Archive of Our Own ^beta

In the morning, the house was quiet, almost eerily so.

Dotty was out in the yard playing around with a bird, Khem was peeling a bunch of garlic, staring into nothingness. Master hasn’t come out of his room yet—and judging by the way his friend hadn’t said much all morning, Jet didn’t expect to see Paran today. He did have the fleeting thought of asking Khem, but his own mind was consumed by a wave of other things that left no room for his curiosity at that moment.

Khem also didn’t look like he wanted to talk about it, even when Jet was conscious that his friend knew something too—he was the one who woke them up, calling Charn to accompany Pong back to the city and go to the market on his way back.

“Master said he should go alone,” Khem said after Jet immediately tried to follow.

Now they were both there, lost in their own worlds, knowing the other had questions to ask and still waiting for the right moment to do so.

Jet tried to focus on at least pretending to read one of the books Master lectured him on, but his mind was elsewhere. Whenever he closed his eyes, his mind brought the memories back; Charn calling his name, the hum of cicadas outside, the golden light from oil lamps. Charn, close, skin glistening, warm all over and inside him, chanting his name like a prayer as he went harder and deeper inside of Jet. It felt like insanity.

They didn’t have the time to talk about it, not when, as soon as everything was over, sleep took over him, exhaustion burning deep in his bones, while he draped himself all over Charn and then slept like a baby.

He could still feel the tiredness and the strain on his muscles. His thighs ached, his lip was slightly torn, and there was an undeniable limp to his walk because he was definitely too impulsive to even think about the need for lube. A mark on the side of his neck burned, a reminder that the whispers of reverence in his ears weren’t just made up by his own imagination.

The day dragged with Jet following Khem around the kitchen when he called for help with the side dishes, and they talked about anything. The weather, the sweets that one of the villagers bought for the Master, and how Dotty was getting more and more round by the day. Nothing of substance; Jet didn’t say a word about Khem’s hesitation at calling Paran to tell him the food was ready, and, in exchange, Khem didn’t comment on his noticeable hickeys. 

After lunch, both of them played three rounds of cards. Jet got sulky over how easily Khem won each of them, and then they both laid on the floor and listened to the local radio while the rain that threatened to fall the entire morning finally touched the ground.

Charn came back at the end of the afternoon, hands full of bags, hair messy and soaking wet. 

“Oh my god, Charn!” Khem rushed to his friend. Jet followed behind, frowning in concern. “C’mon, get inside, you’re gonna get sick.”

Like a mom nagging at her child, Khem rushed him inside.

Jet tried to take some of the bags, but Khem took the lead, taking them all from Charn and looking directly at Jet.

“I’ll take these. You get him to the room and help him get warm, I’ll make some tea for us, hm?” He said, his sweet voice unusually persuasive. Jet looked at him for a second, trying to decode whatever signal Khem was trying to send, but his friend was quicker and nudged him, “Go on, he’ll get sick like this! I’ll see you guys up there in a minute.” 

And then he went over to the kitchen, not looking back.

Jet stood there for a second, dumbfounded at his friend’s scheming posture, but then a sneeze brought him back to the man standing before him, looking pale and pitiful. Sighing, he wrapped a hand around the other’s wrist and turned to the stairs.

“C’mon, let’s get you some dry clothes.”

When they got to the room, Jet sat Charn on the desk chair and started going through the other's side of the little closet like it was his. He handed Charn a clean towel, then went back to find some soft pants and a long-sleeved shirt, the deep blue one Charn liked the most. Charn just stared at him the entire time, not saying a word. When Jet finally turned back again and saw that the other still hadn’t started to dry himself off, a frown appeared on his face again.

“You wanna get sick or what, Nerd? Come here!” Jet bought Charn closer by the shoulders, getting in between his legs to start drying his hair with the towel. Charn looked up at him, the gaze of a lost small puppy in the wild.

“Sorry, Khun Jet. I got distracted.” He said, voice small and nose red. Jet snickered at him. 

“You look so pitiful, oh my…” The glasses on the other’s face had a hundred droplets all over the lenses. Jet took it out, putting it on the desk by their side. Charn’s hands held onto his shirt, closing just above his hips, and Jet sighed again. “You should’ve come home immediately if you saw that it was going to rain.”

“Khem said we didn’t have enough to make dinner today, and he really wanted to have Tom Saap today…”

Jet gave him a hard look in response. “You can’t risk getting sick just because Khem wanted to have soup, you idiot.”

Charn shrugged, unshaken. “You’ve done the same.”

“No, I wouldn’t, because I’m not dumb. How can you be so smart for some things and so like this for others, hm?” He flicked the other's forehead, “Next time, I’ll just let you stay soaked till you freeze.”

The exaggeration made Charn laugh. Jet poked his shoulder in retaliation, “I’m not kidding!”

“I’m sure of that, Khun Jet.”

Silence fell over them for a moment while Jet kept on drying Charn’s hair, the rain falling outside making a rhythmic sound against the ceiling. Jet’s concentration only broke when cold fingertips went under the hem of his shirt, subtle enough to pass as unintentional, but still enough to make the hairs on his body stand almost immediately. He looked down only to find Charn’s eyes closed, his face solemn as Jet had his hands working through his hair. 

Jet cleaned his throat, letting the towel fall over Charn’s shoulders. “You should change already, c’mon.”

He didn’t comment on how Charn was still squeezing his sides. When their eyes met again, the shivers came back, like he was the one who got caught in a storm. He had a thing for Charn with no glasses on. 

“I can't change if you don't step back.” To anyone else, it would sound like a snarky, teasy remark, but Charn said it in his very Charn way, direct and non-ironically, and it felt even worse. Jet recoiled, stepping away and missing the warmth immediately. 

Charn smiled at him, simple, got up and started unfolding the dry clothes to wear. Jet looked over at him and as soon as Charn's hands touched the hem of his wet shirt, the fire inside him ignited again, impossible to ignore. 

“I'll just wait outside while you change! “

Charn stopped undressing to look at Jet, genuinely puzzled. 

“Why would you?” he asked, all big eyes and tilted head like he couldn't possibly understand the torment it was for Jet to see him move around so freely. “Khem said we should wait here.”

And as if it was enough of a conclusion, he resumed taking his clothes off. 

“Whatever,” Jet shrugged. 

He tried to look somewhere else, the handles of the bedroom suddenly interesting enough of a sight. A small hiss came from his side and he dared to look over, only to face Charn's broad back and the marks of what could only be Jet's own nails, red streaks on the top of the other's shoulders and at his lower back. 

He felt himself warm, a flush coming from his ears to his neck, and made sure to look at the door once again. Yeah, the metallic handles. Those sure seemed steady. 

It felt like eternity, but Charn finally finished changing, hanging the towel used to dry his hair on the back of the chair. 

“Thanks for helping,”

Jet feigned indifference, leaning back on the table and still refusing to look him in the eyes. “No problem. Just don't do it again, and we'll be fine.” 

Charn smiled softly—his perfect teeth and perfect lips and perfect cheekbones. He reached for the glasses on the table behind Jet, suddenly too close, and started cleaning them on his shirt. 

“I bought you mangoes,” Charn commented. 

Jet couldn't help it, perking up immediately to look at him. 

“The pink ones?” he asked, wary. Charn smiled even bigger at it. 

“The lady at the stall said they were really sweet.”

Cute. Charn was so, so fucking cute. Jet wished he could swallow him whole—or, at least, whatever part of him that fit. He was determined to test it out later, when the simple thought of them touching again didn't make him feel like fire was coming from all parts of his body and like his heart was set aflame. 

Suddenly, fingers touched the side of his neck, where it hurt the most, and Jet couldn't help being startled by it, a hand coming up to cover the spot. 

Charn gave him an apologetic look. “It hurts?”

Jet shook his head. 

“No, it's just… your hands are cold.”

Charn's gaze was still concerned. He touched Jet gently, like a feather grazing his skin, coming closer as if to inspect it. 

“Maybe we could get some ice? It might help.” And that was cute, too. Jet's hand fell by his side, and he sat on the old table, feeling his body relax as Charn's careful fingertips touched his neck. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be silly now, Nerd.” He rolled his eyes, kicking—more like nudging— Charn lightly before going still. His heart, uncontrollable, was like a band of a hundred drums. “I liked it. I wanted it.”

Jet felt unguarded, something that happened more often than he would like to feel or admit, since he and Charn first met. He thought he was just being jealous and overprotective of how easily Khem let Charn in, afraid the other would put his trust in someone who wouldn’t be able to understand what it took to be by his side. Jet cared for Khem, loved him like he loved his own life, and maybe even more. But he knew, under all his frowning and annoyance, that the thing about Charn that made him feel uneasy wasn’t solely related to Khem.

It was something deeper, under his skin, the thing that urged his mouth to say harsh words as if to protect his heart, the sense of calmness that took his soul and made him feel defenseless at Charn’s questions and presence. As if Charn knew a secret, something Jet had been hiding all his life, even from himself.

He didn’t like how comforting Charn felt; being comfortable led to being vulnerable, and under his ribs, his heart ached for it.

Just like that, when Charn smiled at him, took one of his hands and caressed it with a care that shouldn’t come from someone he had met no more than two months ago. 

“I’m sorry we couldn’t talk in the morning. Are you okay?” he started, and then, a little more shyly but still profoundly considerate, he asked, “Did I do something wrong? Did I hurt you at all?”

“I’m okay,” he pouted, “I’m not the weak type, you know?” The defiance in his voice sounded close to being defensive. Charn didn’t care at all, still looked at him like he was something to protect, and it made his chest tender. “You were not that bad, too, I guess…”

“You should tell me if something hurts. We probably should’ve been more careful. Do you want a massage? I’m sure I read a book once about it, so I can make do even if it isn’t that good…”

Jet wanted to shut his mouth. And so, he did it, covering his lips with a soft kiss that felt more like self-satisfaction than the initial intention of deflecting. 

Charn received him with no resistance, one hand still holding his and the other coming to hold the side of his face, a gentle caress with it. Jet held him closer by the shoulders, deepening the kiss, tasting the rain and softness and the sweetness on his tongue. He sighed softly, breathing in the warm air between them, lips meeting again and again until his legs started to feel shaky, even when most of his weight was being held by the surface of the table.

Charn came even closer, fitting between his legs, a hand coming down to caress just a little under his shorts. 

It felt like madness, softness, a little too close to love.

It felt like his heart was going to explode, jump out of his chest, follow Charn's direction as if it wasn't his anymore. He didn't feel like himself —not the usual, at least. 

His heart was pleading— desperate and longing to be touched again, loved just the same way. 

The want was as big as the fear, but times more consuming. They parted, breathless, and Jet suppressed the need to squirm under the affection in Charn’s eyes. It was a lost game—Jet had no home but the one made for him in that gaze.

“I like you a lot, Khun Jet,” it came as a whisper, a solemn confession of someone who accepted a life sentence.

Jet wanted to run away and to stay forever, to hide from Charn’s eyes and to hide inside his arms. Vulnerability was weakness; weakness made him hurt. But, inevitably, under the layers of unsureness, of confusion, under the part of him that couldn’t dare to admit defeat, was the pull of something bigger. A soul bond, as Charn said last night. And, even bigger than any power a past love could hold, the love of the present.

Jet didn’t remember Jin, didn’t remember her lover, the eyes she fell for. Jet didn’t doubt that their feelings were vast, strong, enough to bond them through death and reincarnation.

But it couldn’t ever be what held him to Charn. Their souls were, in fact, connected; he knew it from the beginning, just like they were also bonded to Khem. But their feelings, the current fastening of his heartbeat, the taste of their kiss, the marks on his body—these were real.

Whatever love Jin and Da shared was beautiful and was in the past.

The one living under his ribs and taking over his soul, however, was the one only Charn could’ve set in. The one only they could grow. His desire, his longing, his affection, they all had a single name.

Jet wanted Charn because Charn was his. Not in the past, but now.

Charn left a chaste kiss on his cheek, then on the edge of his face, and then a flutter of his lips over the red mark on his neck, a silent apology. Jet closed his eyes, ecstatic, hands going deeper into the hair on Charn’s nape.

Just as he was about to say something, to mutter the uncertainty of his heart, the door opened.

He locked eyes with Khem, who had a tray with three cups on it. Khem didn’t even pretend to be surprised. Charn, startled by the sound of the door opening, took a step back and looked behind them.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, guys!” Jet could see right through the act of his friend, “Should I come back later or…?”

Charn, a lot more bashful and a little too prone to believe Khem’s little sly demeanor, stuttered to say Khem could come in. Jet didn’t dare to look at Khem, ears burning. Charn and Khem started talking, something about how fresh the fruits were today, and Jet took a seat on the chair. 

While he was lost in thought, a hand appeared in front of him, holding what he assumed to be jasmine tea. “Khun Jet, you should drink it while it’s warm,” Charn said, so genuine and caring. 

Jet took the cup, their hands touched, their eyes met. 

Like lightning in a bottle, the feature of achieving the most honest his heart could be. 

From then on, they kept talking, three of them sharing their stories about the fair, the dancing, Pong’s confession, the fight and the wasps and almost everything. Jet looked at Khem and Khem looked back at him, knowingly, ‘We’ll talk about it later’ written in both their gazes.

At that moment in time, Jet felt like everything he could ever need was just there, within his reach.