Work Text:
It changes something in Khaotung.
Not just that they’d made out.
He really wishes that he wasn’t quite so cliche but everytime he kisses First, the universe shifts for him. Khaotung collects every hitch of breath, every sweet moan, every sensation he’d taste on his tongue like a dragon hoarding treasure. They’re more than just wanking material- though they can often fulfill that role too- each of them is a unique memory that he’d made with First, shivering in a pool, or huddled under the covers, in the dark, in the light, playful or devastating, was something they created together; something that would be memorialized as art.
So yes, just that they’d made out was amazing. Enough that his whole body feels like a beacon wired to seek First out and bask in his proximity.
But something changes in First, enough for Khaotung to notice and that in turn changes everything for Khaotung.
First was so uninhibited - well - he started out very inhibited. When First had first slid into that bed with him, he had pretended to be extremely relaxed. But Khaotung could see the terse bunching of his shoulders. If Khaotung hadn’t been quite so distracted by the delicious way it highlighted First’s already incredibly delicate looking collarbones, then he might have felt a little sympathy for him, offered encouraging words.
But perhaps Khaotug was nervous too and all they could offer each other in that moment was the tandem twiddling of thumbs, the subtlest of hints that they weren’t alone.
First comes out of his dressing room and throws Khaotung a sheepish grin and a quick wave when he notices him. He comes towards him slowly, hands in his pockets like he’s stalling for time. Khaotung remembers that too, standing here a few hours ago still in costume; his heart nearly leaping out of his throat as First had said Khaotung tasted sweet, then spent the next ten minutes trying not to panic when P’Golf asked him if he meant Khaotung’s lips.
He had but Khaotung knows not to overwhelm First especially when cameras are around, so he had clamped down hard on his desire to wheedle him about it. Despite taking on the role of class clown often, First’s heart is soft and Khaotung has only ever been interested in keeping it unbruised. What was hardest, he supposes, was not taking First’s flailing arms, and reassure him that he had tasted sweet too.
He always does but there’s not enough tea in this world to explain that feeling away. So he’d smiled politely and helped First brush it off.
Now that it's dark and they’re mostly alone, with the straggling crew members busy packing up and First standing close to him but not unusually so, Khaotung feels it again that buildup of anticipation as his heart rabbits faster and faster in his chest.
Standing next to First, waiting to go home, it should be very normal. The most normal. One thing he shares with First more than anyone else, their schedules. Except that isn’t, it's tense and First is fidgeting. Khaotung thinks that surely something catastrophic will happen like he’ll open his mouth and all that will come out are little heart shaped confetti, unable to do anything but profess his undying love for his best friend.
But then First says, “Let’s go back together?” and suddenly just like that everything is comfortably familiar again, Khaotung nods and First pulls his phone out to call a cab to their location.
It’s all very normal. Waiting for a cab together.
Except First has shuffled closer to him, closer than what feels normal, but the breeze after the storm is cool and huddling for warmth is a very reasonable reaction to have to it. Khaotung itches to take First’s hand and hide their joined hands in his pocket, away from the chill and prying eyes.
First stops fidgeting when their shoulders brush together. He startles slightly when he bumps into Khaotung, then relaxes against him, letting Khaotung support his weight a little. They stay like that, First eventually bending over to put his chin on Khaotung’s shoulder, it can't be comfortable for him but First is tired enough that Khaotung thinks he’s been actually dozing a little.
First dozes in the car too, this time resting against the windows on his side so that Khaotung can only see his profile. Khaotung watches the lights zoom by through his own window, hyper aware how First’s hand rests on the empty seat between them, upturned as though waiting to be taken.
As much as he loves being close to First, as much as he loves knowing that First isn’t unaffected by him, Khaotung feels a little bit of relief when they finally turn the corner of his street. He doesn’t want to be pessimistic, but the time to find out whether First could ever feel the same way about him isn’t now. Khaotung is ready for the night to end and to add today into his hoard of precious memories with First, the one he’s sure will be enough to last the rest of his life. There’s so much, First loves him so much, in his own way, of course there will be enough.
But sometimes he can feel himself start trembling from keeping it in. Maybe not outwardly, but this constant poking of anxiety that he’s letting the thinnest of masks he wears around First slip. It’s thinner than the mask he wears around anybody else and sometimes he feels guilty for it, knowing that it would upset First that Khaotung is anything but 100% honest with him. But Khaotung has already accepted the need for it. Closeness is great but interspersed with a little bit of distance, just enough for Khaotung to recalibrate what's proper and allowed between best friends, is ideal.
When the cab finally stops in front of Khaotung’s house, First doesn’t immediately get out, he stops Khaotung from leaving and says quietly, “I didn’t request a second stop.”
First looks so unsure that Khaotung has to stop for a second to think whether First actually expects him to protest. At this point, First doesn’t even have to ask to come to Khaotung’s house, he can just show up. So if First wants to come up there’s almost no point in hesitating at Khaotung’s front door.
But Khaotung can feel it the way his heart had lurched at First’s gentle grip on his wrist, firm despite First’s nervous expression. The way his fingers tingle from the need to slide up and into First’s waiting palm.
First has his own toothbrush, a small toiletries kit that tucks neatly into a corner under Khaotung’s bathroom sink, a small drawer for his clothes, or rather Khaotung’s clothes that run a little big on him but are perfect for First. There’s almost no point in hesitating asking First up at the threshold of his apartment.
Still, Khaotung hesitates.
He can feel the tendrils sparking between them, like the air had woven itself into strings that now weave around them, drawing ever tighter. But he doesn’t know if this warmth spreading from his chest is meant to be a comforting heat shared by two people, or an untamable blaze that will ravage him when he’s alone.
Khaotung nods because First needs it suddenly, an invitation to come to Khaotung’s house.
Indeed, when Khaotung unlocks his door and ushers First in, it feels like he’s doing so for the very first time. First fidgets near the door again, but it’s not actually his first time in Khaotung’s house. Eventually, he’s taken his shoes off and put his stuff down before plopping down onto the couch. And because First isn’t actually a stranger, Khaotung can leave him be while he wordlessly grabs beer for them from the kitchen.
And perhaps it’s nice that even amidst what feels like to Khaotung as slowly unraveling at the seams, he’s able to laugh at First’s displeased expression when he takes a sip of his beer then has to gingerly put the can down on top of one of Khaotung’s books due to his sore refusal to buy a coaster. First bought him coasters but they were custom printed with their Valo characters and Khaotung has them displayed proudly on a shelf, ‘where the books are supposed to go.’ as First had pointed out with great irritation when Khaotung showed him.
First skips scolding him this time as he leans back into the couch, body sprawling open in welcome, “You’re very far.”
Khaotung snorts because First will really go to any lengths to not have to voice his needs. But he can’t tease First about it, not when he’s feeling the anxiety licking low in his gut, even as he cuddles into him, First tangling his fingers into the hairs on Khaotung’s neck.
Easy and familiar.
Except.
First’s fingers were in his hair just the same way and now Khaotung now knows what it feels like when those fingers tighten, while First radiates desire, demanding everything Khaotung has to give. He knows how easy it is when he has his head resting on First’s shoulder to just look up and for First to look down at him and how natural it is to cross that distance between their lips.
It doesn’t help that First is carding his fingers through Khaotung’s hair, absently scratching his nails on Khaotung’s neck and Khaotung is lighting up with goosebumps until it feels like his skin will slough off from it.
“I think I have a crush on him.” First says quietly, then laughs, Khaotung shaking with the rise and fall of First’s chest wracked with laughter.
Him.
Ayan.
It’s not all that funny to Khaotung but First’s fingers are still in his hair and Khaotung has accepted that that’s the closest he’ll get to holding First’s hand tonight.
“And you’re him!” First says with a little bit of incredulity. The more First speaks the more Khaotung’s words die in his throat. Of course it’s Ayan, the person that First has all these feelings for. That Khaotung had foolishly hoped were for him. First has had five years to notice Khaotung and no matter what Mix says, Khaotung finds it significant that he hasn’t.
“Ai’ Tung, are you asleep?” First finally asks and Khaotung is so paralyzed in his mortification that it’s easier to just let him believe it. He hums sleepily and closes his eyes. First's hand come down to pat him on the shoulder, a mother’s gentle beat to lull their child to sleep.
“He’s you.” First says after a long while, like he’s admitting something Khaotung dare not guess. Even though Khaotung is deathly still, it startles him enough that his eyes pop open, head still cradled on First’s chest, away from First’s line of sight. First sighs long and deep and Khaotung can feel his breath warm on the top of his head, the longing in the rise and fall of First’s ribcage against his cheek.
“He never stops being you.”