Chapter Text
August 16, 1970
Krailert arrives in Washington DC on what most local residents would consider to be a warm afternoon. He steps out of the airport and into clear blue skies with the sun glaring overhead — nothing out of the ordinary for anyone who grew up in the tropics.
“Oh, the weather is good today,” Dhevi exhales, a tired smile gracing her delicate features as she stands beside him. The walk from the terminal to the gate didn’t take too long but today being a Sunday means that the airport is packed with bodies bumping into each other, smelling of sweat and cigarettes. It’s a challenging trip, especially since she’s about a month off from her expected delivery date. “Chaisee, Winai – could you please run a bath for me as soon as we arrive at our new home?”
“Yes, Khun Dhevi,” Dhevi's attendants respond, carrying her luggage between the two of them. Both women are in their early thirties, experienced and attentive. They have been aiding Dhevi since she confirmed her pregnancy — something her brothers insisted upon as soon as the news broke, given her age. The Dechanara family has even covered their travel costs for this six-month stay overseas.
Krailert only needs to look around once to spot two black Ford Fairlanes beside two men in suits holding the Thai national flag. The Royal Thai Embassy has been gracious enough to welcome their arrival by sending people to pick them up.
“Khun Krailert, sawasdee krub,” says the taller of the two, his stiff Thai accent not deterring the accommodating smile on his face as he and his companion both greet them with wais. “The Royal Thai Embassy has sent us to escort you to your new home. It will take about an hour before we reach our destination, so please feel free to relax during the drive. We know you must have had an exhausting journey.”
“Thank you,” Krailert smiles. “Khun Dhevi and I will take the first car and our attendants will ride in the second. Please take care of our attendants as well.”
It’s a quiet drive — the most peace Krailert has had in the past day.
He falls asleep in the passenger seat, head lolling slightly to the side and only startling awake when Dhevi calls his name while pressing a hand on his shoulder.
“We’re here,” Dhevi smiles at him from the back seat. “We’re home.”
Krailert takes a moment to recollect himself before he steps out of the vehicle.
The house they’re renting is a comfortably sized unit that’s two stories high.
A hallway cuts through the first floor, with the kitchen and dining room located to the left and the living room situated on its right. At the end of the hall is the staircase leading upstairs, behind which a small laundry room and a small bathroom are located across from each other.
The second floor has space for one master bedroom, adjoined to one master bathroom. It also has two guest rooms — one to be shared by the attendants while the other is to be converted into a nursery once the baby arrives.
The place is cozy; a size perfect for a growing family.
Still, Krailert doesn’t see much of a difference from the house they left behind.
He watches Chaisee and Winai assist Dhevi up the stairs. Everyone’s luggage has been left by the foyer so he carries all the bags upstairs before excusing himself for an afternoon walk.
August 17, 1970
Their neighborhood is beautiful, if a bit too quiet. It’s also a comfortable twenty-minute walk from the Thai Royal Embassy, which means he walks to work even on his first day there.
“Khun Krailert, good morning!”
Thaklaew Saensuk is a tall man in his early sixties with a smile that threatens to disarm even Krailert despite over a decade of service in the military. He radiates the affable kind of authority one would expect from Thailand’s Ambassador to the United States.
It says a lot that he chooses to drop by Krailert’s office first thing in the morning too.
“How was your trip? Were you able to rest well after?” Khun Saensuk continues.
“Good morning, Khun Saensuk,” Krailert replies with a quick wai. “I’m honored to finally meet you. Yes, I was able to travel safely. Thank you for asking.”
“You military men and your formality,” Khun Saensuk laughs. “I know it takes more than a day to recover from a flight that long. Please get your things sorted then take the rest of the day off. Rest up and we can start work tomorrow morning.”
“Oh,” Krailert blinks. “Thank you.”
“Of course!” Khun Saensuk extends his hand. Krailert mirrors him and they shake hands firmly. “Washington DC may be over seven thousand miles away from Bangkok but we want you to feel right at home.”
Aug. 27, 1970
There is a crosswalk that bridges the Royal Thai Embassy to the rest of the world. It’s located some steps to the left of the embassy's front gates; thick bars of solid white paint on cement spanning a few feet — the width of a two-way street.
Yet every step Krailert takes away from the embassy and the duties placed on his shoulders during the harsh light of day feels significant, as if he's covering over a thousand miles with every step he makes into the night.
One, two, three, four, five, six, until finally—
“Seven o'clock on the dot,” Naran smiles after looking up from the ratty watch on his wrist. The light in his eyes shines against the depths of their darkness. “Punctual as always, Khun Klai Rung.”
Krailert inhales deeply, nails digging into his palm.
Naran has always been good at reading him and that's probably why he does nothing more than smile. Warm and friendly. Familiar. His hair is still unkempt, there's a camera around his neck, and if Krailert breathes in deep enough, cigarette smoke could find home in his lungs once more.
Krailert aches, standing this close yet not being able to hold him.
“Hey,” Krailert says quietly.
“Hey. Your letter came the other day,” Naran greets, his gaze fleeting back and forth all over Krailert’s face. Indecisive, like there’s not enough time in the world to look. There's affection there, and it only grows with every second that passes. “But I had to cover the Women's Strike for Equality at Fifth Avenue yesterday.”
Krailert can't help but smile at that. “Still fighting against injustice, huh?”
“Always,” Naran declares, gaze now seemingly content to trace the outline of Krailert's face. “Have you had dinner? You look like you should eat more.”
“Let’s walk a bit,” Krailert answers, lips pressing into a thin line as the questions he has been wanting to ask for months claw at him from the inside. Words are eager to finally escape his throat: How are you? Where are you staying? Where do you work? Are you taking care of yourself?
I've missed you. Did you miss me?
Krailert swallows them all.
He has no right to ask.
Instead, he lets their feet take them further down the street, until they're at a less crowded curb two blocks away. When he finally speaks, Krailert settles for something he feels would still make Naran smile.
“Were the cherry blossoms beautiful this year?”
“They were,” Naran laughs. “I think you would have loved them.’
The silence that fills the space between seems heavier without the presence of the occasional car passing by.
“Krailert,” Naran's voice is soft. “What's bothering you?”
Krailert exhales shakily. It’s a cloudy night and he finds himself staring at the vast darkness of the starless sky above them before he decides to just get to the point. “I— I'm having a child.”
Naran is quiet. There is a faint click of metal before cigarette smoke fills the air.
“And?”
Krailert knows it's a prompt for him to elaborate, but his throat feels dry and he doesn't know what else to say.
“Are you asking me to leave?” Naran clarifies, brave as always. Krailert can't ever recall him shying away from the opportunity to fully illuminate all aspects of a story.
“I can't ask you to stay,” Krailert replies stiffly, finally turning around so their eyes can meet. He has thought about this. Naran deserves better.
“Good,” Naran says with a brisk nod. “Then don't ask. You know better than trying to tell me what to do anyway.”
“Naran—”
“How long are you here for?”
“Six months, this time. Naran, listen to me,” Krailert responds, unable to stop himself from placing a hand on Naran's shoulder. “It won't be fair to you.”
“I’m a gay man — when has the world ever been fair to me?” Naran scoffs, his voice rising loud enough that the statement echoes in the empty street. Longing finally pools in the dark depths of those eyes as his mouth curves into a bitter smile. He takes a step forward, his free hand cupping the side of Krailert's face; voice growing much softer when he next speaks. “Fairness isn't what I keep dreaming of at night, anyway.”
The gentleness in Naran's voice soothes him and Krailert swallows around a lump that’s suddenly stuck in the back of his throat, breathes around the heaviness in his chest that tells him he doesn't deserve this.
“Don't look so guilty,” Naran hums, thumb tracing over the slope of Krailert's cheekbone before he lets his hand fall back to his side. “You didn't do anything wrong and you have nothing to be ashamed of. I mean that.”
“I—”
“—Lert,” Naran cuts him off sternly. “We both know you didn't want to. You're not at fault here.”
Tears begin to well up in Krailert's eyes. This is the person who has always seen him as the sum of all his parts. Why couldn't being together be the easy choice for once?
“I'm not mad at you,” Naran continues, holding Krailert's gaze even as his hand covers the one gripping his shoulder. “I’ve missed you, and I still want you.”
Here, on the sidewalk of a foreign land that does not care enough to learn their language, let alone perceive them, the declaration seems as normal as any. Both of them are strangers for any eyes that may end up seeing them — a comfort they’ve never had before.
Despite himself, Krailert still feels relief.
“You don't have to decide now. If you eventually realize that you want to end this, fine,” Naran lays his cheek on top of both their hands, now awkwardly intertwined on his shoulder. “But you should know: I won't leave your side until you send me away.”
Finally, he takes a step back and breaks free from any hold Krailert has on him.
Krailert feels something glossy pressed into the palm of his hand moments later, the action so brief that their fingers barely touch.
The cherry blossoms have fully bloomed in the photo but Krailert's eyes keep tracing over the inelegant black marker lines scribbled all over them instead.
Peak bloom, April 1970.
386-9816
I think they'll be more beautiful next year.
August 31, 1970
The lights downstairs have already been dimmed by the time Krailert comes home.
He was invited to a dinner with ambassadors and diplomats from Indonesia and the Philippines tonight, which wrapped up at around a quarter to eleven. This was a great opportunity to build his network and make positive impressions — necessary for anyone who wants to work at an embassy overseas. Khun Saensuk even introduced him to everyone there.
Krailert just couldn't get out of it.
He slowly opens the door to the master bedroom, expecting Dhevi to already be asleep. Instead he finds her limping out of the master bathroom.
“Are you feeling alright?” Krailert watches her unsteady gait with concern. She is heavily pregnant, but he'd never seen her favor one leg over the other before.
“It's nothing,” Dhevi dismisses with a labored sigh as she sits on the bed. “Walking around with all the extra weight is difficult this late into the pregnancy.”
Krailert stacks the extra pillows they keep around for her comfort so that she can rest her against the headboard without any issues. “Lay down, I'll get you some water.”
He comes back minutes later with a glass of warm water, which he hands to Dhevi.
“How was dinner?” Dhevi asks after taking a careful sip.
“Good,” Krailert replies, waiting for her to finish drinking so that he can finally take a shower then go to sleep. “Khun Saensuk introduced me to other ambassadors and diplomats from Southeast Asia.”
More moments pass in silence.
“Isn't this nice?” Dhevi looks up at him, eyes full of the same hope she has denied him for a decade now. “We should just be like this, right?”
Krailert wonders what it must be like to constantly be handed the privilege of never needing to hear rejection. It must create monsters no different from brutes who have no regard for human life besides their own.
He stands in silence, waiting for her to hand him back her glass.
“America upholds a legal principle called jus soli when it comes to recognizing citizenship, you know,” Dhevi continues. “That's why I’ve been nagging my brothers for months. I told them to pull some strings for our family. If Yothaka is born here, she's recognized as a citizen – that's already a great start.”
“Yothaka?” Krailert ventures carefully. He doesn't like the name; it reminds him too much of her. “What if the child is a boy?”
“She's a girl, trust me,” Dhevi smiles with certainty. “It’s the name I've always wanted my daughter to have. I want her to be strong like I am.”
“Is that the plan, then?” Krailert continues, knowing now that her definition of strength will always be closer to the suffocating control and cruelty used by tyrants than anything else. “To uproot our lives and relocate here?”
In all honesty, Krailert has thoughts on a name for the baby — on another piece of the future that seems to have been laid out for him before he could even form an opinion let alone have a say on it. However, he's learned to pick his battles so he doesn't comment.
Dhevi doesn't seem interested in hearing his opinion anyway.
“Why not? There's more opportunities for our family here, and there's no constant distractions from trying to appease the public or attending multiple events at the Grand Paradiso,” Dhevi reasons, continuing her rambling with no regard for Krailert's discomfort. “No reputation to adhere to, either. You just go to work then head back home to your family immediately after.”
Complete isolation. That’s what she means.
“I've spoken with my brothers about this in detail already,” Dhevi proudly announces. “Your special envoy role is temporary. Before we have to move back to Thailand, they can just re-appoint you as a diplomat at the Royal Thai— ah.”
When Dhevi finally stops, there’s a mixture of shock and fear in her eyes.
“Krailert, I think my water just broke.”
September 2, 1970
It’s four in the morning and Krailert has had maybe three hours of sleep in the past thirty-six hours. That’s probably why the lead surgeon’s words are washing over him like molasses at the moment.
Blood clot dislodged…lungs…right sided heart failure…further complications.
The woman, who had introduced herself as Dr. Romero is petite and the wrinkles around her eyes show her experience. She is explaining things as concisely as possible, yet her words seem like they’re coming from a reality away.
“And the baby?” Krailert asks, finally leaning his full weight on the cold metal chairs provided to parents waiting outside the delivery rooms.
“She’s healthy,” Dr. Romero confirms, smiling for the first time since they began this conversation. “We will have a nurse bring her to you shortly.”
Krailert exhales, thrown into multiple conflicting emotions — fear, relief, joy, sorrow.
“In the meantime, would you like to see—”
“No. I don't — please let me know when I can see my daughter.”
“Sir, excuse me. What would you like to name her?”
Krailert hears the question but he doesn't really have an answer for it right now. He'd considered names, yes. But he didn't expect his daughter to be this — so small, yet impactful. She weighs six pounds and thirty-one ounces yet the moment Krailert held her she successfully overwhelmed all other emotions apart from joy.
“Please, can you give me more time to think about it?”
He stares at her in awe until it's time to whisk her away into the nursery, so they can monitor her health while making sure she's well fed and rested. A senior nurse gives him instructions about visitation and the standard procedures for situations like theirs, then she scoops her out of his hold.
Krailert finds himself at the hospital lobby.
There is a large clock above the reception area showing that it's six in the morning and he's drained. His daughter is in good health and that alone already gives something to be grateful for.
However there are decisions looming in the horizon — the calls he'll have to make and the paperwork he'll need to sign are short-term things; but he’s not entirely sure he can trust himself to raise a human being by himself — that he's never even considered making.
It's too much.
Before Krailert can think twice, he is picking up the hospital phone and dialing. The numbers come to him easily; a messy scrawl of seven numbers standing out against the light backdrop of cherry blossoms in full bloom.
Krailert stands by the hospital entrance. Washington DC is cooler than he is used to before daybreak and he's grateful he managed to slip on one of his warmer coats before he left the house the other night.
Cars that pass by the street outside usually turn right down the first corner, where the entrance to university grounds annexed by this hospital would be. There's a few joggers that pass by, with the occasional person walking their dog.
The world does not stop for anyone — Krailert knows this. Yet he finds that it's both a blessing and a curse at this moment when he is so achingly alone.
Half an hour. That's what they'd agreed on. He can keep it together for at least as long as that.
He doesn't have to.
There is a soft tug on his coat and Krailert turns to find bright eyes and full lips curved into a small smile.
“I'm here,” Naran says. His hair is in disarray and clearly damp, like he'd run a towel through his head quickly before leaving the house.
Krailert’s vision is blurring before he can get any words out. Arms wrap around him firmly after that, pulling him into a familiar embrace. Krailert leans his head onto a firm shoulder, inhaling cigarettes, cologne, and the scent he's grown to associate with safety. Again, but the breath he takes is deeper. Then again, but a sob shakes his frame midway through.
Naran speaks in a mellow hum, words too soft for anyone else to hear. He begins running one hand up and down Krailert's back while the other holds onto his nape and draws invisible lines on the skin there.
Dawn breaks. It paints a deep blue sky that's starting to shed off the darkness in pinks and purples, tinged with the slightest hints of orange. While the sun isn't out yet, there is light in the horizon.
Finally, Krailert hides from the world and allows himself to cry.
There is a tiny coffee shop located across from the hospital and it's still relatively empty given the time. Soft music plays while the man behind the counter starts preparing the bar for when more customers come in.
Krailert has one hand on his lap, tapping along to the song.
“What are you thinking of?” Naran inquires, lips hovering over his coffee as he blows on it. They are squished together on one side of a tiny booth because he insisted on wanting to stretch his legs and Krailert, as always, had given in.
“The number of calls I don't want to make,” Krailert sighs, already dreading the conversations he doesn't want to have.
Dhevi had revealed the sinister face she's kept carefully hidden beneath a genteel mask just this past year and she'd violated Krailert in ways that made his skin crawl. However, he'd viewed her as a distant companion to his misfortune for the past decade and he cannot just switch off the small part of him that still pities her and her family.
Krailert pities his daughter, too. Through no fault of her own, she will need to go through life without ever having a mother. He makes a promise to himself that she will grow up not wanting for anything else.
Just as Krailert begins to get lost in his thoughts, he feels a hand cover his own — near-weightless, like it's giving him the opportunity to pull away. Hidden completely by the table, Krailert turns his hand until his palms are up; fingers splayed so that Naran's can slip into the spaces between them.
“I'll need to leave for Thailand much sooner than expected,” Krailert confesses, glancing over before taking another sip of coffee.
Naran's grip on him just grows tighter.
Krailert peeks at their surroundings. Two people have just come in and are currently at the counter, finalizing their orders. Quick as his heartbeat, Krailert lifts their hands and brings them to his lips so that he can press a kiss to Naran's knuckles.
He earns a laugh for his trouble.
Everything will be okay.
The day passes by in a blur.
Krailert makes all the difficult calls and signs all the necessary paperwork to get him and his daughter on a flight back to Thailand as soon as possible. By the time he's done, it's evening and he's making his first visit to the nursery.
The head nurse sees him and greets him with a kind smile. A few minutes after he gets there, she approaches him again.
“Sir Suwannaphat, would you like to name your daughter?”
His daughter.
Krailert thinks of the joy he'd brought her the moment he saw her. She exists in brightness and warmth, like the first signs of light after an endlessly dark night. The promise of hope and the dream of freedom — arms winding around him and holding him close after thousands of miles apart.
“Arunwan.”
The color of dawn.