.

“At home, I have something like this,” Ray said, studying the unfamiliar names on the spines. “But it’s a whole room filled with records.”

“Really?” Sand smiled, surprised, as he mixed drinks. “You’ll have to show me sometime. I didn’t know you were into music.”

Ray laughed softly. “I’m not, really. My mom was.” His footsteps grew closer, and Sand felt the warmth of his presence right behind him. He stayed with his back turned, trying to keep his hands steady, but his heart raced.

They hadn’t spoken about Ray’s mother yet, but Sand knew she’d passed away, knew she’d been a figure well known in the public eye. But he didn’t know how that loss had shaped Ray, how it had left its mark on him. Ray seemed so calm, as if he’d made peace with it, but Sand couldn’t help but wonder if there was a wall there, a part of himself Ray hadn’t yet shared.

He wanted to know more, to reach in and find out all the things Ray hid behind that calm exterior. But as always, he swallowed his curiosity, letting it drift away.

“Recognize any artists from my collection?” Sand asked as he sliced an orange.

“Just a few. Micro, Polycat… my mom’s tastes were a bit vintage,” Ray replied, leaning over Sand’s shoulder now, his face so close that Sand could feel his breath.

“Well, then, I’ll have to make you a playlist. You could use some fresh sounds in your life, mh?” Sand’s voice was soft, and Ray’s answer was simply to wrap his arms around him, the closeness sending a shiver through Sand as he felt Ray’s smile against his back.

“I’d like that. I trust your taste.”

Sand turned around, passing Ray a drink. Ray held it in one hand, the other still trapping Sand against the counter. Their eyes met, and as they took a sip, Sand felt a heat rising in him that had nothing to do with the drink.

Ray’s gaze was so open, so unguarded, that Sand felt himself shrink back, feeling suddenly vulnerable.

“I missed you, Sand,” Ray said softly, and the words settled over Sand like a warm, weighty blanket, his heart tightening.

It was such a simple thing to say, but it came out so quietly, like a confession that he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding onto.

“You missed me?” Sand whispered, feeling the words catch in his throat, unsure if he even wanted —or had the strength— to return the same sentence . But the doorbell interrupted them. Their food had arrived.

“I-I’ll get it,” Sand managed, stepping away. He could feel the slight disappointment in Ray’s gaze, but when he returned with the food, Ray was smiling again, as if everything was already right with the world.

They ate together, laughing over a foreign film in the background, slipping into a rhythm of conversation that was so natural it felt like they’d never been apart. For the first time in weeks, Sand felt light, like he was finally home.

Later, Sand suggested they take a bath. There was no ulterior motive, only the warm simplicity of being close.

Ray leaned back against Sand’s chest, and Sand held him, their voices dropping to soft murmurs, as though anything louder might shatter the fragile peace of the moment. Music played in the background, and they stroked each other’s skin, lost in the quiet joy of being together. Sand’s mind drifted back to their first video call, when he had imagined them just like this. 

He felt at peace —and yet, there was a small spark of fear, too, a worry that this happiness was too precious, too delicate.

When they moved to the bed, Ray stretched out, sighing with satisfaction. “Your sheets smell like you,” he said with a mischievous smile, and Sand chuckled, crawling over to him.

He’d offered to grab Ray his own clothes, but Ray had insisted on wearing his, saying he wanted something that smelled of him.

“You keep saying that. You really like it that much?” Sand teased, brushing a kiss to his lips. Ray chased him as he pulled back, his smile softening into something warmer.

“Like it?” he murmured, voice low. “I’m obsessed. I’m obsessed with you. Don’t you know?”

Those words —I’m obsessed with you—hung in the air, lingering in the silence like an echo that refused to fade. Sand felt the weight of them, felt how they slipped past his usual defenses, sinking deep into him and settling there, warming something he’d kept cold for so long. He wanted to hold onto them, to hold onto Ray in that moment, to make the feeling last. But he barely trusted it; it was so fragile, so precarious.

For three long weeks, Sand had barely managed to sleep. Nights stretched out, vast and empty, each hour pulling him further into a lonely rhythm. He would lie in bed until he couldn’t take the silence anymore, until the shape of his thoughts, mostly of Ray, grew too sharp and unbearable. He’d get up, wrap himself in a blanket, and drift to the balcony. Smoke curled from his lips into the darkness, the only thing anchoring him in those late, unsteady hours.

Sometimes he’d brew tea just to feel the warmth in his hands, a reminder that some things were still tangible, still here. Then he’d try to sleep again, but rest would evade him, leaving him stranded in that cycle, night after night.

He’d avoided going home whenever he could exactly for that reason. Home had become a place that felt like a stranger to him, the walls bare and too quiet.

But tonight, with Ray lying beside him, everything was different. The silence wasn’t hollow but full, comfortable. Sand could feel Ray’s warmth, the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

He could feel Ray’s presence grounding him, soothing him in a way nothing else had. All the tension, all the sleeplessness of the past weeks dissolved in the space between them. With Ray beside him, he could let go, finally sinking into rest that he hadn’t even known he craved this desperately.

And waking up the next morning, seeing Ray’s face soft in the early light, was something else altogether. There was a beauty in it that hit Sand like a surprise, something he felt deep in his chest, almost painful in its sweetness.

He realized in that instant just how much he’d missed waking up beside someone, how much he’d missed the quiet intimacy of those first moments in the morning. And waking up to Ray, specifically —to the calm on his face, the way he seemed so at peace— it was like finding something precious he hadn’t even known he’d lost.

But then Ray left, and suddenly Sand felt the silence settle back in, sharper and colder than before.

Alone again, he found himself wrestling with the thoughts he’d been trying to keep at bay.

It’s just fun, he reminded himself.

It’s just fun.

We’re just having fun.

But even as he repeated it, the words felt empty, more like an attempt to soothe himself than anything he truly believed. He’d been telling himself that for weeks now, trying to hold to the idea that whatever they shared was light and casual. And yet, his memories betrayed him: every time he thought back to their last few meetings, what came to mind wasn’t just the thrill of it but the gentleness, the closeness —the way their kisses felt like promises, the way Ray’s laughter lingered in the air long after he was gone. When was even the last time they had sex? 

Sitting alone, he felt the absence of that warmth hit harder than ever. Ray had brought something into his life, something he hadn’t even known he needed. It wasn’t just the laughter, the light-heartedness, or even the thrill of intimacy. Ray brought light into the quietest, darkest corners of Sand’s world —a warmth that had made everything feel fuller, softer. 

And it was only now, in that aching solitude, that Sand felt the depth of it —the depth of what Ray would give him and how he would take it back with him whenever he left.

Chapter Text

Sand had reached a conclusion.

He had spent days pacing around the question, trying to carve out some certainty from the fog of his emotions. But after everything —the sleepless nights, the whirlwind of conflicting feelings, and that last encounter with Ray— he knew he couldn’t ignore the truth any longer.

The two of them hadn’t seen much of each other since Ray had returned to Thailand.

Their schedules rarely aligned; the fast pace of their lives, intertwined yet separate, left them like ships passing in the night. Yet, on the rare occasions when their worlds did intersect, Sand felt something impossible to ignore: an ache that wasn’t entirely painful.

He’d tried to push it away, bury it under work and responsibility.

But that night —when Ray had shown up at his door, drunk and vulnerable— it had all come rushing back.

It was nearly four in the morning, one of the few nights Sand had chosen to sleep at home instead of collapsing on the studio couch. He was half-asleep when a sudden knock at the door jolted him awake. Disoriented, he shuffled toward the sound, rubbing his eyes as he peered through the peephole.

It was Ray.

Ray was barely standing. His body swayed, his head bowed low as though the weight of the world had crushed him. His hair was a disheveled mess, and his shirt hung crookedly, as if he had thrown it on without much thought. Something about the sight unsettled Sand in a way he couldn’t explain.

When Sand opened the door, Ray stumbled forward, nearly falling into him. The smell of alcohol hit Sand immediately —sharp, sour, and overwhelming. For a moment, Ray didn’t speak. Then he lifted his head, offering a small, shaky smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Without warning, Ray pulled him into a tight embrace, the kind that felt less like affection and more like desperation.

“Ray,” Sand said, his voice thick with confusion. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you,” Ray murmured, his words slurred but earnest.

Sand hesitated, unsure how to respond. Before he could say anything more, Ray lurched, his body convulsing as a retch tore through him.

“Come on,” Sand said quickly, his exhaustion giving way to urgency. He wrapped an arm around Ray’s shoulders, guiding him toward the bathroom.

Ray barely made it before he started vomiting. Sand stayed by his side, his hand rubbing slow, steady circles on Ray’s back. He didn’t speak —there was nothing to say— but he didn’t leave either.

When Ray finally stopped, Sand stood and opened the bathroom window, letting in a breeze to clear the air. When he turned back, Ray was sitting on the floor, staring at him with an expression Sand couldn’t quite read.

“What is it?” Sand asked softly.

Ray didn’t answer right away. His gaze was steady but clouded, as though he were working up the courage to speak. Finally, he whispered, “You look tired.”

Sand blinked, caught off guard by the comment. It was such a simple observation, yet it carried a weight he couldn’t ignore.

“Well,” Sand said after a pause, forcing a small smile, “it is four in the morning.”

Ray’s lips twitched upward in a faint smile of his own. “I love your little dimple,” he said suddenly. “Have I ever told you that?”

Before Sand could respond, Ray began crawling toward him on his hands and knees, his movements slow and deliberate. Instinctively, Sand took a step back.

Ray froze, his smile fading. His voice cracked as he said, “You’re not just tired. You’re tired of me, aren’t you?”

The question hit Sand like a punch to the chest. He wanted to deny it, to tell Ray he was wrong, but the words wouldn’t come.

“Ray…” Sand began, his voice soft but unsure.

“I’d give you the world if I could,” Ray interrupted, his voice trembling. He moved closer again, and this time Sand didn’t back away.

Ray cupped Sand’s face in his hands, his touch warm but unsteady. “I’d give you everything I have to offer,” he said, his voice breaking.

The smell of alcohol and vomit was overwhelming, but Sand didn’t pull away. He couldn’t. A part of him doubted whether this moment was even real —Ray’s words were too raw, too vulnerable.

“Ray, you’re drunk,” Sand said finally, his tone gentle but firm. He reached up and gently removed Ray’s hands from his face, holding them for a moment before letting them fall.

When Sand stood, Ray remained on the floor, his head bowed and his shoulders slumped as though the weight of the world had crushed him once again.

The next morning, Ray remembered everything.

He remembered the way Sand had brought him water and clean clothes, insisting he sleep in the bed even though Ray had refused. He remembered how they had both ended up squeezed together on the couch anyway, their breathing slow and synchronized.

With a heavy heart, he sent Sand a message: “I’m sorry.”

Sand’s reply came quickly: “It’s okay.”

But for Sand, those words were a lie.

That night had unearthed wounds Sand thought he had buried. It reminded him of a version of himself he didn’t want to be—the version who had once disappeared for a week after being cheated on, the version who had promised never to let anyone see him break again.

“Sand,”

Nick’s voice broke into his thoughts. “What’s wrong?”

Sand shook his head. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

Nick frowned. “Don’t lie to me. I know you too well for that.”

Sand sighed, his defenses crumbling. “It’s complicated.”

Nick leaned against the wall, waiting. “Let me guess —this is about Ray?”

Sand nodded slowly. “Yeah. Things between us… they’ve gotten weird.”

Nick crossed his arms. “Weird how?”

Sand hesitated, then confessed, “It’s more than I can—“ “Try me.” Interrupted Nick.

For a moment, Sand hesitated. But then the words started spilling out —haltingly at first, then faster as he told Nick everything: the late-night visit, the things Ray had said, the confusion and guilt that had been gnawing at him ever since.

He took a deep breath before continuing, “Nick… I’m not sure if this is just me clinging to the first opportunity to not feel so alone, you know? You know how much I struggle with loneliness… I’m built to take care of people, Nick. You know that better than anyone. Even after that son of a bitch cheated on me, I still want to love. I love love, no matter how much it hurts. And now Ray… I feel good when I’m with him, that’s undeniable. Every time we’re together, it’s like I can finally breathe. Even I surprise myself with what comes out of my mouth sometimes. But I don’t know if Ray just caught me in a moment of weakness. I don’t know if anything I’m feeling is real or this is just me grasping at the first chance not to feel alone.”

Nick listened intently, his expression serious. Perhaps he realized this was more than even he could understand.

“After Ray said those things that night, I can’t stop thinking about it,” Sand admitted, his voice breaking. “Just like I can’t stop thinking about the time he asked me not to leave after the summer tour. It was strange, Nick. It was like confirmation that I’d lost control. It felt right and wrong at the same time.”

Nick tilted his head. “So what are you going to do?”

“I’m confused,” Sand admitted. “But whatever this is, I can’t let it drag me down. You know how much is at stake —we’ve got an album to release and a world tour to prepare for. I can’t afford distractions. I can’t risk jeopardizing the group just because I got caught off guard.”

Nick nodded slowly, understanding. The work ahead was immense: photoshoots, album promotions, endless performances, and interviews both in Thailand and abroad. And once the tour was finalized? They’d need to prepare the setlist, rehearse every performance, and choose outfits for every night.

Sand needed to be completely focused. He couldn’t allow anything to distract him —not when this album’s release was crucial for their agency.

After a long silence, Nick stepped closer and pulled Sand into a firm hug. “Take a break,” he said softly. “And talk to Ray.”

That night, Sand stayed once again in the studio.

He could finally focus on one of those two songs. The melody was raw and haunting, the lyrics cutting straight to the heart of everything he couldn’t say aloud.

By the time he finished, the sun was rising, casting golden light through the studio windows.

Sand had reached a conclusion. But whether it was the right one, he didn’t know.

The distance was killing Ray.

The silence was consuming him.

Every moment of quiet became a stage for the thoughts he couldn’t escape. The memory of that drunken night haunted him —the way he had said too much, pushed too far, shattered everything in one careless moment. It gnawed at him, leaving him hollow. Ray was no longer himself. He was distracted, absent, and strangely diminished.

If Mew hadn’t been by his side, grounding him, he would have destroyed himself in the wreckage of his own guilt.

“This situation is too complicated, Ray. If it wasn’t meant to work, there’s nothing you can do,” Mew said softly, his voice calm yet firm.

There was something infuriating about Mew’s certainty, his ability to make even heartbreak sound logical. It struck Ray as ironic —after all, they had spent years together imagining wild, impossible futures, weaving dreams of what could be. And now, Mew was the first to give up.

Maybe his best friend had always been too much of a realist. Maybe he had always been the one to see things clearly, while Ray clung stubbornly to the fragile thread of hope.

“I refuse to believe that, Mew,” Ray said, his voice tight with frustration. “There’s something between us —I feel it.” He raked his hands through his hair, gripping it tightly as if trying to pull the truth out of himself.

Mew’s expression softened, but his words remained steady. “If something is standing in your way, there’s a reason for it. You can’t force someone to love you, Ray.”

They were sitting on the edge of Ray’s bed. Mew’s hand moved in slow, rhythmic strokes along Ray’s back, a touch that had always been a source of comfort. But now, those words robbed the gesture of its warmth. Instead, they left Ray feeling colder, more exposed.

Ray turned toward Mew, his lips slightly parted in shock, his eyes wounded and already shimmering with unshed tears.

For a moment, Mew looked startled. He reached out hesitantly, his hand moving to clasp Ray’s. “Ray…” he whispered, his tone full of regret.

But Ray flinched, pulling away before Mew could make contact.

He stood abruptly, leaving the bed behind. His legs carried him across the room without thought, until he sank into the small sofa by the wardrobe. He sat there, his body heavy with silence, his gaze distant.

“Ray,” Mew tried again, rising to follow him. But before he could take another step, Ray’s voice cut through the space between them.

“Go away, Mew. Please. Let’s talk about this another time.”

“Ray—”

“I said please.”

The crack in Ray’s voice was enough to stop Mew in his tracks. For a moment, he seemed torn, caught between his instinct to comfort his friend and the knowledge that he had already caused too much harm. Finally, he nodded faintly and turned toward the door.

As he left, his voice was barely audible. “I’m sorry.”

And then, Ray was alone. Alone with the echoes of words that wouldn’t stop replaying in his mind.

“You can’t force someone to love you.”

A bitter laugh bubbled up from his throat, sharp and cutting. A single tear traced a slow path down his cheek.

Mew knew better than anyone else: Ray had spent his whole life trying to make himself worthy of love. He had spent years chasing after the faintest hint of affection from his father, trying to draw warmth from a man whose eyes had only ever been cold. No matter how hard he tried, how much he gave, it was never enough.

Ray knew he couldn’t make someone love him. If his own father had never managed to feel it, why should anyone else? He had learned that lesson long ago —or at least, he thought he had. Somewhere along the way, he had let himself forget that Sand was no exception to the rule.

Just because Ray had spent years waiting for an opportunity with him didn’t mean Sand had been waiting for him. Maybe Ray had rushed things, moved too fast, scared Sand away. He had let his fantasies cloud his judgment, and now he was paying the price.

But this was who he was, wasn’t it? Ray didn’t chase people. He didn’t beg for scraps of affection. He had always known when to walk away from someone who didn’t want him.

And now, he could see it clearly. Sand didn’t want him.

Ray was ready to end it himself, to let go before he lost any more of himself in the process.

As if the universe wanted to mock him, his phone buzzed from across the room.

He hesitated before standing, his steps slow and reluctant. He picked up the phone from the dresser, his fingers brushing over the screen. A message from Sand.

“Will you be at the charity concert?”

Ray stared at the text for a long moment, his chest tightening. What a strange question. They hadn’t spoken in over a week, and now Sand was reaching out, acting as if nothing had happened.

He could feel the weight of unspoken words pressing on him, but he didn’t let himself dwell on it.

His reply was short and to the point. “Yes.”

And then he put the phone down, stepping away from the message and the questions it stirred.

The charity concert was an annual event —a dazzling convergence of Thailand's most influential singers and celebrities, all gathered under a shared purpose: to raise funds for causes that needed them the most. Every year, the event funneled its proceeds —drawn from the generosity of attendees, performers, and even those who couldn’t attend— to vital humanitarian efforts.

This year, the spotlight was on aiding victims of devastating floods that had ravaged some of the country’s most remote and vulnerable communities. It was a cause close to everyone’s heart, a reminder of the unpredictable forces of nature and the enduring strength of human compassion.

Ray had never been one to attend such events. He found them exhausting —an endless parade of polite smiles, superficial conversations, and the suffocating weight of public expectation. His preferred charity was quieter, more detached; he donated enormous sums from the comfort of his villa or an overseas retreat, letting his name appear on the donor list without setting foot at the venue.

But this year was different. It wasn’t just about the cause. For the first time, Ray had chosen to spend the anniversary of his mother’s death in Thailand rather than escaping to America, drowning his emotions in distraction. He couldn’t ignore the ache growing in his chest, the sense that he would miss her more deeply this year. Attending the concert was a small step toward honoring her memory.

That evening, Ray draped himself in a striking Barbie-pink jacket —a color that had always suited his mother best. It was a quiet tribute to her, a splash of vibrancy against the muted tones of grief. He arrived at the concert amid a storm of adoration: thousands of voices chanting his name, cameras flashing like starlight.

The event itself was a grand affair, held outdoors in one of the city’s sprawling parks. Large sections were reserved for ticketed attendees, but a portion was left open for the public, allowing anyone to stand further back and still catch glimpses of the performances. The exclusivity and openness of the concert mirrored the very purpose of the evening: bridging gaps, reaching out to those who needed it most.

For the celebrities, raised platforms adorned with plush seating and endless refreshments ensured comfort and safety from the swaying sea of fans. Backstage, performers prepared in dedicated rooms, where they could relax or watch the proceedings on large screens.

Ray was quickly ushered to the stage, his presence as much a spectacle as it was an honor.

“It’s an incredible privilege to introduce one of our most dedicated supporters, whose generosity has consistently helped this event thrive. Please give a warm welcome to Ray Pakorn!”

As he stepped into view, the crowd erupted. Their cheers were deafening, their admiration palpable. Ray rarely felt moved by public adulation, but tonight it was different. For a moment, he wondered if this was what Sand felt each time he took the stage —a rush of validation, but also a weight of expectations.

Ray kept his speech brief and poignant. Naturally, he spoke of his mother, weaving memories of her compassion and her unwavering support for this cause. When he finished, the applause was a roar of gratitude and respect.

Descending the steps, Ray saw him. Sand.

He was waiting at the bottom, standing apart from the bustling backstage crew. His presence was electrifying, commanding attention even in the dim glow of the park's lights. Sand wore a sharp black jacket, its sheen catching the soft light, and beneath it, a white shirt paired with a loose black tie.

Ray slowed his steps, unsure if Sand was waiting for him or just lingering before his turn to perform. But as their eyes met, it became clear Sand was there for a reason.

“Ray...” Sand’s voice was a low murmur, a hesitant hey barely audible above the noise around them.

Sand was alone, unguarded. It made Ray pause; this was no casual meeting.

“Was that just an appearance, or are you staying for the performances?” Sand asked, his tone softer than Ray expected. Even under layers of makeup, Sand’s exhaustion was evident.

Ray hesitated, his honesty breaking through. “I’m not sure if I’ll stay till the end.” He felt drained, his social energy depleted. All he wanted was solitude —a refuge from the demands of the world.

He moved to walk past Sand, but the singer’s hand shot out, gripping his wrist. Ray froze, glancing down at their contrasting jackets —pink and black —before looking up at Sand’s face.

“Ray,” Sand said quietly, almost pleading. “Can you stay until our performance?”

Ray frowned. Sand looked anxious, jittery even. It unsettled him. “Why?” he asked, his confusion plain.

Sand took a steadying breath. “I’ll be singing an unreleased song tonight,” he explained. “Please, listen to the lyrics. It’s... everything I can’t bring myself to say to you.”

The vulnerability in Sand’s words hit Ray harder than he expected. For a moment, he couldn’t speak. Sand’s nervous energy was palpable, his insecurity a stark contrast to the self-assured performer the world knew.

After a long pause, Ray nodded. He didn’t trust himself to say anything else. Sand released his wrist immediately, his grip loosening like an apology.

As Ray turned to leave, Sand stopped him again.

“Ray,” he whispered, his voice trembling. Their eyes locked. Sand looked like he was on the verge of saying something monumental —or maybe doing something reckless. But instead, he looked around, stepped back, and retreated into himself. “I’m sorry,” he said, his tone raw and unguarded.

For what? Ray wondered. The song? Or the unspoken desire in his eyes —the lingering hint that he wanted, just once more, to close the gap between them?

By the time By the Beach took the stage, Ray had endured two long hours of performances. He’d spent the time stewing in confusion and irritation, questioning why he’d stayed. Yet as Sand stepped forward, all of that faded into quiet anticipation.

Sand’s voice broke through the crowd, calm but filled with purpose. “Before we wrap up, I wanted to give you all something special —a song that hasn’t been released yet. It’ll be part of our next album.”

The crowd erupted, their excitement palpable. But Sand’s gaze didn’t linger on them. His eyes lifted, searching, until they found Ray perched high on the celebrity platform.

“It’s called...” Sand hesitated, his voice thick with something unspoken. “I Was Thinking about You”

The song began with a soft, haunting piano intro, a departure from the band’s usual indie-rock style.

See, I was feeling strange, you know why? I was thinking about you.

I was thinking that..

Sand’s voice was steady, but the emotion behind it was unmistakable.

The verses unfolded with delicate precision. Sand sang of loneliness —not the kind that came from being alone, but the kind that came from being misunderstood. He sang of breaking free from the weight of another’s expectations, of reclaiming himself.

Ray listened, each word cutting deeper. Was that how Sand had felt?

When Sand’s eyes lifted again, meeting Ray’s from across the vast crowd, Ray felt the breath leave his lungs.

Nice people here, nice place

I take a picture, but I don't post it

What would you like to drink?

“This party looks so lit, bro, big shot”

“Don't drink too much or you'll turn into a monster”

I tell myself this like every second

Yet this drink is already the second

I think back to our first night

I take a drink, but I don't get sleepy

There's this song in the background

He tells me, "I want to give you the world"

That's why everything is spinning around me

As we move I feel like I’m in heaven

But in the rush I come early, way too early

And in the moment I didn't realize it

And then I don't even think I'm ready

And then I don't even think I'm sober

And then I really don’t want to give this a name

And then I don't even know you

I was just looking for something to drink

But in the end, you see, it's all right

It’s clear it wasn’t our path

They say, "All smoke and no fire"

But the scent lingered on me

And once again, the chorus echoed through the venue, each note lingering like an unspoken truth.

See, I was feeling strange, you know why?

I was thinking about you.

I was thinking that we should have never met.

Ray stood frozen, his fists clenched at his sides. How could Sand have had the audacity to sing such a song in front of that audience when it was so blatantly about him?

His chest tightened with fury, his heart pounding in a rhythm that matched the music's final reverberations. No one else in that crowd knew the truth, knew that the words were a dagger aimed directly at his heart.

But Ray did. The way Sand had looked at him during the second verse —the fleeting, piercing glance that seemed to strip him bare— left him feeling exposed, humiliated, as though every secret he held had been laid out before thousands of strangers.

At the time, Ray could barely process the words; the sheer weight of Sand’s gaze had clouded his mind. But now, as the band disappeared backstage, every lyric replayed in his head like a relentless echo.

He couldn’t let it slide.

Ray stormed off the platform, pushing past scattered staff still busy dismantling the equipment. His eyes scanned the backstage chaos for Sand, but he was nowhere to be seen.

“Nick!” Ray’s voice cut through the air, sharp and commanding.

The boy jolted, his body stiffening as he turned toward him. He didn’t even need to see Ray’s face to recognize the tone —it was unmistakably him. And when Nick met his eyes, he froze, as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

The attention shifted like a ripple through the room. The other band members and even the backstage crew subtly paused, their movements faltering as they tried, and failed, to feign disinterest.

Nick barely opened his mouth before Ray interrupted, his voice unrelenting. “Where’s Sand?”

The younger man hesitated, his eyes darting toward his bandmates as if searching for help. But there was none to be found. Finally, he stammered, “He’s... he’s outside... in the celebrity smoking area.”

Ray didn’t even bother to thank him. A bitter smirk curled on his lips as he turned and strode away, the staff parting before him like a wave.

The smoking area was eerily quiet, the usual chatter and laughter absent. Only the faint crackle of burning tobacco broke the silence. Standing alone under the dim light was a silhouette Ray would recognize anywhere.

Sand.

“What the fuck was that?” Ray’s voice tore through the stillness like a blade.

The world seemed to stop in the wake of his question. The muffled hum of the venue, the faint music still playing in the distance —it all receded, leaving only the tension between them.

Sand spun around, startled, his first instinct betraying him as he tried to hide the cigarette in his hand.

“Ray,” he breathed, his voice tinged with panic.

“Don’t even bother,” Ray snapped, his tone venomous. “Don’t think I haven’t known for months that you smoke. Isn’t it pathetic, Sand? Lying to me about something so trivial? Do you think I care that you smoke?”

He advanced, his steps deliberate and heavy, and Sand instinctively stepped back, cornered by his towering presence.

“You lied to me about this. So tell me, how many other things have you lied about? When you promised we’d stay in touch? When you made it impossible for me to even reach you? Tell me, Sand, what am I to you? A toy? A body you can pick up and put down whenever you feel like it?”

Sand’s eyes widened, his lips parting as if to respond, but no words came out.

“You think I don’t notice? It’s been weeks, Sand. Weeks of you dodging me, of you treating me like I don’t matter. And then you—” Ray’s voice cracked, a wave of emotion swelling in his chest. “Then you sing that song. In front of everyone. Do you have any idea how that felt?”

“I—”

“No!” Ray’s voice rose, trembling with anger and grief. “You don’t get to defend yourself, not after that. Because everything is always about you. You decide what we do, when we meet, where we meet, fuck you even decide the positions we have to do while having sex! For once, you’re going to listen to me!”

Sand flinched, his cigarette slipping from his fingers and falling to the ground.

Ray’s voice lowered, but it carried an even sharper edge. “Put yourself in my shoes —oh wait, is that too hard for you? Imagine what it feels like to hear a song dedicated to how you wish you’d never met me! To hear you use real things I’ve said during a vulnerable moment! About how, what else did you say —how you’re not ready? Sand, I’ve been chasing you long before you even realized it. I won’t accept you humiliating me like this.”

“Wait, Ray, you’re focusing too much on the surface of the song. I understand you’re angry —I have no excuse for that. I finished writing that song after you came to me drunk—” Ray’s eyes widened with a sarcastic smile. “Oh, so you’d already started writing it! That’s so reassuring.”

“Ray, that’s not the point —listen to me! The situation scared me. After all these months, you can’t deny we still barely know each other. Yet, I was scared of what I felt —that’s why I poured it all into that song. At first, I came to you to apologize. I realized how stupid it was to confess my feelings through a song performed for the first time in front of thousands of people, but we couldn’t take it off the setlist anymore. Ray, believe me —I don’t feel good about this, but it’s something we need to face.”

An hiccup broke through Ray’s defenses. His voice was shaking. “But it’s not fair, Sand. You didn’t even give me a chance, and now you’re throwing everything away! You’ve always been our biggest obstacle. What are you so afraid of, huh?”

Sand seemed to give up. “It’s complicated, Ray.”

“It always is with you, isn’t it?” Sand stayed silent, his head bowed.

When Ray felt the urge to cry again and tried to get away, Sand stopped him.

“Ray, when you talk about ‘a chance’, what do you mean? Do you like me?”

Ray bit the inside of his cheek. “Maybe even too much, Sand. But that’s fine —I’ll get over it.”

“Whatever you’re looking for, Ray, you shouldn’t search it in me. I’m not the version of me you’ve created in your head”

Ray turned back one last time. “I should be saying this to you, Sand. Maybe we’re both underestimating ourselves, but I believe you do know that I didn’t deserve this.”

~~ Somebody by Jungkook📼 ~~

Oh, I hoped you’d find somebody. Hoped you’d find somebody to ride, somebody to die. Oh, I hoped you’d find somebody, I hope you know that somebody ain’t me.

~~ se ne va by Nayt, 3D📼 ~~

Without mercy, hell’s mouth, you make me cry a river for you. No effect, thousands of words, that I burn for you, fall. You leave nothing of me. [...] I know how it feels when someone swears to stay, but then leaves. It leaves nothing of me. You leave nothing of me. You don’t want to see me love you.

~~ The Scientist by Coldplay📼~~

Come up to meet you, tell ya I’m sorry. You don’t know how lovely you are. […] Nobody said it was easy, oh it’s such a shame for us to part. Nobody said it was easy, no one ever said it would be this hard. Oh, take me back to the start.

The words hung in the air, a final blow that neither of them could take back.

Ray turned, his steps faltering as he walked away. Sand called after him, his voice cracking with desperation, but Ray didn’t stop.

Later that night, rumors of their absence from the afterparty spread like wildfire, fueling speculation and gossip. But they dissipated once Ray was photographed slipping into a car, his sunglasses hiding the pain etched across his face. Sand, on the other hand, disappeared into the shadows, unseen by anyone for the rest of the evening.

But if Sand thought he could close this chapter, he was wrong. The story was far from over. They had both been unreasonable that night. Too proud, too selfish, too immature to discuss.

Because no matter how much he had tried to convince himself that he could move on, the moment he saw Ray —his defiant stance, his fiery gaze— every wall he had built came crumbling down.

Ray was different from anyone he had ever met, and Sand knew deep down he would always be powerless to resist him.

Chapter Text

“I Was Thinking of You" was everywhere, and it was tearing Ray apart piece by piece.

He’d tried convincing himself to move on after that night —to put Sand and everything he represented behind him. But how could he, when the song seemed to haunt his every step? It was as if the universe had aligned itself to ensure Ray could never forget. He had underestimated just how much By the Beach mattered to the world.

The very next day, the song saturated every corner of the media. Radios played it on repeat, news anchors praised its artistry, and online platforms brimmed with interpretations. It felt like an invasion. Sand’s voice echoed through speakers in cafés, shops, taxis —always there, creeping into Ray’s mind when he least expected it.

It was relentless.

Ray’s life was no longer his own. Every moment, every breath, felt like a cruel reminder that Sand was untouchable, unreachable, and yet, everywhere. It was as if Sand himself were whispering, “You’ll hear my words for the rest of your life.”

The worst moment came nearly a month after the song's release. December had passed, and with it, Sand’s annual tradition of retreating to Japan to spend Christmas with his mother in the mountains. Not even the frenzy of the single’s success could pull him from that sacred time.

But now, with the holidays over, the interviews had begun. And Ray, caught in his own routine, found himself unprepared for what was about to unfold.

It happened on an otherwise uneventful morning. Ray sat quietly as a stylist adjusted his hair for a photoshoot, the hum of the radio filling the studio.

"And now, before we move on," the radio host chirped, "let’s welcome By the Beach!”

Ray’s stomach dropped. He gripped the armrest of the chair, fighting the urge to sigh audibly or roll his eyes. He had heard enough of them —of him. But Ray’s team, unaware of the tangled feelings he carried, still believed him to be an ardent fan. He couldn’t let his fatigue show, couldn’t risk their raised brows and concerned questions.

Milk, his makeup artist, perked up at the mention of the band. She shot him a cheeky grin through the mirror before leaning over to turn up the volume. Ray forced a tight smile, his chest already tightening. He wasn’t ready —was he ever?— to hear Sand’s voice again.

The interview began innocently enough. The band exchanged light banter with the host, chatting about their holidays and sharing a few jokes. Ray clenched his fists beneath the table. He hated how easily he could pick out Sand’s laugh from the others, how it felt like a blade pressing against his ribcage.

Then, predictably, the conversation turned to the song.

"This track is smashing records —your own records, even! And it’s such a departure from your usual sound. Tell us about the process."

Ray stared at his reflection, trying to drown out the words, but it was impossible.

Jack was the first to answer. “The intro with the piano was actually something I composed years ago, back when we first started. We loved it, but we were too green to do it justice. At the time, we were still figuring out who we were as artists, so it got shelved. But after the European festival tour wrapped up, Sand spent a lot of time in the studio. One day, he asked if I still had that old melody, and that’s how it all came together. The five of us worked on it until it felt right.”

Ray felt his chest tighten. He couldn’t stop himself from picturing it —Sand alone in the studio, pouring himself into something that would’ve eventually consumed Ray’s life.

Then came the question Ray had dreaded the most.

"And what about the lyrics?"

Ray’s breath hitched. His pulse quickened, his heart thudding loudly in his ears.

He imagined Sand had moved on. Surely, he had. It had been over a month. Sand had so much to distract him —his career, his band, the constant demands of the industry. But Ray? He had no such luxury. He was trapped, shackled to the song that refused to let him forget.

Sand sighed. The sound made Ray’s heart clench.

"It’s… complicated," Sand began carefully.

"The lyrics are personal. The first verse talks about past relationships, about learning to be alone and finding peace in that. When you’re alone, there’s no one to answer to, no one to judge you or make you feel small. You don’t have to explain yourself to anyone but yourself. It’s about finding comfort in solitude."

Ray gripped the edge of the chair. He knew that voice —that carefully controlled tone Sand used when he was concealing something. It was too measured, too perfect.

Then Sand hesitated.

"As for the second verse…" He trailed off. Even though Ray couldn’t see him, he began fidgeting with his hands. He tugged at the collar of his shirt, as though it were suffocating him. His leg bounced nervously, a small, involuntary motion. Sand glanced at Nick, who offered a reassuring smile and a firm hand on his shoulder.

The silence stretched unbearably, heavy with tension. Ray stared at his own reflection and held his breath, his chest constricting.

Finally, Sand spoke, his voice softer, almost trembling. "The second verse… is about an encounter. One that became… something more. Something bigger. But it’s also about fear —about pulling back, about the hesitation that comes with that kind of vulnerability. I think the chorus reflects that pretty clearly."

Ray felt like the ground had been ripped out from under him. He barely registered the next question from the host.

"At the end of the second verse, you say: ‘They say all smoke and no fire, but the scent still lingers on me.’ What does that mean? Is there still a possibility?"

This was it —the moment Ray had been dreading.

Later that night, he found himself sitting on his balcony, a cigarette trembling between his fingers. He had searched for the interview online, desperate to relive that exact moment, to watch what Sand looked like, no matter how much it tore at him.

In the video, Sand’s expression was raw, unguarded. His wide eyes glistened with something unspoken. His brows furrowed, his lips parted slightly as though searching for an answer that wouldn’t come.

He didn’t respond.

Instead, he glanced toward the camera for the briefest of moments, and Ray felt his breath catch. That look —pleading, uncertain— felt like it was meant for him.

From that point on, Sand barely spoke. His gaze stayed fixed on the floor, his shoulders tense and slouched. The sudden shift didn’t go unnoticed; social media exploded with speculation. Fans dissected every second of the interview, pulling apart old clips and posts, desperate to find answers.

But Ray couldn’t afford to let it consume him. He had to be strong, to focus on himself. Maybe even open his heart to someone else.

And yet, the nights were unbearable.

Alone in his apartment, Ray often found himself sobbing uncontrollably. He didn’t even know why —not fully, at least.

He cried for the situation, for the ache that refused to fade. But more than that, he cried for himself.

For his foolishness, his naivety. For believing, even for a second, that it could have been something more.

For believing that someone like Sand could love him.

For believing that he was capable of being loved.

That night, as he wiped his tear-streaked face, Ray replayed Sand’s discomfort over and over. He watched the subtle tremor in his hands, the tightness in his jaw, the vulnerability in his eyes. His foolish heart clung to the idea that it meant something —that it still mattered.

"Enough," Ray whispered to himself. But deep down, he knew the truth. Hope was relentless, and no matter how much it hurt, it refused to let go.

And so, despite everything, Ray kept hoping —even as it slowly tore him apart.

~~Cosa mi manchi a fare by Calcutta📼~~

But I don't care if you don't love me anymore, and I don't mind if you don’t care about me. I'll just have to learn to walk again. I'll just have to learn to walk again, if you're not here. But tell me what am I missing you for? Please tell me what am I missing you for? Because I'd miss you anyway, so what am I missing you for?

~~Due ali by Frah Quintale📼~~

When you told me that you wouldn't bet a penny on us, that we're only sleeping together but I have to get in line for your heart. I answered you that it didn’t matter to me, you were just a friend.

Look where I ended up.

Look where you ended up.

How could I know if behind those two childish eyes is the Devil himself, or not?

How could I know if behind that smile you have the words to hurt me or heal my heart? How could I know if you'll stay with me from morning until night, or a whole life? The only thing I know is that behind that back you have two wings to make me fly far away for a while

What’s the saying? We only grasp the true value of someone once they’re gone?

At first, Sand had convinced himself that what he missed was merely the comfort of companionship —the abstract idea of having someone to come home to.

Surely, it wasn’t about Ray specifically. And yet, despite all his reasoning, tranquility had abandoned him ever since that fateful evening. Every detail of his days seemed to conspire against him, dragging his thoughts inexorably back to Ray.

Every luxury label he passed on the streets triggered a pang of memory: Ray’s effortless grace when discussing fashion or modeling. Every meal he tasted, every drink he sipped —anything they had shared, even only one time, no matter how inconsequential— called to mind a fragment of their time together.

Music became a minefield: songs from the playlist he made for him, love songs that now carried a raw edge, or heartbreak ballads that seemed to mirror his inner turmoil.

Even smoking had become a torment. And his home, once a refuge, had transformed into a shrine to Ray, each corner imbued with the silent presence of the gifts he had left behind.

Ray was omnipresent. Haunting him.

And it was unbearable.

Then there was that song. Sand had never regretted composing a piece of music so deeply —not even the puerile mess he’d crafted at the tender age of eleven, thinking he might be a prodigy.

During the recent interview, when the journalist had asked whether the final line of the song hinted at a potential reconciliation, Sand had frozen. Not from unease, but from the stark, jarring realization of how much he wanted to say “Yes.” The word burned within him, an urgent confession he could neither suppress nor articulate. In the end, he let the question hang unanswered.

He told himself —lied to himself, really— that he just needed time. That the hollow ache in his chest would dissipate with the passing days.

But as the calendar pages turned, Ray’s absence became an oppressive weight, heavier than he had imagined possible.

It was ironic, really. He used to find Ray’s constant attention amusing —adorable, even. But now, in the silence left behind by their estrangement, Sand felt more isolated than ever.

If crafting that song had felt like plunging to rock bottom, cutting Ray out of his life entirely had been a descent into something far worse: an emotional abyss. It infuriated Sand —this powerlessness, this vulnerability. He loathed it. And, more than anything, he loathed how much he still cared.

Just before the band dispersed for the holidays, an opportunity arose: a chance to perform at Paris Fashion Week as the musical accompaniment for Prada’s newest collection. A stroke of fortune —or misfortune, depending on how one looked at it— revealed that Ray would be walking the runway for the same event.

And so, Sand found himself in Paris, a city already steeped in memories of Ray, preparing to perform a song that was, undeniably, about him. The fates, it seemed, were not content to let their lives diverge just yet.

Fate had a perverse sense of humor.

For years, Ray and Sand had been luminaries in their respective fields: Ray, a paragon of elegance in the fashion world, and Sand, the enigmatic darling of the music industry. Their lives had run parallel, their paths never quite intersecting —until recently.

Now, after a single serendipitous meeting, the universe seemed determined to entangle them again.

Whether this was coincidence or the manifestation of some secret longing Sand dared not admit, he couldn’t say.

Winter in Paris was an entirely different experience from summer. The city, already suffused with romance, seemed to transform into something almost otherworldly under the frost-laden air and shimmering holiday lights.

Sand, accustomed to the chill from his mountain-clad, wandered the streets alone two nights before the event. His bandmates had retreated indoors, lamenting the bitter cold, but Sand found solace in the solitude, his breath visible in the icy night air.

He didn’t have a destination in mind, yet his feet seemed to move with purpose. Almost unwittingly, he retraced the routes Ray had shown him months ago, each turn etched in his memory with startling clarity.

The sky deepened into shades of indigo, the air sharp and biting against his flushed cheeks. Eventually, he found himself standing before a bar. Not just any bar. Ray’s favorite bar.

As he stepped inside, the gentle chime of the door’s bell brought back a memory so vivid it nearly knocked the air from his lungs: Ray’s laughter, melodic and carefree.

He gravitated to the outdoor seating area —the balcony with its perfect view of the Eiffel Tower, seating at the same table where Ray had once said he always chose to sit.

Sand ordered a berry tart he didn’t even like and a coffee too bitter for his taste, both selected in homage to Ray’s preferences that day. Lighting a cigarette, he leaned back in his chair, the tendrils of smoke curling into the frigid night air.

~~Prisoner by The Weeknd, Lana del Rey📼~~

You bring good to my lonely life, honestly (honestly). It's hard for me to look into your eyes when I say that I would be nothing without your love. I feel the rush, and it's amazing.

Maybe I've been always destined to end up in this place, yeah. I don't mean to come off selfish, but I want it all. Love will always be a lesson, let's get out of its way, 'cause I know, all I know, all I know.

I'm a prisoner to my addiction.

I'm addicted to a life that's so empty and so cold.

I'm a prisoner to my decisions.

And then he laughed. Quietly. Bitterly.

This was absurd. He was absurd.

It wasn’t fear of being alone that had driven him to push Ray away.

It was Ray himself.

What he missed wasn’t companionship.

It was Ray.

How had he been so blind? From the very beginning, Ray had unsettled him in ways no one else ever had. His effortless charm, his disarming presence —it was like the ground shifted every time they were together. But Sand, in his stubbornness, had dismissed it all with flimsy excuses: “It’s just been a while since someone flirted with me.” Or worse, “I just hate being by myself.”

He thought back to the night Ray had confessed his feelings.

How could someone so perfect —someone who could have anyone they wanted—choose him ?

A melodic laugh brought him out of his reverie.

“Sand.”

The voice was barely audible, but it was unmistakable.

He looked back, and there stood Ray

~~Stanza Singola by Franco126📼~~

I would tell you that I'm here by chance, but we both know it. And when I put the coffee on the stove, I still make the moka for two.

And I confused my breath with yours, with yours.  My smile with yours, with yours.

I , who was waiting, and didn't expect it. Stay close to me and keep me away.

Dressed in pristine white, Ray looked ethereal, almost angelic. The cold had painted his cheeks a delicate pink, and the lights of the city glimmered in his dark eyes. For a moment, Sand thought he was hallucinating.

Then his gaze shifted, and he saw him: the figure standing beside Ray. A taller man, also Thai, wearing glasses and dressed in sleek black —an unsettling mirror to Sand himself.

For a heartbeat, Sand dared to hope. Perhaps this was fate offering him one last opportunity to mend what he had broken. To finally confess how suffocating life had felt without Ray, how it was like drifting in space, deprived of oxygen.

But then doubt crept in.

Maybe he was the only one still holding on to what they had shared —clinging to a memory that wasn’t perfect to begin with.

For a few interminable seconds, they simply stared at one another. Ray’s hand clung tightly to the other man’s arm, the gesture unmissable.

Sand swallowed the bitter lump rising in his throat.

Jealousy? Perhaps.

But whatever it was, it left him wishing he could take that man’s place. Wishing, more than anything, to be beside Ray again.

Yet he said nothing.

There was nothing he could say.

So he walked away.

Brushing past Ray without so much as a word, he left behind the faint trace of his cologne and the sight of Ray’s surprised, wounded expression.

When Ray sat at the same table with Mew—a stranger to Sand—, the air still carried the faint, lingering scent of smoke.

Sand’s order was still on the table, almost untouched. Ray stared at it, the realization squeezing his heart tight.

It couldn’t be a coincidence.

That night, back in his apartment, Ray replayed the playlist Sand had made for him. Every song hurt, yet it was a pain he had grown accustomed to, and it was more bearable than directly hearing the singer’s voice. At least the music filled the silence.

As he lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling, the melodies wound their way through the room, each one steeped in memory.

And then, there it was —a new addition. A song that hadn’t been there before.

And with it, a message so clear it left no room for doubt.

It wasn’t a coincidence.

Chapter Text

~~Chicchi di riso by Frah Quintale, Franco126📼~~

And you screwed me over from the first "hello" or maybe even before
Who knows, maybe even in another life.

You left only a great chaos and nothing is like before

I don't think there's a way out,  

I don't even know anymore why I can't go two seconds without you passing through my head

and I think, I don't even know anymore if now I would like to say "Go" or "stay", "go" or "stay here with me"

“Why is your name Ray?”

Sand had asked suddenly. The question broke the silence between them, a silence that had lingered comfortably until that moment. They were lying on the bed, naked but wrapped around each other, the kind of intimacy where words felt unnecessary. It wasn’t the emptiness of silence, but its fullness —a moment they both savored.

Ray lay with his ear pressed against Sand’s chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, as if it were a melody meant only for him. When Sand’s question came, it didn’t just fill the room —it echoed through his body, carried by the gentle vibration of Sand’s voice.

Ray smiled softly, but his lips hesitated to form words. For a moment, he froze, unsure of how much to share. Yet, the way Sand’s fingers started combing gently through his hair melted his hesitation. That touch, tender and grounding, gave him the courage to speak.

“My mother chose it,” Ray said, his voice quiet, almost reverent. “She used to tell me that when she gave birth to me, she still didn’t know what to call me. But then, the moment she held me, it was like everything clicked into place. She said I was her ray of sunshine. That’s how I got my name.”

A soft laugh stirred from Sand’s chest, making it rise and fall beneath Ray’s cheek. When Ray turned his head to look up, he found Sand smiling at him —a smile so warm it felt like the sun had crept into their room. Ray held his breath, wishing, hoping that Sand might say something. Maybe even tell him he was his sunshine, too.

But Sand said nothing.

Instead, he shifted slightly, inviting Ray to adjust himself so they were face-to-face. He pressed a light kiss to Ray’s lips, tender and fleeting, before pulling him close again. In that embrace, Ray felt something he couldn’t name —something fragile but perfect. And for now, that was enough.

Later that evening, Ray’s phone buzzed with a notification: Sand had sent him a link to a playlist. He opened it and immediately noticed the title: ☀️. His chest tightened. Was it a tribute to what he’d said earlier? Or just a coincidence? He didn’t know, and the uncertainty gnawed at him.

When he came home from the bar, as he scrolled through the songs, a particular intro began playing, and it hit him like a wave. It wasn’t a song he knew, but it carried a weight that he couldn’t ignore. His phone screen displayed: City Lights by Hall Johnson

Ray’s eyes moved down to the lyrics. As he read, his breath caught.

I'm up thinking about you

I hope you're thinking too

Maybe we should just come together

Maybe I should let me love you

You were my girl, at least you were

Until I broke your heart

But I miss your small tattoos

And I remember when I told you

That you looked so nice

Under those city lights

Maybe I should just grow up

Maybe you should too

I have a false sense of maturity just like you

And I'm thinking, overthinking

Every conversation

And you're smoking on my porch

Making me regret ever hurting you

Why now? Why this song?

The questions swirled in his mind, a storm of emotions he couldn’t name. He was torn. On one hand, he still felt the sting of Sand walking away from him at the bar, leaving behind more questions than answers. On the other, the song seemed to whisper things Ray had longed to hear —apologies wrapped in melody, regrets hidden in harmonies.

The memory of the bar surfaced, vivid and sharp. When Ray had seen Sand’s order sitting untouched on the table, he had turned to Mew with a look that begged for an explanation. “Do you think this is a coincidence?” he had asked, his voice trembling.

“When…” Ray had started, but the words refused to come. He swallowed hard before managing to continue. “When I once suggested he try what I ordered, he told me he didn’t like it.”

The realisation of those words had pressed down on Ray’s chest, and the silence that followed between him and Mew had been suffocating. They sat there for less than half an hour, each lost in their own thoughts, while the untouched order sat as a reminder of Sand’s absence. Ray stared out of the bar’s balcony, but the view offered no solace.

Mew had wanted to comfort him, but even he didn’t know how. He could see it in Ray’s eyes—the struggle to hold back tears, the quiet desperation of someone who wanted answers but feared the ones he might get.

In the day that followed, the playlist grew. New songs appeared, one after another, and they all seemed to carry the same message. Like Dancing with my phone by HYBS:

I'm just laying on the floor again

Can't be bothered to get up now

I wouldn't care

If I never get up again

I don't want to

Then our song comes on the radio

Makes me wanna start to dance

Oh, I wanna know

If you feel the same way as me

Why would you go?

Dancing, I'm all alone

Figuring out how I can get you home

Dancing with my phone

Thinking about you

Ray should have been happy. He should have felt relief, maybe even joy, at what seemed like an extended hand from Sand. Instead, he felt an ache—a deep, gnawing anger.

If this wasn’t a coincidence, if Sand really was trying to communicate through these songs, it meant he regretted what he had done. It was what Ray had wanted, what he had prayed for in the quiet moments when the weight of Sand’s absence became too much to bear.

Yet he couldn’t feel happy. It made him angry.

The question that haunted him was simple but unrelenting: why?

If Sand truly felt this way, why not say it? Why hide behind playlists and lyrics? Why not confront him, face to face? If Sand regretted leaving, if he truly felt alone without Ray, wasn’t a conversation the least he could offer?

Instead, Sand’s silence felt like cowardice, and Ray couldn’t forgive that.

The only thing Ray knew with certainty was this: he wouldn’t be the one to reach out first. Not this time.

He was tired. Tired of chasing after someone who always seemed to slip away. Tired of holding onto something fragile that Sand had carelessly let fall apart.

If Sand thought Ray would come running after him again, then he didn’t know Ray at all.

Ray was done chasing. It was time to be chased.

For Prada's fashion show, Ray was determined to present himself as flawless, untouchable —a vision of control. Even though he had no say over the outfit, the music, or the crowd, he still held power over one thing, the most important one: how he walked, how he carried himself, how he became the embodiment of everything they wanted to see.

The assigned outfit was unapologetically provocative. The trousers sat precariously low on his hips, the fabric pooling just enough to imply a carelessness that had taken hours to perfect. A sliver of skin peeked through at the waist, teasing and deliberate, hinting at something more with each step. The top, a loose asymmetrical piece, seemed to cling to him in all the right places, as if whispering secrets about his body to the audience.

Ray stood in front of the mirror, taking in the image before him. His reflection was striking—an almost perfect blend of sensuality and elegance. His lips curled into the faintest smirk. He knew he looked good. Tonight wasn’t just a runway show; it was a stage for him to reclaim something, though he wasn’t entirely sure what.

Maybe it was pride. Maybe it was a sense of control.

But the mirror could only reflect so much. Behind the carefully curated image, there was a storm brewing.

As he waited for his turn, the room buzzed with activity. Stylists fluttered around him, adjusting, tweaking, smoothing non-existent creases. Their voices were a murmur of reassurance, but Ray barely heard them. His focus was on steadying his breathing, keeping his composure.

And then he heard it.

The opening notes of that song.

It hit him like a punch to the chest, sudden and unrelenting. His hands clenched at his sides, and for a moment, he forgot how to breathe.

Ray swallowed hard, his composure threatening to crack. It was like the universe was mocking him, reminding him of Sand when he was trying so desperately not to.

His mind raced, replaying the events of two nights ago —the tension at the bar, of the words that hadn’t been spoken. He wasn’t ready to see Sand again, not yet. The wound was too fresh, and the anger, the longing, still too raw.

And yet, beneath all of that, there was something else.

Defiance.

A part of him wanted this confrontation, needed it. If Sand was going to be here —watching him, singing to him— then Ray would give him something to remember. He would make sure that every step he took on that runway left an imprint.

The song finally faded, replaced by another —one Ray recognized immediately. It was one of his favorites, though he hadn’t listened to it at all lately. Sand’s voice had made it unbearable. Now, it filled the room, weaving itself into the atmosphere like a spell.

It felt surreal.

Walking to a song that had once been a constant in his life, now tinged with a thousand memories he couldn’t escape. Seeing Sand again, not in the intimacy of a meeting, but here, under blinding lights, surrounded by a sea of strangers.

This wasn’t just a show anymore. It was something more.

Their worlds —so carefully kept apart— were colliding. After years of circling each other, avoiding the inevitable, they were finally face to face.

It wasn’t the right time. It wasn’t the right place.

But it was happening.

When the signal came, Ray stepped onto the runway, his confidence unshaken. His walk was deliberate, each step a statement. He felt the weight of the audience’s eyes on him, the collective hush that fell over the room as he commanded their attention.

His hips swayed with practiced precision, his gaze fixed straight ahead, as the rules demanded. The music swelled around him, and for a moment, he let himself get lost in it.

But then he saw him.

Standing near the stage, guitar in hand, his figure illuminated by the warm glow of the spotlight. His voice was rich, raw, and painfully familiar, weaving itself into the moment like it had always belonged there.

Ray’s breath caught in his throat.

Sand had always been beautiful, but tonight, he was something else entirely. There was a quiet intensity about him, a magnetism that made it impossible to look away. His beauty wasn’t polished or conventional—it was the kind that defied comparison, that demanded to be noticed.

Ray’s steps didn’t falter, but his pulse quickened.

As he approached, their eyes met.

For a moment, time seemed to stop. The noise of the crowd, the flash of cameras, even the music —all of it faded into the background. It was just the two of them, suspended in a moment too brief to hold but too significant to ignore.

Sand’s gaze wasn’t casual; it was deliberate. His eyes traveled over Ray, lingering in a way that felt almost tangible, before locking onto his.

And then Sand moved.

It was subtle, just a step closer to the edge of the stage. But it was enough to make Ray’s heart skip a beat.

The way Sand sang, the way his voice wrapped around the lyrics, it felt intimate, pointed. As if the song wasn’t for the audience, but for him.

Ray’s chest tightened. He couldn’t tell if it was intentional, if Sand was trying to say something without saying it, or if it was all in his head. Either way, it sent a shiver down his spine.

He held Sand’s gaze as he passed, his expression unwavering. But inside, he was unraveling. 

Perhaps, in the eyes of the most attentive, it was obvious how Ray’s gaze changed in that moment. In those few seconds, everything he’d been trying to suppress came rushing to the surface. The anger, the hurt, the longing —it was all there, raw and unfiltered.

And then it was over.

Ray forced himself to look ahead, his features hardening. The model mask slid back into place, perfect and impenetrable.

Ray Pakorn. Focused. Untouchable.

But he couldn’t forget those seconds.

For in that fleeting moment, both their masks had fallen.

Those shared seconds could mean everything —or nothing. It all depended on how they chose to see it.

But the one undeniable truth was this: for those brief, electrifying moments, they’d both felt it. The pull, the pain, the impossibility of it all.

And it was enough to make them feel like they were breaking apart from the inside.

Later that evening, another small afterparty was held.

Sand had no desire to go. He never did, like always. But tonight, something tugged at him. A quiet, unspoken hope that he might see Ray. Even if only for a moment. Even if only from a distance.

When they arrived, Sand’s initial dread ebbed slightly. The venue wasn’t as overwhelming as he’d feared. It was formal, subdued even, the kind of place where conversation was kept to murmurs and the clinking of glasses.

The room was full of celebrities from the show, models in their finest attire, and people who thrived on their own importance. There were smiles, flirtations, deals being struck in hushed tones. Sand couldn’t help but feel out of place, as though he were an intruder in a world he had no business being in.

And yet, his eyes wandered. Searching.

He hated himself for it. If he saw him, what then? What would he say? Could he even say anything at all?

His thoughts swirled like a storm, chaotic and relentless. Sand knew the answer was simple: talk to him. Lay everything bare. But knowing what needed to be done and actually doing it were two entirely different things.

Some say that there's a vast sea between saying and doing, and Sand felt paralyzed, like he had forgotten how to swim. But when you search like a madman in a defined space, it doesn’t take long to find what you’re looking for.

There, at the center of the room, surrounded by a small group of people. His laughter rang out, clear and vibrant, his smile radiant enough to light the entire space. That smile —how could something so beautiful cause such an ache in his chest?

Sand froze.

The sight of Ray’s smile —it was breathtaking. But it wasn’t for him. And somehow, that made it unbearable.

Then he saw him.

The same man from two nights ago.

Ray stood far too close to him, their proximity unmistakable. One arm clung to the man’s as if for balance, for comfort, for something more. Every so often, Ray leaned into his shoulder, sharing a quiet word or a laugh.

Sand’s stomach twisted.

Each time Ray turned to look at him, his eyes seemed to sparkle, as though the man beside him was the only person in the world.

Sand swallowed hard. He had never thought of himself as a jealous person. Even in his past relationships, he’d always been confident, self-assured. How it ended, we already know. It had taken a while to rebuild his armor, but it was now chipped away. And now, in the midst of the storm, Sand could not help but feel small in the face of such a scene.

It wasn’t just jealousy. It was inadequacy.

Maybe Ray had found someone better —someone kinder, someone who didn’t make a mess of everything they touched. Sand had tried to convince himself that letting Ray go was the right thing, the selfless thing. But seeing him like this, next to that man, made his chest tighten with a pain he couldn’t ignore.

“Sand, isn’t it?”

The voice cut through his spiraling thoughts.

Sand turned to see a woman standing before him. She was stunning, with sharp, Western features and a gaze that held a mix of confidence and intrigue. Her accent marked English as her native tongue, her tone playful yet deliberate.

“Yes,” Sand replied after a pause, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside. “And you are?”

“Eva,” she said, a slow smile spreading across her face. “Care to join me for a chat?”

Without waiting for his answer, she gestured toward a nearby couch. Sand hesitated but followed, his steps heavy.

In the minutes that followed, he learned about her —Greek by heritage, fluent in both Greek and English, and undeniably captivating. She was charming, intelligent, and kind. Any other night, she might have held his attention.

But tonight, his focus was elsewhere.

Every few moments, his gaze drifted back to Ray.

He couldn’t stop watching. Watching how Ray’s laughter lit up the room. Watching how he leaned closer to the other man, how the man’s hand rested so easily on Ray’s waist.

Eva said something witty, and Sand laughed, genuinely this time. But when he glanced back at Ray, he found himself caught.

Ray was already looking at him. And the pain in his eyes was unmistakable, raw and unguarded.

For what felt like an eternity —but was likely just seconds— they stared at each other.

Then Eva spoke, pulling Sand back. “You okay? You seem... distracted.”

When he glanced back, Ray was gone.

The ache in his chest deepened. Sand stood abruptly, mumbling a hasty excuse about needing the bathroom before weaving through the crowd, searching.

He didn’t know what he would say if he found him. But he knew what he wanted to start with: Please, don’t look at me like that. I wasn’t flirting—I was just being friendly.

But it wasn’t that simple. They weren’t together. They’d never been together, not in any way that mattered. No labels, no promises. Just a connection.

And yet, some things didn’t need words to be understood.

Stepping outside, Sand shivered as the cold Parisian air wrapped around him. His suit offered little protection, but he didn’t care. He had to find Ray. 

“Sand.”

The voice was unfamiliar.

He turned to see him. The man from earlier.

Ray’s companion stood a few feet away, hands casually tucked into his pockets, his expression unreadable.

“Are you Ray’s new boyfriend?” Sand immediately asked, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

The man raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “New? Were you two ever together?”

Sand said nothing, his silence answer enough.

The man stepped closer, extending a hand. “I’m Mew. Ray’s best friend.”

Sand blinked, caught off guard. “Best... best friend?”

Mew chuckled. “I’m not one for social media, and Ray’s always respected that. But he asked me to come tonight. Said he needed emotional support. For obvious reasons.”

His gaze lingered on Sand, sharp and unflinching.

“Can I be honest with you?” Mew asked, his tone softening.

Sand nodded, his throat tight. “Please.”

Mew exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t like this game you’re playing with Ray. The way you act, the way you speak —it feels like you’re treating him lightly. I don’t want to overstep or reveal anything I had to witness, but you need to know this: Ray is fragile. Emotionally, he’s been through more than you can imagine. It took years for him to smile again after his mother died. So-”

The boy stopped suddenly, reached for his phone in his pocket and cursed under his breath when he read the name of the person who was calling him. He looked into Sand's eyes as he answered. "Ray?"

The singer's heartbeat accelerated more than it already had as Mew's words implanted themselves in his brain and chest.

"Yes, I'm coming, the line for the bathroom was endless"

When he ended the call he huffed loudly and walked away a few steps, a sign that he urgently needed to leave.

“To make things short, I’ll give you two choices,” Mew said, his voice cold and steady. "either leave Ray alone, or wake up and sort things out with him. I hate being this blunt; it’s not in my nature to meddle in other people’s affairs. But I haven’t spent years watching my best friend struggle to gather the courage just to talk to you, only to see everything fall apart now that it has happened.
So yes, Sand, let me be clear —I don’t like you. If you choose to let him go, I’ll end up hating you even more than I do now. But if you decide to step up, I promise you this: regaining Ray’s trust will be the hardest thing you’ve ever done.
Got it? Take care."

With that, Mew turned to leave.

But Sand barely noticed.

His mind was stuck on one thing.

“I haven’t spent years..”

Years.

Years?

The weight of that word crushed him. It didn’t make sense.

As Sand turned back toward the venue, one thought consumed him:

After I clear up I wasn’t being flirty with Eva, I have to know... how long have you really known me?

Chapter Text

Sand was determined to follow Mew and find Ray as soon as possible. But the young man had slipped away, disappearing into the shadows like a ghost.

As Sand pushed his way through the crowd, his mind raced to keep rational, forcing himself to ignore the way his vision blurred, how his legs felt shaky, and the sense of impending collapse. The last thing he wanted was to draw attention, to meet the curious or judgmental stares of the people around him.

He searched tirelessly, each passing moment stretching into what felt like hours. Then, finally, his eyes caught sight of them —Ray and Mew— on the other side of the room.  

They were arguing. Mew’s hands gripped Ray’s shoulders, as though trying to anchor him, while Ray buried his fingers in his hair, his movements frantic. Even from a distance, Sand could tell something was deeply wrong. The closer he got, the more he saw their panic —raw and uncontained.  

And then Mew noticed him. His head turned sharply, his wide eyes locking onto Sand with a mix of shock and fear.  
“Ray,” Sand said simply, his voice steady despite the storm inside him.  

Ray’s gaze followed Mew’s, and for a moment, the model stood frozen, his expression mirroring his friend’s —startled, almost defensive. But when Sand spoke again, his voice softened.  
“Can we talk?”  

Ray didn’t answer at first. He simply stared, as if trying to decipher something in Sand’s face. Then, finally, he gave a small nod and allowed Sand to gently lead him away, leaving Mew behind.  

The cold night air greeted them as they stepped outside. They found a corner in the garden —a space dimly lit and hauntingly quiet. Few people had dared to venture beyond the warmth of the main venue, leaving the outdoor area almost deserted.  

“Ray, I…” Sand began, his voice low, but Ray cut him off, his words rushed and unsteady.  
“What did Mew tell you?”  

“Huh?” Sand replied, startled by the sudden question. He hadn’t expected this.  

“Mew,” Ray repeated, his tone more deliberate now. “He came to me earlier, panicking. He said you two talked and that… that he let something slip —something he shouldn’t have said.”  

Sand froze. Of course. It had to be about that. The fact that Ray had known him for years —long before Sand ever knew.  

“Oh. Right,” Sand said, though his voice lacked focus. He shook his head slightly, trying to clear his thoughts. “But listen, Ray, that’s not what I want to talk about right now.”  

Ray raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. “Maybe it should be. Maybe it’s important. Maybe… maybe you’ll see me differently because of it. Maybe you’ll change your mind about whatever it is you’re about to say. Unless…” He hesitated, his voice faltering. “Unless you’re just planning to tell me again how much you regret meeting me.”  

The words hit Sand harder than he expected, but he refused to let them derail him. He took a deep breath, steadying himself.  

“No, Ray,” he said firmly, his tone unwavering now. “I really need to tell you what I feel. And I want to start by saying I’m sorry.”  

Ray blinked, his guard wavering. His eyes darted around the garden nervously.  
“What’s wrong?” Sand asked, stepping closer, his concern evident.  

Ray hesitated. “I don’t know. It just… it doesn’t feel like the right place to talk. Someone could hear us, don’t you think?” He gestured subtly toward the balcony above them. “What if someone’s listening?”  

Sand glanced around. The garden seemed deserted, but he followed Ray’s gaze to the balcony overhead. The possibility wasn’t far-fetched. But he couldn’t hold back anymore.  
“I need to talk to you now, Ray. I can’t wait.”  

Ray sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “What if we leave? We can go to my place. Or maybe one of those late-night bars. There are plenty in the city.”  

“A bar would be just as risky,” Sand replied quickly. Then, after a moment’s thought, he added, “Let’s go to your place. But let me make one thing clear: I’m not staying the night. Understood?”  

Ray nodded, already pulling out his phone. He sent a quick message to Mew, then guided Sand to his car, instructing his driver to take them home.  

The car ride was suffocating in its silence. Neither of them spoke. Neither of them dared. Instead, they sat in opposite corners of the back seat, trapped in their own thoughts, mentally rehearsing conversations they both knew would crumble the moment words were spoken.

When they arrived, Sand felt an odd sense of familiarity. He had only been to Ray’s house twice before, back when the festival was in France, yet the space felt oddly comforting. Maybe it was because it belonged to Ray. Maybe it was because, despite everything, Ray felt like comfort.

Ray quietly brewed some hot coffee, then led Sand to his bedroom. Outside, on the balcony, there was a swinging bench —a small, inviting spot in the cold night air. Without hesitation, Sand walked toward it and sat down.  

“You don’t want to change first?” Ray asked softly. “Put on something warmer? More comfortable?”  

Sand shook his head. “I’m fine like this.”  

He had expected resistance from Ray —expected him to shut down, to deflect, to lash out. Sand had braced himself for a fight, for a wall he’d need to break through. But to his surprise, Ray seemed… subdued.  

And Sand realized why. Whatever Mew had said earlier, it had rattled Ray.  

Mew had gone to Ray, frantic and breathless. His wide, panicked eyes had sent Ray’s heart racing.  
“What happened?” Ray had asked, his voice urgent, his worry immediate.  

“Ray, I’m sorry,” Mew had stammered, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry. I let it slip. I didn’t mean to —it just came out before I realized what I was saying.”  

“What are you talking about?” Ray pressed, his chest tightening.  

“Sand,” Mew had whispered. And Ray’s heart stopped.  

“Mew…” Ray’s voice trembled. “What did you tell him?”  

But Mew couldn’t answer. His face crumbled under the weight of his guilt, and Ray knew. He knew what Mew had done.

And now, here they were. The cold night pressed against them, but the silence felt heavier. Words hung unspoken between them, like fragile threads waiting to snap.

“Ray,” Sand began, his voice soft yet firm. “Before anything else, I need to clear something up. That girl earlier —the one you saw me with— I only met her tonight. We talked, yes, but nothing more. It wasn’t what you think.”

Ray’s eyes stayed fixed on his coffee, the steam rising like a barrier between them. “You don’t owe me an explanation,” he muttered. “You can do whatever you want.”  

“Yes, I do,” Sand insisted, leaning closer. “And you know it.”  

Ray said nothing. His shoulders slumped, and for a moment, he looked utterly defeated. He turned slightly toward him, his eyes distant, lost in thought. 

Sand hadn’t imagined their confrontation would feel like this, so heavy with silence, so fragile. And now that they were here, he no longer knew what to do.

“Ray,” Sand began quietly, his voice breaking the stillness. “I know it might be pointless to say this now, because the damage is already done, but… I really regret writing that song.”

Ray didn’t respond. His face remained blank, and Sand could feel the weight of the unspoken words between them pressing down on his chest.

“At the start of my career, I was in a relationship,” Sand continued, his voice low, tinged with hesitation. “His name was Boeing. He was training to be a flight attendant because he said he loved traveling. Back then, I wasn’t the Sand you know now. I never thought we’d get as famous as we did, but I liked to imagine that wherever I went, he’d come with me. That we’d travel the world together. I was… different back then. More confident, more outgoing. I’d walk into a room and feel like everyone wanted me, and it made me feel invincible. But as much as I loved the attention, I also liked belonging to someone. Boeing had a personality just like mine —magnetic, full of energy. He drew people in, just by being himself. And I was so sure of him. So sure of us.”

Sand paused, his throat tightening. It felt surreal, even reckless, to reveal something so personal. He glanced at Ray, searching for some sign of understanding, but Ray’s face remained inscrutable.

“And then,” Sand said, his voice barely above a whisper, “he cheated on me. With more than one person.”  

The words hung in the air, heavy and sharp. Sand felt his instinctive urge to look away, to retreat into himself, but then he caught Ray’s gaze. For the first time, Ray was truly looking at him, his expression filled with something Sand had never seen before: compassion. And pain.  

Sand’s chest tightened at the sight. His voice cracked as he continued. “You understand why it’s hard for me now, don’t you? It’s not that I want to be afraid of trusting people. Whether you believe me or not, Ray, I’m a romantic at heart. I just… never showed you that side of me.” He let out a soft, melancholy laugh, his gaze drifting to some undefined point behind Ray. “Maybe I was scared to.”  

“You have,” Ray said softly, his voice breaking the quiet.  

Sand blinked, startled. “What?”  

Ray’s eyes softened, his voice steady but tinged with vulnerability. “You’ve shown me that side of you, Sand. Every time we fell asleep together, curled up in each other’s arms. When you made that playlist for me. Every time you ran your fingers through my hair until I fell asleep. No one has ever treated me like that before.” He hesitated, swallowing hard. “No one has ever cared for me the way you have. And maybe… maybe I don’t deserve it. Maybe I’ve never been good enough for anyone’s love. Not even yours.”

Sand’s breath caught in his chest.  

Ray’s voice wavered as he continued, his words tinged with sorrow. “The only real love I’ve ever known was from my mother. I never even knew what it felt like to have a father who cared. And Mew…” He paused, glancing away. “Mew is something else entirely. He was the first person, outside of my mom, who actually cared about me. Who took care of me in ways no one else ever did. Mew saved my life. In the most literal sense.”  

Sand’s brows furrowed, his heart sinking as he understood the weight of Ray’s words.  

“When my mom died, I… I lost it,” Ray admitted, his voice trembling. “I couldn’t handle it, Sand. I wanted to be with her again. I wanted to feel that love again. And my father —he made it clear from the start that I meant nothing to him. I wasn’t always this confident, reckless person you see now. Back then, I had no one. No one but Mew. He was the one who taught me to believe in myself again. To face life with a smile. It felt so strange to have someone care for me without expecting anything in return.”  

Ray let out a soft, bitter laugh. “At first, I thought I was in love with him. It was all so overwhelming, having someone like him in my life. I didn’t know how to handle it.”  

Sand clenched his fists, an ache spreading through his chest. For reasons he couldn’t explain, he felt an urge to cry —not for himself, but for Ray. He thought back to what Mew had told him earlier, about how long it had taken to bring Ray’s smile back after his mother’s death. And how, somehow, Sand had managed to break him all over again.

“I don’t think you understand, Sand,” Ray said, his voice quieter now, raw with emotion. “Maybe it didn’t mean anything to you, but it meant everything to me.”  

“That’s just it,” Sand said urgently, his voice trembling. “It did mean something to me. I was just scared, Ray. I still am. Don’t you see? I thought I’d spend my whole life with that man. I thought I’d never be able to love anyone else after what he did to me. But then you…” Sand trailed off, his words faltering under the weight of his emotions.

Ray shook his head gently, his voice almost a whisper. “I don’t want to force you to do anything you don’t want to do. I appreciate your honesty, but—”

“I’m not done,” Sand interjected, his voice firm. “I told you I’m a romantic, didn’t I? Even with all my fears, I can’t help it.”  

Ray nodded silently, his gaze fixed on Sand’s.  

Sand leaned in closer, their faces now closer, their legs brushing against each other. The coffee they had once held was long forgotten, the cups sitting cold on the ground.  

“The hardest thing for me has always been being alone,” Sand admitted, his voice soft. “But at the same time, I thought it was the safest choice. I thought I’d never find anyone who’d make me feel otherwise.”  

Ray’s lips curved into a faint smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Funny,” he murmured. “It’s the same for me.”

~Paraguai by Nayt, CanovA📼~
I know I'm not a liar, but I know how to do it
There are things about me that I never talk about
Because love is a deception and if I find out, I'll kill myself
[…]
I'm afraid something will separate us
Will it be my pride or your fear?
You don't know whether to give in or run away
What is it about me that you have?
It's always the same, I tell you again

Complex, paranoia and troubles
You and I, the same paranoia and troubles

For a moment, they just sat there, the silence between them no longer heavy but electric, alive with something unspoken.  

Sand took a deep breath, trying to calm the whirlwind of emotions that churned within him. He looked at Ray, standing in front of him with a vulnerable yet expectant expression, and knew this was a moment he couldn’t avoid. For years, he’d been carrying everything silently, locking his feelings away because it was safer, because it was easier. But Ray deserved more than silence —he deserved the truth.  

“Ray,” Sand began, his voice soft but trembling. “There’s something I need to say, something I’ve never been good at. I… I don’t know how to express what I feel. I’ve never been able to. Even now, I can’t believe I’m talking to you like this.” He glanced down at his hands, fiddling nervously. “The only person I’ve ever really opened up to was Nick, and even with him, it took me years. Years of learning how to trust someone enough to share the parts of myself I don’t even like to look at, because I’m afraid of burdening people with my problems. And yet I’m doing it with you…” He trailed off for a moment, his throat tightening.  

Ray didn’t speak, but his eyes urged Sand to continue.  

“I grew up in a home where… there wasn’t room for emotions. You just had to survive. You had to be useful, practical. If you were sad, if you were scared, it didn’t matter. You buried it because there was no one who could hold it for you. We didn’t have this luxury.” Sand’s voice cracked slightly, and he swallowed hard.

“So, I learned to push my feelings down. I got good at it —too good, maybe. Music became the only place I could let any of it out. When I play, when I write, when I sing… that’s when I feel like I can be honest. That’s when I can say the things I can’t put into words otherwise.”  

His eyes met Ray’s for a moment before flickering away again. “That’s why, when I met you, I didn’t know what to do with how I felt. I was scared. Scared of you, scared of myself. I thought if I pushed you away, I could stop whatever was happening inside me. I thought I could control it.”

He let out a bitter laugh. “But I couldn’t. I kept thinking about you, wondering if what I felt was real or if I was just using you to fill this… this empty space inside me. And at first, I was. I was using you to feel less alone, and I hate myself for that.”  

Sand hesitated, running a hand through his hair as he tried to collect his thoughts. “But then, things started to change. You weren’t just a distraction anymore. I started… caring. And that terrified me even more. So, I ran. Because it’s what I’ve always done.” He looked back at Ray, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. “I’m sorry, Ray. I didn’t push you away because you didn’t matter. I pushed you away because you mattered too much, and I didn’t know how to handle that.”  

Ray’s face softened as he listened, his arms crossed over his chest as if holding himself together. “I understand, Sand. When you’re fragile… when you’re trying to protect yourself… you end up doing things you regret. I’ve been there too.”  

The two stood in silence for a moment, their eyes locked, as if daring the other to break the fragile connection between them.  

“So… do you feel something for me too?” Ray asked hesitantly, his voice almost childlike in its innocence.  

Sand’s breath caught in his throat. He closed his eyes for a moment, as if gathering all the strength he had left, and nodded. “Yes, Ray. I do. I like you. A lot. Maybe more than I’ve ever liked anyone. But I still… I still can’t say it the way I want to. I don’t know how. But I want to try.”  

A small, relieved smile tugged at the corner of Ray’s lips, but it quickly faded as his gaze dropped. His body tensed, and Sand could sense the shift in him immediately.  

Ray glanced around, as if searching for a lifeline in the empty space around them, and then he spoke. "Sand, before finalizing anything you’re thinking about… what Mew was talking about is…" His voice broke slightly. 

He wasn’t ready yet to let Sand back into his world after a simple "sorry," but the fact that Sand was facing reality meant a lot. However, Ray knew there was still a truth he needed to confess, even if he feared it might make Sand change his mind. 

Taking a deep breath, he continued, "I don’t want to say I’ve known you for years, because before we met, I didn’t really know you on a personal level. But I knew who you were… from the start."

Sand’s brow furrowed, his confusion deepening. Ray could feel the weight of his gaze but couldn’t bring himself to meet it.  

"One night, Mew convinced me to go out. I was recovering after my attempt, and when I was discharged, Mew wanted me to go out and have some fun. We went to Y.O.L.O. that night." He paused, trying to muster the courage to go on. 

"At that time, you guys still only played covers, but… you changed my life, Sand. Seeing you there on that little stage and yet commanding attention like no one else ever had —I couldn’t take my eyes off you. You were the perfect distraction for me. I didn’t like listening to music; I’d stopped after my mom’s death because I’d always only listened to the records we had at home, and everything reminded me of her, so it hurt. But you gave music another color. And so I came back, almost every night, hoping to see you play again. I never wanted you to notice me. I just… I just wanted to watch you. To feel alive again, even if it was from a distance.”  

“Wait…” Sand’s voice broke the silence, his tone uncertain. “I never saw you. Are you sure…?”  

“I always stayed in the background. Mew kept encouraging me to try talking to you, but I only regained my confidence thanks to my career. By then, you were already famous… Do you remember when I told you I was a big fan when we first met? That’s what I meant. I’ve followed you from the beginning, Sand. At first, not for the music, I’m ashamed to admit. There was something about you that mesmerized me, that blocked out everything else and made me feel nothing. Then, during a particularly hard day, I started paying attention to your lyrics too. Hearing you sing about certain topics hit me even harder."

Ray sighed, the weight of the confession visible in his slouched shoulders. "After I became a model, I assumed it would be easier to meet you, but still, I’ve never tried to set anything up, even when I had the chance to. I never wanted anything from you; I would’ve been fine with the most distant kind of relationship. But… it’s true you’ve always been the subject of some of my fantasies. I’m embarrassed to admit it, and I’m sorry if you feel violated after hearing this, but… sometimes, when I slept with someone, I always sought out people who resembled you the most." Ray ran a hand over his face, his cheeks flushing with shame.

Sand seemed to absorb every word, trying to make sense of it all. Ray lowered his gaze again, then stared Sand right into his, because he needed to see how sincere he was and concluded, "I know how it may seem. But believe me, Sand, that meeting was purely coincidental. The fact that I had the room next to yours was also purely coincidental. I don’t want you to see me as obsessive. It’s true, I’ve been crazy about you for years, it’s true you became an obsession for me, but I never forced my presence into your life, because I was fine watching you from afar. I never expected all of this to happen. Do you believe me?"

The silence that followed was heavy, stretching between them like an invisible wall. Finally, Sand nodded, but his expression was unreadable. 

Then, slowly, he stood up and walked over to the balcony railing.
“I think I need to go back to the hotel,” Sand said quietly, his voice trembling. “I just… I need time to process all of this.”  

Ray nodded quickly, his movements almost frantic. “I understand. Take all the time you need. I get it.”  

Ray accompanied him to the door, telling him to take his car since it would be hard for a taxi to come all the way out there at that time of night.

Standing by the car, Sand hesitated with the door open. Then, suddenly, he turned and looked at Ray. His eyes were glassy, full of conflicting emotions, full with unshed tears, and he looked smaller, more fragile than Sand had ever seen him.  

Without thinking, Sand stepped forward, cupping Ray’s face in his hands, and pressed their lips together. It was soft, hesitant, but it carried the weight of everything they couldn’t say. Ray froze for a moment, then melted into the kiss, his hands coming up to hold Sand’s as the kiss turned salty.

When they pulled apart, Ray’s face was streaked with tears. Sand brushed them away with trembling fingers, their foreheads resting together as the reality of the moment sank in.  

“Ray,” Sand whispered. “Don’t feel bad for what you told me, okay? I’m not angry. I just… I need time. We both do. But I’m not going anywhere. I promise we’ll talk about this again. There’s so much we still need to say.”  

Ray let out a small, shaky sob, nodding as he tried to wipe his face. Sand kissed him one last time, lingering for a moment before pulling him into a tight embrace.  

Life wasn’t like the movies, where love could fix everything. Sometimes, it took time —space— to heal the wounds that ran too deep. They were both fragile, both still learning how to stand on their own. But for the first time, they were willing to try.  

Sand got into the car and drove off, silent tears slipping down his face, his heart heavy.

The two returned to Thailand, and though they briefly met when Sand returned Ray’s car, they didn’t address the unspoken weight of their situation. The silence between them wasn’t cold, but it was heavy, as if both were carrying the same invisible burden. Neither of them had the courage to take the first step toward a conversation they both knew was inevitable.  

Sand kept insisting, mostly to himself, that what they needed now was time. Time to think, time to heal, and time to figure out what they wanted from one another. But time wasn’t the magical solution he hoped it would be.

With each passing day, Sand realized that giving himself space to think didn’t mean his feelings faded. In fact, the opposite was true. Knowing that Ray felt the same only added a new layer of tension, one that was almost magnetic in nature. It wasn’t just emotional —it was physical. Sand found himself wanting to be near Ray, wanting to hear his voice, his laughter, even his sharp remarks. It felt like a pull he couldn’t resist.  

Two weeks passed. They texted, sometimes sparingly, other times more openly, but they didn’t see each other. Sand found excuses for this, rationalizing that staying apart was what they both needed. But the truth was far more complicated. Sand felt a storm of emotions every time he thought about Ray —confusion, desire, fear, and something deeper, warmer, that he still struggled to name.  

Eventually, the waiting became unbearable —at least for Sand. He wasn’t sure if it was the silence, the distance, or simply the fact that he couldn’t stop replaying everything Ray had confessed that night. Also, Sand found himself saying something he hadn’t even fully realized until that moment: that he’d felt something for Ray long before he was willing to admit it to himself. It had come out of him in a rush, surprising even Sand. But as soon as he said it, he knew it was true.  

That moment had shaken him. He couldn’t stop thinking about it. About himself, about Ray, about the past few months of his life. And about Boeing as well, about how their relationship had changed him.  

Ray’s confession should have frightened him. By all accounts, it should have been enough to make Sand run in the other direction. After all, the idea of someone watching him from the shadows for years was unnerving. But as Ray had explained it, he hadn’t crossed any lines. He had admired Sand quietly, from a distance, without ever trying to force himself into his life. In a strange way, that restraint softened the sharp edges of the revelation.  

Ray had really been a fan, albeit in a way that carried a deeper, more personal infatuation. There was an impure side to it, of course —Ray’s admission that he had fantasized about him, that he had sought out lovers who resembled Sand. That part made Sand’s chest tighten with conflicting emotions. He wasn’t sure whether he felt flattered, uneasy, or something in between.  

And yet, despite everything, Sand couldn’t stop himself from feeling even more drawn to Ray. There was something about knowing that he had been the center of Ray’s world, even unknowingly, that left him breathless. Sand had always been skeptical of love, wary of attachment, but Ray’s unwavering attention made him feel something he hadn’t felt in years: wanted. Desired. Important.  

The knowledge that someone like Ray —a model, a celebrity, someone so magnetic and larger-than-life— had quietly built his world around Sand for so many years was disorienting. How could someone like Ray see so much in someone like him? Sand had spent most of his life feeling like he existed in the background of other people’s stories, but to Ray, he had been the story.  

Every time Sand thought about Ray, he felt as if he were under some kind of spell. Ray had always made him feel unsteady, as if the ground beneath his feet was shifting. That confession —so raw, so vulnerable— had been the final push. The last, irreversible move that ensured Ray would never leave his thoughts, no matter how hard Sand tried.  

But it wasn’t all confusion and vulnerability. In a strange way, Ray’s confession had also comforted him. How could someone hold onto an affection for so long without it dimming? How had Sand managed to be such a constant in Ray’s life without even knowing it? It was almost incomprehensible to him, and yet, it was proof of something undeniable.  

Perhaps that was why Sand found himself hesitating, unsure of how to move forward. He wasn’t afraid of Ray —not really. He was afraid of how deeply Ray had already gotten under his skin, how much he already cared, and what that might mean for the both of them. 

Ray was sitting in a meeting at his agency when Sand’s message illuminated his phone screen:  

"Can you send me a day when you’re free? Even just in the evening"

Those words struck him like a stone breaking the surface of a still pond, ripples of unease spreading outward and disrupting his focus. For a moment, the world around him dissolved —the murmur of his staff, the soft drone of the air conditioner, the rustle of papers— all faded into irrelevance. All that remained was the glowing text and the weight it carried.  

His hand hovered over his phone, indecisive, while his thoughts churned with an exhausting intensity.  

What did this mean? An invitation? A plea? Or something far more complicated? The ambiguity gnawed at him, his mind oscillating between fragile hope and quiet dread. He wanted to believe it signified a step forward, something to build on —but the truth was stark. 

Beneath that hard-earned clarity, his old fear reared its head, insidious and unwelcome: the fear that Sand was preparing to push him away once again. Perhaps the truth Ray had revealed —the years of quiet observation, the history Sand never knew— had unsettled him. Perhaps this was the beginning of an ending.  

Again.

Ray’s chest tightened, but he pushed the thought aside. He didn’t know, couldn’t know. But what struck him, harder than he wanted to admit, was a stinging realization: Sand had fractured his trust. No matter how much Ray wished to, he no longer knew what to expect from him. And history had taught him one bitter lesson —expect the worst.  

The following day, when Ray replied that he was free, Sand responded promptly, saying he would pick him up at home.  

Ray dressed simply for the evening: a white tank top beneath a black cardigan, paired with his usual jeans and his signature jewelry. Understated but undeniably his style. He lingered in front of the mirror longer than he intended, the nerves swelling in his chest like a gathering storm. Was he overthinking? Probably. But how could he not, with Sand at the center of this tangled web of history and emotion?  

By the time Sand called to say he had arrived, Ray felt like a coiled spring —tense, braced for the worst.  

Sliding into the car, he was acutely aware of how awkward he felt in Sand’s presence. The air between them was thick with unspoken tension, a silent charge neither seemed willing to confront. Sand, by contrast, appeared composed, almost indifferent, as if their past had been neatly folded away.  

Ray’s thoughts were a chaotic swirl, so much so that he didn’t notice Sand leaning forward slightly, as if anticipating something —a hug, a smile, some sign of connection. But Ray, wrapped in his armor of doubt and fear, unconsciously erected a barrier Sand seemed to sense immediately. Undeterred, Sand broke the silence, his voice casual and light, like a hand reaching across the void.  

The conversation worked its magic, slowly peeling away Ray’s defenses. As the car glided through the city, he found himself sinking into the rhythm of their exchange, his focus narrowing to Sand’s voice, the rest of the world slipping into the background. But the reprieve was short-lived.  

When they reached their destination, the tension came rushing back.  

Ray froze, one hand gripping the door handle as he stared at the building before him.  

“Sand,” he said, his voice low, tinged with unease. “Why are we here?”  

The door lever remained halfway pulled, as if he couldn’t quite commit to stepping outside.  

“Trust me,” Sand replied, his tone steady yet soft, a quiet encouragement.  

Reluctantly, Ray exited the car, but he froze again as his shoes touched the pavement. The sight of the venue hit him like a blow.

Y.O.L.O.

It had been years since he’d last seen it. Once just a modest bar with dim lighting and an unreliable sound system, it had since become a shrine to the band’s legacy. The walls inside were now adorned with posters, photographs, and memorabilia, drawing fans eager to glimpse the place where it had all started.  

“Empty? How is that even possible?” Ray asked, glancing at the eerily quiet street that usually pulsed with life, with music and laughter spilling out onto the pavement.  

“I asked P’Yo to rent it out for the night,” Sand said. “She wasn’t thrilled about the short notice, but she made it happen.”  

Sand’s hand rested lightly on Ray’s back, guiding him forward. Inside, the bar was frozen in time. The tables, the worn stools, the faint smell of spilled beer —it was all hauntingly familiar. All the same. They were the only ones that had changed. 

“Why are we here?” Ray asked again, his voice quieter now, almost fragile.  

Instead of answering, Sand took Ray’s hand, their fingers intertwining in a gesture so simple yet disarming it sent a jolt through Ray’s chest. His carefully constructed walls quaked, though they didn’t collapse.  

Sand led him to the stage, where a single guitar stood waiting.  

“Show me where you used to sit,” Sand said softly. He lifted their joined hands briefly before letting his fingers slide away, lingering for a moment before releasing Ray entirely. His gaze, both tender and piercing, held Ray in place.  

Ray blinked, caught off guard. “Where I used to…?”  

“Yes. Back then, I never saw you. Show me where you always sat.” Sand’s tone was inquisitive, not judgmental, but Ray couldn’t help wondering what Sand thought of him now. Did he see those years of silent longing as pitiable? Obsessive?  

Still, Ray complied, walking slowly to the stool tucked in the shadows behind the bar. Sitting there felt surreal, as though he’d slipped back in time. Except this time, Mew wasn’t beside him, and Sand’s gaze didn’t skim over him —it finally found him, anchored him.  

Sand’s laugh broke the silence, light and unrestrained. He jogged over, his grin wide and teasing.  

“Are you serious?” he asked, gesturing toward Ray.  

“What?” Ray replied, bemused.  

“This spot —no wonder I never saw you. It hides your face completely! You’re basically invisible back here,” Sand exclaimed, flopping onto the stool beside him.  

Ray chuckled softly. “You think I didn’t know that? Why do you think I always sat here?”  

Sand rolled his eyes before standing, extending a hand toward Ray.  

“Well, that’s just unfair. I probably would’ve flirted with you if I’d seen you.”  

Ray’s laugh came out nervous, tinged with disbelief and a faint, warm thrill. How many nights had he spent wondering if Sand would have noticed him if he’d been braver? But the thought was always chased away by the comfort of his hiding place, a glass of whiskey his only companion.  

Sand led him to a chair positioned directly in front of the stage —a spot Ray hadn’t noticed before.  

“I’m giving you a show,” Sand declared, a playful edge to his voice, though a flicker of nervousness passed through his eyes.  

“A show?” Ray repeated, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow.  

Sand smirked, grabbing the guitar. “It’s only fair, don’t you think? You’ve never seen me play up close. Time to fix that.”  

"Are you serious?" Ray asked, his voice low and steady but laced with disbelief at Sand's unexpected gesture.  

Sand simply nodded, picking up the guitar and strumming it lightly to test the sound. A faint smile crossed his lips as the chords echoed through the empty bar.  

“I miss playing the guitar, you know?” he began, his voice tinged with nostalgia. “There aren’t many songs left where I get to play. They prefer I move around the stage, throw in a few dance steps, put on more of a show.”  

Ray nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on Sand. “I loved watching you play the guitar.” His words were gentle, filled with sincerity that lingered in the air.  

Sand’s smile widened, warmth filling his chest. “What are you gonna sing?” Ray asked, his playful tone softening the moment.  

“You’ll recognize it,” Sand replied, adjusting the strings. “It’s a song I used to play all the time —one of my favorites to perform on guitar.”  

Ray picked up his phone and propped it against the table, ready to capture whatever was about to unfold.  

Sand pressed a button on his equipment, and within seconds, the familiar opening chords of Do I Wanna Know? by the Arctic Monkeys filled the room.  

Ray’s breath hitched, his mind racing back to the first time he’d heard Sand play this song. Back then, Sand was magnetic, a force of nature who captured the crowd’s attention with his effortless charisma.  

But tonight, there was no crowd. There was only Ray.  

Sand’s presence shifted —his gaze smoldering, his movements deliberate. The seductive energy he once shared with a room full of strangers was now entirely focused on Ray. His voice, rich and deep, melted into the melody, adding a unique texture to the familiar tune.  

I’ve dreamt about you nearly every night this week  
How many secrets can you keep?  
‘Cause there’s this tune I found  
That makes me think of you somehow and I play it on repeat  
Until I fall asleep…

The backing track hummed through the speakers, but Sand’s live guitar cut through it all, commanding attention. Ray felt rooted in his seat, helpless against the pull of Sand’s voice and the sheer intimacy of the performance.  

His lips parted slightly, eyes wide with awe. Sand caught the expression, and a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, as if reveling in the effect he had on him.  

Simmer down and pucker up  
I’m sorry to interrupt, it’s just I’m constantly on the cusp of trying to kiss you…  
I don’t know if you feel the same as I do,  
But we could be together if you wanted to

Ray’s chest tightened as the lyrics washed over him, each line cutting deeper. The words seemed chosen with precision, as though Sand had poured his own unspoken feelings into them.  

Sand’s passion grew with each note. By the final verse, he let the guitar fall to his side and gripped the microphone, pouring himself fully into the performance. His gaze never wavered from Ray’s, unrelenting and charged, as though he was laying himself bare in song.  

Then Sand stepped off the stage. In a few strides, he was kneeling before Ray, looking up at him with an intensity that made Ray’s heart pound.  

Too busy being yours to fall  
(Sad to see you go)  
Ever thought of calling, darling?  
(Do I wanna know?)  
Do you want me crawling back to you? 

The song ended, and Ray realized he was smiling so widely it almost hurt. Sand set the microphone on the floor and gently parted Ray’s legs, stepping closer until their bodies were almost touching.  

Ray instinctively rested his arms on Sand’s shoulders, while Sand’s hands found their place on his waist.  

“What do you think?” Sand asked, a flicker of pride in his voice.  

Ray chuckled softly, leaning forward to wrap his arms around Sand’s head, prompting a quiet laugh from the singer.  

“It was like a dream come true,” Ray admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t know how many times I imagined something like this.”  

Sand raised an eyebrow, a teasing grin on his lips. “Oh, really? How long have you been waiting for this, exactly?” he asked, dropping small kisses on Ray’s flushed and adorable cheek.  

Ray’s voice dropped even lower. “Far too long,” he murmured before leaning in and pressing a brief kiss to Sand’s lips.  

“So… does this mean you’re okay with the whole situation I had?” Ray asked, his wide, hopeful eyes locking on Sand’s.
The singer studied him for a moment, his heart twisting in his chest.
“I won’t lie; it scared me a bit. But…” Sand hesitated, brushing his lips gently against Ray’s cheek. “I also found it… exciting.”

Ray rolled his eyes in mock exasperation, but the act didn’t last long before Sand captured his lips again, this time deepening the kiss. Perhaps neither of them had realized just how much they had missed all of this. The solace they found in each other’s taste.

When they finally pulled apart, Sand let himself savor the sight of Ray’s lips, slightly swollen and red.

“Ray, seriously though. I still don’t know how to fully express what I feel yet, but there’s one thing I can tell you: I haven’t been able to get you out of my head since the moment I met you. And it has nothing to do with your body —it’s you. As a person, you drive me crazy.”

Ray’s blush deepened, and a shy smile curved his lips. He began threading his fingers through Sand’s hair, a soothing gesture that also seemed to calm his own nerves.

“Sand… I need to make one thing clear, though. When you sent me that message, all I could think about was the worst. I was terrified of what you might say until the very last second. Every time you pushed me aside… it left a mark on me. Do you understand?”

Sand’s face fell, guilt flickering in his eyes.  

“I’ve been waiting to talk about this,” Sand said softly. “I didn’t want to push you, but… I’ve been carrying this guilt. And now, I just want to prove to you —no more barriers. No more pushing you aside. Let me show you how serious I am. Will you give me that chance, Ray? To prove I can be better?”  

Ray searched Sand’s face, every fiber of him wanting to believe the sincerity in his words. Slowly, he nodded. "It's going to take you a long time, Sand. Do you know that? It won't be easy for me not to be afraid of what might come out of your mouth, at all. I still need time, and especially certainty" Ray did not want to scold him, but it was important for Sand to understand how much he had suffered.

"I just felt constantly sick, Sand. I had no peace. Never did I expect to feel this way because of you. I felt ... deprived of myself, in a way. I like you, Sand, like crazy. I think you've figured that out by now, haven't you? For years I've dreamed of such a moment, I never thought we could get this far. Nor that I could suffer so much because of you. I have never given anyone a second chance, so know that this will also be my last. I don't want to suffer because of you anymore, Sand. I've already put myself too far aside to think about your being well. I want to believe in this though, I don't want to give up without first seeing how you are without barriers, or rather almost without barriers. Do you understand that?"

Sand swallowed hard, taking Ray’s hands in his own. He brought them to his lips, kissing them tenderly before answering.  

“I understand, Ray. And I’m sorry —more than you know. I’ll prove it to you. I’ll treat you the way you deserve.”  

“Promise?”  

“Promise.”  

~Come nelle canzoni by Coez📼~
With you I learned the term “missing each other”, really losing each other without finding each other again […]
If I remember correctly
I gave you everything of me, maybe I gave you the worst of me,
But the best was the same 
Now what are you crying for? 
I did all the best and worst things with you
But (to consider) only the best isn’t fair

~Star Shopping by Lil Peep📼~
Right now, I know that I'm not really worth it
If you give me time, I can work on it
Give me some time while I work on it
Losin' your patience, and, girl, I don't blame you
The Earth's in rotation, you're waitin' for me

Later, as Sand drove Ray home, he kept their hands entwined the entire way, the connection grounding him.  

When they pulled up to Ray’s house, Sand gently stopped him before he could leave.  

“Ray, there’s something else I need to tell you,” he began hesitantly. “Do you remember when I told you I had been writing I was Thinking About You for some already, before you showed up to my house?”  

Ray turned to him, curious. “Yeah?”  

“Well… at the same time, I was writing another song. One that’s the complete opposite, but it’s still about you.”  

Ray’s eyes widened, surprise flashing across his face. “The opposite? What do you mean?”  

“I’ve been calling it Let’s Try, but it’s not finished yet. I wanted to ask… Would it be okay if I finished it? If I performed it? I was thinking of debuting it during the first night of the world tour.”  

Ray stared at him for several moments, as if caught in a trance. Then a playful grin broke across his lips. “Okay,” he said, his voice soft but warm. “That sounds… fun.”  

Before Sand could respond, Ray leaned in, stealing a quick kiss before slipping out of the car.  

The fact that Ray had given him permission meant so much already; it was a small torch of hope. 

Sand was determined to fix his mistakes, to make Ray understand that he was truly repentant. At the same time, he hoped that in this way he would be able to heal his own scars. To understand himself more, to express his feelings, and to regain confidence that not everyone is like Boeing, and that Ray would never betray him, cheat on him. 

It was not the first time Sand felt this way, but for the first time he welcomed hope with open arms, and did not chase it away.

Chapter Text

Winning back Ray’s trust had been anything but simple. It was a labyrinth Sand had willingly entered, knowing there was no map to guide him.

He acted as though they were already together, as if by living the part, he could make it real. He took Ray out to dinner whenever their schedules allowed, even on nights when exhaustion begged him to rest.

He waited for Ray at his house, eager to greet him after grueling business trips, and they spent hours curled up together, lost in conversations about themselves, their fractured past, and their hopes for a future neither dared fully envision. Those nights often ended with them falling asleep in each other’s arms, their shared warmth acting as a fragile bridge over the chasm of uncertainty that lingered between them.

Their physical relationship, however, remained tentative —a fragile, unspoken boundary neither dared cross. They still hadn’t yet taken that final step, something that felt strange, even ironic, given how their connection had first sparked —purely physical, driven by passion and impulse. But Sand had unwittingly reshaped even that.

The touch they once shared had turned into something laced with hesitation, a moment of cool distance rather than closeness. It felt like proof of everything unresolved, a wound that hadn’t healed. Sand knew in his gut that they wouldn’t truly move forward until Ray made his choice —until he decided, finally and fully, that yes, he could trust Sand again. 

And yet, that physical absence didn’t feel oppressive. Not openly, at least. In the months that followed, their time together was fleeting, carved out of impossibly packed schedules. They rarely managed to spend more than a few hours in each other’s company, their meetings like stolen breaths of air in lives that often felt suffocating.

Those brief moments should have left Sand feeling unsatisfied, but instead, they grounded him. They gave him something to hold onto, a quiet reminder that even amidst their chaos, they were still choosing each other.

But that scarcity —that inability to fully stop and breathe— terrified them both. Sand often caught it in Ray’s eyes, the worry lingering just below the surface: What happens when we don’t have time? What happens if we can’t make time?

They were obviously both busy people, constantly running from one obligation to the next. Days without commitments were so rare they almost felt foreign. And if they couldn’t even find time for themselves, how could they ever hope to nurture a relationship?

The worries piled up silently, creating a wall neither of them wanted to address directly. Sand, in particular, avoided the topic like the plague. It wasn’t cowardice —it was fear. Fear of ruining what they’d rebuilt. Fear of scaring Ray away.

Still, despite everything, Sand had a growing sense that they were on the right path. He was learning —slowly and painfully— that the only way to heal the scars between them was to talk about them. And for Sand, who had spent a lifetime swallowing his feelings, talking was like climbing a mountain without ropes. 

Ray, however, understood this in a way that caught Sand off guard. He was patient. He coaxed Sand out of his shell gently, like he was taming a wounded animal. He never pushed, never demanded. Instead, he opened up first, talking not just about them, but about himself, as if to show Sand there was no shame in vulnerability.

He made sure Sand knew that sharing his burdens wasn’t selfish or weak —it was necessary. It wasn’t about dumping his problems onto someone else but rather about finding solace in a shared struggle, finding strength in being seen. And even when their problems had no solutions, even when there was no quick fix, just speaking them out loud seemed to lift some of the weight.

For Sand, accepting this truth was the hardest part. Vulnerability had always been his greatest fear. He’d grown up with the belief that showing weakness was dangerous, that it opened the door to disappointment or betrayal.

The walls he’d built around himself had been so thick that even Nick, who had always been so close to him, had barely managed to slip through. And yet, here was Ray, chipping away at those defenses with every kind word, every quiet reassurance.

Sand didn’t just feel safe with Ray —he felt free. And that freedom, though terrifying, was intoxicating. It made him want to believe that maybe, he didn’t actually have to carry everything alone.

And it wasn’t just Sand who was changing. As Ray’s patience brought Sand out of his shell, it also seemed to soothe something within Ray himself. Sand could see it in the way Ray’s once-frayed edges began to soften, in the way the storm in his heart seemed to quiet. Seeing Sand’s vulnerability —his raw, unfiltered emotions— seemed to anchor Ray in ways Sand didn’t fully understand. 

It was Ray’s constant, unwavering care that melted Sand day by day. Their connection was a stark contrast to his previous relationship with Boeing, which now felt shallow and hollow in hindsight.

Back then, Sand had been so consumed by work and their surface-level chemistry that he hadn’t noticed the cracks forming. It wasn’t until the distance between them turned into a chasm —one that could only be crossed through betrayal— that Sand realized how little substance their relationship had truly held. 

But this… this with Ray felt like stepping into an entirely different universe.

Sand could feel the depth in every little gesture Ray made. The way he brought meaning to even the smallest touches, the smallest words. It amazed Sand how much Ray had grown since the beginning of their journey, how completely he had let his guard down. A part of Sand worried it might just be temporary, that Ray might still be testing him, waiting to see if he would falter. But deep down, Sand knew that wasn’t true.

Ray wasn’t testing him —he was meeting him halfway, unguarded and wholly open. And Sand wanted to match him in that.

Now, as Sand sat in his studio, fingers hovering over his keyboard, he thought about all of this —their growth, their struggles, their future. The song he was working on had been running through his head all day, filling the silence with Ray’s presence, as though every note carried the memory of him. But his thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door, pulling him abruptly from his trance.

“Come in,” he called absentmindedly, too engrossed in his work to glance back. He assumed it was someone from the agency, maybe a colleague with a question or a request.

He didn’t expect the kiss. 

Soft and sudden, it landed on his cheek, startling him. He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

Ray stood there, grinning, a paper bag in one hand and a matcha latte in the other. Sand’s chest tightened at the sight of him, the familiar warmth spreading through him like sunlight on a cold day. 

“Back to check on my caffeine addiction again?” Sand teased as Ray stepped closer, his playful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Ray had forced him to find some healthy alternatives to coffee after he assisted his high-consume of caffeine. Matcha seemed, for now, the best solution as it was an important antioxidant but also contained the right amount of caffeine.

Ray chuckled, placing the bag and the drink on Sand’s desk before leaning down to wrap his arms around his neck. “Always. Someone has to keep you alive, you know. Am I interrupting you?” 

Sand laughed softly, tilting his head to press a kiss to Ray’s wrist, the warmth of the gesture lingering in the air between them. “You never interrupt me,” he murmured. “Even when I pretended you did.”

Ray’s grin widened as he climbed onto Sand’s lap, wrapping himself around him as if he belonged there. Their lips met, a kiss that was equal parts warmth and laughter, and for a moment, the studio fell away. It was just them —two people trying, day by day, to figure out what love meant. 

When they broke apart, Ray pouted, his lips forming an adorable, exaggerated frown. “You’re lucky I’m cute,” he teased, resting his forehead against Sand’s. 

Sand smiled, wrapping his arms tightly around him. “I know,” he whispered. And in that moment, he wasn’t thinking about work, or the future, or the walls they were still breaking down. He was just thinking about Ray —how far they’d come, and how much further he was willing to go. For the first time in what felt like forever, Sand didn’t feel like he was carrying everything alone. And that feeling… that was everything.  

Some time had passed. Sand had been immersed in writing lyrics, his focus so sharp that he barely noticed the world around him. He was careful, though —so careful— to ensure Ray didn’t catch even a whisper of the melody or a glimpse of the words. This was meant to be a surprise, and Sand wasn’t ready to share it yet.  

Ray, on the other hand, rested with his head on Sand’s shoulder, perfectly content to stay close and wrapped around him without saying a word. The weight of him felt warm, grounding, and after a moment of silence, Sand realized Ray might’ve drifted off. The model hadn’t spoken in a while, and the even rise and fall of his chest suggested he might be asleep.  

Quietly, Sand reached out, his hand sliding across Ray’s back in a soothing motion. His fingers lingered, tracing soft lines against the fabric of Ray’s shirt. Then, without really thinking, Sand leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to Ray’s shoulder.  

Ray stirred at the touch, his body shifting slightly, the legs wrapped around the singer’s back tightening. Sand didn’t stop, though; his hand continued moving slowly, deliberately. His touch drifted lower, brushing over Ray’s thighs, firm enough to wake him but tender enough not to startle him.  

A soft groan escaped Ray’s lips as he stretched, his arms reaching above his head. A deep, drawn-out yawn followed, the sound vibrating in Sand’s ear and making him smile. It was such a simple thing, but it was so Ray —a mixture of sleepy vulnerability and unintentional charm.  

Ray finally straightened his back to face him, still half-lost in the haze of sleep. His hair was slightly mussed, his eyelids heavy as he rubbed at one eye like a child waking up from a nap. He glanced around, blinking slowly, his confusion evident in the way his gaze flitted across the room.  

Sand couldn’t stop himself. A soft “How cute” slipped out before he could think better of it, and the words made Ray’s lips curl into a small, sleepy smile.  

Sand reached up instinctively, cupping Ray’s face between his hands. His thumbs brushed delicately over Ray’s cheekbones, and he felt the warmth of his skin beneath his fingertips. The intimacy of the moment made his chest tighten, and without hesitation, the words spilled from him.  

“Did my baby fall asleep? Hm?”  

The air shifted.  

Ray froze, his eyes widening slightly as he processed the words. Sand stiffened too, realizing what he’d just said. It was the first time either of them had used anything other than their names for each other, and the significance of it hung heavily in the space between them.  

“What… what did you just call me?” Ray’s voice was soft, incredulous, his face still held gently between Sand’s palms.  

“Sorry, Ray,” Sand blurted out quickly, his tone apologetic. The word had slipped out naturally, but now that it was out in the open, he wasn’t sure how Ray would take it.  

But Ray’s expression wasn’t angry —far from it. His wide-eyed disbelief began to soften into something else, something almost shy. “No, what did you call me?” he repeated, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

His cheeks, Sand noticed, had taken on the faintest hint of pink. “Say it again.”  

Sand hesitated, his voice barely above a whisper. “Baby?”  

Before he could say anything more, Ray let out an unrestrained squeal of delight. His arms shot up, wrapping tightly around Sand’s neck, and then their lips collided in a kiss so sudden and passionate that it left Sand breathless.  

When Ray finally pulled back, it wasn’t to create distance. He began pressing soft, damp kisses along Sand’s jawline, trailing warmth wherever his lips touched.  

“Wait,” Sand managed to say between kisses, his voice tinged with both amusement and disbelief. “You’re not upset?”  

Ray answered with another kiss, this one lingering just a little longer before he finally spoke. “Upset? Are you kidding?” He pulled back slightly, his eyes sparkling. “Hearing you call me that has always been one of my biggest fantasies.”  

Sand’s laughter bubbled up, warm and genuine. His hands found Ray’s face again, his fingers cradling the sharp lines of his jaw as he leaned in closer.  

“Really? You’ve been waiting for me to say it, haven’t you… baby?” His voice dropped lower, his tone playful yet utterly sincere.  

Ray’s breath caught, his pulse quickening under Sand’s touch. The way Sand was looking at him —like Ray was the only thing that mattered in the world— made his stomach flip. He felt utterly exposed, yet he couldn’t look away.  

Sand’s lips curved into a soft chuckle, and he pulled Ray into a tight embrace. The warmth between them was electric, like the kind of peace Sand didn’t know he could feel. After a moment, he finally reached for the food Ray had brought, breaking the spell just enough to make the moment feel lighter.  

Feigning dramatic outrage, Ray gasped. “You haven’t eaten yet?” His tone was exaggeratedly indignant, as if Sand had committed some unforgivable crime.  

Sand grinned, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “Well, someone’s been distracting me,” he teased, deliberately leaving out the fact that Ray had been asleep for nearly an hour.  

Ray had brought an assortment of food —grilled meat skewers, sticky mango rice, and an array of sweets to keep Sand’s energy up. As Sand ate, Ray made himself comfortable on his lap, sitting cross-legged and resting his chin on one hand as he admired Sand openly.  

“You’re so beautiful,” Ray would murmur between bites, his voice soft but sincere. The words made Sand’s cheeks flush, though he pretended not to notice.  

When the food was gone, they settled into conversation. Ray talked animatedly about an upcoming collaboration for a jewelry line, his hands gesturing excitedly as he described the details. But eventually, his curiosity got the better of him.  

“How’s the song coming along?” he asked, his tone casual but his eyes sparkling with interest.  

Sand’s lips quirked into a smirk. “What song?”  

Ray rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on! Don’t play dumb. Just tell me something about it.”  

But Sand was steadfast. He wasn’t ready to reveal anything —not yet. To change the subject, he kissed him deeply once again, playing with his tongue just enough to make a groan escape his lips, and then asked a question of his own.  

“Ray?”  

“Hmm?”  

“What was the first song you ever heard me play?”  

Ray blinked, caught off guard by the sudden question. After a moment of thought, his answer came easily.  

“Better Not by Micro.”  

Sand’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “What? Wow, I wasn’t expecting that.”  

Ray laughed, kicking his legs lightly as he perched on the armrest of Sand’s chair. “Why not?”  

Sand shrugged, reaching for his guitar. “Do you want to hear it, baby?”  

Ray groaned dramatically, though the smile tugging at his lips gave him away. “Stop calling me that! You’re driving me crazy every time you say it.”  

Sand chuckled as he strummed the opening chords of Better Not. It wasn’t an easy song to play, especially on a classical guitar, but after a few tries, he found the rhythm.  

By the time he reached the chorus, Ray was singing along, their voices blending seamlessly.

“I better not 
Just forget it 
I should forget it 
Keep telling myself that I should not 
Just forget it”

Ray absentmindedly ran his fingers through Sand’s hair as he sang, and Sand felt himself melting under the model’s touch. He’d always wondered how their voices would sound together, and now he knew. They fit like two pieces of a puzzle, creating something bigger than either of them alone.  

When the song ended, they sat in silence, their eyes locked.  

“We won’t end up like that song, will we?” Ray asked, his voice barely above a whisper.  

Sand tightened his arms around him, his heart clenching at the vulnerability in Ray’s tone. Tilting Ray’s chin up, Sand brought their faces close enough that their breaths mingled.  

“No, Ray. That was us in the past. The future is ours now.”  

Ray smiled, soft and full of unspoken promises, before leaning into Sand’s embrace again.  

“Ray?” Sand said after a while, his voice quiet as the night settled around them.  

“Hmm?”  

“As for the song…” Sand began, his heart racing as he finally worked up the courage to say what he’d been holding back. “I told you I wanted to perform it for the first time during the opening stop of my tour, right?”  

Ray nodded, his curiosity piqued.  

“Well… I was wondering if you’d join me. On stage.”  

Ray shot up, his exhaustion forgotten as his eyes widened in shock. “Are you serious?”  

Sand nodded. “I wouldn’t ask you to sing, of course. I’d ask the artistic directors to create a small performance for you. But it just feels… right. Especially since I wrote it for you.”  

Ray’s mouth fell open, his breath hitching. “You’re not joking.”  

“No, Ray. I’m not.”  

Ray stared at him for a moment, still processing. “But if we perform it together, it would mean…” He trailed off, leaving the rest unsaid.  

“It would mean whatever you want it to mean,” Sand said softly.  

Ray’s gaze softened, his walls crumbling. “You’d really want me on stage with you?”  

Sand smiled, brushing his thumb over Ray’s cheek. “Ray, if it were up to me, I’d show you off to the world every chance I got.”  

Ray’s eyes glistened, and for the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to believe it.  

“Then yes,” Ray said, his voice steady.  

The future was theirs now.  

In the days that followed, or rather weeks, the rehearsals for the tour officially began. Every detail —the scripts, the setlist, the choreography— was meticulously crafted to perfection, a process that, inevitably, took its toll on the lead singer.  

The days were grueling, a relentless march of effort and precision. When Sand finally returned home each evening, the only thing he longed for was to lose himself in Ray's embrace, to let the world disappear for a little while. But even that was denied to him. Ray was out of state, in Korea, fulfilling commitments for a series of photoshoots that required locations unique to the country.  

And so, the days dragged on, heavy and unrelenting. Initially, Sand had regretted suggesting that Ray perform the song with him. The weight of that decision loomed large, and he feared it had unfairly rushed Ray’s timeline.

Yet all of Sand’s doubts seemed to dissipate whenever Ray, even from afar, expressed his genuine excitement about the idea. The mere thought of it made Ray’s eyes light up, and for Sand, that was enough to make it all worth it.  

Fate, however, had its own agenda. Ray’s trip ended up coinciding with the final, most chaotic weeks of tour preparations, amplifying Sand’s exhaustion and longing tenfold. They also hadn’t had the luxury of rehearsing together because of the model’s absence.

Ray had been forced to practice with only a bare instrumental track since the lyrics were meant to be a surprise for him. Sand had insisted on this, believing it would make the moment even more authentic, even more powerful. Though nerve-wracking, the lack of joint practice only heightened the anticipation, an electric tension building between them that neither could deny.  

During those weeks apart, they clung to whatever brief moments they could carve out to connect —often hurried five-minute video calls that felt like lifelines. And every time, Ray would ask the same question, his tone laced with a mix of concern and sincerity:  

“Are you sure about this? Are you certain this is what you want?”  
What he really meant was: Are you sure you’re ready to give this song —our song—such a monumental significance?

That was the crux of it.  

There was an almost ironic dynamic in their relationship, one that neither could ignore. Both of them were acutely aware of the profound effect they had on each other. Yet, Sand doubted that Ray fully grasped the depth of his influence.

Maybe that was Sand’s fault, a consequence of his guarded demeanor and his habit of concealing just how much Ray meant to him. Sand had always approached love with restraint, as if afraid to let anyone see how vulnerable he truly was.  

But not this time.  

This time, Sand was willing to lay everything bare. For Ray —his love, his everything —he would do whatever it took. He would give Ray the world if he asked for it.  

And so, the day of the opening concert finally arrived.  

The first stop of the world tour was none other than the iconic Rajamangala Stadium in Thailand, the country’s largest venue, capable of holding over 50,000 screaming fans. For Sand and his band, By the Beach, performing there was nothing short of an honor. They had graced its stage before, but it still carried a special weight. Performing at home always did.  

Sand sat in the dressing room, his heart pounding as the makeup artists finished their work. They’d already performed a rehearsal in front of the VIP ticket holders, but the anticipation had only grown more intense. Unable to sit still, he sent a quick, impatient message to Ray.  

When are you getting here? 

The message went unread. Sand’s fingers tightened around his phone, the growing nerves knotting his stomach.

But then, a sudden commotion by the door pulled his attention. The staff’s surprised murmurs and the faint sound of approaching footsteps made his heart skip a beat.  

And there he was.  

Ray stood in the doorway, and for a moment, Sand’s heart couldn’t decide whether to race faster or finally calm now that the person he had been yearning for was here.  

Out of the corner of his eye, Sand noticed the ever-present documentary crew capturing the moment. The entire tour would be accompanied by a filming team producing a behind-the-scenes feature, complete with clips from the concerts, interviews, candid moments, and even confessional-style insights.

Ray had reluctantly allowed the crew to include a few small moments featuring him, though he remained undecided about his level of involvement.  

At first, the idea of being filmed so intimately had unnerved Sand. He feared he’d have to put on yet another mask, much like he did during interviews. But after an honest conversation with his manager and the production team, he came to understand that the documentary aimed to showcase the band’s authentic side.

Over time, he grew accustomed to the cameras, often forgetting they were even there if he was particularly exhausted, which was also an often occurrence —though their installation in private spaces like his studio and house only served to amplify his loneliness during Ray’s absence.  

Yet now, with Ray standing in front of him, the cameras felt inconsequential. For Sand, there was no pretending in Ray’s presence.  

Ray looked effortless, as always. He wore a loose shirt and comfortable pants, his face bare except for the glasses perched on his nose to combat blue light. His hair was messy, undone by travel, and yet it was this version of him —unpolished and unguarded— that Sand loved most of all.  

Their eyes met, and everything else faded away. Sand rose to his feet, his lips curving into a smile that Ray immediately mirrored. Three weeks had passed since they’d last seen each other, but in that instant, it felt as though no time had passed at all.  

Taking the first step forward, Sand closed the distance between them. He didn’t care that the room was still full of people, didn’t care that every moment was being captured. Ray’s presence made the world feel smaller, more manageable.  

Without hesitation, they shared a quick kiss, a soft exchange that was met with knowing chuckles from the team around them. Sand barely noticed. Taking Ray’s hand, he led him out of the room, searching for a quieter space. The distant sound of footsteps from the crew trailed after them, but Sand paid it no mind.  

He had waited too long for this moment. The weeks without Ray had been unbearable, made even worse by the stress and pressure leading up to the tour.  

“I’ve missed you so much,” Sand whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he pulled Ray into a tight embrace. Ray’s laughter, soft and familiar, was like oxygen to him.  

They walked together for a while, their arms wrapped around each other as they exchanged whispered words and stolen touches. Eventually, they found a secluded corner near the equipment cases.  

The moment hung heavy with anticipation. Their eyes locked, and time seemed to slow. When their lips met again, the kiss was deeper, more desperate, as if trying to make up for every second they’d been apart.  

“I missed you too, baby,” Ray murmured when they finally parted, his arms tightening around Sand.  

Sand wanted nothing more than to stay like this, to forget about the concert, the cameras, the expectations. But time was against them.  

“Are you ready for tonight? Do you feel up to it?” Sand asked, his voice soft as his hands cradled Ray’s face. It was a gesture he often found himself drawn to, as though grounding himself through Ray’s presence.  

Ray hesitated for a brief moment before nodding. “I’m nervous,” he admitted.  

Sand’s smile was reassuring. “That’s normal. You can back out at any time —there’s no pressure. It’s entirely up to you.”  

Ray’s response was cut short by a voice echoing down the hall, calling for Sand.  

“You have to go,” Ray said gently, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of reluctance.  

Sand lingered, reluctant to leave. But Ray’s steady gaze urged him on. “I’ll see you later,” he promised, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek before disappearing around the corner.  

Minutes later, Sand stood on stage, the roar of tens of thousands of fans washing over him like a tidal wave. The energy in the stadium was electrifying, every cheer fueling him as he moved through the setlist. And though Ray was just behind the curtains, waiting with a smile during every costume change, Sand couldn’t help but wish this moment could last forever.  

By the time the final outfit change came —a sleek black sheer shirt paired with a tailored brown suit —Sand was ready. This was it. The last song of the night, their new single, “Let’s Try,” and the moment he’d been waiting for.  

Ray stood waiting at the steps, his figure partially obscured by the shadows of the stage lights.  

“All good?” Sand asked, his voice soft yet charged with an almost palpable energy as a staff member adjusted his earpiece.  

Ray nodded, but almost immediately, his lips betrayed him as he confessed, “I’m just... nervous.”  

Sand’s expression softened with understanding. “It’s okay,” he murmured, his tone carrying a reassuring warmth. “You’ve got time until the very last second to change your mind. It’s entirely your choice.”  

Before either of them could linger in the moment, Sand leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to Ray’s lips, brief yet grounding, before he turned and sprinted toward the stage.  

The next stretch of time felt like a blur, as though the hours were collapsing in on themselves. After performing what had been planned as the final song of the set, the band took a moment to pause, carving out time for their final speeches.  

They shared behind-the-scenes anecdotes from the tour preparation, reflected on the emotional intensity of the evening, and spoke about their hopes for the journey ahead. And, as always, they made sure to shower their fans with gratitude for their unwavering love and support.  

Then the focus shifted back to Sand. He knew what was coming. This was the moment he had been bracing for, the one he had carried in his heart for weeks.  

He scanned the crowd, the sea of glowing lights stretching infinitely in every direction. It felt as though the entire world was looking at him, waiting, expecting. When he glanced toward the wings of the stage, the absence of a signal from the staff confirmed what he dared to hope: Ray was still on board.  

Sand found himself standing alone at the center of the vast stadium, the main stage and the band far behind him. A single spotlight illuminated him, casting long shadows against the vastness of the space. Though it nearly blinded him, he could feel the intensity of tens of thousands of eyes trained solely on him.  

He took a steadying breath and began, his voice calm but laden with anticipation.  

“This tour holds a very special meaning for us. Especially tonight, as we embark on this journey. This evening has been incredible, and we’re so grateful to all of you for sharing it with us. It’s hard to believe it’s already coming to an end.”  

The crowd responded with a collective groan of disappointment, a sound so vast it sent shivers down Sand’s spine. His bandmates, ever the comedians, pretended to wipe away exaggerated tears at their microphones, drawing laughter that rippled through the audience.  

Sand turned back to his bandmates, a small smile tugging at his lips. He felt a surge of gratitude toward them. They had allowed him to carve out this moment for himself and Ray, without hesitation or question.  

They had talked about it extensively in the weeks leading up to the tour. Sand had been as transparent as possible, making sure they understood just how much this meant to him. Yet none of them had ever doubted him, nor had they resisted the idea. They were simply happy for him —happy that he had found the courage to love again.  

“Before we go—” Sand was interrupted by a staff member approaching him with his electric guitar in hand.  

The moment the audience caught sight of it, a thunderous cheer erupted, shaking the very ground beneath his feet. The unmistakable sign of an encore sent waves of excitement rippling through the stadium.  

“In honor of this kickoff to our very first real world tour, we’d like to share something new with you.”  

He paused deliberately, letting the mounting cheers wash over him.  

“And... we’ll have a special guest joining us tonight.”  

The roar of the crowd grew even louder, a tidal wave of sound and emotion that seemed to surge in every direction.  

“Our new song is called ‘Let’s Try.’”  

The excitement in the stadium had reached a fever pitch, the noise swelling into a roar so deafening it seemed to shake the ground itself. A current of electricity buzzed through the crowd, their anticipation palpable, their cheers a wave that rose and crashed, demanding more.

Sand stood at the center of it all, waiting for the moment when the storm would settle, his fingers resting lightly on the guitar strings. His chest rose and fell in steady rhythm, but his heart raced as he prepared to launch into something they’d never shared before.

The main stage lights dimmed suddenly, plunging the vast space into an anticipatory hush. The air seemed to thicken, all focus narrowing to the warm glow of red and orange hues that bled across the stage like the dying embers of a fire.

It cast a cocoon of intimacy over the enormous stadium, making it feel, for a fleeting moment, as though it was just them —Sand, Ray, and this song.

Sand let the first notes spill from his guitar, the sound ringing out in perfect clarity, cutting through the silence. Each strum felt deliberate, full of purpose, a heartbeat pulsing through the darkness.

He repeated the chords, slower at first, lingering on the edges of each note, then layering harmonies, teasing the melody to life. Behind him, the rest of the band joined in, one by one, their instruments stitching threads into the song, building it until it swelled into something that could no longer be contained.

And then, as though conjured by the music itself, Ray emerged. He ascended slowly, seated on a sleek white sofa that rose on a hidden platform shrouded in soft, almost ethereal lighting.

The crowd erupted —screams splitting the air, hands reaching upward as though to touch him, the noise hitting like a shockwave that rippled through the stadium. Sand faltered for half a breath as his gaze found Ray, a moment of quiet disbelief flickering through him despite the countless rehearsals.

Ray’s presence was magnetic, an undeniable pull. His rich brown suit matched Sand’s perfectly, tailored to flawless simplicity, but there was one stunning difference: his torso was adorned with intricate golden chains, each link catching the stage lights, glinting like liquid fire. The details were opulent yet restrained, an unexpected marriage of elegance and defiance that made Ray look almost untouchable —regal and untamed all at once.

The energy shifted. The screams turned to a frantic pitch. Ray sat unmoving, chin tilted just enough to exude casual authority, but his hands clutched the sofa edge, betraying the nerves thrumming beneath his cool facade.

And when his gaze finally found Sand —steadying himself in the storm— his breath caught in his chest. Sand was already looking back at him, and though the distance between them was vast, the connection sparked like a live wire.

Sand’s guitar was abandoned as he adjusted the microphone on his cheek, the corner of his mouth curved into a knowing smile. And then, he sang.

“Sometimes I feel so unlucky, never truly loved somebody.  
Other times I feel so blessed and free, with nothing to be sad or sorry...”

Ray was supposed to keep his cool. That was the plan.

His indifference had been choreographed —he’d practiced the little smirks, the subtle dodges, the half-lidded glances. He was meant to make Sand work for his attention, to draw him into a slow-burn pursuit. But no one had told him the song would sound like this. No one had warned him that the lyrics would peel something open inside him.

And Sand —who had planned this all meticulously— was no better off. The choreography dissolved like smoke in the heat of the moment. Every premeditated step, every cue, felt irrelevant.

Sand wasn’t performing anymore. He was singing, and he was singing to Ray.

“I’m not fooling around, I just want you now.  
Do you want to give someone like me a try?”

Ray tried to resist —he really did. His smile was there, his head tilted just so, his movements deliberate as he played coy. But the way Sand moved toward him, each step echoing in time with the music, unraveled him bit by bit. When Sand’s fingers brushed his waist —barely a touch— Ray’s breath hitched, and his practiced grin wavered.

The crowd was losing their minds, but Sand only saw Ray.

By the time they reached the first chorus, something had shifted beyond repair. Sand —sweat glistening beneath the spotlights— shrugged off his jacket in one smooth motion, revealing the sheer black shirt beneath that clung to him like a second skin. The crowd’s reaction was seismic, a sound so raw and frenzied it felt like an out-of-body experience.

Ray sank back onto the sofa, his composure fracturing. His eyes followed Sand’s slow approach, unable to look away. The teasing smirk playing at Sand’s lips made him feel unmoored, vulnerable in a way he hadn’t expected. When Sand reached him —his frame looming, confident— Ray froze. Sand cupped his face, his thumb brushing over Ray’s jaw in a way that felt both tender and possessive. Ray forgot how to breathe.

“There’ll be just you, my words are true. I’ll make you feel safe.  
I’ll kiss you softly, no need to rouse me...  
Oh baby, I’ll try.”

The intensity in Sand’s voice made every lyric feel like a confession, a promise spoken to Ray and no one else. For a heartbeat, Sand leaned in, so close their breaths mingled, so close the stadium might as well have disappeared.

And though he didn’t kiss him —though he fought the overwhelming pull— Ray’s wide-eyed expression, the raw and unguarded look he gave back, was a kiss in its own right. Sand gathered himself, turning around to keep a safe distance, but Ray wasn’t about to let the moment slip away.

With a sudden spark of boldness, he grabbed Sand’s wrist, spinning him back around, their bodies aligned as they moved to the final chorus. Each touch —Ray’s hand trailing Sand’s torso, Sand’s palm finding Ray’s chin— felt deliberate, heavy with meaning. The music thundered to its climax as they reached the sofa, Sand cornering Ray in a playful, almost tender standoff.

“Do you want to give someone like me a try?  
Do you dare to try this love on for size?  
If you’re down, nothing else matters.  
Let’s try.”

The platform began to descend, sinking them back into the sea of lights. Ray reclined against the sofa, his body a languid invitation, Sand hovering above him, their faces mere inches apart. They held the pose as though the moment could last forever —Ray’s lips parted, Sand’s gaze unwavering.

And then, as the platform brought them down, with the softest breath, Sand sang the final line. And the stadium fell into a stunned, breathless silence. It felt sacred, like no one dared to disturb what had just happened.

“Do you dare to be mine?”

Chapter Text

As the platform descended, carrying them away from the blinding lights and the roaring sea of fans, the world around them seemed to dissolve. In those fleeting moments, Sand and Ray had forgotten where they were —or perhaps they no longer cared.

Sand’s gaze was locked on Ray, who now stood before him with his lips slightly parted and his breath still uneven, his chest rising and falling as if he had just run a marathon.  

Sand’s ears rang, a deep, incessant hum that drowned out the noise of the crowd and the distant cheers from his bandmates. He wasn’t even sure if the ringing was real or just in his head, but it didn’t matter. All he could see were Ray’s eyes —those piercing, hazy irises that seemed to shimmer with a thousand emotions he couldn’t quite name.

His own breath hitched as he took in the way Ray’s gaze lingered, soft yet intense, as if trying to say something neither of them could articulate.  

Ray, for his part, wasn’t any more grounded. The chaos of the stage, the buzz of the crowd —it all blurred into the background as he stood there, transfixed. Sand’s eyes were wide, almost unguarded, brimming with emotions he didn’t bother to hide.

It was rare to see him like this, vulnerable yet so achingly present, and it sent a strange pang through Ray’s chest. His mind clung to the memory of the stage —the way Sand had carried himself, every movement deliberate and magnetic, his presence commanding the attention of thousands. And yet, here and now, it was Ray who held his focus, as if the rest of the world had simply ceased to exist.  

A voice —sharp and professional—cut through the haze. “Careful!” one of the staff members called, steadying Sand as he stumbled slightly.

The touch jolted him back to reality, his dazed expression giving way to confusion. He shook his head abruptly, as if trying to clear it, and dropped to his knees to regain his balance. A flurry of hands surrounded him, carefully detaching the microphone clipped to his back and untangling the wires that had been threaded through his outfit.  

Sand blinked, his breaths coming faster now, as the world began to flood back in. The sharp contrast of fluorescent lights, the distant hum of conversations backstage, and the unmistakable rumble of the crowd outside —it was overwhelming, but grounding. Yet even as his senses sharpened, his eyes instinctively sought out Ray.  

From his position on the ground, he found the model leaning back slightly, propped up on his elbows, his posture loose but his expression focused. Despite the muted chaos around them, Ray’s gaze hadn’t wavered. And Sand —despite the noise, the voices, the hands working swiftly to free him from his stage gear— couldn’t look away.  

It was a connection that didn’t need words, as fragile as it was electric. The world had returned, but for Sand, it remained muffled and distant. He was aware of the staff moving around him, the lingering glances from his bandmates, and the faint hum of the applause still echoing in the arena. He could even feel the weight of the compliments —how people marveled at his performance, at the spectacle he had helped create. But none of it could pull him out of Ray’s orbit.  

Sand swallowed hard, his voice low and hoarse when he finally spoke. “Go to the dressing room,” he murmured, his tone steady despite the tumult inside him. “I’ll meet you there.”  

Ray hesitated for the briefest moment, his expression unreadable, before nodding silently and slipping away. As he disappeared down the corridor, Sand exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Something lingered in the air between them —something fragile and heavy, an unspoken understanding that neither was ready to confront. At least, not here.

The next few minutes passed in a blur. Sand joined his bandmates for a final set of photos, their laughter and camaraderie filling the backstage area. The photographer gave quick instructions, snapping shots meant to capture the success of the night. Sand tried to focus, to mirror the joy and exhaustion radiating from his friends, but his thoughts were elsewhere.  

When the last photo was taken, he made his rounds, hugging each member of his group. “You were amazing tonight,” he told them, his voice filled with genuine warmth. One by one, they embraced, their mutual respect and gratitude palpable.  

During the final group hug, Top nudged him playfully. “Someone’s in a hurry. I bet you’re gonna have lots of fun tonight,” he teased, his grin mischievous.  

The group burst into laughter, the comment lightening the mood. Even the nearby staff chuckled. Sand smiled sheepishly, his face warming under their knowing gazes, but he didn’t deny it. Instead, he gave them one last wave, thanked them again, and slipped away toward the dressing rooms, his steps quick and purposeful.  

The corridor was long and eerily quiet, its white walls almost sterile under the cold, fluorescent glow. The faint hum of air conditioning filled the silence, and the occasional muffled voice echoed distantly. Sand’s heartbeat thundered in his chest, a steady rhythm that quickened with every step he took.  

By the time he reached the black door, he paused, his hand hovering over the surface. The air felt heavier here, charged with an anticipation he couldn’t shake. He knocked twice, his voice soft but steady when he called out, “Ray?”  

The door opened almost instantly, and before Sand could take in his surroundings or speak, he found himself pulled inside. 
His body was slammed against the door with enough force to make it shut with a bang, and a pair of aggressive lips immediately claimed his own.

Ray’s hands roamed his body, uncontrollable, as they both immediately opened their mouths, their tongues dancing in an ancient rhythm. It felt maddening to finally kiss Ray again like that, and Sand felt his legs grow weaker almost immediately.

Before he could say anything —or pull away— Ray dragged him to a small black leather couch tucked into the corner of the room.
Once again, with surprising strength, Ray pushed him down to sit. 

With a captivating look that left Sand breathless, Ray climbed onto his lap and stared at him—or rather, at his exposed torso.

“You have no idea how I felt when you took off your jacket on stage,” Ray whispered, a secret confessed to Sand, as if even the walls shouldn’t hear it.

Sand’s hands rose to Ray’s waist, the faint jingling of the chains adorning his torso a constant reminder of what had just happened. He traced Ray’s contours as he  got lost in his eyes once more.

The whole situation was too overwhelming, it didn’t feel normal to be on the verge of exploding.

“Seeing me like this.. —began Sand, panting from the kiss— Do you like it?” he asked, his voice warm and low, utterly lost in the moment.
Ray continued to stare, no —devour him with his eyes. “Do I like it? You have no idea what I want to do to you. You should wear shirts like this more often.”

Ray’s hands moved freely and shamelessly over Sand’s torso, tracing his pecs and barely-defined abs, caressing his slim waist that drove him wild. But he wasn’t just caressing. There was something in the way he was deliberately touching him that made Sand feel like he completely belonged to the model. 

When his gaze lifted back to Sand’s face, the singer was adorably red.
Ray smiled. He didn’t think it was possible for someone to be so attractive and so endearing at the same time, but Sand truly was the exception to every rule.

Ray reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone. He rested one hand low on Sand’s waist, keeping his pants in place, tugging at his belt a bit and smiled when he saw Sand bite his lip, his gaze flickering downward. But he didn’t do anything more than take a few photos. 

When the phone was carelessly tossed onto the couch, Ray refocused on the trembling boy beneath him once again.

He leaned in, stopping just inches from Sand’s face. “I don’t know if I’ll post that picture, but I’m sure everyone would be jealous of me if I did,” he murmured, taking Sand’s full lower lip between his teeth, biting it gently and pulling slightly.

In response, Sand tightened his grip on Ray’s waist and suddenly pulled back.
“Ray, please. You’re driving me crazy, but we need to move and get out of here.”

Ray barely had time to look confused before “Sand? The car is ready,” came a muffled voice from the hallway.  

Ray’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What’s going on?”  

Sand exhaled shakily, grounding himself. “We’re going to dinner,” he said softly, a faint smile tugging at his lips.  

Ray raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth quirking upward in a half-smirk. “Dinner? Aren’t you tired?”  

Sand’s smile grew. “Exhausted,” he admitted. “But I’m hungry. And I want to spend time with you.”  

Ray’s smirk softened into something more genuine, his gaze warm. “Alright,” he said, brushing a stray strand of hair from Sand’s face. “Let’s go.”

The car ride was anything but quiet. For once, silence didn’t suit them, not when their emotions were simmering just below the surface. The two had to restrain themselves from doing anything inappropriate in front of the driver, their fingers brushing but never fully intertwining as they found solace in stolen glances. Left with no other alternative, they talked. And talked. And talked.  

Ray spoke about the rush of performing —the way the stage felt alive beneath his feet, so different from the precision of a runway, which still remained one of the few places he could call home, no matter where the runaway was.

Sand listened intently, nodding as Ray spoke. “You were incredible,” he finally said, his voice low but charged with pride. “It was like you were meant to be there.”  

Inevitably, the conversation shifted to the song, the moment too significant to leave unspoken.  

“Did you like it?” Ray got asked, stretching his legs over Sand’s lap as if it were the most natural thing in the world. His hands roamed over Ray’s jeans, his touch casual yet deliberate. Despite his relaxed posture, there was a tension in his voice, a vulnerability he rarely let show.  

“I tried to focus on the lyrics,” Ray admitted, his tone laced with amusement, “but it wasn’t easy with you standing there looking like that. Honestly, the song’s lyrics only made it worse. How could you sing that to me in front of everyone? Are you insane?”  

The night’s darkness couldn’t fully conceal the blush that crept across Ray’s face, his confidence momentarily faltering.

Sand smiled, wrapping an arm firmly around Ray’s waist and pulling him closer. “You complain,” he teased, “but you’re the one who changed the choreography almost immediately.”  

“And you followed my lead without hesitation,” Ray shot back, his smirk returning. “I tried to stick to the plan, but you’re the one who turned everything upside down!”  

Their laughter filled the car, light and unguarded, before Ray’s expression softened. His voice dropped, becoming quieter, more deliberate. “Sand… do you remember when I told you that you gave me love even when you thought you didn’t?”

He paused, searching Sand’s face for a reaction. “This feels like the peak of it. The fact that you made it public —this whole night, really— even though you’re still waiting because of me… it means so much.”  

A heavy silence settled between them, the weight of Ray’s words lingering in the air. Sand tightened his grip on Ray’s hand as the driver announced their arrival.  

“I chose this place for a reason,” Sand said as they stepped out. “It’s on the opposite side of where the concert was held. It’ll take a while for anyone to find us —if they even try. Plus, the owner’s a friend of mine. He’s doing me a favor by keeping it open just for us.”  

Ray glanced up at the restaurant. Its sleek, modern design practically glimmered under the city lights. It was clearly expensive, though far from intimidating for someone like Ray. Still, he felt a pang of self-consciousness as they were escorted inside.  

“I can’t believe I’m walking into a luxury restaurant dressed like this,” Ray murmured, gesturing to his white tank top and vintage black-and-white shirt.  

Sand raised an eyebrow. “Don’t worry,” he said with a grin. “It’s just us. I rented it out for the night.”  

Ray rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth tugged into a smile. As they settled into their seats on the second-floor terrace, he leaned back, smirking. “This is weird. Usually, I’m the one spoiling people. Don’t make a habit of this, or I might start expecting it.”  

“I could say the same to you,” Sand replied, his laughter light but sincere.  

They ordered their food, falling into easy conversation as the city buzzed faintly below. Ray’s gaze wandered, landing on the two waitstaff standing discreetly by the entrance. He leaned closer to Sand, whispering, “Don’t you feel bad making them work late just for us?”  

Sand’s face softened, and he reached across the table to take Ray’s hand. “I asked my friend not to schedule anyone who’d already worked a long shift,” he explained. “And I paid them well —ten times what they’d usually make. I’m sure they don’t mind”  

Ray’s lips curved into a small smile. The thoughtfulness in Sand’s words eased his lingering guilt, allowing him to relax further.  

By the time dessert arrived —a shared chocolate mousse— something had shifted. The air between them grew heavier, the tension palpable. Sand glanced around the terrace, noting the lack of attention from the street below, before patting his thigh.  

Ray hesitated, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “Really?”  

“Really,” Sand replied, his voice low but firm.  

Without further protest, Ray stood and perched himself on Sand’s lap, his weight settling comfortably. He draped his legs over Sand’s left thigh, his arms instinctively wrapping around Sand’s shoulders.  

Before he could voice the usual half-hearted complaint about being too heavy, Sand silenced him with a kiss —soft, warm, and unhurried, tasting faintly of the red wine they’d sipped at dinner. Ray smiled into it, his fingers curling into Sand’s shirt as if grounding himself in the moment.  

When they finally pulled apart, Ray tucked his face into Sand’s neck, laughing quietly.  

“What’s so funny?” Sand asked, his voice a low murmur.  

“It’s risky,” Ray replied, his breath warm against Sand’s skin. “We’re outside.”  

“Don’t want anyone to see us?” Sand teased, though his hold on Ray tightened protectively.  

Ray pulled back just enough to meet Sand’s eyes. “Quite the opposite,” he admitted, his voice softer now. “I’ve always hated paparazzi, the way they invade every part of your life. But here, with you… I wouldn’t mind if the world found out like this.”  

Sand’s brows lifted slightly, surprise flickering across his face before being replaced with something deeper —something unspoken. He pulled Ray closer, their foreheads nearly touching.  

“What exactly do you want them to know?” he asked, his voice low and teasing.  

Ray opened his mouth to respond, but the arrival of their dessert interrupted him. The moment shifted, their laughter returning as they fed each other bites of mousse, their playful antics leaving smudges of chocolate on their lips that they took turns wiping away with kisses.  

As the night wore on, Ray’s gaze softened. His fingers traced the lines of Sand’s face absentmindedly, his expression unreadable.  

“Ray,” Sand called softly, breaking the momentary silence.  

“Hmm?”  

“I want to apologize again,” Sand said, his tone serious.  

Ray immediately shook his head. “You don’t have to—”  

“I do,” Sand interrupted, his voice firm but gentle. “Please, let me.”  

“In these past months, I’ve done a lot of thinking. Every time I came home exhausted and unmotivated, all I wanted was to fall asleep in your arms. But you weren’t there. At the very beginning, that’s what scared me the most. You, Ray —you had this effect on me from the moment we met. It’s hard to explain, but it was like you pulled me into your orbit, and I couldn’t escape. Everything about you —your voice, your presence— drew me in, and that had never happened to me before.” 

Sand hesitated for a moment. Though he’d always struggled with eye contact during vulnerable moments, he’d learned with Ray that meeting his gaze felt almost natural —a way to honor the moment. 

“So, I kept telling myself it was just physical. That maybe I felt this way because it had been a while since someone had caught me off guard like you did. But after that first night together… nothing changed. In fact, it only got worse. You fueled a fire I knew I’d never be able to extinguish.” 

He paused, watching Ray’s expression soften into a faint smile as he listened intently.
Sand took a deep breath, as if steadying himself for a leap he’d long feared. His hands remained on Ray’s waist, grounding him as his voice trembled.

“Ray… it wasn’t easy for me. I think it’s only now —after everything— that I understand how much you’ve always meant to me. I didn’t see it at first, or well.. I just refused to. But the moment I hurt you, the moment I thought I’d lost you for good… it hit me. Like everything I’d been running from was waiting for me the entire time.”  

He paused, his throat constricting as he fought against his emotions, his gaze never leaving Ray’s. “You didn’t deserve the way I treated you. And I’ll never forgive myself for making you feel like you weren’t enough when, Ray, you’ve always been more than I could’ve hoped for. You were right there, giving me everything, and all I did was push you away.”  

Ray opened his mouth as if to speak, but he stayed silent, letting Sand continue. The quiet was heavy between them, the kind of silence that begged to be filled with truth.  

“When I told myself it was just physical attraction, I was lying,” Sand admitted, his voice cracking. “I thought if I kept my distance, I’d protect myself. But I was wrong. Every time we had se … I couldn’t even look you in the eyes because I was scared it would have felt too real. And when I finally realized what I felt for you, it was too late. I’d already hurt you. I’d already given you every reason to walk away.”  

He paused, his thumb brushing gently against Ray’s cheek, catching a stray tear before it could fall. His voice softened, becoming almost a whisper. “But even then, you stayed. You stayed, Ray, and you gave me the chance to fix what I broke. You’ve given me more grace than I ever deserved, and I promise, no I swear, I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that I’ll never take that for granted again.”  

Ray’s breath hitched, his lips quivering as tears welled in his eyes. Sand’s gaze softened, his hand cupping Ray’s face as he leaned closer. “You’ve changed me in ways I never thought possible. You’ve taught me that love isn’t about filling some empty space —it’s about sharing what you didn’t even realize you had. You made me see the beauty in things I used to ignore, made me want to be better, to try harder. You’ve been healing parts of me I didn’t even know were broken.”  

Ray was trembling now, overwhelmed by the weight of Sand’s words, but he didn’t look away. He couldn’t. His voice was shaky as he finally spoke. “Sand… I don’t know what to say.”  

“You don’t have to say anything,” Sand said, his voice steady despite the tears threatening to spill from his eyes. “Just let me say this. I’ve always thought of love as something that could only happen once I was whole, once I had everything figured out. But you… you proved me wrong. You didn’t just add to my life, Ray. You’ve been the missing piece I didn’t even know I needed. You’ve made me complete.”  

The silence that followed was deafening, filled only by the sound of Ray’s shaky breathing. A single tear slipped down his cheek, and Sand caught it with his thumb, his touch so gentle it made Ray’s chest ache.  

“Don’t cry,” Sand whispered, his lips pulling into a soft, bittersweet smile.  

Ray shook his head, laughing quietly through the tears. “I can’t help it. They’re happy tears, Sand. It’s just… I never thought I’d hear you say these things. I thought… I thought I’d lose you before you ever let yourself feel this way. And honestly? I thought you’d grow tired of me long before now.”  

Sand’s expression shifted, his brows knitting together as he tightened his grip on Ray’s waist. “Ray, how could you think that? I could never get tired of you. Never.”  

Ray let out a soft, breathy laugh, brushing his forehead against Sand’s as more tears escaped. His voice was barely audible when he whispered, “I see it now. I can see how much you mean it. It’s in your eyes, Sand. It’s always been there.”  

Sand’s smile returned, small but genuine, the dimple in his cheek deepening. It was the kind of smile that made Ray’s chest tighten, his head spin. The closeness between them —their foreheads pressed together, their breaths mingling— felt like the culmination of every moment they’d shared.  

Ray pulled back just slightly, enough to meet Sand’s gaze fully. His lips curved into a teasing smirk as he asked, “So… are you going to ask me or not?”  

Sand blinked, momentarily caught off guard, before his lips parted in a grin so wide it was almost boyish. “You’re really going to make me do this here?”  

Ray arched a brow, his smirk growing. “You’ve come this far. You might as well go all the way.”  

Sand let out a soft laugh, his hand sliding down to hold Ray’s. He took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest. “Ray Pakorn,” he began, his voice rich with emotion. Ray rolled his eyes, laughing softly, but his cheeks were flushed with a warmth that betrayed how much he loved hearing his full name from Sand’s lips.  

“Will you do me the honor of being my boyfriend?” Sand asked, his voice steady but his eyes glistening with unshed tears.  

Ray laughed again, his arms slipping around Sand’s neck as he pulled him close. “You know,” he whispered, his lips brushing against Sand’s, “you could’ve just asked normally.”  

“Maybe,” Sand murmured, his eyes never leaving Ray’s, “but I wanted it to be perfect.”  

Ray’s smirk softened into something more tender, his voice dropping to a murmur. “And it is. Yes, Sand. Of course, yes.”  

Sand didn’t wait another second. He closed the distance between them, capturing Ray’s lips in a kiss that was soft and full of promises yet to be fulfilled. It deepened quickly, their passion spilling over, as though they were finally making up for all the time they’d spent apart.  

When they finally pulled away, Sand was breathless, his smile radiant. “Come on,” he murmured, his voice low and full of promise. “Let’s go home.”  

Ray laughed softly, resting his head on Sand’s shoulder as they stood, their fingers intertwining. The word “home” lingered in the air between them, heavier and fuller than it had ever been before. Together, they walked out into the quiet night, leaving behind the restaurant, the faint hum of the city, and every doubt they’d ever carried.  

For the first time, the future didn’t feel uncertain. It felt like a promise —one they’d face together.  

Chapter Text

Entering Sand’s house had turned out to be a mission-impossible. The model hadn’t let go of the singer from the moment they stepped out of the car. 

Ray’s lips were on his’ before Sand could even close the car door, making his way inside with his tongue before Sand could even realize what was happening. He ended up being able to crack a faint smile before kissing back with equal fervour. 

Maybe Sand would’ve someday admitted how seeing Ray be so hungry for him could drive him wild in thousandths of a second, maybe he would’ve found the right opportunity during what already was looking like a promising fiery night. 

The walk to the door was staggering. Ray’s hands were busy fumbling over his clothes, searching for some real skin contact. If one hand was crumpling his hair, the other one was already under his shirt, deliberately touching everything he could. 

And what was Sand supposed to do? 

He could only hold Ray by the waist while trying to make him walk. He was sure that, whatever was spinning on his head, Ray wouldn’t have minded doing it on the dirty concrete in Sand’s parking lot. And the worst part is.. if Sand hadn’t quickly moved them into the house, he wasn’t even sure he would’ve cared doing it there. 

As soon as Sand managed to open the front door, Ray’s hand instantly moved to his belt. The singer shook his head, momentarily parting their lips to breathe. 

“Fuck, Ray. I can’t keep up with you and we haven’t even done anything.” exclaimed Sand as the model’s mouth immediately worked his way through his jaw. 

He felt Ray smile against his burning skin, but that didn’t stop the model. He instead began exploring his jeans with one hand, cupping the light bulge that was starting to form. 

Sand groaned while he thought about how to move, how to make his defenses crumble in the simplest, yet most effective way. 

With a swift move, he lifted Ray from the ground. His strength still hadn’t abandoned him despite the energy he had poured onto the stage. Ray squealed as he felt his feet leaving floor, swaying his legs while giggling like a child. 

“That’s unfair” he whispered in a sensual voice against Sand’s ear, already securing his arms around his neck. As if the whisper wasn’t enough to transform the taller one’s legs into jelly, when Ray took his ear lobe between his teeth and began twirling it with his tongue, Sand almost lost in balance, already seeing stars.

The singer almost ran towards the bedroom, throwing Ray on it with enough force to make him bounce on the soft mattress a few times. 

“Didn’t you say you were exhausted?” teased Ray, steadying his body’s weight with his elbow, his head cocked, a faint smirk tugging at his lips, and his legs opening as he welcomed his boyfriend in that space. 

“I think I have time for one last dessert.” exclaimed Sand in a deep voice, his hands claiming Ray’s torso beneath them and enjoying the flicker of vulnerability crossing his eyes. 

“You’re so cocky” the shorter one giggled again, scrunching his nose in the most adorable way. 

Sand towered him with his body, taking in that sweet bottom lip into his mouth, sucking it while carefully taking off the model’s shirt. 

It really hadn’t been that long since he had seen Ray shirtless, but the circumstances hadn’t been these in what felt like forever. 

So while still exchanging a passionate kiss, their tongues brushing against each other, not fighting for dominance but instead melting in the most delicious harmony, Sand worked his way through Ray’s pants, undid them, and slid them off alongside with his boxers in one quick motion. 

Ray hissed at the sudden air hitting his crotch area, and stopped the kiss the look down, and then again into Sand’s eyes.

He searched for them but couldn’t find them. He searched for Sand’s chest with his right hand but couldn’t find it. 

That’s because Sand was already on his knees, head high up just to admire the beautiful scenery before his eyes. 

Ray tried to find the courage to speak. But amongst Sand’s delicate caresses on his thighs and the way his big eyes were studying his body, it was difficult. It made him feel little, but desired. 

“Sand..” He managed to mumble, already feeling heat warming his entire body just by the way that gaze was admiring his most intimate places. 

Sand looked at him for a brief second, grinning when he noticed Ray’s cheek painted in a baby pink. 

“You know..” He began, bending over, his face only a couple decimeters away from his boyfriend’s crotch. 

His hands were still stroking the soft skin of his thighs, and when he placed a chaste kiss on that korean phrase he had tattooed on his left one, he heard a grumble coming at his twelve. 

But he didn’t look up. He began drawing a wet line, opening his mouth just enough to get a taste with his tongue as well. Ray’s hand immediately found the soft, raven hair, enjoying the attention. Yet, at the same time, shivering with anticipation. 

Not only was his tongue leaving a shiny path behind, it was accompanied by the increasing goosebumps. 

Sand smiled, focusing on his Beautiful tattoo on his hip, condemning his boyfriend’s job that prevented him from leaving any love marks, and stopping right before Ray’s fully hardened cock, resting against his belly, only a few drops of pre-come had fallen. 

“What were you saying” Breathed Ray, obviously trying to maintain his composure.

“Mh?” hummed Sand, completely over-skipping what was requiring attention the most, and doing now the same path on the right side. 

“You.. you said ‘you know’ —he loudly gulped when he felt a piece of skin of his inner thighs closing gently around Sand’s teeth— what were you saying.” 

“Oh, right. Sorry, I got too distracted.” He smiled, finally looking up. Ray was already looking at him, his cheeks still flashed, his eyebrows etched in sensitivity.

“Are you alright? I haven’t even done anything and look at you already.”

In a second, he was again in front of him, eyes taking in every detail, leaving kisses every now and then. 

“I can’t help it.” Admitted Ray as he finally freed Sand of his own shirt, his hurried hands taking care of the pants right after. 

“You don’t know the effect you have on me.” He continued, he now being the one deliberately kissing Sand’s body, more precisely his neck. And when he slid down a bit, his chest as well. 

“Oh, I clearly do.” teased Sand, trying to hold back a moan when the model passed his warm tongue on his nipple and failing. 

“Maybe it’s the opposite.” he pronounced in between hitched breaths. “Maybe it’s you who doesn’t know the effect you have on me.” 

Ray was still busy nudging the man’s poor nipples. Switching from one to the other, sucking and then slightly biting, not letting go of the other with his fingers, remembering how Sand had first reacted the very first time they were intimate.. and then he stopped. 

He slid back to be again in front of Sand, smiled fondly and then kissed him again. Sand could taste his smile in between that kiss. His tongue would sometimes slam against those teeth, which only resulted in an even bigger smile. 

Sand muttered something insignificant, just to get Ray to focus again and stop their kiss. 

“I was saying..” He began again, his big hands finding Ray’s legs again and bending them, just to clutch his fingers around Ray’s soft ass. 

“Back then I never really took the time to enjoy this.. to actually look at you while we did it.” He revealed, his nose brushing against Ray’s cheeks, catching his surprised and worried expression out of the corner of his eyes. 

“Why?” Ray innocently questioned, and Sand looked at him again, substituting his nose with a thumb, his heart pouring into those eyes. 

“I told you.. I was scared of you. Of the effect you had on me. I knew I never stood a chance if I’d ever seen you that vulnerable.” 

A faint smile tugged at Ray’s lip. He lifted his head, making their noses brush before falling again onto the cushions. 

“And now?” He asked, confidently wrapping his arms around Sand’s neck, already knowing the question. 

“Now I can finally savor you. I don’t need to hold back anymore. Don’t have to ask you to hold back anymore.” Ray smiled proudly. He nodded, visibly convinced of the answer. 

He parted his lips as he connected their mouths again, neither of them able to get enough. Then Sand stopped again. 

“You’ll regret believing you were in charge outside. You know, what I liked most about you is your way of flirting. Of acting like you had me wrapped around your finger with even just the faintest look you gave me. And you were right. You are right.” 

Ray smirked again at that. Right, there was nothing he loved more than feeling in power around Sand. He remembered the surge of pride when it didn’t take much at all to see him being at his service at the very start. 

“But..” He continued, repeating that same wet trail on his torso, all the way back to his pelvic once again. Ray felt his heart start racing. Hell, he could feel them beat against his eardrums. 

“Once our clothes were off, you instantly became such a fragile little thing.” Ray’s breath stopped. He didn’t know what to expect anymore. Honestly speaking, this was new. This, with Sand, had never happened. Sand had never let them get to this point, tease each other like this. And he was finally explaining why. 

“This is what drove me the maddest. You always had this confident facade, yet immediately crumbled when I began touching you..” His words were hot against his skin, his soft and full lips just millimeters away, rarely brushing but never fully touching as he continued to roam around his lower body. 

“I always wanted to know the reason, but again, I was too afraid of the answer. But now tell me..”

His eyes sought Ray’s again, this angle making them look everything but innocent, as they did most of the times. Ray knew what Sand was about to say, and it was the exact reason why he couldn’t even move in that moment. “You’ve been waiting for this for the longest time, haven’t you baby?” 

It was difficult to catch, but Ray did see the corner of his lips lifting. And he might as well have looked like a maniac from the angle, but Ray would’ve lied if he’d say he wasn’t the hottest maniac ever. It was true, of course. The only reason was that he had been waiting for so many years, that every time things got heated, Ray would just become numb at the thought of his dirtiest fantasies finally coming to life. 

And right now as well, as that sentence left his lips, Ray felt his body detach from the mattress, immediately followed by the sensation of sinking onto it. And so he did the only thing he managed to: he gulped. Loudly. 

And the gesture made Sand smirk even more. He shook his head, positioning himself better, then looked ahead of him again. 

Ray’s cock was throbbing, his veins were lightly visible, it was a flashing pink, and Sand knew that must’ve hurt. But he continued to ignore it. 

“Cat got your tongue, mh? Have you suddenly lost the ability to speak? I don’t remember you ever being this silent.” He insisted, his index just faintly following Ray’s length. 

Ray hissed, waited a few more seconds, and then finally spoke. “It’s because this is new.” He mumbled, his voice hoarse. 

Sand nodded, resting his head against his thigh. “What is new?” He fake-innocently asked. He tried showing off his puppy eyes, but any adorable features had lost their place to lust. Sand wasn’t really himself anymore. 

“This…you acting like this.” Ray finally let out, and the singer found himself nodding again. 

“You’re right. This is new. And just so that you know, Ray… This is what I’ll consider our very first time, though we’ve done it a countless times already, I’ll make sure you’ll forget all the others. Mh?” 

Ray nodded again, then he looked down at his waist, and when Sand followed his gaze, he noticed the slightest twist coming from his cock. Once again, this earned a grin. 

He lifted himself on his knees, pushing Ray’s hips upwards to make him sit —or almost— on the bed. 

“Have you ever touched yourself thinking about me?” Sand asked in a curious yet playful tone. He was still studying every little detail of Ray’s body, every reaction of his, every imperceptible movement. 

Ray frowned his eyebrows. “You know I did. When Nick interrupted us the very first time?” He hinted, his hands finding Sand’s arms, looking for any kind of touch. But his boyfriend shook his head, his smile now big enough to show off his dimples. 

“No, I mean.. even before we met?” 

Fuck. 

“I’m not particularly proud of it but… yea.” Ray revealed, hanging onto the drop of confidence still holding on somewhere. 

“How many times?” Sand insisted. 

Ray scoffed. “Over the past few years? Multiple times.” The singer’s left eyebrow lifted significantly.

“Interesting.” His voice dropped. He bent Ray’s legs just to open them further, pushed until they were touching the mattress, then he dropped the bomb. 

“Do it.” 

Ray’s expression widened. “What?” 

“Touch yourself. What was I doing while you did it?” 

The model needed a few seconds to convince himself this was really happening.

“I could never bring myself to picture what you would do to me.. You always just stared.” He couldn’t believe this was all coming to light. Even after Sand found out the truth, he never thought they would end up talking about it.

But now, he realized he didn’t actually know what Sand actually looked like during intimate acts. 

If sex with him had been amazing when he wasn’t even doing anything, Ray felt like fainting thinking of what the night was promising. Of what Sand was promising. 

“Perfect. Come on, then. I’ll admire you.” If the bed frame wasn’t holding him, the model was sure he would fall. 

Hesitant, he directed his right hand towards his torso, stopping right where he felt the slight weight of his hardened and painful dick. Then, in one swift motion, he finally wrapped his hand around it. He whined when he finally started moving, enjoying the relief it gave him, his eyes never leaving Sand’s. 

It was nuts what was actually happening. For a second Ray wasn’t even sure if he was just imagining it or if it was really happening: his hands movements were the same as they were years ago. The slimy sounds coming from his length also sounded pretty much the same. Yet, he was somehow already feeling on the edge. 

He couldn’t explain it, but the very fact that the real Sand was sitting in front of him, was the cherry on top. Sand’s gaze turned out to be hungrier than what he had ever imagined, the singer would constantly bite his lips, lick them, gulp. His breaths were increasing in speed, the model’s name escaping his lips ever so frequent. 

The truth is, Sand was looking at him like Ray was the most attractive human to have ever set foot on earth. His eyes would constantly flicker from the interested area to his face, and his mouth would open every time their eyes would meet. 

Ray was feeling wanted. And all he was doing was touching himself. And moan. Oh, it had been so long since Sand had last heard that version of Ray’s voice. 

“Sand..” he would moan. 

“Sand” choking on his own saliva. 

Ray was calling out for him, needing him, and Sand had enough of waiting. As if under a spell, he looked down one last time. His mouth watered at the sight: Ray was still stroking himself fast, his whole hand was covered in white, as well as his dick. Some of the liquid was dripping to the side, following the curve of Ray’s ass before wetting the bedsheets. 

He gently pulled away Ray’s hand, and he had just enough time to hear him gasp before finally taking him in his mouth as much as he could.

“Fuck.” Shouted Ray throwing his head back, then straightening himself again to fully appreciate what was finally occurring. 

He could only see his hair bobbing back and forth, but he could feel the way his tongue was twirling around it as he did so, the way he would puff his cheeks and hum to create vibrations. 

“Oh, fuck, Sand.” he moaned one more time, accompanied by a hair pull strong enough to make Sand whine, causing even more motion. Ray added a long cry as he unconsciously closed his legs around his face. Still, not pressing enough not to let him move. 

“Sand.” Ray whined one more time, and even tho he didn’t want to move, he found himself thrusting upwards and pushing Sand’s head down at the same time. 

The singer responded with a chocking sound the moment Ray’s tip aggressively hit his throat’s walls. And the model wanted to apologize and pull him back, but before he could even mumble “sorry” Sand went back at it, with the addition of his hands digging into his skin, to the point where Ray actually thought he would draw blood. 

And it was like Ray was seeing stars. His free hand violently wrinkled the sheets, his toe curling when be just had to arch his back, as if that could’ve helped it somehow.

He did it a couple more times, amazed by how electrifying it was to hear his boyfriend choke around his dick. And again, Sand never complained. 

Ray didn’t even know how he was breathing through all this, the only thing he knew when he felt the familiar tickling sensation was that he was near. 

“I’m” he managed to say, discovering that he wasn’t able to make any coherent sentence. He expected Sand to pull back, to let Ray release himself on his stomach like he always did, but no. He licked his way up to the tip, accompanied by succulent slurps. He prepared his mouth open, positioned his tongue out as he eagerly looked at Ray, just waiting for his reaction.

And he definitely got what he wanted. When Ray realized, his jaw fell to his chest. He could’ve moved him to the side, but as he felt it coming and he was admiring Sand, who was now magically looking innocent again with those bangs falling over his eyes, yet his whole chin shining under the light with their mixed fluids and the tongue faintly white-colored, the thought didn’t actually cross his mind. 

“Oh, Sand.” Cried Ray while emptying himself inside his mouth. And it was a spectacle to see. Maybe it was intentional of him to not gulp down every single drop, perhaps it was him wanting to make him scenic for Ray to look at his cum sexily dripping out of his mouth. 

Ray looked at him with his mouth hung open, but Sand just licked the corner of his mouth and smiled proud, as if he hadn’t just sent Ray straight to heaven. 

Ray’s dick had now fallen soft to the side, but it didn’t stop Sand from stroking it a few times to accumulate everything that had fallen and licking it clean. 

The model was still watching, shocked, panting, and at loss of words. 
Sand slowly crawled towards him, his eyebrows raising the closest he was to Ray. 

“Are you okay?” He asked, both entertained and worried. 

“I need a moment to process.” he exclaimed, looking fanatically at the details on his beloved one’s face, trying to find an explanation. 

“Okay?” Sand was uncertain, but he was still smiling, especially after noticing how fast Ray’s chest was going up and down and his short breaths. 

Without any warning Ray cupped his boyfriend’s face and pulled him closer to kiss him again. It was fierce, the hungriest of the night. Sand had expected the model to be tired after his first orgasm, but it seemed like it had only flipped a switch inside him.  

“Do you have condoms here?” The model urged as he detached their mouths. Sand looked at him funny, a beam shaping his slick lips, a flash of intrigue making his eyes sparkle. 

“I do.” he simply answered, lowering his head in the hollow of his neck to leave some wet, open-mouth kisses there. 

“Do you really want to continue?” He carried on, nuzzling his neck. Ray sneered at him. 

“We’re finally having sex as lovers after so many months. You’re leaving in a couple days and think this is all I will settle for?” His tone was commanding and awaiting, like he was back to his usual assertive nature. 

Sand looked up from his neck, studying Ray’s face for a moment, and remembering how he was still not taken care of he just shrugged his shoulders. 

“Touché.” 

Ray proudly smiled, his hands following the contours of Sand’s slim and perfect body, realizing how he hadn’t taken his sweet moment to appreciate it yet.

As Sand moved to the side to take a condom and the lube from his nightstand, the model had already removed his briefs, his hands and mouth still busy tasting his torso. 

“Ray, you’re so impatient!” laughed Sand, in an attempt to shake off the nervousness. It’s true, he had been waiting for the moment where both of them could finally enjoy the experience without any barriers between them, and though he actually felt like fainting as a consequence of the expectation, there still was an unsettling feeling that had settled far on his stomach. 

Maybe the fear of Ray being left disappointed in some way, or really just anything that could go wrong. 

“I can never get enough of you” Ray’s breath hitched as he caught sight of the lube, looking up at his boyfriend with a mischievous look. “Come on, lay down.” He incited, a hand sliding down his arms while he suggestively but his lip. 

That was the exact reason why Sand was so afraid of him. The power a single look of Ray could have over him, hold him down in place while it felt like he was handing him his leash. 

The singer gave him a few more kisses while changing position, perceiving Ray intrepidly smiling in between them. 

Ray had both his legs to the side, his dick was still soft and brushing against Sand’s torso, but it wasn’t at the centre of his attention. He looked behind him, eyeing Sand’s own dick, which was painfully asking for attention, and it was maddening to Ray how his boyfriend still hadn’t whined about it. 

So he took it as a challenge. 

He took it with one hand, thus being the first time he had ever done so in the whole year they had known each other, gave it a few tight strokes, and only when he heard a low groan coming from the singer he looked back at him. 

Sand’s eyes were, of course, already on bim. His eyebrows were furrowed in enjoyment, his lips parted just enough to catch the view of his lower canines. One of his hands was stroking Ray’s thigh, the grip tightened following the rhythm of the hand moving around him; the groans becoming a response to Ray’s own noises of satisfaction, prolonging if Ray happened to whisper “Do you like that?” in a hot tone. 

When his shoulder started to hurt Ray halted his movements, receiving a whine as a reply. He smiled fulfilled, reaching for the lube at the edge of the bed. 

Before he could pour some on his fingers, Sand replaced them with his own hand, looking deep into Ray’s dark pools and exclaiming “I want to help.” looking somehow both uncertain and eager. 

Ray didn’t answer, proceeding directly to cover Sand’s fingers in lube. He got closer to him, bending over just enough for their breaths to mingle, then he arched his back, already losing himself in the high of the tension. 

“Whenever you’re ready.” 

It wasn’t really the most practical stance for opening Ray up, but thanks to Sand’s long arms he could reach from under for his rim just enough to make it work. He also didn’t want to ask him to find another, more comfortable position, as it seemed like all that Ray wanted was to be close to him. Their chests were fully in contact, their noses brushing against each other and Ray was looking at him in a way that almost swelled his heart if it wasn’t for the what they were actually doing. 

Sand massaged his sensitive area in the exact moment he kissed him slowly; his tongue was more out than in his mouth. Ray was breathing heavily in the kiss and when Sand forced the first finger inside, the model hissed at the pain, then vented the mixture of pain and pleasure against Sand’s lips. 

The singer progressively added more, carefully caressing his tight walls and circling his fingers, caressing his way inside and out to make him relax. Ray’s moans were resonating through his mouth, the kiss becoming sloppier as Sand’s fingers started to move faster. 

Just like the singer could correctly guess from the sudden wetness on his arm and belly, Ray was again fully hard and leaking, exactly like him.

When he suddenly took them out, Ray lamented the sudden emptiness, but didn’t stop the kiss nonetheless. Instead, he deepened it, taking Sand’s visage with his hands and breathing in deep onto his skin, their tongues lost in their own harmonious and passionate dance. 

With the lubed hand Sand reached for the condom. Hearing the plasticky sound coming from the small package, Ray ceased their make out to stole it from his hands. 

“I’ll do it.” He announced, looking completely lost in the moment. He scooped backwards, his knees at the same level of Sand’s waist, ripping the package open. 

He glanced at Sand, sensing his legs trembling beneath him. He was studying his every move, and Ray’s goal was to give him a show. 

Before putting the condom on he pressed the tip of Sand’s cock, earning another low groan from him and wiping it, bringing the now pre-come stained finger to his mouth, licking it clean. 

“Fuck Ray, you can’t do this.” But he didn’t listen to him. He placed the barrier on top and slid it down, covering his toy in that layer of latex he so much hated. 

With one more bit of lube he made it glisten, positioned himself, and fully sat himself in one, godawful second. 

He nearly screamed at the pain, while Sand threw his head back letting his first moan of the night be heard. 

“Look at me.” urged Ray, and those big eyes were back on him instantly. 

He drew circles with his hips, arrows pointing in every direction while adjusting to Sand’s big length. Then he started riding him. 

His movements were controlled, something he had probably rehearsed in his head a thousand times while fantasizing about the singer, or worse —it suddenly crossed Sand’s mind— while practicing with other people. 

He shook the idea off his head, and it really wasn’t difficult to do. Ray was commanding attention with his gaze, and the expression painting his face was the one Sand had always been afraid to look at: his blissful expression. 

It wasn’t just he way he was so insistently chanting Sand’s name, nor the way his body was so beautifully bouncing up and down, almost screaming in pleasure when he fully sat down and it hit his sweet spot, seeing his dick being engulfed by his boyfriend, his warmth sending jolts of pleasure throughout his body and emanating from either his dick throbbing or his uncontrollable moans. 

No, it was the way Ray was looking at him, and the expression he was wearing. So hungry, so wanting, so ecstatic, so needy and so in love. It was his mouth open and his whole face contracted that was the hottest thing to look at. 

And he made sure to tell him. 

“You’re so hot, Ray” He barely managed.

“So fucking hot.”

”You’re so beautiful, I can’t take my eyes off of yours.” His boyfriend would smile and bite his own lip, only being able to answer with a chocked out “Sand.” 

The singer tried to keep up with his peace, his hands grounding Ray’s hips as he helped himself thrusting upwards. But Ray was giving it all, draining himself with the excessive bounces, and when Sand sensed it, he sat up to slow their peace, taking Ray’s face in his hands to start a messy kiss, resulting in a tempo decrease. 

Ray’s hops died almost instantly, his short breaths and the kiss being enough to hold him down, until Sand asked a question. 

“While we weren’t official, did you ever had sex with anyone?” Ray looked at him weirded out, not expecting the question in such a moment. But he answered honestly. 

“Of course not. Why do you ask?” He questioned, his hands pulling Sand’s sweaty out of his forehead, loving the look it gave him when his hair was slicked back. 

He went up and down on him a few more times, more slowly, rolling his body causing a sensual moan to escape from both their mouths. 

“Good.” Sand simply answered, then he lifted Ray just enough to slip out of him, a whimper resonating through the room. 

Sand left wet kisses on Ray’s sweaty shoulders, holding him close while guiding him back onto the mattress. Ray was confused, both by his actions and the sudden question, but he stayed silent, compelled by the butterflies dancing in his stomach thanks to all those delicate kisses. 

Sand made Ray lay on his side, hugging him from behind. He took his right leg and slowly bent it. Ray was feeling his heartbeat drumming in his ears, and in the instant those lips were back on his shoulder, with a strong and fast thrust Sand was back inside him. 

Ray screamed in contentment, his face drowning into the cushion as he held tight the fabric of the bedsheets. 

It was sudden, and rough. Ray felt his whole body jumping with every thrust, like he was made out of feathers. He felt the bed frame banging against his walls and could only be grateful Sand had a whole house for himself. No neighbors to worry about. 

Especially since he wasn’t holding back on the moans. He could feel his saliva sliding out of the corner of his mouth, but he just couldn’t close it. 

Sand’s hand, which had been resting on his right hip up until that moment, slid downwards, running over his whole torso until he got to his neck and stopping there. His fingers reached for the jaw, and turned his head to the back, just to be again face to face. 

Sand moaned when he saw Ray’s fucked up expression, convinced that the model didn’t even know where he was anymore. But he still had something to say. 

“When you sought out for my lookalikes, did they ever reduce you like this?” 

Ray wanted to answer. But be couldn’t. There was nothing he could do other than produce the most indecent sounds. 

“Did they ever fuck you like this?” He continued. 

Ray looked at him with pleading eyes, trying to answer like this, but it was clear that Sand wanted a clear answer. 

He shook his head violently, his fingers gripping Sand’s hair when he gave a few deep and powerful thrusts. 

“N..No” he managed. “Nobody could ever be like you.” Sand’s response now was to kiss him.

Sometimes you didn’t need anything other than kissing, even better if it was sloppy and messy. The gesture that had once disgusted Ray, that exchange of saliva that would sometimes drip from the side of your mouth if done too carelessly, or, like in this case, too passionately and out of control. 

Ray wasn’t really found of that, especially if done with strangers. But Sand? Oh, sometimes he kissed him just to get to that point. To just hear the smacking resonate through the walls of the room they were in, to see Sand adjust his pants right after. 

But this was a level Ray had never reached. Their mouths fully coated with saliva, the constant sucking and biting, the pauses just to moan each other’s name, it was like entering the heaven’s gate. 

It could’ve been gross to others, and yet it was the hottest thing ever for them. 

And when they came almost simultaneously, Ray emptying himself on those navy-blue sheets and Sand inside that condom, Ray was almost crying. 

“We need to run some tests. I don’t want that stupid condom diving us ever again.” He lamented, still riding the high of his orgasm, making Sand smile as he slid out of him to get rid of Ray’s new enemy. 

“You want it raw?” He nudged with his nose. 

“I want you to come inside me. I want to feel it.” He commanded, still showing him his back, though Sand could perfectly view his expression thanks to his haughty voice. 

“As you wish.” He complied, making a little knot and tossing it on the floor. Then his boyfriend fell silent.

Ray was utterly exhausted. Sand could tell from the way he hadn’t moved an inch right after coming, his body still lying exactly where he had collapsed. His chest rose and fell slowly, his skin flushed, and his limbs slackened.  

“Are you tired, baby?” Sand asked softly, his voice gentle as his hand trailed across Ray’s damp back. Their bodies pressed together again, the warmth of Ray’s skin soothing yet electrifying. The singer’s lips brushed over Ray’s ear as he spoke, coaxing out a shiver from the other man.  

Ray’s back glistened faintly with sweat. His hands still clutched the wrinkled bedsheet, his grip loose now, and his hair hung messily across his forehead. Sand noted the way his shoulders moved, the faint tremble with each uneven breath. Ray was panting softly, and the sounds that escaped him tugged at something deep in Sand's chest —an odd blend of pride and tenderness.  

For a moment, Sand let his gaze wander. The curve of Ray’s hips caught his attention; the way they dipped into his waist, the smooth expanse of his skin, and the way the soft light framed him, bathed in an afterglow. Sand’s hand lingered on Ray’s hip, his fingers unconsciously tightening, pulling him closer as he sought a fleeting sense of control amidst his emotions.  

He leaned down, inhaling deeply, catching the unique scent of Ray beneath the faint remnants of his cologne. It was intoxicating, grounding, and overwhelming all at once.  

Ray finally stirred, turning his head slightly, his lashes fluttering as his gaze sought Sand’s. His face was flushed a delicate shade of pink, and his lips —still swollen and a deep, alluring red— parted slightly as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t quite manage it. Sand’s heart twisted at the sight.  

Ray moved slowly, deliberately, as though testing his limits. Eventually, he shifted fully onto his back, his shoulders sinking into the mattress. Their eyes locked, and the silence between them grew heavy —an intimate, unspoken conversation passing in the stillness.  

Ray bit his lip, a small, unconscious gesture that made Sand’s pulse skip. For a fleeting moment, his vision blurred, overwhelmed by the sheer beauty of the man before him.  

Sand leaned in, cupping Ray’s chin gently, pulling him closer. His fingers traced the curve of Ray’s jaw, savoring the warmth beneath his touch. “You’re tired,” he murmured, his voice low, yet tender, “but I’m still here with you.”  

Ray was drained, Sand could tell —perhaps even more than he realized. The night had taken its toll, coupled with the high-energy performance he’d given on stage earlier. And yet, despite the exhaustion written across his features, there was a fire in his eyes —a hunger that burned low and steady. Those half-closed, seductive eyes made Sand feel small, vulnerable, and utterly captivated.  

Ray didn’t answer his question, but his silence carried weight. His movements spoke louder than any words as he leaned closer, eliminating the small space between them. Their lips met again, slow and unhurried, the kiss carrying an intimacy that surpassed even their earlier passion. The exhaustion they shared only made the connection deeper, as if their very souls were speaking in that moment.  

Sand pulled back first, reluctant yet needing to pause and truly take in Ray’s face. His gaze traveled over the tousled strands of hair, the faint sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead, and the redness that lingered on his cheeks. Unable to resist, Sand placed soft, scattered kisses across his face, his lips brushing along Ray’s temple, his cheek, his jaw.  

“I’ll get a wet cloth,” Sand whispered, his voice soft and full of care. “You’re too tired to clean yourself up.”  

Ray smiled lazily, the corners of his lips curving upward. He let Sand go, though not without some protest in the form of a small stretch, his arms reaching above his head. Then, with deliberate slowness, Ray turned over, repositioning himself so that his body was now angled in a way that could only be described as teasing.  

Sand paused, the wet cloth momentarily forgotten in his hand as his eyes trailed down Ray’s form. His bent leg revealed just enough to make Sand’s throat tighten, and the perfect curve of his lower back as he arched slightly was… irresistible.  

When Sand returned to the bed, Ray was watching him with a smirk, his gaze roaming over Sand’s body.  

“I like what I see,” Ray remarked, his voice low and full of pride.  

Sand chuckled, shaking his head but unable to hide the faint blush dusting his cheeks. He leaned over Ray, finally setting the wet cloth to his skin.  

As he cleaned Ray with careful hands, the model’s cheeks flushed again, a deeper pink spreading across his face.  

“Sand,” Ray began quietly, his voice soft yet serious, “have you thought about what this will mean for your career?”  

Sand stilled for a moment, his fingers pausing against Ray’s skin. Truthfully, he hadn’t thought about it —not completely. The moment his agency had approved the performance and the possibility of going public with Ray, everything else had faded into the background. The only thing that had mattered was Ray.  

He sighed softly, setting the cloth aside. “Of course,” Sand said, brushing a stray strand of hair from Ray’s forehead. “If you want, we can talk about it more in-depth. I’m curious to know what your agency thinks about all this. But right now? I’m exhausted. How about we talk tomorrow, over breakfast?”  

Ray chuckled, his laughter muffled as he buried his face against Sand’s neck. He pressed a soft kiss there, his breath warm against Sand’s skin. Within minutes, they both succumbed to sleep, tangled together beneath the sheets.  

The next morning, they truly did discuss it —though not before Ray managed to wake Sand with a string of gentle kisses over his body that led to what Sand would later describe as the perfect start to his day. Ray, instead, would describe it as his first breakfast.

The morning sunlight spilled across the balcony, casting everything in a soft, golden glow. Sand’s arms rested loosely around Ray’s waist, holding him in place as the smaller man perched comfortably on his lap. The warmth of the sun on their skin was pleasant, but it was the closeness of Ray’s body that filled Sand with a rare, fragile sense of peace.  

They shared the plate between them, a mix of fruits piled neatly onto it, but Sand wasn’t as focused on eating as he was on Ray. The way Ray’s fingers delicately held the fork, the subtle furrow of his brow as he lost himself in thought, the tiny, almost imperceptible fidgets of his body —these small details anchored Sand to the moment.  

“So,” Sand said softly, his voice breaking the comfortable quiet. He tightened his arm just slightly around Ray’s waist, grounding both of them. “What does your agency think about… us?”  

Ray paused mid-movement, the fork hovering above the plate. He let out a faint sigh, his lips curving into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “They were hesitant at first,” he admitted, his tone carrying the weight of conversations Sand hadn’t been privy to. “Relationships, especially public ones, can complicate things for models. You know how it is. But…”  

Sand tilted his head, catching the way Ray’s gaze shifted —hesitant, reluctant. He wasn’t sure if Ray was looking for the right words or trying to avoid saying them at all.  

“But?” Sand prompted gently.  

Ray exhaled through his nose, his shoulders slumping slightly. “When they found out it was you, they changed their minds,” he said, finally meeting Sand’s eyes. His expression was carefully controlled, but Sand caught the flash of frustration behind his gaze. “They see it as an opportunity to make more money.”  

There was a sharpness in Ray’s voice that didn’t match the quiet serenity of the morning, and Sand’s chest tightened at the sound.  

“They’ve already started planning,” Ray continued, his words clipped. “Sponsorships, interviews, campaigns—suddenly, this relationship isn’t just ours. It’s theirs too.”  

He stabbed a piece of fruit, though his movements lacked the usual grace Sand admired in him, and ate it almost begrudgingly. His gaze fell to the plate, as if staring hard enough at it could erase the bitterness he felt.  

Sand’s hand moved instinctively, his thumb brushing small circles against Ray’s hip. “Does it bother you?” he asked softly.  

Ray’s laugh was short, almost humorless. “Of course, it bothers me,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, tinged with vulnerability. “I wanted this to be ours, not theirs. I don’t want to feel like we’re just… marketable.”  

Sand didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Ray’s temple, lingering there for a moment longer than necessary. “It is ours,” he murmured against his skin. “Whatever they think or want, this is still ours. No one can take that away from us.”  

Ray’s shoulders relaxed slightly, and he turned to look at Sand, a small, almost shy smile tugging at his lips. “What about your agency?” he asked after a pause. “What did they say?”  

Sand let out a low chuckle, resting his chin on Ray’s shoulder. “Pretty much the same,” he admitted. “They see this as a PR opportunity. They’ve already given me a list of ideas —interviews, photo shoots, maybe even a project we could work on together.”  

Ray raised an eyebrow, startled. “Seriously?”  

“Seriously,” Sand replied, his tone laced with a mixture of amusement and resignation. “For singers, it’s different. They keep a much closer eye on us. Relationships can be risky. But when they found out it was you…” He shrugged slightly, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “Let’s just say they’re as excited about it as your agency is. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re already negotiating something together.”  

Ray blinked at him, a mixture of disbelief and mild irritation flashing across his face. Then he let out a short, incredulous laugh, shaking his head. “It’s always about money with them, isn’t it?” he said, stabbing another piece of fruit with a resigned sigh.  

Sand gave a small nod, his arm tightening around Ray’s waist. “Unfortunately, yeah.”  

Ray’s gaze softened, his body leaning slightly into Sand’s as if seeking comfort. After a long pause, he tilted his head, resting his cheek against Sand’s shoulder.  

“Sand?”  

“Hmm?” Sand hummed, his lips brushing lightly against Ray’s bare shoulder.  

“Are you really ready for what we’ve done?” Ray’s voice was softer now, the words almost hesitant. “Now that it’s public, we’re going to be in the spotlight. The paparazzi, the interviews, the constant scrutiny —it’ll all center around us. And with you going on tour…”  

Ray’s fingers curled into the fabric of Sand’s shirt, his grip tight, almost desperate. The tension in his voice was palpable, and Sand felt his chest tighten in response.  

“Ray, honestly?” Sand began, his voice calm yet earnest. “After everything we’ve been through, after all we’ve fought for to get here… the paparazzi are the least of my concerns. They’ve always been there. So have the uncomfortable questions during interviews. We’ll plan what to say and what not to say together, and we’ll deal with it. But none of that matters if you’re not happy.”  

Ray blinked, his breath catching at Sand’s words. Slowly, he lifted his head to look at him, his gaze searching. “You’re asking me if I’m happy?” he asked, his voice trembling slightly, as though the question itself was ridiculous.  

Sand smiled softly, his hand moving to cradle Ray’s cheek. “Yeah. Are you?”  

Ray didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned in, his lips brushing against the corner of Sand’s mouth. “You even have to ask?” he whispered, the words carrying a quiet intensity.  

Sand’s smile widened, and he pressed a kiss to Ray’s lips, lingering there for a moment. “That’s all that matters to me,” he said firmly. “I don’t care what the media says or does. I won’t let them ruin what we have.”  

Ray’s gaze softened further, and he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Sand’s. “I like you when you talk like this,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “When you’re so sure of us.”  

Sand chuckled softly, his hands moving to rest on Ray’s hips. “Well, it’s easy to be sure when I have you right here.”  

They stayed like that for a while, the warmth of the sun and the closeness of their bodies filling the quiet moments. It felt like time had slowed, the rest of the world fading away.  

Eventually, Ray shifted, setting the plate on the table before turning back to face Sand. His expression was more serious now, his tone hesitant as he asked, “Baby?”  

“Hmm?”  

“How’s this going to work when you go on tour?”  

Sand’s chest tightened, his breath catching at the question he’d been dreading. He didn’t answer right away, his silence heavy with unspoken fears.  

Ray’s grip on him tightened, his voice tinged with urgency as he continued, “I can try to be there. I’ll rearrange my schedule, move things around. I could follow you—”  

“No,” Sand interrupted gently but firmly. He cupped Ray’s face in his hands, his thumbs brushing against his cheeks. “You’d be putting too much at risk. I’d love to have you with me, Ray. I really would. But your career is important too. You can’t neglect it for an entire year.”  

Ray’s lips pressed into a pout, his brows furrowing. “But I don’t care about that,” he argued softly. “You’re my priority now. We are.”  

Sand’s heart swelled at the words, and he leaned forward, pressing a lingering kiss to Ray’s lips. “I know,” he said gently, his voice filled with warmth. “And I love that about you. But you can’t abandon your career for me while I’m out enjoying it. It’s not fair. We’ll find ways to make it work— I know we will. There will be times when you can visit me, and times when I can come back to you. But your priorities need to stay clear, okay?”  

Ray sighed, his shoulders slumping, then he nodded. For now, that was enough.  

Over the course of the day, Ray and Sand discovered that Dispatch, the Korean media company infamous for exposing celebrity relationships, had published an exclusive article about them. The piece included candid photos from the night after the concert— images of them leaving the restaurant, holding hands, and, most damningly, a photo capturing their passionate kiss on the restaurant terrace under the faint city lights.  

If their on-stage performance hadn’t been enough to make their relationship public, this article left no room for ambiguity.  

The backlash and excitement it stirred were immediate and overwhelming. Social media platforms became battlegrounds of speculation and commentary, while news outlets churned out stories dissecting their relationship. But amidst all the noise, Ray and Sand remained silent. Beyond a brief confirmation issued by Sand’s agency —blunt and to the point— they gave no interviews, made no public statements, and answered no questions.  

Instead, they chose to live unapologetically. For the first time, they began posting glimpses of their relationship on social media, no longer hiding in the shadows. It was freeing, exhilarating even, to show the world what they had long kept private. Ray, especially, seemed to thrive in this newfound openness.  

The first post came two days later.  

Ray had attended the second night of Sand’s Bangkok concert, even though he wasn’t performing himself. From a private backstage area, he waited for Sand after each outfit change, greeting him with stolen kisses and whispered words of encouragement. The sight of Sand lit up by the stage lights, radiant and in his element, left Ray awestruck every time, as if falling in love with him all over again.  

To the outside world, it might have seemed perfect —the dream of two people madly in love. But beneath their fleeting smiles and touches lay a quiet melancholy.  

The previous night, before the final concert, they had sat side by side on Sand’s familiar bed, their hands intertwined as they spoke of what lay ahead. Sand was leaving for Japan the next day to continue his world tour, and Ray would remain behind, tethered to his own commitments in Thailand. They spoke in circles, trying to soften the ache of what they both knew: the distance would be long and unyielding.  

And yet, even after Sand had gone to sleep, Ray couldn’t find peace.  

The soft hum of the city outside waking up was a stark contrast to the storm inside his mind. He lay awake all night, turning over the same questions again and again.

How long would it be before he could see Sand again? Was there any way to steal time, even just a few hours, in between the chaos of their schedules? Could he rearrange anything, cancel something, sacrifice something, just to stay a little longer?

Each question weighed heavier than the last, pressing against his chest until he could barely breathe.  

By the time Ray finally closed his eyes, the sky was already lightening. He slept for just an hour before waking again, disoriented but drawn to the figure beside him.  

Sand lay sprawled across the bed on his stomach, the covers slipping low across his back. The warm orange glow of the rising sun filtered through the curtains, painting him in hues of gold and amber. His bare skin reflected the light, the curve of his spine and the faint outline of his ribs softened by the gentle rays. His face was half-hidden beneath his arm, pressed against the pillow, but Ray could still see the small details that made his heart ache: the curve of his cheek, the mole beneath his eye, the long lashes resting delicately against his skin.  

Ray felt his breath catch in his throat.  

For a moment, he didn’t move, simply allowing himself to take in the sight of Sand so unguarded, so impossibly beautiful. Then, unable to resist, he propped himself up on one elbow, reaching for his phone.  

The first picture he took was quiet and still, capturing the light on Sand’s back and the peacefulness of his face. But a photo wasn’t enough. Switching to video, Ray let his hand drift across Sand’s back, tracing the faint line of a scratch left from the night before. His fingers moved slowly, reverently, as though committing every inch of Sand to memory. When his hand reached Sand’s hair —soft, dark, and tousled from sleep— he ran his fingers through it gently.  

Sand stirred, his body shifting slightly under Ray’s touch. Then, slowly, his eyes fluttered open.  

For a moment, Sand seemed disoriented, his gaze unfocused. He moved the arm shielding his face, squinting at the figure above him. When his eyes finally landed on Ray, holding the phone with a soft, dreamlike expression, his lips curled into a tired smile.  

“What are you doing?” Sand asked, his voice heavy with sleep. He stretched lazily, moving closer to Ray as his smile grew.  

Ray set the phone aside, leaning in to cup Sand’s face in his hands. “I’m making memories for when you’re gone,” he murmured, his voice low and thick with emotion. His thumbs brushed over Sand’s cheeks as he let out a soft sigh, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Why do you have to be so beautiful, huh?”  

Sand laughed softly, the sound like a balm to Ray’s frayed nerves. But Ray wasn’t done. He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the mole beneath Sand’s eye, then to his temple, then to the one on his chin. Each kiss felt like a promise, a vow to hold on, no matter how far apart they were.  

Sand pulled him into an embrace, burying his face in the crook of Ray’s neck. And for a moment, it was enough to quiet the ache in Ray’s chest.  

But moments, no matter how perfect, are fleeting.  

A few hours later, Sand left for Japan. Their goodbye was quiet, lingering, filled with touches and whispered words they couldn’t quite bring themselves to say aloud. Ray stood at the door long after Sand had disappeared, the silence of the room settling heavily around him.  

Later that day, Ray shared a short clip of the video he had taken that morning. It began with his hand brushing gently through Sand’s hair and ended with Sand moving out of frame to wrap his arms around Ray. The caption was brief but carried an unspoken weight: “I’ll miss him”

The post went viral almost immediately, racking up millions of views within hours. It caused more of a stir than the Dispatch article ever could. In those few seconds, the world saw what words could never fully convey: the raw tenderness and undeniable love between them.  

No public statement or interview could have said more.  

Still, Ray and Sand had made a promise to keep their relationship private, at least while Sand’s tour was ongoing. They wouldn’t give the media more than the occasional social media post, rare and fleeting as they were. It was a quiet rebellion against the chaos that surrounded them, their way of keeping something sacred in a world that demanded everything from them.  

But the world didn’t know the truth —not even Sand. For Ray, this separation was more than just a test of endurance.  

How long could he bear to be apart from Sand?  

The answer came just two weeks later. But the reason for his sudden decision to see Sand again wasn’t one of joy.  

A few days had passed since Sand had left for his tour. Despite the distance, the two stayed connected, exchanging messages whenever possible. Ray supported him tirelessly from afar while By the Beach dazzled sold-out stadiums with their electrifying performances.

Ray’s own schedule was relentless. Between shoots and fittings for high-profile brands, his latest gig was with Fred, a luxury jewelry label. Several campaigns were lined up, showcasing their new collection. It was during one of these hectic shoots, as stylists fussed over him, that his manager approached cautiously, her hesitation cutting through the room’s chatter.  

“Ray…” she began, her voice low, deliberate.  

He instantly tensed. That tone never signaled good news.  

“Your father has requested a dinner with you,” she said, watching him closely in the mirror.  

Ray’s hand paused mid-motion, the faint trace of tension in his jawline hardening into a visible clench. He didn’t need to ask why, but he did anyway, almost as a formality.  

“Did he say what for?”  

Her silence said everything. Deep down, Ray already knew.  

Their relationship had been all over the headlines, the photos splashed across tabloids and social media. This wasn’t just gossip. It was Ray’s first public, official relationship. His father would have seen it— there was no way he hadn’t.  

Still, the dinner didn’t happen immediately. His father’s schedule delayed it by two weeks.  

Ray didn’t tell Sand about the invitation. Not because he wanted to hide it, but because it seemed unnecessary. To Ray, this wasn’t a conversation Sand needed to bear the weight of.  

The night arrived, and Ray dressed impeccably in a dark navy suit. Even though the dinner was at home, his father’s rules about appearances never wavered. Everything had to be polished, perfect, controlled.  

When Ray stepped into the expansive dining room, his father was already seated at the head of the table, waiting with his usual composed demeanor. But one detail struck Ray immediately: his chair had been moved. It wasn’t placed at the far end, opposite his father as it usually was. Instead, it was nearer, off to the side. The closer proximity set him on edge.  

“Good evening, Father,” Ray said, bowing slightly before taking his seat. His eyes lingered on the polished surface of the table, avoiding his father’s.  

A maid stepped forward, filling his glass. When he finally glanced up, he caught his father’s gaze and froze. The older man lifted his glass deliberately, gesturing for a toast.  

Ray hesitated before raising his own, his grip trembling slightly. Their glasses clinked, the sound cold and hollow in the cavernous room.  

“To your relationship,” his father said, his tone unnervingly flat.  

Ray faltered. His hand remained suspended, the champagne untouched as his father sipped. He felt the walls closing in, regret gnawing at him for agreeing to this dinner.  

Before Ray could formulate an escape, his father spoke again, cutting into the tense silence.  

“Sand, hmm? The singer from that group?”  

“Yes, Father.”  

Ray’s response was quiet, measured. He lowered his head slightly, unsure of what to expect. He despised this game—how his father’s face remained unreadable, a blank slate hiding thoughts that only revealed themselves in sharp, deliberate words.  

“I think you should have him sign a contract,” his father said, voice calm yet cold. “To ensure he stays out of your inheritance.”  

Ray blinked, the words like a slap to his face.  

“And if he refuses,” his father continued, unflinching, “I expect you to leave him.”  

“What?” Ray’s voice cracked under the weight of his disbelief. His chest tightened, his pulse hammering in his ears.  

“What are you saying?” he asked, his tone rising. “Contracts like that are for marriages—to protect against divorce. This is just… a relationship.”  

He forced the words out, though even now, the thought of marrying Sand —of calling him his husband— made his heart ache in longing.  

“We can draft something similar,” his father pressed, unmoved. “When he tires of you, he’ll spin lies about your relationship to extort money.”  

Ray inhaled sharply, his chest burning with a volatile mix of confusion and fury. But he forced himself to remain composed, to hold his ground.  

“Do you really think Sand is with me for money?” he asked, his voice low and incredulous.  

His father’s expression didn’t shift. He raised an eyebrow, as if the answer was self-evident, and took another sip of champagne.  

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m protecting our wealth.”  

Ray straightened, his gaze sharpening. “It’s my wealth we’re talking about,” he shot back, his voice firm. “Ever since I started modeling, I haven’t touched a single cent of your money. The Pakorn name has a new meaning because of me —not you. You have no say over what I earn or how I spend it. And Sand? Sand doesn’t need my money. He’s as famous as I am. Maybe more.”  

“People are never satisfied, Ray,” his father replied, his tone glacial. “Sand comes from a poor family. Give the poor a taste of wealth, and they’ll want more. It’s human nature. I’ve seen it too many times.”  

“You don’t know Sand,” Ray countered, his voice trembling with restrained emotion.  

“And you don’t know him either,” his father said flatly.  

Ray leaned forward, his fists clenched tightly against the table. His voice was louder now, filled with frustration and defiance. “You know nothing about us,” he spat. “And you have no right to speak about my relationship like this. If this is what you called me here for, then I’m leaving.”  

He pushed his chair back abruptly, the screech of wood on marble filling the room. But before he could turn, his father’s voice stopped him.  

“I’m warning you, Ray. When things fall apart, don’t come crying to me.”  

Ray let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Fall apart?” he echoed, his voice shaking.

“What have I ever done to deserve this from you? Why is it so impossible for you to believe that someone might love me? That I might actually be worthy of love?”  

Tears welled in his eyes, breaking free despite his efforts to hold them back. “You made me believe —my whole life— that I was unlovable,” he continued, his voice cracking under the weight of his pain. “That I was broken. But Sand proved you wrong. He loves me. And I love him. And nothing you say will change that.”  

His breath hitched, his chest heaving with the force of his emotions. “You know what? Mom would have loved Sand,” he said, his voice rising.

“She would have loved him like he loves me. And he would have loved her. They would’ve had the most beautiful bond, and for once, I’d be happy. Happy to see the two people who love me most loving each other.”  

He paused, tears streaming freely now. “And I know,” he continued, his voice trembling with conviction, 
“I know that wherever she is, Mom is proud of me. She’s happy for me. She’s glad that I finally found a reason to stop trying to take my life just so I can be with her again. A reason to keep living. A reason that isn’t a bottle or a line of cocaine, but a person —a person who loves me with his whole heart.”  

Ray’s vision blurred as his tears clouded the face of the man in front of him. Perhaps it was better this way, better not to see the cold indifference that so often greeted his pleas.  

With one final surge of strength, his voice broke through the silence, louder than before. “Say something!”  

The room remained still, the silence deafening. His father’s expression didn’t waver, his silence more damning than any words could have been.  

Ray’s chest heaved as he stared at the man who had cast such a long shadow over his life. When no response came, he turned and walked away.  

No, he ran.  

He ran through the hallways, tears blurring his vision, until he reached his room. His hands shook as he pulled open the drawer of his bedside table, grabbing his car keys and another pair of keys.  

The drive to Sand’s apartment was reckless, but Ray didn’t care. He needed Sand. He needed the safety, the warmth, the love that his father could never give.  

When he unlocked the door and stepped inside, the familiar scent of Sand’s home enveloped him. His eyes scanned the space —tidy and orderly, but filled with traces of their life together.  

The mugs on the counter, one his and one Sand’s. The photos on the fridge, held up by musical note-shaped magnets.  

And just like that, the dam broke. Ray sank to the floor, his back against the counter, and let the sobs consume him.

He was finally home.  

Meanwhile, nearly four thousand kilometers away, Sand finally stepped into his hotel room. The band had landed in South Korea earlier that day, and the whirlwind of travel, interviews, and obligations had left him completely drained. Exhaustion clung to him like a heavy weight, and without bothering to change out of his clothes, he let himself collapse onto the bed.  

He intended to fall asleep just like that, promising himself he’d shower in the morning. But just as he was drifting off, a specific notification made his phone vibrate.  

The sound wasn’t like the usual ones from social media or emails. It was distinct, sharp, more akin to an alarm —a tone engineered to cut through even the deepest silence.  

Groggily, Sand reached for his phone. When he read the notification, his eyes immediately sharpened:  
“Front door opened. Door not forced.”

Only one other person had a copy of his house key: Ray. Sand’s thoughts immediately went to him.  

He smiled faintly as the tension eased from his chest. The thought of Ray being there felt comforting. Sand had told him countless times that he could go to the apartment whenever he wanted, and the idea of Ray seeking refuge there brought him a small sense of joy.  

Without even opening the app to view the security footage, Sand sent a quick text to Ray:  

Are you at my place?

The phrasing of the question felt strange. “My place” didn’t feel right anymore. Lately, it hadn’t felt like just his. That space had slowly started to feel like theirs. But Sand was careful in how he asked. If he’d simply said, “Are you home?” Ray might not have thought of Sand’s apartment.  

Minutes passed, but there was no response.  

Something shifted in Sand’s chest. A weight. A knot.  

People often talk about a gut feeling, that primal instinct when something is wrong. Sand had never put much stock in it —until now. A chill crept through his body, heavy and relentless, coiling in the pit of his stomach.  

More time passed. Still nothing.  

The unease grew unbearable. Sand changed into more comfortable clothes, but the act of moving around did nothing to settle his nerves. Finally, he gave in to the gnawing anxiety. He picked up his phone, opened the security app, and tapped into the live camera feed.  

He hesitated for a moment. Sand didn’t want to invade Ray’s privacy. The thought of spying on him felt wrong, almost like a betrayal. But the pit in his stomach was too much to ignore. He needed to see that Ray was okay.  

The cameras were discreet, installed for security reasons. Sand wasn’t even sure Ray knew about them. They had never discussed it, but the cameras weren’t meant for anything more than safeguarding the apartment when Sand was traveling.  

His hands trembled as he navigated to the camera feed.  

When the images loaded, Sand’s eyes darted from one camera to the next, scanning the empty rooms until he finally saw Ray.  

Ray was walking through the apartment, his head hung low, his movements slow and deliberate. He was heading toward Sand’s bedroom.  

Sand turned on the audio, and that’s when he heard it.  

Ray was crying.  

Not the quiet, subdued tears of someone holding it in, but raw, gut-wrenching sobs that echoed through the feed. His voice trembled, broken by gasps for air, the sound of someone overwhelmed by pain.  

Sand’s breath caught in his throat. He had never felt so powerless. His first instinct was to call Ray immediately, but he hesitated. Would calling interrupt him? Would it make things worse?  

On the feed, Ray threw his phone onto the bed. His crying hadn’t stopped as he made his way toward the closet.  

Sand’s heart clenched as he watched Ray open the closet and pull out one of his hoodies. The model held it tightly in his hands, almost reverently, before pressing it to his face and inhaling deeply. Slowly, he began to change, slipping out of his formal suit into Sand’s hoodie and a pair of pajama bottoms.  

It was then that Sand noticed what Ray had been wearing before. A suit.  

Ray had dressed up for something —something important. And now he was here, crying alone in Sand’s bedroom, seeking comfort in the remnants of his presence. Sand’s mind raced with questions. What had happened? What could have left Ray in this state?  

He wanted to reach through the screen, to hold Ray, to tell him everything would be okay. But all he could do was sit in his hotel room in Seoul, paralyzed by the thousands of kilometers that separated them.  

Ray finally collapsed onto the bed. His sobs began to quiet, but his face was etched with exhaustion and despair. He reached for his phone, and Sand prayed he would respond.  

Seconds later, the notification came through. Sand saw Ray glance around the room before typing, his movements hesitant, like he wasn’t entirely present.  

How do you know?

Telling Ray he was watching him through the cameras seemed like the worst possible thing to say. Sand decided to lie, silently vowing to tell Ray the truth in person.  

I have sensors by the door. But there’s been no sign of a break-in, so I figured it must be you

Oh, okay 
Hope you don’t mind 

Not at all  
Want to call?

Ray’s sobs had stopped by now. Sand’s distraction seemed to have worked, at least for the moment.  

I’m tired, sorry

That’s okay. Rest.  
Is everything okay?

Sand’s chest tightened as he typed. He didn’t want to push, but his heart ached for Ray.  

Not really

Want to talk about it?

No…Sand?  

Yes?

I need you.  
I need to see you.  
Can I come to you? 

Sand’s heart pounded at those words.  

You don’t even have to ask.  
Will you tell me what happened when we see each other?  

Yes.  
I want to talk about it.  
But first, I need to see you.

Okay. Rest for now, alright?  

Okay.  
I miss you 

I miss you too.  
I’ll see you tomorrow, baby  

Sand stared at the phone screen, a bittersweet ache settling over him. He was thrilled at the thought of seeing Ray again— the nearly three weeks apart had been excruciating. But knowing their reunion was shadowed by something so painful filled him with sorrow.  

Back in Sand’s apartment, Ray clutched his phone, staring at their conversation long after it had ended. Sand had distracted him, if only temporarily. But now, alone with his thoughts, the weight of the evening came crashing back.  

The memory of the dinner resurfaced —the cold, dismissive tone of his father’s voice. The emptiness of the chair his mother used to occupy.  

Tears welled in his eyes again as he curled into himself. He hated this weakness, hated how his father’s words could still wound him so deeply. He had promised himself he wouldn’t let his father’s disdain have power over him anymore. And yet, here he was.  

Ray’s trembling fingers hovered over his phone before he finally pressed call. The line barely rang once before his manager’s gentle voice answered, her concern already palpable.  

“Ray?” she said softly, a quiet warmth in her tone.  

Hearing her voice, Ray couldn’t hold back his tears any longer. A choked sob escaped him, raw and unfiltered.  

“Ray, sweetheart, what’s wrong?” Mae’s voice was laced with worry now, but she kept it tender, careful not to overwhelm him. “Talk to me. What happened?”  

It took Ray a moment to gather enough breath to respond. “I… I had dinner with my father tonight.” His voice cracked, the words barely audible.  

Mae let out a small sigh, not of impatience but of empathy. She knew the weight his father carried in Ray’s life, how deeply those interactions could wound him. “Oh, Ray,” she murmured softly, her heart breaking for him.  

“I thought I was ready,” Ray whispered, the tears coming faster now. “I told myself I wouldn’t let him get to me anymore, but… but he’s so cold, Mae. Every word feels like a knife. And then there’s… there’s no one else there. My mom’s gone. It’s just him. And me.”  

His voice faltered, and Mae stayed silent for a moment, letting him cry, her presence a steady anchor on the other end of the line.  

“You don’t have to be ready for that kind of pain, Ray,” she said softly, after a beat. “No one is. You’re allowed to feel this way. You’re allowed to hurt. And you don’t have to face it alone.”  

Ray hiccupped a sob, her words touching something deep within him. “Mae, I… I need a break. I can’t keep pretending I’m fine. I need a few days to breathe. To be away from all of this.”  

“Of course you do, sweetheart,” she said, her voice full of affection and understanding. “Take as much time as you need. I’ll handle everything. No more interviews, no more shoots. Nothing until you’re ready.”  

Ray exhaled shakily, her unwavering support soothing some of the ache in his chest. “Thank you,” he whispered.  

“Don’t thank me, Ray. That’s what I’m here for. To make sure you’re okay.” Mae paused, then asked gently, “What do you need right now? Anything I can do?”  

Ray hesitated, biting his lip. “I… I want to go to Sand. Can I… Can I see him? I just need to be with him for a little while. He makes me feel safe.”  

There was a pause on Mae’s end, but it wasn’t hesitation. It was thoughtfulness, as though she were carefully considering the best way to help him. “How long do you want to stay with him?” she asked, her voice still soft and kind.  

“You decide,” Ray admitted, his voice breaking again.  

Mae smiled faintly on the other end, though Ray couldn’t see it. “Alright,” she said. “Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll book you a ticket to Seoul first thing tomorrow. Stay with him as long as you need, and then when he heads to Singapore, you can go with him. After that, come back to Thailand when you’re ready. Does that sound okay?”  

Ray let out a shaky laugh, the weight in his chest easing for the first time all evening. “That… That sounds perfect. Thank you, Mae. Thank you so much.”  

“Ray,” she said, her voice soft but firm, “you don’t ever have to thank me for wanting to see you happy. That’s all I care about.”  

The sincerity in her words brought fresh tears to Ray’s eyes, but this time they were tears of gratitude. “You’re the best, Mae,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.  

“No, sweetheart,” she replied warmly. “I just care about you. I’ll send you the details once everything is arranged, alright? And if you need anything tonight—even if it’s just to hear someone’s voice—you call me, okay?”  

Ray nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. “Okay. Thank you. For everything.”  

“Always,” Mae said gently. “Now, get some rest, Ray. You’re going to be okay, I promise. Sand will help you through this. And so will I.”  

For the first time that night, Ray felt a sliver of hope break through the fog of his despair. “Goodnight, Mae.”  

“Goodnight, sweetie. Sleep well.”  

As the call ended, Ray clung to her words. Between her kindness and the thought of being in Sand’s arms soon, the suffocating weight of the evening started to feel just a little lighter.  

The next day, Ray was already in Korea. The flight, though relatively short, had done little to ease the oppressive weight in his chest. The air that greeted him upon arrival was crisp and biting, as if to jar him out of the melancholy that clung to him like a second skin. His heart remained heavy, a painful knot of unresolved emotions constricting his every thought. Yet, amidst the despondency, there existed a faint ember —a fragile glimmer of anticipation kindled by the thought of being with Sand again.  

Sand had insisted on meeting him at the airport. Ray had protested, concerned about the strain it might place on his boyfriend’s schedule, knowing Sand had rehearsals for his first concert that evening. Yet Sand, ever steadfast, had brushed off his concerns without a second thought.  

As soon as Ray landed, he sent a message:  

I’ve landed

Perfect. 
I’m already waiting for you at the gate  exit. 
I’m wearing a red jacket  

That’s your way of hiding? 

No, it’s to make sure you notice me. 
I’m also wearing a mask and a hat, I’m unrecognizable. 

The faintest smile pulled at Ray’s lips, a foreign sensation after the numbness of the past few days. Sand’s ability to inject humor even in the smallest exchanges was like a balm against the ache inside him.

Ray pulled his hood tighter, his mask already in place, his eyes scanning his surroundings to ensure he wasn’t drawing attention. Assured that he was unremarkable to the crowds bustling past, he quickened his pace, his pulse racing for reasons entirely unrelated to anxiety.  

And then, there he was.  

Sand stood slightly apart from the throngs of people, the vivid red of his jacket unmistakable even in the chaos of the terminal. He was a striking figure, not just because of the brightness of his clothes but because he was Sand. Something in his stance —relaxed yet purposeful— made it impossible for Ray to look away.  

For a moment, Ray hesitated, overwhelmed by the surge of emotions that crashed over him. But then, without overthinking, he closed the distance between them and threw his arms around Sand.  

Sand’s response was immediate. His arms came up to encircle Ray, his touch firm yet gentle, grounding him in a way that made the tension in his chest begin to dissipate.  

“You didn’t have to wear that jacket,” Ray murmured against Sand’s shoulder, his voice quiet but filled with something unspoken.  

“Why not?” Sand asked softly, his tone light but curious.  

“I’d recognize your eyes anywhere. Even if everyone else in the world were wearing masks.”  

Sand’s eyes crinkled in amusement, the edges of his smile visible beneath the mask he wore. Ray could picture it so vividly, that warm, boyish grin he adored. Without thinking, he rose onto his toes and pressed a fleeting kiss to Sand’s mask. It was brief, but its meaning was undeniable.  

In that single moment, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Ray felt a fragment of his soul fall back into place.  

The rest of the day passed in a haze of surreal calm. Ray spent the evening backstage, watching Sand prepare and then perform.

What captivated Ray most wasn’t the performance itself —it was the way Sand’s gaze sought him out every time he stepped offstage. Amid the whirlwind of crew members and chaos of transitions, Sand’s first instinct was always to find Ray.  

That simple, unspoken connection —a glance, a fleeting exchange of smiles— was enough to anchor Ray. It was a reminder that he wasn’t just watching Sand; he was witnessing his Sand.  

Later that night, when the concert was over and they had retreated to the quiet sanctuary of their hotel room, the energy from the performance lingered like static in the air. Sand’s gaze was different now —softer, deeper, as though he could see every unspoken word Ray hadn’t yet managed to articulate.  

They changed into more comfortable clothes, the silence between them warm rather than awkward. When they finally slipped into bed, Ray found himself inching closer, the distance between them feeling unbearable despite their proximity. Leaning in, he kissed Sand —a kiss full of unspoken desperation and longing, as if seeking something he couldn’t name. The kiss deepened, his fingers curling into Sand’s shirt, his heart pounding against his ribcage.  

But then Sand gently pulled back, his lips brushing against Ray’s as he murmured, “Not tonight. I just want to hold you.”  

Ray blinked, startled by the tenderness of the words. For a moment, he wondered if Sand could sense the fragility within him, the cracks he was so carefully trying to conceal. But as Sand’s arms wrapped around him, pulling him close with an unwavering certainty, Ray understood. This quiet intimacy, this steadfast presence, was exactly what he needed.  

Sand tucked the blanket around them, his warmth enveloping Ray like a shield. And as Ray nestled against him, the dam he had so carefully constructed began to crack. The emotions he had spent days suppressing surged forward with a force that left him trembling. His throat burned, and before he could stop himself, tears spilled over, silent at first, then wracking sobs that shook his frame.  

Sand held him tighter, his fingers threading through Ray’s hair in soothing motions, his other hand tracing circles on his back. He didn’t rush him, didn’t say anything at first—he simply was there, an unwavering presence in the storm.  

“Do you want to tell me what happened yesterday?” Sand asked softly, his voice gentle, coaxing, like an anchor in the tempest.  

Ray hesitated, the memories of the previous day sharp and jagged. Slowly, he lifted his head from Sand’s chest, meeting his gaze. The concern etched into Sand’s features was so genuine, so earnest, that it made Ray’s throat tighten further.  

And then the dam broke completely.  

“I had dinner with my father,” Ray began, his voice barely audible, trembling with the weight of what he was about to say.  

Sand tensed slightly, his hands instinctively tightening their hold on Ray, as though bracing for the worst. “What happened?”  

Ray swallowed hard, his voice cracking as he continued. “He wanted to talk about us. He said… he said you’re using me for money.”  

Sand’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening imperceptibly. But when he spoke, his voice remained calm, measured—for Ray’s sake. “You don’t believe him, do you?”  

“Of course not,” Ray replied immediately, his voice firm despite the tears streaking his face. “I know us. I know you. But… it still hurts. I don’t understand why he hates me so much. Why can’t he believe that someone could love me for who I am?”  

The questions spilled out in a torrent, each one cutting deeper than the last. Sand’s own eyes glistened with unshed tears, his helplessness written across his face.  

“I don’t know, baby,” Sand choked out, his voice trembling as he pulled Ray into another embrace. “I’m so sorry.”  

Ray clung to him, his voice breaking as he whispered, “What did I do to deserve this? Why hasn’t he even tried to love me?”  

Sand’s own composure cracked at those words. He didn’t try to stop the tears that fell freely now, his hand cradling the back of Ray’s head.  

Ray’s voice was barely audible when he added, “I mentioned Mom.”  

Sand froze, his breath catching.  

“I told him… I told him Mom would have loved you. That she would’ve seen how incredible you are. That you and her… you two would’ve been so close.”  

The admission shattered whatever strength Sand had been clinging to. He cupped Ray’s face, his hands trembling as his tears mingled with Ray’s.  

“I miss her so much,” Ray whispered, his voice breaking entirely. “I wanted her to meet you so badly.”  

Sand’s voice was thick with emotion when he finally spoke. “She’s still with you, Ray. She led you to me. And I know she’s proud of you.”  

Ray managed a shaky smile, his heart clinging to the weight of Sand’s words. Without thinking, he leaned in and kissed Sand —a kiss filled with heartbreak and love, their tears blending into something raw and achingly real.  

When Ray finally stopped crying, his sobs fading into soft, uneven breaths, he rested his head back against Sand’s chest. The room felt heavier now, not with sorrow but with the weight of unsaid words and lingering vulnerability. Sand’s hand moved instinctively, brushing gently through Ray’s hair, as though trying to smooth out the frayed edges of his pain. And then, softly, Sand spoke.  

“Ray?”  

“Mh?” came the muffled reply, accompanied by a sniffle.  

Sand hesitated for a moment, as if weighing his words. Then, in that quiet space, he spoke with a tenderness that wrapped itself around the both of them.  

“I’m really sorry that I can’t help you in a concrete way.”  

Ray slowly lifted his head, his tear-streaked face turned upward to meet Sand’s eyes. And there it was again —those eyes. The kind of eyes that seemed to hold whole universes in their gaze, filled with love so unguarded and raw that it made Ray’s heart ache. In that moment, he felt as though their story had been etched into the fabric of existence long before they ever met.  

“I’m sorry I have no control over the relationship you have with your father,” Sand continued, his voice steady but tinged with sorrow. “I’m sorry he can’t see your worth. I can’t change what’s already happened, no matter how much I might want to. But what I can do, what I will do, is help you build a better future. Ray, I swear, you will never feel unloved with me. I’ll prove it to you every single day. Until my last breath, I’ll show you that anyone who can’t see how incredible you are is a fool.”  

Ray hadn’t realized he was moving closer, his body shifting instinctively as though drawn by a force beyond his control. Sand wasn’t just a person anymore —he was an anchor, something steady in a world that so often felt like it was crumbling around him.  

“I wish I could go back and rewrite your story,” Sand said, his voice softening further, almost a whisper now. “To erase your pain, to make it so you never had to endure any of it. But, Ray…” He paused, exhaling deeply, as if grappling with the selfishness of what he was about to say. “Maybe this is wrong of me to admit. But everything you’ve been through —every tear, every struggle— it all led you to that night at Y.O.L.O. And despite all of it, I’m grateful. Grateful that you chose to keep going. Grateful that your attempt didn’t succeed. Thank you, Ray. Thank you for being born and for surviving, no matter how hard it got. Because now I get to love you.”  

Ray’s breath caught in his throat. He stared at Sand, completely overwhelmed, the words sinking into him like a balm on wounds he’d been carrying for far too long. He didn’t know what to say —what could he possibly say?

And so, when it all became too much, he let his instincts take over, burying his face once again in Sand’s chest. His ear pressed against Sand’s heart, listening to the steady rhythm as if it were the only sound that mattered in the world.  

Sand chuckled softly, the sound vibrating in his chest. “What are you doing? Are you embarrassed?” he teased gently, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Ray found himself smiling. A genuine smile. The oppressive weight in the room had lifted, replaced by a warmth that only Sand seemed capable of giving him.  

It was true —he needed to talk about it, to let it all out. But more than anything, Ray needed this. Him. The peace, the comfort, the quiet certainty that came with being in Sand’s arms.  

“I love you,” Ray said suddenly, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.  

Sand froze for a moment, and then a soft laugh escaped him. There was something about the sheer simplicity of those words in that moment that made them both laugh.  

“Did you hear it?” Sand asked, his voice full of warmth as he pulled Ray closer, their faces just inches apart. His lips brushed against Ray’s, a featherlight touch that sent a shiver through him.  

“Your heart speeding up?” Ray whispered back, his voice barely audible, before Sand leaned in to kiss him —a soft, lingering kiss that carried all the unspoken promises between them.  

“I heard it,” Ray replied, his voice filled with a quiet joy.  

They smiled at each other, wide and unrestrained, before meeting again in another kiss. This one was deeper, more passionate —a reflection of everything they felt but couldn’t put into words.  

“I love you, too,” Sand murmured against Ray’s lips. “I’m so glad you came to me, Ray. You have no idea how much it means to me.”  

And Sand was right.  

The pain of his father’s rejection would always linger, a dull ache that Ray would carry with him no matter how much he wished otherwise. He couldn’t undo the past, couldn’t change what had been broken. But Sand had shown him something he never thought he could have —proof that he was capable of being loved.  

Ray could have his happy ending after all. And the best part? He had it with someone who loved him completely, someone who made him feel whole.  

And for the first time in his life, Ray truly believed he deserved it.  

Chapter Text

Being on tour was exhausting. The endless flights, the constant rehearsals, the flashing lights, the deafening screams —it all blurred into a cycle that felt both exhilarating and suffocating. The feeling that his entire life revolved around those two intense hours on stage was conflicting.

It was like standing at the edge of a precipice, torn between the weight of exhaustion and the undeniable certainty that this was what he was born to do.  

Because no matter how drained he felt, no matter how many sleepless nights or aching muscles, the moment Sand stepped onto that stage, it all disappeared. The adrenaline, the love of the crowd, the connection through music —it reminded him, again and again, why he kept going.  

But then, the concert would end. The lights would dim, the noise would fade, and reality would sink in again.  

He missed home. It was the weirdest thing to miss. Sand had never really seen his house as a home, it never felt like it. And yet, here he was. He missed the soft hum of his record player playing non-stop in the background, those dark colors, a place full of his real persona; the “comfort” of a place where he didn’t have to be Sand the lead singer but simply Sand.

But most of all, he missed Ray.  

The concerts were the only time his mind quieted, when the music drowned out everything else and let him exist purely in the moment. But afterward, when he was alone in yet another hotel room, the silence pressed against his chest like a heavy weight.

The bed always felt too big, too cold. Falling asleep without Ray beside him was difficult; waking up and not feeling that familiar warmth against his chest, not hearing those steady, rhythmic breaths —his breaths— was difficult. Waking up and not seeing a pair of his dark pools already looking at him, admiring him, with an overwhelming look of love in his eyes was even worse.

But Ray was with him. In the little things.  

In the messages he found waiting for him after every show. In the lucky charm he always kept in his pocket, the one Ray had given him at the very start of the tour with a teasing "for when you miss me too much." In the long video calls where they often didn’t even talk, too busy with their own work but comforted by each other’s presence on the screen. Even if it was through a phone, even if they were thousands of miles apart, just knowing Ray was there made everything feel a little more bearable.  

And yet, time slipped through his fingers like sand. When every free moment was spent preparing for the next performance, when the days blurred into rehearsals, interviews, and soundchecks, time didn’t just move fast… it vanished.  

Before he knew it, he was on a plane to Thailand, staring out the window at the endless sky, wondering if he had truly lived every moment of this tour.  

Had he appreciated every second, every song, every city? Or had he been so focused on getting through it that he had let it all slip by without fully feeling it?  

On stage, he had always believed he was soaking it in. Some nights, he counted down the minutes until the show was over, hoping that when the final note rang out, the weight on his heart would lift. But now, with the finish line in sight, he felt something unexpected.

Emptiness.  

There were only a few days left before the final concert, and all of Thailand was preparing for it. The Ride the Wave tour wasn’t just a national phenomenon; it had become one of the biggest global successes of the decade. The expectations were staggering, the pressure overwhelming. Everyone needed to be at their best.  

But even with everything going on, even with the noise of the outside world demanding his attention, there was only one thing on Sand’s mind.  

Ray:  
Sorry, I won’t be in town when you get back :(  

Me:
It’s okay, baby. I know you’re working 

He had expected it. He had already prepared himself for it. But seeing the message still made something in his chest tighten.  

In reality, there was a plan. A surprise. Something that had started as a personal gesture and had inevitably turned into another spectacle for the cameras, something both their agencies had quickly seen as a golden opportunity.  

When they landed in Thailand, Sand actually felt rested. He had to admit, the private jet had been a lifesaver throughout the tour.

It was mostly reserved for the core team —the band, key staff, management— but the real luxury wasn’t the exclusivity. It was the space. The ability to stretch out, to sleep in a “real” bed instead of cramping into an airplane seat.  

So, for once, jet lag wasn’t too big of an issue.  

As soon as he set foot back home, he wasted no time. A quick shower, a change of clothes, and he was already on his way to see Ray.  

He wasn’t alone. Members of the staff accompanied him —not out of courtesy, not even for security, but because there was a camera.  

Right. The short documentary for their upcoming interview.  

“Please, tell us how you’re feeling.”  

Sand blinked at the question. It was such a simple thing to ask, yet he found himself at a loss for words.  

How was he feeling?  

Tired? Definitely. Excited? Yes. But also nervous in a way that settled deep in his bones.  

His heart skipped a beat as a realization struck him. He had missed Ray far more than he had ever admitted to himself.

More than he had allowed himself to feel. He had spent so much time convincing himself that missing Ray was just part of the job, that it was normal, that he was being ridiculous for feeling it so deeply.  

But now, as he sat there, the car moving steadily toward the place where Ray was waiting, the emotions hit him all at once.  

He glanced out the tinted window and let out a breath, a small smile curling at his lips. His gaze was fixed on the city passing by, but his eyes weren’t truly seeing the streets or the lights or the people.  

“I’m nervous and excited at the same time. It’s hard to explain,” Sand finally said, his voice quieter now, more vulnerable. “It’s been more than two months since we last saw each other. I’ve missed him.” 

Those were the last words he spoke before exhaustion finally caught up to him, and he let the gentle hum of the car lull him into sleep.  

He needed to be well-rested.  

Because soon, he would see Ray again.  

And nothing else mattered.  

The shooting location was a luxurious villa, nestled deep in the countryside, far from the chaos of Bangkok. A place that seemed suspended in time, with its immaculate gardens, towering stone columns, and an air heavy with the scent of night-blooming flowers.  

Sand had already forgotten which brand the shoot was for —he often lost track, accustomed to the fast-paced world of fashion and entertainment— but he knew that, for Ray, this particular shoot was important. Reflecting on it, it had to be with his late mother’s favorite brand.

What Ray didn’t know, however, was that the shoot was already over. Or rather, the true purpose of the day was no longer about the photos.  

Ray believed they still had more to shoot inside the villa, that the session wasn’t complete yet. But the truth was, his presence here, the continuous snapping of the camera, had become almost secondary.  

Sand had been in contact with Ray’s manager for days, initially just wanting to surprise him, to give him an unexpected moment after two long months apart. But, as always, their agencies had found a way to turn their relationship into an opportunity.  

A love story to be monetized.

Sand knew this was how things worked. He had already made peace with the fact that this wouldn’t be a moment just for them, but accepting it never got any easier.  

When he arrived at the villa, its sheer grandeur made him feel even smaller, more vulnerable than he was willing to admit. Several staff members greeted him at the entrance, their smiles warm, already prepared to escort him inside. It felt almost ceremonial.  

As he climbed the marble staircase, the sound of footsteps echoed through the silent hall, the rhythm only broken by the sharp clicking of the secretary’s heels against the floor.  

And that’s when it hit him.  

That knot in his stomach.  

He was nervous. Terribly nervous. Not because of the cameras, not because of the attention, but because, in just a few minutes, he would see Ray again.  

Two months.

60+ days without being able to touch him, without waking up next to him, without his scent lingering on his skin or the sound of his laughter filling the air.  

It was a whirlwind of emotions: the nervousness of someone about to see the love of their life after far too long, the excitement of finally sinking into that embrace he had craved more than anything, and the frustration —lingering, ever-present— at the fact that even this deeply personal moment had been turned into a spectacle for others.  

But he had accepted it. More or less.

Their agencies had been persistent about their relationship. They had promised privacy, assured them that no one would intrude… and yet, here they were. Cameras rolling, waiting to capture every glance, every expression.  

Because the public adored them. Their fandoms had fused into one massive, devoted community, and their love had become the centerpiece of something far bigger than themselves. Sand and Ray both knew that, in reality, their agencies weren’t in this for romance.  

They were in it for profit.  

The only reason they had agreed to any of this was for their fans.  

And now, this was just the beginning.  

The camera following Sand was there to record footage for a video. Originally, these behind-the-scenes clips were meant to be included in the By the Beach tour documentary, but Sand had rejected the idea. The band was the priority. He didn’t want their relationship to overshadow the work they had put in.  

So, a compromise had been reached. Thus being the short documentary to accompany the interview and the photoshoot —also a surprise and something Ray didn’t know of.

Standing in front of a large, dark wooden door, Sand wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans, trying to steady himself.  

The secretary turned to him with a practiced, professional smile, explaining what was waiting for him beyond that door:  

“There will be dozens of people working. Makeup artists, stylists, lighting technicians. Ray is always extremely focused when he’s posing, so he won’t notice your presence until he gets up to check the photos. Please remain silent and position yourself near the photographer’s screen.”

Every word made his heartbeat quicken.  

He nodded more times than necessary, then instinctively turned to the camera, exhaling shakily.  

"Let’s go."

When the heavy door swung open, Sand felt as if he had stepped into another world.  

The room was buzzing with activity. Cables snaked across the floor, massive lights cast stark beams into the dim space, and the relentless clicking of the camera filled the air.  

And in the center of it all —Ray.  

Sand swallowed hard when his gaze landed on him, illuminated like the subject of a masterpiece. His body was draped lazily over a plush red velvet sofa with gold accents, his poses fluid yet deliberate, shifting effortlessly with each shot.  

Sand had seen Ray in so many different ways.  

He had seen him angry, eyes ablaze with fury. He had seen those same eyes filled with love, then tears, then pain. He had seen them darkened with pleasure.  

And yet —he wasn’t ready for this.  

Ray, posing in that meticulously crafted scene, was something entirely new.  

Sand stared, his heart pounding wildly. His legs felt suddenly weak, his stomach twisting into tight knots.  

He’s breathtaking.

A simple thought, but all-consuming.  

It wasn’t just because he hadn’t seen Ray in a long time. Sand knew that even if they had spent the entire day together, he would still feel this way —stunned, captivated, utterly powerless against his pull.  

The final shot was taken, and with it, the tension in Ray’s body eased.  

"Okay, Ray, time for a wardrobe change.”

Ray stood without much thought, pulling on a robe over his torso. He seemed distant, lost in his own world, until—  

Their eyes met.  

Ray froze. His eyes went wide, his lips parting in shock.  

And then—  

“Sand!”

His voice rang out, high-pitched with excitement, before he ran adorably and lunged forward, throwing himself into Sand’s arms.  

Sand barely had time to react before he was holding him, feeling Ray cling to him like a koala, his warmth so overwhelming that it sent a shiver down his spine.  

Nothing else existed.  

Not the applause. Not the laughter.  

Just them.  

“My love” Ray murmured, pulling back just enough to drink him in, as if making sure he was real. And then —he attacked.  

Kisses, rapid and messy, pressing against every inch of Sand’s face, but lingering —longest, most desperately— on his lips.  

Sand could only hold him tighter, smiling into the kisses, feeling his chest ache with the sheer joy of being here, of having him back in his arms.  

"What are you doing here?" Ray asked, breathless, finally sliding down from Sand’s grip, even though they both knew Sand could hold him for hours without complaint.  

Sand never stopped smiling, his signature dimples deep in his cheeks.  

"I wanted to surprise you." His voice was warm, tender, as he kissed Ray’s cheek again, unable to stop himself.  

Ray blinked, suddenly realizing —he turned to look around.  

“Wait… you all knew?”  

A chorus of guilty laughter and scattered “Yes” filled the room.  

Ray gasped dramatically, smacking Sand’s arm. “I can’t believe this!” But the truth was —none of them could stop smiling.  

"And it’s not over yet."

A female voice spoke behind them.  

Turning around, they saw stylists approaching with outfits in hand.

Ray frowned in confusion —until Sand gave him a knowing look. Then he noticed the camera, still rolling.

“Oh.”

That was all Ray managed to say.

For a moment, a flicker of disappointment crossed his face. He had thought the day was over. But it vanished quickly when he connected the dots as he saw the stylists approaching Sand, replaced by something brighter, more electric.

Excitement.

Because for the first time, they would be posing together.

Just like he had always dreamed.

It didn’t take long for Ray to shift into his element. Once the outfits were slipped on and the lights adjusted, he moved with natural grace —every step, every glance designed to catch the lens just right. He didn’t need instruction. He was the instruction. He wanted —and demanded— to be the one guiding Sand. 

Ray led the shoot like someone who had been born in front of a camera. He knew how to pose without thinking, how to angle his jaw just slightly, how to reach for Sand’s hand in a way that felt both artistic and genuine. His body understood the language of the lens —fluid, confident, controlled.

Sand followed at first, unsure where to place his hands or how to stand. But then he stopped thinking and just watched Ray —how effortlessly he moved, how at home he looked under the lights.

And Sand loved it.

Loved seeing Ray like this —focused, radiant, in his zone. There was something magnetic about him, something even more captivating when he was doing what he loved most. It made Sand fall for him all over again.

“You’re staring,” Ray murmured with a smirk, not breaking his pose.

“Can you blame me?” Sand replied under his breath, half-smiling.

Ray glanced at him then —just a soft, sideways glance— but it was enough. In that one look, the tension shifted. It wasn’t just a shoot anymore. It was them.

Click.

The photographer caught it —the unspoken warmth, the closeness, the history in their silence. A moment that hadn’t been posed but simply was.

Ray let out a small laugh, nodding toward the camera. “That one’s going in a frame.”

Pose after pose, they relaxed into it. Sometimes Ray took the lead, turning Sand toward him, adjusting a wrist or a shoulder with tender familiarity. Other times, Sand let his hands linger longer than necessary, just to savor the closeness.

They weren’t acting. The camera wasn’t catching a concept or a theme. It was catching them.

By the final shutter, their bodies were close, foreheads nearly touching. There was nothing left to perform.

And Sand realized something in the quiet that followed:

This wasn’t just a photoshoot.

It was a memory.

A quiet promise, frozen in time.

This was just the beginning of their story.

A few days later, the final show of By the Beach’s world tour was set to take place.

The streets of Bangkok were alive with excitement —billboards and posters plastered every available surface, bars hosted themed events, and street vendors lined the sidewalks, eager to sell unofficial merchandise to unsuspecting tourists and devoted fans who had traveled from all over the world for this moment. Even the local news was caught up in the frenzy —every channel, every headline seemed to revolve around the event.  

The reason was simple: for this last, grand performance, the band had invited a lineup of special guests. Some were artists they had collaborated with, while others were there for surprise performances. Rumors swirled about high-profile celebrities attending, adding an extra layer of anticipation to an already momentous night.  

The weight of expectations was impossible to ignore.  

But every show, every city, every roaring crowd had led them here. This was the culmination of years of effort, passion, and sacrifice. After tonight, they would finally get a brief reprieve before diving into the creative storm of their next album.

One last push. That was all that remained.  

The band had been at the stadium since early morning. The air buzzed with pre-show energy. Their final soundcheck was scheduled for the afternoon, but outside, the line had already stretched beyond sight.

Fans had been camping out for days, wrapped in blankets and band merch, some holding handmade signs, others humming their favorite songs in quiet excitement. The sheer dedication was overwhelming.  

Anxiety and adrenaline interwove like a tightrope beneath their feet. But the hunger to take that stage one last time? That burned brighter than any nerves.  

Backstage, in the dressing room, the band was going over the final details —setlist adjustments, last-minute script tweaks for the skits they would perform between songs. Laughter and chatter filled the space, a thin veil over the unspoken anticipation. Then, without warning, the door swung open.  

A familiar presence stepped inside.  

Ray.  

Dressed in loose sweatpants and an oversized sweater of a similar shade, his face partially obscured by thick black glasses, his usually styled hair hidden beneath a cap, he exuded a relaxed confidence that contrasted sharply with the buzzing energy in the room.  

Sand didn’t notice him at first. His focus was entirely on the pages in his hands —lyrics, notes, last-minute adjustments to his closing speech. A pen rested between his lips, occasionally shifting as he chewed on the end in thought.  

Ray lingered in the doorway for a moment, watching him with amusement. Then, with a smirk, he crossed the room and plucked the pen from Sand’s mouth.  

“Should I be jealous of a pen?” he teased.  

The sudden absence of the pen, coupled with the voice Sand knew too well, made him jolt in surprise. But before he could react, warm lips pressed against his own in a brief but deliberate kiss.  

The tension drained from Sand’s shoulders instantly. A slow, unmistakable smile spread across his face, his dimples deepening as Ray pulled away with a loud smack, only to press another quick kiss against the tip of his nose.  

Still grinning, Ray settled beside him, leaning against the counter as he caught his reflection in the mirror.  

“Your outfit for tonight is incredible,” he mused, eyes trailing over the ripped jeans that exposed glimpses of Sand’s skin, the band t-shirt clinging just right, and the signature leather jacket —this one more intricate, more expensive than the worn-in one Sand usually favored. His fingers twitched slightly, resisting the urge to reach out and trace the necklaces draped around Sand’s neck, the rings adorning his fingers.  

“You’re the one who looks amazing,” Sand countered smoothly, his voice laced with quiet affection as he took Ray’s hand, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles.  

“Ew, please stop.”

Nick’s groan of protest cut through the moment, drawing laughter from the room. But Ray barely noticed. His gaze had wandered lower, drawn to Sand’s exposed legs through the endless rips in his jeans.  

He dragged his tongue over his lower lip absentmindedly before tearing his focus away.  

“Is your team bringing your outfit for later?” Sand asked, though he already knew the answer.  

Ray nodded, shifting his attention back to him. Then, moving behind Sand’s chair, he reached out, fingertips ghosting over his boyfriend’s cheek —still bare, untouched by makeup.  

“How do you feel? Nervous? The crowd is already massive.”

Sand met his gaze in the mirror. His large, expressive eyes gave him away before he even spoke. Ray knew every flicker of emotion that passed through them. Sand was an open book to him, and lying had never been his strong suit —at least, not with Ray.  

So he hesitated only for a second before giving a small, uncertain nod.  

Ray hummed, letting the silence settle between them for a moment. Then, Sand inhaled deeply, squaring his shoulders.  

“But it’s the last big night. I’m feeling pumped,” he added quickly, flashing a reassuring smile, dimples and all.  

Ray’s lips curled into a smirk. “I’m glad to hear that. I know you’re going to kill it out there. All of you will.”

His gaze drifted toward the clothing racks lined up against the wall, each one holding a different stage outfit for the night. A glint of mischief flickered in his eyes.  

Slowly, he leaned down, positioning his lips just beside Sand’s ear, close enough that his breath sent a shiver down his boyfriend’s spine.  

“It’s a real shame you won’t be keeping this outfit on…” Ray murmured, his voice a sultry whisper. “I would’ve loved taking it off you tonight.”

Sand’s entire body tensed. His breath hitched, a barely perceptible reaction —but Ray caught it. He smirked, watching the slight shift in Sand’s posture, the way his fingers briefly clenched around the paper in his hands.  

Satisfied, Ray straightened up. He pressed a fleeting kiss to Sand’s cheek, the warmth lingering just a little longer than necessary. Then, with a smug grin, he took a step back.  

“See you later, rockstar.”

And with that, he slipped out of the room, leaving Sand staring after him, speechless. 

The final concert had been an explosion of colors, energy, and, above all, music. The band had played countless shows before, but tonight —tonight was different.

The energy in the air was almost electric, pulsating between the stage and the crowd like a living, breathing thing. The cheers, the flashing lights, the thousands of voices singing in unison —it was overwhelming in the best way possible.  

It was as if the energy itself had a pulse, rolling through them in waves —like vibrations running up from the stage floor, like an electric charge rushing through their veins, making their hearts pound so hard it was almost painful.  

And then, just like that, the moment arrived.  

The end.  

Before the last song, the band gathered on the platform at the center of the stadium. Some fans were already in tears, their faces streaked with emotion as the realization sank in: this was the final night.

The last chapter in a journey that had defined an era of their lives.  

Each member took turns speaking, their voices laced with emotion. Top, always the strong one, found himself choking up, wiping at his eyes as he laughed through the lump in his throat. The moment was too big, too overwhelming, and soon, they all found themselves wrapped in a tight embrace, holding onto one another as if letting go would make it all real.  

Then, it was Sand’s turn.  

He stepped forward, gripping the microphone as the spotlight settled on him. The rest of the stage was dark, and beyond the glow of the front rows, the thousands of faces in the crowd blurred into shadow. His hands were clammy, his throat dry, his heartbeat a wild drum inside his chest. And then, as he took a slow, shaky breath, the realization crashed over him like a wave.  

This was it.  

"Uhm…" His voice came out rough, unsteady. He swallowed, trying to steady himself.  

"Wow…" He let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "This is going to be a lot harder than I thought."  

The audience chuckled with him, but beneath his smile, the weight of the moment pressed heavy on his chest. He blinked up at the blinding stage lights, trying to chase away the sting in his eyes.  

"It’s hard to believe that this is the end of the tour," he continued, voice softer now. "And even harder to believe that it lasted nine months. It feels like just yesterday we were standing here, playing our very first show of the tour. And now… now we’re here, at the finish line. And to be honest… it hurts a little… Maybe more than little."  

He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face as he let out another small laugh. "I actually had a whole speech prepared, but —yeah, I’ve already forgotten everything I was supposed to say."  

The crowd erupted in laughter again, and for a moment, the weight lifted.  

"This tour has been… everything," he continued, glancing at his bandmates. "It’s been the most incredible experience of our lives. But as amazing as it’s been, it hasn’t always been easy. Fame isn’t easy. And I know that might sound ridiculous to say up here, looking out at all of you, but it’s the truth. Can you believe it?"  

The ground beneath him trembled as thousands of fans answered with a resounding "YES!"

"It’s tough, sometimes," he admitted, his voice dipping lower, more vulnerable. "There’s the pressure of expectations, the fear of letting people down. Of letting you down. And then there’s the distance —the time spent away from the people we love. We miss birthdays, anniversaries, moments we’ll never get back. But somehow, through it all, we keep going. And that’s because of them."  

He turned to his bandmates, his brothers. The ones who had been with him through every high, every low. The ones who had laughed with him, cried with him, fought beside him. The ones who had once been strangers in a garage and were now the most important people in his life.  

"And for that," he said, voice thick with emotion, "I have to thank them. For always having my back. For reminding me why we started this in the first place. We used to play in a tiny bar, dreaming of nights like this. And now… look at us. We’re standing in a sold-out stadium, in front of the most incredible fans in the world. And that’s only been possible because we never gave up on each other."  

He turned back to the crowd, his gaze sweeping across the thousands of glowing lights in the audience.  

"And to all of you…" He hesitated, gripping the mic tighter. "I don’t even know how to put it into words. You’ve given us a dream bigger than we ever could have imagined. You’ve stood by us through every album, every concert, every single moment. And even when the doubts creep in —even when the fears try to take over— it’s this. You. This stage. These nights. This is what reminds us why we’re here. Why we’re artists.  

So… thank you. For everything. We’ll see you again soon."  

He took a deep breath, blinking away the moisture in his eyes before lifting the mic one last time.  

"We are…"  

The band joined him, their voices strong and unwavering.  

"By the Beach!"  

The stadium erupted into cheers, voices screaming their name into the night.  

"Goodnight!" Sand shouted over the roar of the crowd. "And please, get home safe!"  

And then —darkness.  

For a split second, the stadium was silent, as if the entire world had held its breath.  

Then—BOOM!  

The first firework exploded across the night sky, shimmering gold and silver cascading like falling stars. The encore had begun.  

Sand let the moment sink in —the cheers, the flashing lights, the sound of his bandmates laughing beside him, the overwhelming rush of pure, undiluted joy surging through his veins.  

He threw his hands up, spinning on the stage as the fireworks lit up the night. He sang with every ounce of emotion left in him, his voice raw and full of love. He reached out, touching fingertips with fans, locking eyes with the ones who had screamed his name for years.  

He soaked it all in.  

And in that moment, as the music roared around him and the night sky burned with light, Sand had never felt more alive in his career.  

Sand and Ray were sitting on a small couch, alone in a cold room. Well, no —not a real room. It was a set, carefully constructed to resemble one.  

"The interviewer will be here any moment," they had been told. And then, silence.  

It was strange. That had never happened before.  

Sand shifted slightly, rubbing his hands together to shake off the chill. He glanced around —the artificial lights, the staged decorations, the camera set up in front of them. It all felt eerily quiet without the usual crew bustling around.  

Ray exhaled dramatically and leaned back against the couch, sprawling out like he was trying to claim as much space as possible. “If they’re making us wait like this, they better be bringing snacks.”  

Sand snorted, nudging him with his knee. “Right? The least they could do is give us some coffee or something.”  

Ray turned his head toward him, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. “I thought I made you stop drinking coffee.”  

“Okay, but the possibility of having it here, right in front of me for free, would be nice,” Sand shot back, rolling his eyes.  

“You’re literally a multi-millionaire and yet look at yourself, eyes sparkling at the thought of free coffee.” Ray chuckled, reaching over to tug at the sleeve of Sand’s jacket when he spamsed. “You cold?”  

“A little,” Sand admitted.  

Without missing a beat, Ray pulled him closer, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Sand didn’t resist —he let himself sink into the warmth of Ray’s embrace, resting his head lightly against his boyfriend’s collarbone.  

“You’re like a personal heater,” Sand mumbled, sighing contentedly.  

Ray smirked. “You say that now, but in five minutes, you’ll be complaining that I’m too warm.”  

Sand tilted his head up, grinning. “Maybe. But I’m enjoying it for now.”  

Ray hummed in response, pressing a quick kiss to Sand’s temple. It was so natural, so effortless, like second nature to him. Sand felt his heart squeeze in his chest.  

They sat there like that for a moment —close, comfortable, wrapped up in each other like the rest of the world didn’t exist.  

And then—  

“I have a feeling that camera in front of us is already recording,” Sand whispered, a mischievous glint in his eyes.  

Ray's lips curled into a smirk as he turned to face him fully. “You think so?” he murmured, his voice dripping with amusement.  

Sand nodded again. “I think they want to capture some extra footage,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. His pulse quickened as Ray's expression shifted —his smirk deepened, his eyes darkened.  

Ray leaned in, their noses brushing. “Then let’s give them what they want, hmm?”  

Sand barely had time to react before Ray closed the space between them, capturing his lips in a slow, deliberate kiss.  

Heat pooled in Sand’s stomach as he melted into it, his hand instinctively finding its place on Ray’s jaw, fingers pressing just enough to hold him in place. Ray sighed into the kiss, deepening it without hesitation.  

It started slow —teasing, playful— but quickly turned into something more. Ray’s hand, warm and firm, trailed down Sand’s side, slipping to his thigh. He squeezed lightly before letting his fingers drift further, dangerously further.  

Sand let out a soft gasp against Ray’s lips before pulling back, breathless. He didn’t go far —their lips still brushed, their foreheads pressed together.  

Ray’s eyes sparkled with mischief.  

"You’re unbelievable,” Sand muttered, his voice uneven. “I am not spending this interview trying to cover my pants because of you. And again, I’m pretty sure the camera is already recording us.”  

Ray’s laugh echoed through the empty room, rich and full of life. It was Sand’s favorite sound in the world. Without hesitation, Ray pulled him closer, shifting to drape his legs over Sand’s.  

In that moment, nothing else mattered. The expensive outfits, the upcoming interview —it all faded into the background.  

They looked like a pair of love-struck teenagers, tangled up in each other, exchanging lazy, affectionate kisses. Sometimes soft and fleeting, sometimes deeper, hungrier. And the knowledge that the camera in front of them was most likely recording? That only made it more intoxicating.  

Time blurred. Sand lost track of how long they had been sitting there, caught in their own little world. It wasn’t until Ray’s lips brushed against the sensitive spot just below his jaw that he let out a quiet sigh, tilting his head instinctively.  

"Ray," he murmured, a hint of warning in his tone, but it lacked conviction.  

Ray only hummed in response, pressing another lingering kiss to the same spot, as if testing his limits.  

And then —footsteps.  

Loud, approaching quickly.  

In an instant, they broke apart, scrambling to sit up straight. Sand ran a hand through his hair, attempting to look composed, while Ray casually adjusted his shirt, though the smirk never quite left his face.  

The door creaked open, and a well-dressed woman stepped inside. She smiled professionally.  

“Hello, I’m your interviewer. I hope you two didn’t have to wait too long.” She was alone. 

Sand and Ray exchanged a glance —one filled with unspoken understanding.  

No doubt about it. That camera had been rolling the entire time.  

And judging by the glint of amusement in Ray’s eyes, he didn’t mind one bit.  

Exclusive Interview: Ray Pakorn and Sand from By the Beach Open Up About Love, Music, and Fame

The room was bare, its walls stripped of any distraction. Cold, in more ways than one. The artistic director later told me it was intentional —he wanted nothing to steal focus from the two men sitting across from me. Just them, and the story they were about to share.
As I entered, their conversation paused. They both turned to greet me—Ray with a steady calm, Sand a little more reserved. There was a hint of nervousness, maybe even shyness in his demeanor. But the moment the interview began, Sand reached for Ray’s hand and didn’t let go.

Q: Let’s start simple. For those who don’t know you personally —who are you?


Ray: My name is Ray Pakorn. I’m a model.
Sand: I’m Sand, the lead singer of the band By the Beach.

Q: How are you feeling about doing this interview together?


Ray: It’s definitely new—and a little unusual. These kinds of couple interviews aren’t common, but we understand the from fans.

Sand: Yeah, we’ve had to give up a lot of privacy as our popularity grew. It’s something we’ve had to get used to.

Q: Before we go into the obvious questions, I want to show you something.
 —I pull out a photo taken at a festival in England—the very first time the two were seen together publicly. They laugh as they recognize it.—
 When asked about this photo, you said you were just friends who had recently met. Were you protecting your relationship, or was that truly the case?


Sand: It was the truth. I think that was only the second time we’d seen each other. We just happened to be staying in the same hotel.

Q: So, nothing had started between you two yet?
 —They share a quick look.—


Ray: There was something. A kind of tension. But nothing had happened at that point.

Q: How did you actually meet?


Sand: It’s a funny story, actually. I was heading back to my hotel room and Ray was walking down the same hallway, talking to his manager. Hearing him speak Thai instantly caught my attention—we were in England, after all.


Ray: We quickly realized our rooms were close by. And honestly, it was impossible not to know who the other was.

Q: So… was it love at first sight?


Ray: For me, absolutely. I already had a crush on him before we met —have you seen him?


Sand: I wish it had been that simple. I think it’s impossible to look at Ray and not feel something, but I was a mess at the time. I tried to push those feelings down. I don’t know if it was love at first sight, but I was definitely drawn to him the moment our eyes met.

Q: So Ray, you fell first?


Ray: Without a doubt. It’s a little embarrassing, but I’ve been a fan of By the Beach for a long time. I liked Sand before I met him—but I didn’t fall in love until I actually got to know him.


Sand: How can you be so sure you were the first to fall?


Ray: I just know. I could give you a hundred reasons why. But now it’s not the moment. —He winked at him—

Q: How did your relationship evolve from there?


Ray: It started pretty surface-level. It took a while for things to really move forward.

Q: How long have you officially been together now?


Ray: It’ll be a year this June. So, about ten months.

Q: It took nearly a year before you got together. Why the wait? 
—Ray shifts slightly, glancing at Sand, who gives a small nod before squeezing his hand.—


Sand: Like Ray said, it took time for things to develop. We both had some open wounds... and I think mine were still bleeding without me even realizing it. Getting to this point wasn’t easy. I had to fight hard to rebuild the trust between us.

Q: So you became a couple during the opening of the world tour, right? When Sand performed Let’s Try—and Dispatch broke the news?


Both: Yes.

Q: Was Let’s Try written for Ray?


Sand: Of course. I’ve written several songs for Ray, but Let’s Try was the final push. It was my way of showing him how much I wanted to be with him. Inviting him to perform with me on stage was my idea too.

Q: Ray, how did that moment feel for you?


Ray: It was unlike anything I’ve felt before. We were supposed to follow a choreography, but I’d only heard the instrumental, not the lyrics. Sand wanted it to be a surprise. When I finally heard the words, I completely forgot the routine. I knew he was going to ask me to be with him that night… and I already knew my answer.

Q: How did you deal with the long-distance relationship during the tour?


Sand: Honestly? Worse than I thought I would. Usually, the start of a relationship feels like a honeymoon phase, but we were far apart, barely able to see each other. It felt like that happiness had been taken from me. I was angry a lot back then.


Ray: I think everyone hates distance, but I stayed hopeful we’d find ways to see each other. I wanted to make it work.

Q: Sand, Ray already seems to have a place in your music. Can we expect more collaborations? Maybe even a music video appearance?

Sand: I’d love that. The next title track won’t be a love song, but who knows—maybe we’ll do something with one of the other songs on the album.

Q: Ray, you’ve been part of Sand’s artistic world. Is the same true for yours? Has Sand ever visited you on set?

Ray: He surprised me on set recently —it was the first time. I’d love for it to happen more often, but I know how busy he is.

Sand: Watching him work made me fall in love with him all over again. I’ll definitely try to be there more often. I love seeing him pose.

Q: How do you plan to manage the relationship moving forward?


Ray: As naturally as possible. We’re just looking for a bit of normalcy in our crazy lives. We want this relationship to be our private corner of happiness. We’re not trying to make it overly public. Of course, we’ll still share moments with our fans, but sometimes, it’s already hard enough just to be together. When we finally are, social media is the last thing on our minds.
It’s hard, honestly. Harder than people think. One of the biggest fears before getting together was wondering what it would mean to be in a relationship at the peak of our careers. It’s risky. But in the end, our hearts won.

Q: What was the moment when you realized, “Okay, I’m in love—I want to be with him”?

Ray: I don’t think there was one specific moment. It was something that gradually grew inside me, built from the small things he did, the little attentions. Things that, while simple, meant the world to me—maybe because I’d never received them before.
Sand: With Ray, I learned the meaning of the phrase “you only realize the value of something once you’ve lost it.” As hard as it is to admit, I truly realized it during a rough patch when we were distant. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. That was when I had to face the truth, that I had been lying to myself all along. I simply couldn’t live without him anymore.

Q: Has being in love or in a relationship changed the way you approach your work?

Sand: It definitely opened my eyes to the fact that there's more to life. Before, all I could think about was work. Work, work, work. Music will always be a part of me, and while it’s been a safe space, it’s also been a source of stress. I couldn’t step away from it. But with Ray, I can finally breathe a little. He’s made me see that work isn’t the only thing that matters. I don’t sleep in the studio anymore, now I have someone to come home to.
Ray: Modeling and runway will always be everything to me, but after all these years, I think I can allow myself to slow down a bit. We’re both busy, and it’s already hard enough to find time just to be together and relax. Luckily, my job gives me a bit of flexibility, and I can rearrange my schedule when I need to so we can be with each other more.

Q: What’s the most romantic thing the other has ever done for you?

Ray: While he was trying to make up with me, he organized a private mini-concert… I won’t go into all the details, but he put so much thought into it —even the small touches. Sand is actually really romantic. Sometimes I joke that he’s going to give me cavities with how sweet he is. But that night, I knew I found the right person.
Sand: Ray’s actually really romantic too, maybe even more than me though he doesn’t always realize it. There’s no one single gesture, but what stands out to me the most is how hard he tried to be there for me during the tour. He did everything he could —sometimes going days without sleep just to line up all his work commitments so he could fly out and see me. He really made me feel valued.

Q: Is it scary having your relationship public when you're both famous?

Ray: It was bound to happen eventually. With both of us in the public eye, our relationship coming to light was inevitable. The fact that it happened on the very same day we made things official was honestly fine with us since we didn’t really care. No one knew about the year we had already spent together, so we could’ve kept it private for longer if we really wanted to.

Q: If one of you were to step away from the spotlight someday, do you think the other would too?

Ray: I would never ask Sand to do something like that. Our relationship and our careers are two separate things, and they shouldn’t clash. I have my career, he has his, and then there's us. It’s almost like three separate entities, not even counting our personal identities outside of both love and work. Just because we’re both well-known doesn’t mean we’re in competition, and I’m grateful we’ve never had issues with that. It’s not something I take for granted. But I think I can speak for both of us when I say: if one’s career ends before the other’s, it won’t cause any fights between us.
Sand: If anything, it’ll just give us more time together.
Ray: —laughs— Exactly.
Sand: No, I completely agree with Ray. I would never ask him to leave the fashion industry if my career ended before his. We have a deep respect for each other’s work.

Q: Thank you both for your honesty. Wishing you all the best.


Both: Thank you.

When the interview aired —complete with behind-the-scenes clips, including Sand’s tender surprise for Ray— it was all anyone could talk about for a week straight.

Just as they had anticipated, the camera had caught everything. But nothing controversial made it to the final cut. Instead, it only showed the two of them in quiet moments: teasing each other, soft laughter echoing in a dressing room, and brief, casual kisses that felt more intimate than anything scandalous ever could.

The interview offered a glimpse behind the curtain, into something real and honest. And for anyone who had been unsure, it confirmed what was already in the air: they were in love.

Sand, the lead singer of Thailand’s most iconic band and Ray, the most sought-after model of his generation. It sounded like something out of a movie. Too beautiful. Too perfect. Perhaps even a little cliché.

But while the world swooned over their love story, the two of them were simply trying to live it. Not as stars. Not as headlines. Just as two people in love, looking for moments of normalcy in a life that rarely allowed it.

That morning, when Sand stirred awake, the warmth of the sun spilled through the white curtains. His body ached —not painfully, but deeply, in that satisfying way that followed nights filled with too much laughter, too many kisses, and barely enough sleep. Every limb was heavy, his skin still sensitive from the hours spent with Ray.

His eyes adjusted slowly. The familiar surroundings of his bedroom greeted him like an old friend. The muted tones, the band posters, the shelves filled with vinyls and coffee mugs collected from hotel gift shops. The bedsheets smelled faintly of detergent, but more importantly, they smelled of him.

Exactly the one who was missing: Ray.

Sand instinctively reached out across the bed, his fingers brushing only the emptiness left behind. The sheets on Ray’s side were cold.

Lifting his head, he blinked away the blur of sleep. And then, he found him.

Ray stood on the balcony, the early light outlining his figure in gold. He wore only a pair of low-hanging underwear, and yet there was nothing crude about him. He was elegance without effort. The kind of elegance you couldn’t manufacture. It just existed in the way he stood, the tilt of his neck, the quiet stillness he carried.

Smoke curled from the cigarette between his fingers, trailing toward the sky like a whisper. That’s why he was out there —smoking, lost in thought. He wasn’t watching Sand sleep, the way he often did when they spent lazy mornings together. That detail alone made Sand’s heart ache a little with want.

He stayed like that for a moment, quietly watching the man who had become the center of his world.

Even in his exhaustion, Sand could feel his heart surge. Every beat was a quiet affirmation: he’s here, he’s real, he’s mine.

Sand reached for his phone on the nightstand, capturing the sight in a photo —a memory sealed in time. Then, he abandoned the device and padded across the room, careful to stay silent on the wooden floor.

When he was close enough, he wrapped his arms around Ray’s waist, pulling him gently back into his chest. He leaned forward, pressing a kiss into the warm space where Ray’s shoulder met his neck.

Ray gasped in surprise, the sound dissolving into a laugh. “You scared me,” he whispered, hand reaching behind to find Sand. “Good morning, baby.”

His voice was still husky with sleep, tender in a way that melted right into Sand’s skin.

“Did you sleep well?” Ray asked, leaning into him completely, his back flush against Sand’s chest, letting himself be held.

“I don’t know if what we did last night counts as sleep,” Sand murmured, brushing his lips against Ray’s neck, “but I definitely feel better.”

Ray chuckled again, his laughter quiet but bright. He took a final drag from his cigarette, flicked the butt into the nearby ashtray, and sighed. “That’s your fault, you know. You kept waking up and starting all over again. Do you have any idea how sore I am?”

“I didn’t hear you complaining,” Sand replied, grinning against Ray’s skin. “Actually, I’d say you were enjoying it.”

Ray gave a lazy shrug. “Maybe I was.”

They stood in silence, the morning wrapping around them like a soft blanket. The sunlight warmed their bare skin. The city, beyond the balcony, was beginning to stir, but in here, it was just the two of them.

Sand tightened his hold, his hands sliding along familiar curves, mapping the body he had come to know by heart. He kissed Ray again —on the nape, on his shoulder, on the space just beneath his ear. Ray’s breath caught. His body responded before his mind could stop it.

“Sand…” Ray breathed, barely a whisper, when Sand’s thumb traced the tattoo along his side.

“Mm?”

Ray’s fingers tapped rhythmically on Sand’s forearm, trying to stay grounded. “The movers are coming today, remember? They have my stuff. They’ll be here soon.”

“And?” Sand murmured, his hand continuing its slow journey upward, fingertips grazing Ray’s chest before curling softly around his neck, tilting his face gently toward him. “So whatever it is you're thinking…” Ray began, but Sand cut him off with a soft kiss.

“Not now,” Ray said, trying not to give in. “Whatever you're thinking about doing —it’s not the time.”

Sand chuckled, deep and low, his lips brushing against Ray’s ear. “How can it not be the time?” he whispered. “How can I not want you, when you look like this? You know I’m terrible at resisting you.”

Ray was already trembling. He wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or from the overwhelming warmth curling through him like a tide. His body wanted to surrender, to melt into Sand’s touch. And it didn’t take long before he did, before his body reacted to the touch. 

Ray’s breath hitched as Sand’s hands began navigating through the sea that was his body. 

“Sand…” He hummed between tight lips, though it sounded more like a plead. 

“Hmmm?” answered Sand. His fingertips were tracing the line of a body he knew now far too well. Even without looking, even while he was busy kissing and biting the soft skin around his neck, Sand knew exactly where to direct his hands. It was almost as if he were drawing a map, going from the tattoo, now slightly obscured by the love marks Sand had left just a few hours prior, up to the faint line of his abs. 

Ray’s breath was heavy, his head was resting on his boyfriend’s shoulders. It almost bothered him that Sand had this big of an effect on him, but the moment the singer’s fingertips reached his nipple, Ray couldn’t feel any less bothered. 

Sand’s eyes were now finally on his, eagerly searching to catch Ray’s breaking point, to watch him melt between his arms. 

Ray was looking at him with that plead in his eyes that always made his cock twitch in hunger; a look that only meant one thing: “Ruin me.” 

Sand knew that all Ray was craving for was a kiss, Ray always did. It was like any intimate moment wasn’t complete without it. 

At the beginning Sand was convinced that he saw it as the final act, the confirmation that all this was true, that it came from the heart and was not just a physical thing. Although that period had long been overtaken and the trust had been completely rebuilt and was stronger than ever, this remained a fixed aspect for Ray. 

And if that helped him, made him feel more safe, satisfied and pleased, Sand would’ve never thought twice before kissing him when noticing that Ray was going after his lips. In reality, this was a maddening aspect for Sand. It was more than just a reassurance, it became like a drug for Ray. He would never let go, not even if they got bruised. 

So he connected their lips in a hungry kiss. Ray tastes like cigarettes, like everything he wanted and more. Their tongues were roughly brushing against each other, the position perhaps not the most comfortable but they were too needy to care. 

Sand sucked on the bottom lip as he started teasing one of Ray’s nipple. He took it between the index and the thumb, pinching and twisting, pulling and hold it with enough pressure, just how Ray liked it. 

The model hummed in satisfaction, biting down and smiling into the kiss. 

When Sand placed his hand on the bulge on his underwear, Ray felt his knees go south in a second. 

He stumbled on his feet, whining when the hand started massaging the fabric. He tried to press onto the hand, seeking a stronger touch than that faint massage. And though Sand would usually grin and pull back, wanting to see Ray struggle some more, it seemed that be was more wanting than usual. Sand didn’t want to waste time.

In a swift move he pulled Ray’s cock out. As it hit the fresh air and got exposed to the sunlight Ray hissed for a second only to choke on his own saliva when a big hand hugged his length, starting to stroke him. 

“Sand” he moaned between the kiss. The singer seemed to get fiercer as the seconds passed. The hands, constantly switching between the nipples, worked rougher, just like the hand jumped up and down faster around Ray’s dick. 

The model was constantly shifting and changing the weight from one leg to the other, trying so hard to stay steady, but it seemed like his whole body was giving in to whatever Sand was willing to offer. He whined, he cried, not even Sand’s lips were able to keep him in place. 

He needed to do something, but he didn’t even know what. 

Then it stopped. Still in that haze of pleasure, it took Ray a couple of seconds to realize that he was bent down over the balcony railing. 

He looked down at his feet, noticing that his underwear had completely slid down, and were now gracing the floor.

He sensed Sand’s familiar touch tracing the line of his backbone. He felt Sand’s boner brushing against his naked skin, inserting itself in between his ass and moving slowly, thrusting lazily, just enough to tease him. He shivered at Sand’s breath against his ear, his tongue wetting the earlobe, his deep morning voice sighing “Ray”. 

He always became so vulnerable when they did it in that position. When Sand had him bent over something and all Ray could look at was whatever was in front of him. Sand could do all he wanted and Ray wouldn’t have enough time to comprehend what he wanted to do until it was too late. It was like serving himself on a silver platter, completely at Sand’s mercy. 

He loved it. 

He could feel it all, amplified, bouncing inside his body and sinking into his bones, leaving goosebumps all over his body. Yet all he was seeing was a bunch of trees, and Bangkok’s skyline that was far away from where they were. 

There was nothing he wanted more than to look at Sand. To look at his expression while savoring Ray’s body. But he had to make the most out of that green and isolated area in front of him, thankful that Sand had no neighbors that could watch them. 

“Saaand” he whined. He needed his boyfriend to do something. 

“I hear you baby. I just want to make you feel good.” Ray felt his asscheeks get spread out, then writhed at the air easily hitting his hole. “You’re still so sore, are you going to be okay?” Sand asked in a slightly worried tone. 

“Yes, oh my god, you can’t do all this and then stop right on the best.” 

Sand chuckled, Ray could imagine him shaking his head like he always did when the model said something he’d find both funny and ridiculous. He smiled too.

And then he moaned. 

He moaned when he felt a wet hotness sliding in and against his sore hole, something he immediately recognized as Sand’s tongue. 

“Fuck” he cried. His hands were gripping the metal bar of the railing. His knees got weaker as Sand was working his way around and inside him. They bent then met, he looked up trying to find something to focus on careful not to fall or lose balance: the leaves, those birds chirping, the petals dancing around because of the wind… but nothing. 

It just felt too good to think about anything else.

“Sand! Sand, Sand, Sand, fuck! Fuck, Fuck!”

Without even responding nor halting his tongue movements, Ray recognized the squirting sound of their almost finished bottle of lube. He wasn’t even sure when Sand took it, he must’ve been too lightheaded to notice when Sand left him there, bent on the balcony naked, leaking, and needy. 

He chewed on his lips to keep his tone down, his heart beating faster just thinking that he was only instants away from getting fucked… again. 

Ray shot his head back. His heart skipped a beat when he found that Sand was already looking at him, as if he could anticipate Ray’s every movement. 

Sand smirked. Ray felt his head spin.

With one powerful thrust, he was inside him. They moaned in unison, yet Sand still had that maddening smirk on his face that was making Ray see double. He made a note to himself, almost like a new mission: he had to be the one in that position someday. Be it from Ray riding him to them switching positions for once, Ray promised himself that he had to ruin Sand someday just as much as he was doing right now. He also wanted to feel this powerful. 

But for now, it felt so good to just receive it all. He looked straight ahead for the last time. Now that same scenario he always sought with dreamy eyes, especially if the sun was setting, with the distant city lights lighting up one by one, was unfocused and shaking uncontrollably, following Ray’s body every movement. It was new, it was hot, it was addicting.

Ray felt whole again, the last round had taken place just a few hours prior, yet the model has already missed the sensation of feeling this complete. 

Sand holding firmly his hips, him slowly sliding out and back in powerfully enough to hit his sweet spot, his voice gracefully chanting Ray’s name between the praises. 

Even if he couldn’t look at Sand right now, he knew he would be seeking for his eyes, smile at him, kiss him and get lost in his mouth until it ached. 

Ray was sure of it.. this had to be heaven. 

“Baby I’m not gonna last long at all” Revealed Sand. The model nodded, silently agreeing now that he couldn’t really voice out anything other than choked out moans. 

The grip on his hips got firmer, and Ray hoped it would have left some bruises —there was nothing he loved more. With one, last, powerful thrust Sand came moaning Ray’s name, and the model came right afterwards. 

Ray bit harder on his lip as he emptied himself, feeling the metallic taste of blood flood his tastebuds. But the now throbbing pain was nothing compared to the pleasure he was feeling while being filled up by Sand’s seed, especially when it later started dripping out and down his leg. His own cum splattered on the glass of the railing, marking the barrier and part of the cemented floor. 

When Sand slipped out Ray finally allowed his knees to give up, and kneeled down. They stared at each other for the longest time, a fervent hunger still burning inside them.

Sand was taking in every detail. Ray’s flushed face, the slightly closed eyes, the blood-marked and plumped lips, the quickened breath… his overall disheveled look. 

Sand felt proud. This round had been pretty lazy, yet he was still able to reduce Ray like that.

“Come her-“

Ding-dong.

The doorbell rang.

The moving company had arrived.

Ray looked at Sand panicked and then with a bored expression, he didn’t even have the strength to stand up.

Sand got closer to place a kiss on his forehead, he stood up and offered Ray a hand. He laughed when Ray looked at him annoyed. 

“My legs are literally shaking still, you have to pick me up.” 

“Awe does my princess need assistance?”

Ray glared at him. “Yes, I fucking do! Maybe think twice before fucking me on the balcony with guests coming. Ugh, I knew this would happen.”

The sun had long dipped below the horizon by the time everything that belonged to Ray found its place in Sand’s home.

The room, once bare and shadowed by minimalism, now pulsed with new life —records, photos, a familiar cologne lingering in the air. Every corner now felt warmer, fuller, and unmistakably theirs.

As they pressed one of the last photos onto the wall together —one they'd both chosen with careful reverence— they suddenly stopped and turned toward each other. 

For a long moment, they just looked. No words, just the soft light in the room reflecting the quiet joy in their eyes.

And then, without needing to say anything, they rushed into each other’s arms, laughing as they spun in place, the joy spilling out of them like sunlight cracking through storm clouds.

Ray leapt onto Sand like a koala, legs around his waist and arms thrown over his shoulders. Sand didn’t hesitate —he twirled them around with ease, the room echoing with their laughter.

“We’re really doing it. We’re really living together!” Ray exclaimed, his voice giddy, breathless from the spin.

As Sand slowed to a stop, he didn’t let go. Instead, he answered with a flurry of kisses —on Ray’s cheeks, his forehead, his nose, wherever his lips could land.

“Thank you,” Sand whispered against his skin, still holding him tight. “Thank you for saying yes.”

He gently lowered Ray to the floor but wrapped his arms around him once more, as if letting go might undo it all. For a few heartbeats, they stood there in silence —until Sand finally leaned back, only to realize Ray's eyes were glistening with tears.

He didn’t panic. He didn’t ask too quickly. Instead, he smiled, soft and steady, and brought both hands to Ray’s face, carefully wiping away the tears trailing down his flushed cheeks.

“Why are you crying, baby?” he asked quietly, voice filled with nothing but warmth.

Ray tried to laugh, but it came out in shaky breaths. His nose was red, and his lower lip quivered from the emotion that trembled through him. His eyes were glassy, and when he finally spoke, his voice was a whisper that carried the weight of everything he felt.

“I love you, Sand.”

The words cracked something open between them —something deeper than joy, something sacred. Sand’s smile widened with wonder, and he leaned in to kiss him. It was a kiss filled with salt and softness, with tears and truth. But most importantly… with love.

And still, Ray couldn’t stop himself from speaking.

“You don’t realize what it means to be loved by you,” he murmured into the space where Sand’s shoulder met his neck. “It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Sand chuckled quietly, a low sound that vibrated in his chest and against Ray’s skin.
“I know,” he said. “Because I don’t think you know what it means to me, being loved by you.”

Ray looked up again. His vision was still blurred from crying, but what he saw in Sand’s eyes was clear as day —certainty.

There were so few things Ray had ever been truly sure of in his life. Sometimes the world felt like one giant question mark. His future, his past, his relationships —even who he was.

But when he looked at Sand, he didn’t question a thing.

There it was, in those deep brown eyes: love, absolute and overwhelming. No one had ever looked at him like that. No one had ever made him feel so seen. 

He used to think it was just something made up in books or movies —this idea that someone’s eyes could show you how deeply they loved you. That you could look and them and just know that they loved you.
But it wasn’t fiction. Not anymore. Because right now, Sand was looking at him like that. 

And it was real.

Ray just knew it. He felt it. He saw it. 

It was overwhelming in the most beautiful way. It made Ray’s heart stutter, his breath hitch.

“I love you,” Ray said again, this time firmer, before peppering his face with soft kisses, laughing through the tears. 

Sand laughed with him, his arms still firm around his waist. Ray had never heard a sound more comforting.

“Okay, come on,” Ray said eventually, stepping back with a grin. “Let’s hang the last photo.”

They took the final frame in hand —the photo taken the night they’d officially become a couple— and placed it delicately on the wall. It felt like more than a decoration. It was a memory turned monument, a timestamp on the beginning of their forever.

The bedroom, once filled only with images of Sand’s band and moments frozen onstage, now held pieces of Ray’s world too —photos, colors, softness, life.

The apartment had changed. The dark tones that once dominated the space had been softened by Ray’s vibrant touch. His vinyl collection doubled Sand’s now. There were two toothbrushes in the bathroom. A second coffee mug had appeared beside the machine. The closet was a little too full —Ray had already ordered shelves to build a walk-in. 

It was no longer his space.
It was theirs.

Yes, by asking him to move in, Sand had saved Ray from the suffocating chaos of his past, from his father. But Ray, without even trying, had saved Sand from the quiet ache of loneliness he’d never admitted was devouring him.

That apartment wasn’t just a place anymore.

It was finally home.

A home full of life, laughter, and something far greater than fame.

Love.

A home where two of the most talked-about names of their generation tried —desperately and honestly— to protect their little world from the glare of the outside.

It was more than just Ray finally having a chance after years of secret admiration.
It was the way Sand, even after hurting him, had shown that love could still grow. That even the broken pieces could be held gently. That Ray was worthy of being loved, fully and completely.

He would never again live in a space where he didn’t feel wanted. He would come home, and Sand would be there —arms open, heart full.

And Sand… he had learned to stop running. To stay. To fight for something real.
Ray had taught him to trust again.

There would be no fears of betrayal when they were apart for work. No more sleeping in his studio just to avoid coming back to an empty apartment.

That place would never be cold again.

They had healed one another —two souls that were always meant to collide, to hurt, and then to grow. To become whole together.

And when Sand looked around the apartment, filled with pieces of Ray and pieces of them, he knew with a certainty that settled deep in his bones: this was right. 

It was perfect.

And when he looked at Ray again —his eyes still watery but his smile wide and unwavering— Sand had never felt more sure of anything in his life.

The End.