Chapter Text
After nine minutes of walking, Duang finally reached their home.
He didn’t reply to Qin’s text because he wanted to say everything face to face. Texting wouldn’t capture the weight of his feelings, and Qin knew that.
Standing behind the door, Duang took a deep breath and opened it.
He stepped inside, expecting to find Qin sitting in the kitchen or at the kitchen seats.
Confused, Duang walked to their room and saw Qin absorbed in his phone.
“Qin? I’m here,” Duang said softly, moving to the edge of the bed but not sitting.
After a month of silence, Qin finally noticed him. Putting his phone down, he said sharply, “Finally. Where were you? Leaving the house like that is immature, Duang.”
Duang let out a heavy sigh, the weight of weeks pressing down on him.
“Qin, it’s been a month—a whole month—of you ignoring me. I get that you want to sing. I really do. But every time I try to talk to you, it feels like I’m just anooying you,” Duang’s voice wavered, but he held firm, finally letting his pain show.
“What are you doing at that practice room that makes you five hours late?” His voice was steady but carried a deep ache.
“Duang, I’m there for five more hours because I’m practicing. You know this,” Qin said tiredly.
“Qin, you don’t understand. The practice room closes at nine. Why are you coming home at one? Sometimes three? What are you doing? Please, just answer me.”
“Duang, it’s not that serious. Just go to bed. I already fed Khonfuu,” Qin said, moving to slip under the covers.
Before Qin could settle, Duang grabbed the blankets.
“Qin. Give me your phone,” Duang said, his voice firmer, carrying frustration and hurt deeper than before.
“Duang, just go to sleep,” Qin replied, trying to pull the blankets from Duang’s hand.
“Give me your phone, Qin,” Duang demanded, his tone sharp and desperate.
“No,” Qin said, finally freeing the blanket.
“Qin. Give me your phone or I’m leaving,” Duang said, his voice breaking under the strain.
Qin’s body froze.
Leaving? Over my phone? Duang’s heart pounded painfully. he is very immature.
Qin heard the words but dismissed them as a joke. He wouldn’t leave. Would he?
“Go to sleep. We can talk in the morning,” Qin said, pulling the covers over himself and lying down.
Tears welled and spilled down Duang’s face.
“Qin, do you really not care? If I left, would that make you happy? Why don’t you care? I said I’d leave you,” Duang’s voice trembled, cracking with raw emotion.
More tears fell freely as the hurt poured out.
“Qin, answer me please. Do you still care?” Duang asked, shifting closer on the bed beside Qin.
“If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t be with you, Duang. I stay late at the practice room because I want to improve my singing. I’ve said this too many times. How many times do you want me to say it before you understand?” Qin answered, frustration edging his tone.
Duang’s chest tightened with a sharp ache.
“Qin, please understand me. You come home late every day—every single day! What are you really doing there? You’ve been improving your singing since high school. What more could you possibly need to learn? Every day, I hope for something new from you. You realize you’re pushing me away, right? We haven’t had a real conversation in a month!” Duang burst out, desperation leaking into his voice.
A long silence followed before Duang whispered, voice barely steady, “It feels like you’re seeing someone else. That you’ve found someone better—someone who understands your time better than I do. Isn’t that true?”
“Duang, what are you talking abou—” Qin started but froze.
He finally saw it—the full impact of his absence and neglect on Duang.
“Duang,” Qin said, gathering himself. “Duang,” he repeated gently.
Qin sat up on the bed, facing Duang.
“I never understood it that way before… I’m sorry. I know what you’re thinking. I’m not seeing anyone else, I promise, Duang. I swear,” tears spilled from Qin’s eyes. “I’m so sorry for making you feel this way. I understand now. I was too caught up in myself to see how much you were hurting. I’m sorry, I swear,” Qin said, voice cracking with remorse.
A minute passed with Qin crying and explaining.
“Qin,” Duang said softly after a while.
“I’m sorry,” Qin whispered, reaching to hold Duang.
But Duang pulled back, retreating just enough to make Qin pause.
“Qin.”
Duang’s hesitation spoke volumes.
“Duang, please. I’m sorry. I don’t want this to end like this. I wasn’t thinking. I swear. Please don’t let it end like this,” Qin pleaded.
After a moment, Duang spoke, voice raw but steady.
“Qin, I’ve waited a full month for you to finally see how I feel.”
“I know I haven’t been the best husband—a really bad one—but I promise I’ll make it up to you.”