Archive of Our Own ^beta

They say there are five stages to grief. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.

The world is ending. They cannot tell you why or how. Just who (everyone) and when (tomorrow).

They say too that grief is love with no place to go.

So do you fall to your knees to cry and grieve?

Or is there somewhere left for you to go—someone left for you to see?

He has to walk to him.

Trains, buses, bike services—they’re all down. The streets are in chaos, countless people stuck in cars, heads shoved out windows and spittle flying everywhere, yelling and screaming (with tears streaming down their red faces and barely enough breath in their lungs).

He can’t call him, can’t text him, can’t let him know he’s coming. Overnight, the world has fallen into chaos. No one is working—phone services, electricity, power plants are all down.

So he walks, and has to dodge out of the way of all the bodies moving against him. Around him, there is desperation and devastation; the tears and fears and the crumbling years they all thought they had left.

It’s loud, but it’s distant and fuzzy—a bee buzzing thump thump thump against a window, but never making it inside.

It’s no short walk. Usually he drives, so it’s strange, walking down streets he’s grown familiar with but only now noticing the cracked pavement, the patchwork grass springing up from dry soil, the pale photobleached bricks lining the curbside.

It leaves him walking as if off-tempo by a beat. It’s familiar, but not—like watching a memory from someone else’s perspective.

But when he arrives, stepping up to the front yard, he forgets it all.

Because just like all the other times he’s made his way here, there’s already someone waiting for him.

Perched on a seat out front, hands folded in his lap, he’s already there. Swinging his legs gently, a small smile on his face, like he’s known all along that there was nowhere else he’d go.

“Hia,” he says, and the world is still ending, but the cry is softer now. A child consoled, but still bleeding from a wound unrecoverable.

Something in Zee’s chest unfurls at the sight of him, the peaceful slump of Nunew’s shoulders a stark contrast to the panicked person who clips Zee’s shoulder as they run past, babbling pleas at their phone.

“Nhu.”

Nunew waits as he makes his way up the front steps, peers up at him from long lashes when he comes to a stop in front of him. Zee can’t help but cup his cheek with one hand, running his thumb along his lash line.

Nunew closes his eyes, raising a hand to rest over Zee’s.

“You’re here,” he murmurs, voice half-breath but not truly surprised. It’s relief—he’d been worried, not at the idea that Zee wouldn’t come to him, but that he wouldn’t make it in time.

Zee knows the feeling; knew with every fibre of his being that if he made it in time, Nunew would be here. There was never any question about what he’d do with his remaining time, just if there was enough of it.

“Of course,” Zee says, and when Nunew’s face breaks into a real smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling even as they’re closed, the complete serene bliss and acceptance of their assured doom, Zee grins, knowing the feeling all too well.

For all that it’s the end of the world, it doesn’t feel like it. The sky hasn’t turned blood red, the air isn’t musty and stale, people didn’t wake with hysterical strength and their skin necrosed, half-rotting.

It’s a good day, and no one expects a tragic ending from a good day. They’re scared of it—the thought that everything can seem perfect, can go right, and still end wrong.

But maybe it won’t be so tragic. An ending, yes, but a tragic one?

How can it be, when the day is bright and beautiful, the sun half-tucked behind white fluffy clouds, a barely visible half-moon in the blue sky, the air warm but not humid enough to make his shirt cling to his back, and the love of his life in front of him, his soft cheeks and unbrushed hair and bare face and parted pink lips.

Nunew’s eyes flutter open when Zee’s shadow falls over his face as he leans down, only to close again as he arches up into it when Zee kisses him, even if they’re both smiling too wide for their lips to seal properly.

And maybe it’d be poetic for the world to end right there. Maybe it’d be dramatic and beautiful and utterly tragic for an explosion of pure heat and sound to encapsulate them in that very moment.

But the world doesn’t go by their timing—definitely not, because if it were up to him, Zee would be able to see tomorrow. See tomorrow, and see Nunew, and give him all of them.

Nunew hasn’t been much of his past, and has only recently become Zee’s present; they’ve only known each other for less than ten percent of their lives.

But he’d wanted him to be all of his tomorrows.

Though—if this was the last one Zee had, and here he is, standing on Nunew’s porch and making him smile so hard it’s hard to kiss properly, then he’s kept his own promise after all.

The world is ending, but the sun on his back is warm, the feeling of Nunew’s lips against his own even more so, and there is still life to be lived—if only for a second longer.

“Come inside,” Nunew whispers, and Zee follows him, as he has always known he would.

They find themselves in Nunew’s bedroom, Zee on his back with Nunew curled against his side, head resting on his chest, lying in disturbed silence. The windows are shut, but it’s loud out there—the wailing and screaming that grows quieter and louder in waves, but never truly comes to an end.

Every few seconds, Nunew will shift closer like he wants to climb onto Zee, and he isn't inclined to stop him anytime soon.

It shouldn't be peaceful—they're playing a waiting game now, that acute awareness of time passing that makes it feel agonisingly slow.

But then Nunew turns his head so his face is pressed into the crook of Zee's neck, warm breath fanning against his skin and lips lightly pressed to the pulse of his neck, and he wouldn't mind time stopping right there.

It's a unique peacefulness; they don't have anything to do, anything to worry about. It's not a treasured day off from commitments and work that always feels like too short a break before being plunged back into the chaos.

No, this is a true, genuine rest. Perhaps it's morbid and scary and dull, but knowing that all that's left to feel is safe? At home, and comfortable, and warm, and loved?

Zee closes his eyes and heaves out a deep breath, and sinks into the mattress. Nunew splays a hand on his chest, just over his heart.

He's on the brink of sleep when Nunew sighs, and Zee blinks his eyes open, the light fog over his mind chased away by the unreadable expression on Nunew's face.

“Hia…” Nunew clenches a fist in his shirt, balling up the fabric near his collar. “Do you wish this was different?”

Zee hums, burying his face into the crown of Nunew’s hair, stroking a hand down his back.

It’s a very human thing, Zee thinks, to entertain the what ifs. It’s a gift (the hope the fantasy the dreaming), but a curse more so. To obsess over the unknown, to become paranoid and neurotic, to fixate on what never truly happened.

The regret eats at you, but leaves behind something they still call human—leaves behind something they can only call human.

Do you wish this was different? Nunew asks, but it sounds more like do you regret anything?

But—

What is there to regret? Not making enough time for each other? Not saying I love you enough? Not risking it all on each other?

They did all that; there is nothing to regret.

Maybe they could regret not being able to make each other happy for longer. But they’ve got the rest of their lives—a few scant hours, as it may be—and they’re here, making each other smile.

What else is there to regret?

“No,” he decides, bringing his palm to rest on the small of Nunew’s back. “I don’t. Do you, Nhu?”

A pause.

And then, like a dirty secret between them, Nunew tilts his head up to whisper into his ear, “it would’ve been nice to marry you.”

All the breath rushes out of Zee’s lungs, a quiet punched-out sound that dies an abrupt death once it meets the air. Nunew shrinks back, curling into a tighter ball and not meeting Zee’s eyes.

It hurts.

Because even now, even now when nothing matters and everyone will die, no matter their sins or saintliness because the end of the world did not discriminate, even now—they’d never be allowed to get married.

In the end, all the authorities that kept that from them? All those people that made same-sex marriage illegal? They had no power, and they too would die.

It’s unfair. And maybe it’d be easy to say they didn’t need it—they loved each other anyways, it didn’t change their decisions in the end, that it was all just a formality.

But… but it’s true. It would’ve been nice. It would’ve been nice to be able to stand in front of their loved ones, and tell the world this is who I choose, this is who I want to face death with.

And yes, they’re saying that right now, on a bed with tossed-aside sheets and crinkled shirts and mismatched socks and whatever forces are out there as their witness.

But it would’ve been nice to say that, to choose that, without having their literal ends hanging over their heads.

So Zee swallows, makes an affirming sound, and clenches Nunew’s hand in his own because he can’t find it in himself to say anything.

Nunew sighs again as he shuffles closer, still not looking at him, before suddenly tensing. He stares hard at something Zee can’t see, unmoving.

“Nhu?”

Zee follows his eyes to his dressing table; takes in the slight smudges on the mirror, the line of little figurines he’s collected from fans, papers for a script he’s been memorising, his discarded phone.

Nunew squeezes his hand tightly before letting go, slipping off the bed. Zee furrows his brow, swallowing back a protesting noise as Nunew makes his way over to his dresser, beelining for his jewellery box.

Zee pushes up onto his elbows as Nunew picks out something that gleams a brilliant silver once the light strikes it, and feels his throat click once he makes it out. Nunew makes no effort to hide the ring.

He remembers this one—he’d given it to Nunew after all.

(“Pretty.”

“Hm?”

A soft hand cradling his own, thumbing over the edge of his ring. It’s a simple thing; white gold instead of silver, no stones, but a thick band and a broad cradle-shaped indent in the centre. A simple, understated elegance that tends to be found in luxury jewellery.

“Do you like it?”

“Mm.”

“Here,” he offers it thoughtlessly, slipping it off his own hand and onto the only finger he’s ever considered putting a ring for him on. “You should wear it.”

Nunew smiles, and Zee wonders if it’s the ring itself or the finger he put it on that makes him hide his face behind his palm.)

I never asked for it back, Zee thinks with the tiny remaining speck of his mind that isn’t occupied with Nunew making his way to his side again.

Zee pushes up into a seated position, gravitating closer to the edge of the bed where Nunew hovers.

“Hia.” Nunew kneels, holds out a hand, palm up, and waits for Zee to lay his left hand on top. “Will you marry me?”

(Zee likes that, even here, Nunew only calls him Hia. It’s not Zee, not Zee Pruk Panich, or even Hia Zee.

It’s Hia; the name Nunew gave him. Even if other people use it now, even if it’s almost an inside joke in the industry to call him Hia now, Nunew was the first.

He made Zee into Hia—into this whole new person. With something so small, yet so significant, Zee will never not be Hia again. There is no going back from this.

Like a grain of sand consumed by an oyster only to emerge as a pearl; Nunew changed everything.

He likes that.)

And so it’s like this: until death do us part. Let death be the only thing that can keep us from each other. Let us face every insidious and conspicuous evil that wants to try and keep us apart. Let us hear no and see it as audacity instead of a verdict.

We have already been remade once, let us do it again and again and again.

Let love win.

For all that Zee is stunned, Nunew doesn’t hesitate, his hands and voice steady even with Zee’s momentary silence. There’s no need to; not here. Not here, when the question he’s asking is if they’d choose each other at the end of the world—and truly, truly they have.

That says it all, and so Zee has to laugh a little, the reply almost redundant, but he indulges nonetheless. “Yes.”

Nunew breaks into a wide smile, the kind that makes his whole face bunch up, apples of his cheeks lifted and the corners of his lips stretched up almost painfully, and bursts into helpless giggles as he slides the ring onto Zee’s ring finger.

As soon as the ring is on, Zee tugs on his hand until Nunew has to follow the motion, sliding onto the bed with him.

“I don’t have a ring for you this time,” he complains half-heartedly, and Nunew laughs again, sticking his tongue out at him.

“Too bad, Hia.”

Raising an eyebrow, Zee braces his hands on either side of Nunew’s waist. “Hm?”

“Wait—”

Zee wiggles his fingers, and Nunew shrieks at the ticklish feeling, trying to bat his hands away. Undeterred, Zee follows his writhing, and doesn’t let up until Nunew’s collapsed on his back, out of breath with tears in the corners of his eyes.

“That,” Nunew huffs, resting his hands over his stomach, “that was mean, Hia.”

And Zee chuckles, falling over onto his side beside him.

“Too bad, Nhu.” He echoes, completely unapologetic, and Nunew grumbles something unintelligible under his breath, pouting.

Nunew takes a few moments to catch his breath, inhaling deeply and using the palms of his hands to wipe the tears from his eyes. Zee watches him, unabashedly adoring the curl of his eyelashes, the stubborn cowlick sticking out from the rest of his hair, the round tip of his nose.

It’s easy to be in love with him, Zee thinks, when the first thing Nunew does upon opening his eyes is seek Zee’s gaze. There wasn’t anything especially tense about him, but Zee can visibly see something soften the second he finds Zee already looking.

(I love you.)

“Don’t look at me like that,” Nunew whines, gently shoving his face away, covering Zee’s eyes with his palm.

Zee hums quietly; he doesn’t know what kind of face he’s making, just knows that he’s helpless to it. It’s always like that. It’s too easy to surrender to Nunew and all the wonderful things he feels around him knowing it is reciprocated.

Their love is a mirror reflecting into another—an infinite loop with no end in sight, stretching onwards beyond human comprehension.

Zee tugs the hand away from his face to lay a kiss on Nunew’s ring finger, who squirms, overwhelmed. Zee moves in closer, waiting for Nunew to settle before pressing their foreheads together.

“Hi.”

Nunew breathes the same air as him, their lips brushing lightly. “Hi.”

“Hia loves Nhu,” Zee tells him, and Nunew lifts his head just enough to nuzzle his nose. Zee can feel the way his lips curl up against his own when he nuzzles back.

“Nhu loves Hia.”

Nunew tangles their legs together, blindly grabbing for Zee’s left hand. His fingers trace over the newly placed ring, and Zee doesn’t realise how hard he’s smiling until his cheeks ache.

You don’t know what you have until you lose it—that’s the saying.

But Zee’s known all along what he’s had, has put in the effort and been careful to never take Nunew for granted.

It’s easy to take people for granted with their kind of life—with the flashy lights, the money, the opportunities, the fast pace of it all.

Their kind of world isn’t fair—it’s quite literally the end of the world as they know it, and no one has the power to do anything, no matter their status or money or hopes and dreams. Sometimes, you don’t get what you deserve, and sometimes, even when you treasure something, you’ll lose it. (But that's no excuse to not try anyway.)

But somehow, even now, when everything is unfair and everything is being taken from everyone, Nunew has found a way to give even more to him.

(I love you, I love you, I love you.)

Nunew kisses him again, murmurs, "Thank you for coming."

Zee is shaking his head before Nunew can finish speaking. “Thank you for waiting."

Nunew beams, and presses up against him harder even when there’s no space left between them. He starts humming a melody to himself, and Zee closes his eyes, tilting his head down to press his lips to Nunew’s clothed shoulder.

The world can fall apart for all he cares. The fates can take this world if they want it.

You can have it, Zee thinks.

He’s already got his own.

The world is here.