Work Text:
Teetee woke up before sunrise.
That in itself was strange. He’s not a morning person, especially not since they started filming Duang with you; it got him sleeping past midnight and waking up only when his managers threatened to barge into his condo.
But today, Teetee had dragged himself out of bed as early as he could. He had to. It’s Por’s birthday, and he has a plan.
To say that he was nervous was an understatement. If Teetee was being honest, he had no idea what to give Por—Por already had everything. At first, Teetee thought of just buying him a cake. But that’s exactly what he did last year. Boring, he thought. This year, he wanted something different. Something that said I know you better than anyone. Something that maybe, hopefully, would make Por see Teetee as someone special too.
He had been thinking about this for weeks. He could give Por a pair of shoes, but they said giving one would make the person run away from you, so he passed on that. Clothes? Por had too many clothes already. A watch? He didn’t feel like it. Teetee was about to lose his mind thinking about it. Even Por had caught him zoning out on set a few times.
Then came their collaboration with Sanrio. The idea struck like a lightbulb. He remembered how Por once stared at them through a store window they passed on the way to an event. Por had laughed, saying they looked “so stupidly soft” and that hugging one would feel like “sleeping in a cloud.” And, of course, Teetee had remembered that.
He remembered everything when it came to Por.
And ridiculous as it may sound, it reminded him of Por—soft, comforting, and most of all, cute.
So, the moment he had a free day in between filming and Dexx’s comeback schedules, Teetee took the chance. He quickly grabbed his phone and started filming a vlog because, of course, just giving Por a gift and a cake wasn’t enough. He had to make it extra special.
Teetee quickly got ready, grabbed everything he needed, and snuck behind his managers’ backs. They would probably kill him for doing this without telling them, but Teetee couldn’t risk them slipping on Por. This was meant to be a surprise, and he wanted it to stay that way. He wanted this to be perfect.
“At first, I was only going to give him a cake,” he told the camera, laughing sheepishly. “But it’ll be just like last year. I want to give him something special so that he can think of me as someone a bit more special too,” he confessed further. It took him a second to realize what he had said.
“Like his favorite brother,” he added quickly. “Don’t think too much” he continued, chuckling nervously.
But who was he kidding? He was not calm—he could almost feel his heart leap out of his chest from nervousness. And he definitely didn’t want to stay as “Por’s favorite brother.” He wanted to be more.
It took Teetee almost 30 minutes to find it—Cinnamoroll plushies, the ridiculously large ones that would definitely take up half of Por’s bed and, probably, half his sanity trying to carry them to Por’s place. One of his dilemmas was solved, but he had one more problem: he couldn’t decide which one.
“Right now, I’m looking for Cinnamoroll for P’Pip. But I’m still deciding which one of these he would like. This one or this one?” he said as he picked up two plushies, showing them to the camera.
But Teetee had always been extra when it came to Por; he couldn’t help it. So, of course, he bought both. He’d been saving for Por’s birthday anyway.
It was already afternoon by the time he reached Por’s. He was sweating, clutching two giant plushies and a cake, panting at the doorway, praying he wouldn’t drop anything.
Por was still upstairs, which gave him time to set things up. He arranged the plushies on a couch, making sure they were seated upright, then carefully took the cake out of its box. It was small—a simple vanilla cake with blue and white icing. Kind of plain, maybe, but it was the best he could manage. There was no way he could carry a huge cake and two massive stuffed toys without dropping them.
Teetee looked at the setup, feeling proud for about five seconds before self-doubt hit him like a bludger.
What if Por thought it was childish?
What if Por didn’t like the plushies anymore?
There were too many what-ifs that it made his head hurt. He sat down on the edge of the couch and sighed, rubbing his face. Self-doubt eating every ounce of confidence he had left, he almost wanted to back out. It wasn’t like they were dating. Sure, fans joked about it—they always did—but Teetee knew better. They were co-actors, friends at best. And sure, sometimes Teetee thought there could be something more when he decided it was a good time to be delusional, or when Por smiled at him too long or reached for his hand without thinking. But he was genuinely convinced it was all in his head. It’s Por!—there’s no way Por would see him as more than that.
Teetee quickly shook his head and tucked the thought into the deepest sulcus of his brain. This was not the time for that—he wanted this to be special, not weird.
His hands were cold, chest buzzing with nervousness. Teetee took a deep breath, trying to compose himself, and stood. He lit the candles on the cake, balancing it carefully in one hand and holding up his phone to record with the other.
Just as he reached the top of the stairs, he saw Por there, slipping his shoes on.
Without thinking, Teetee began to sing, his voice slightly shaking—he thought it even cracked at some point—but there was no backing out now. Por looked up, startled, then broke into a smile so bright that Teetee almost forgot the lyrics. His eyes sparkled, and for a second, Teetee swore he was glowing.
“Happy birthday to you~” Teetee sang softly, holding the cake out toward him.
Por giggled and blew the candles, flashing another bright smile that warmed Teetee’s whole being. And just like that, the doubt that Teetee felt earlier vanished.
“There’s a surprise waiting for you downstairs,” he said. Por tilted his head curiously. So Teetee—gentle as ever—wrapped his hand around Por’s wrist and pulled him downstairs, toward the two big stuffed toys he had carefully arranged earlier.
Por blinked at the two oversized plushies sitting proudly on the couch. His mouth opened like he wanted to say something, but no sound came out. For a moment, Teetee felt the nervousness rising in his chest again.
“Here, I went and bought you Cinnamoroll… I remembered you saying you wanted it, so…” he said shyly, carefully checking Por’s reaction.
“When did you buy this?” Por asked as he happily hugged one plushie.
“Bought it today.”
“Really? I like it a lot,” Por replied with a wide grin. And just like that, every ounce of worry in Teetee’s body melted away as Por’s expression softened into that genuine look that always made Teetee’s heart ache. This—Por smiling like that—was all he wanted to achieve.
Later, Por even brought the plushies to the restaurant where he celebrated his birthday, thanked him publicly on X, and Teetee couldn’t stop smiling. It almost felt like his birthday instead. The thought of Por happily parading the gifts made something warm bloom in his chest.
“Mission success today,” Teetee said, giggling as he filmed the last clip for the mini vlog he’d been making. “I don’t know if P’Por liked my presents or not, but I just hope P’Por will always be happy and smile a lot. I hope nothing stresses you out. Let’s work hard together, and get richer. Happy birthday, Phi!”
When he finally lay down that night, exhaustion settling in, Teetee found himself replaying Por’s smile in his head—the way it shone so brightly it made Teetee fall in love again.
He sighed, smiling softly to himself. And as his thoughts wandered, he couldn’t help but wish he’d always be the one on the receiving end of that smile.
Teetee was about to sleep. It’s past midnight and he and Por have an event scheduled the next day. He was just settling in, rolling on his bed trying to find a comfortable spot, when his phone pinged. Normally, he wouldn’t bother checking his phone at this hour, if not for that tone—the one he had specifically set up for Por.
Teetee sat up almost aggressively and reached out for his phone at the bed side table.
Por: Tee
Por: Do you want to come over?
Por: You can stay the night. Let’s go together tomorrow.
Teetee swears he felt his soul detached from his body. It wasn’t the first time he’d come over at Por’s condo—and definitely not the first time they’d shared a room—but that didn’t make him any less nervous. Just the thought of being in close proximity with Por was enough to make him lose his mind.
Or did he? Did he completely lose his mind? Is this even real? He almost thought he was dreaming; he had to check the account countless times before confirming, it’s real—It’s definitely his P’por.
Did Teetee want to come over? Of course he did. He’d stay with Por forever if he could.
So, without a second thought, Teetee stood up and changed his clothes. He even styled his hair a bit, wore his favorite cologne before grabbing his keys and bolting out the door. What was usually a one-hour drive somehow turned into thirty minutes. By the time he reached Por’s building, his palms were sweaty, heart hammering so fast he almost turned around. But he knocked anyway. He wouldn’t let this opportunity pass, not when he’s dying to be closer to Por.
When the door opened, his breath hitched. There he was—Por, hair disheveled, wearing soft blue pajamas and smiling like he wasn’t aware how it affected Teetee.
“It’s late,” Por said, stepping aside. “Come on, get inside.”
Unfair. That was all Teetee could think. It was unfair how Por could look this good, this effortlessly lovable, at two in the morning.
Teetee only realized he was staring when a cold hand wrapped gently around his wrist.
“I’m eating leftovers. You want some?” Por asked, tugging him toward the living room. He nodded mutely, because if he spoke now, the words I’m in love with you might slip out.
They ended up sitting cross-legged on the floor, eating leftover cake, watching a movie they’d been meaning to see for months. The glow of the TV flickered across Por’s face, and beside them sat the two Cinnamoroll plushies—Por’s birthday gift, the ones Teetee had bought earlier that day. Por had this way of making even quiet moments feel alive. Every laugh, every offhand comment carried weight. And Teetee didn’t say it out loud, but he thought, If I could give you all the things in the world, I would.
It was nearly 4 a.m. when they decided to finally sleep.
Teetee ushered Por to his room, making sure he’s comfortable before settling on the couch adjacent to the bed. That was his plan from the beginning— to take the couch. Not that he doesn't want to, and he's certainly not expecting Por to offer either; he just couldn’t handle being that close to Por.
So that’s what he did. Teetee was about to walk towards the couch after making sure Por is settled in when he spoke.
“You can sleep here” Por murmured, almost inaudible, while patting the space beside him. And if Teetee had completely lost his mind, he would’ve thought Por’s eyes were pleading. But, no, he was still rational and, again, that would never happen.
Teetee could not speak for a second. He froze. He wanted to say yes, to tackle Por on the bed and hug him so tight. But he didn’t—he shouldn’t—because he won’t be able to stop himself.
Por might have noticed his inner turmoil because he spoke again.
“Or the couch, if you want,” He added.
“I’ll, uh—take the couch” Teetee replied almost too quickly.
Por gave him a confused look but didn’t push. Instead, he climbed into the bed, wrapped himself in his blanket, and reached for one of the Cinnamoroll plushies. Por hugged in close, face buried in it, mumbling something about “best birthday ever”.
Teetee smiled from the couch, watching him. Por looked small buried under the blankets. His heart is doing that annoying thing again—the tight, twisted feeling that came whenever Por did something so casually endearing. And as much as Teetee didn't mean to stare, there was something about Por like this—unfiltered, drowsy, soft—that made it hard to look away.
“You’re staring,” Por mumbled without opening his eyes.
Teetee froze. His brain short-circuited. “I’m not.”
“You are.” A sleepy smile tugged at Por’s lips. “What are you thinking about?”
You, Teetee almost said. Always you.
“Nothing,” he muttered instead. “Just thinking you’re gonna suffocate under those things.”
Por hugged one of the plushies closer, snuggling into its neck. “They’re comfy. You should try it.”
Teetee rolled his eyes, smiling. “Yeah, I’ll pass.”
He tried to sleep, he really did, but his gaze kept drifting back. Por’s arm was wrapped tightly around the toy, face pressed against the fur, lips curved in a small, contented smile. He looked so damn happy.
And that was when it hit him—an emotion so dumb, so ridiculous, he almost laughed at himself.
He was jealous.
Of a plushie.
A plushie he bought.
This is stupid. So stupid, Teetee thought. Yet he couldn’t stop himself. Not when Por is hugging that thing so tightly when it could have been him.
Teetee crossed his arms, glaring at the stuffed toys like it had personally wronged him. How dare it. How dare it steal his P’por’s attention. He’d carried those things across the mall, nearly suffocated in the car, spent half his allowance on it, and now it was the one getting hugged to sleep?
Unbelievable.
He tried to shake it off, but every little sound from Por—the soft giggles, the squeak of fabric, the muffled “goodnight” Por whispered to the plushie (the plushie!)—made his ears burn.
After almost thirty minutes of loathing, finally, he gave up trying to sleep and stood up. He was halfway to the door of Por’s room when Por’s voice stopped him.
“Tee?”
He turned, trying not to sound sulky. “Yeah?”
Por peeked from under the blanket, hair a fluffy mess. “You’re not sleeping yet?”
“Can’t sleep”
“Come here for a second.”
Teetee hesitated, then walked over, arms folded defensively. “What?”
Por pointed at the plushies beside him. “You forgot to name them.”
“What?”
“The plushies,” Por said, dead serious. “You can’t just give them to me without names. It’s bad luck.”
Teetee snorted. “You’re making that up.”
Por shrugged. “Still. They deserve names. This one—” he patted the one with a blue body—“I want to name him Qin, in honor of my character. And this one—” he grabbed the smaller one of the two—“maybe Tee?”
Teetee blinked. “You’re naming that thing after me?”
Por is naming the plushie—the plushie that Por was hugging nonstop since he gave it to him, the same one he was jealous of—after him.
Por grinned. “Why not? It’s cute.”
“...You’re calling me cute.”
“I’m calling the plushie cute,” Por said, but the teasing lilt in his voice betrayed him.
Teetee rolled his eyes, pretending like his heart wasn’t about to leap out of his chest. “Sure. You can name them whatever you want, Phi.”
Por hummed, hugging both plushies closer. “Fine. Qin and Tee, then. My new cuddle buddies.”
Teetee’s jaw dropped. “I didn’t buy them for that!”
Por’s laughter filled the room, like he’s aware of what he’s doing to Teetee. “What? They’re so soft, they’re perfect to hug.”
And just like that, Por turned around, pulling both plushies into his arms. The lights dimmed, his breathing evened out. Within minutes, he was asleep, snuggled between Qin and Tee (the plushie), looking like the cover of some domestic romance novel.
Meanwhile, the real Teetee stood there in the dark, hands on his hips, staring at the plushies like they’d just stolen something valuable from him. (They did, in fact, steal something valuable from him—his P’por’s attention.)
He should’ve been happy. Por loved his gift. He looked peaceful.
But no, his chest was doing that stupid twisty thing again.
Teetee sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I can’t believe I’m jealous of my own gift.”
The morning came quietly.
Sunlight slipped through the blinds in thin gold lines, landing on Por tangled in blankets, the stray bits of hair sticking out in every direction, and the Cinnamoroll plushie still in his arms.
Teetee stirred awake on the couch, stiff-necked and groggy but smiling before he even realized it. Por was still asleep, mouth slightly open, lashes fanning his cheeks. He looked so peaceful, Teetee almost didn’t want to move.
Almost.
Because his stomach was grumbling, and he needed an excuse to do something—anything—other than just sit there and stare at Por like an idiot in love.
He made coffee, quietly. The smell filled the condo, and a few minutes later, a sleepy voice floated from the bedroom.
“Tee?”
Teetee turned. “Morning.”
Por shuffled out, hair even messier than before, plushie still in hand. “You made coffee?”
“Yeah. You want some?”
Por nodded, yawning, and sat down beside him at the couch. The plushie sat on his lap, like it belonged there.
Teetee handed him a mug, pretending not to notice. “You really like that thing, huh?”
Por blinked innocently. “I can’t leave him inside, he gets lonely”
“He?”
“Yeah, he’s Tee, remember?”
Teetee pinched the bridge of his nose. Why can’t it be me?
“P’por, you’re talking about that thing like it’s alive,” Teetee said. And if he was pouting, he didn’t notice. But Por did.
Por grinned. “You’re just jealous”
Teetee froze. “I’m not!”
“You are.”
“I literally bought them for you!”
“Exactly,” Por said, smirking. “You wanted me to like them. Now you’re mad that I do”
Teetee opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again. As much as Teetee wanted to argue, to say he’s not, he can’t because damn it, Por was right. And worse, Por knew it.
“Fine,” he muttered, sinking into the couch. “You’re impossible.”
Por laughed softly and placed Tee between them. Silence stretched between them again, but it’s not the one that suffocates; it was easy, warm, familiar.
Then Por said, almost absentmindedly, “You could’ve just slept on the bed, you know.”
Teetee’s heart tripped over itself. “You were already asleep.”
Por hummed, sipping his coffee. “You should next time.”
Teetee blinked. “Next time?”
Por looked at him then, eyes soft and smiling. “Yeah. Next time you come over.”
For a second, Teetee forgot how to breathe. Por said it so easily, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like Teetee being here—waking up to the smell of coffee and Por’s sleepy smile—wasn’t something worth questioning.
“Ok” Teetee could only mutter as he tried to compose himself.
Por tilted his head. “So, you’re not jealous already?”
“P’pooor—”
“Because if you still are,” Por said, voice dropping to a teasing murmur, “you can always replace the plushies.”
Teetee blinked. “What?”
Por smiled. “You. You can hug me instead.”
“Wha— I— That’s not—”
Por laughed, that bright, melodic laugh that always made Teetee’s knees weak. “You’re too easy, Tee.”
Teetee scowled, face burning. “You’re evil.”
“Maybe.” Por’s grin softened. “But seriously. Come here.”
And before Teetee could react, Por had already removed the plushie between them, reached out and pulled him in, arms wrapping around him. Teetee froze for half a second before melting into the embrace, the world narrowing down to the rhythm of Por’s breathing against his chest. It felt so stupidly natural, like they’d done it a thousand times before.
Por mumbled against his shirt, “You’re softer than the plushies.”
“You smell nicer too.” Por continued, voice muffled, nose buried against Teetee’s neck.
Por didn’t let go immediately. He just stayed there, arms looped lazily around Teetee’s waist, cheek pressed to his chest like it was the most normal thing in the world. The morning light slanted across the room, catching the faint smile on Por’s lips.
Teetee didn’t move either. He didn’t dare. He doesn’t want to. He could feel the steady rise and fall of Por’s breathing, the warmth of him, the weight of peaceful silence that wrapped around them.
After a moment, Por spoke.
“Tee, I’m serious,” Por said, barely above a whisper. “I like your hugs better.”
Por shifted, still close enough that Teetee could feel the warmth of his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt. “See?” he murmured, eyes closing again. “Way better than any plushie.”
Teetee forgot how to breathe for a moment. Por said it so casually, like it wasn’t something that could set his entire world on fire. He wanted to tease him back, to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, Teetee’s arms moved on instinct, wrapping around him, careful, almost hesitant. Por hummed in approval, the sound melting against his collarbone.
They stayed like that, neither of them speaking. The sunlight crept further into the room, touching the half-finished mugs on the counter, and the Cinnamoroll plushies slumped on the couch.
Teetee pressed his chin lightly against Por’s hair, closing his eyes.
And in that moment, with Por’s heartbeat steady against him and his arms still holding on, Teetee realized something: every bit of trouble, from waking before dawn, to sneaking out, to hauling those oversized plushies across town was worth it. All of it.
Because this—Por in his arms, soft and half-asleep and smiling against his chest—was the best gift he could’ve asked for in return.
And nothing, not even the softest plushie in the world, could ever top this.