Work Text:
the prettiest flower, phoom believes, is vicha.
so phoom holds him gently, tenderly, lovingly, as vicha clasps on his stubborn hands, fixing the love gesture correctly, that amused smile never leaves his face, the friendly twinkle never dims in his eyes.
it's electric—this connection they share. the amber lights blanketing them from the midnight sky—befalling on them hopelessly is another unsaid prophecy—of two loneliest hearts seeking each other in this spark of borrowed time, commencing matrimony, now one, ablaze and alive.
phoom knows vicha knows—the stolen glances during classes, not so subtle and hidden, the brush of their jittery fingers, not so accidentally and needed. the laughter and chuckles they shared as they rested on the grass, childhood stories and teenage dreams melted into another fit of breathless giggles, inhaling the summer air, basking in the ardent sun against their skin, a remedy for their fatigue bones from all the dancing. one step away from each other, but no one dares to cross. only time will tell.
and phoom knows vicha knows—his gaze lingers for too long as he watches vicha take the stage, waltzing gracefully, limbs fluid like flowing water, the perfect example of a model student, earning praises and compliments from the teacher, grinning behind that signature shyness he embodies, ears reddening, abashed.
because that summer—that one fine day when they first touched, when their shadows tangled on the wooden floor, all new and unfamiliar, when vicha became his destined partner on stage—phoom fell in love.
it was so easy. it was so easy to fall for vicha. it was so easy to love him.
and phoom's breath is now nonexistent, fleeting with the night gust, the static of the tv, the comfortable warmth between their bodies as his heartbeat pulsates, hammering on his chest, a clamour in his head. phoom wonders if vicha can hear it—the rhythm of his heart singing love songs for him. only time can tell.
vicha looks at him questioningly, but never once their hands untangled, never once their toes untouched. are you okay?
but all of phoom is now all of vicha, as he braces himself for the worst, crosses his fingers for the best, and leans in.
the world flashes before his eyes—the glow around vicha reminds phoom so much of the summer sun and the cold water glistening underneath their feet, the spicy hummingbird flower curry he loves best, the meals they had in-between practices, the time vicha slept on phoom's shoulder, too tired to move a muscle—
close. closer. closest. vicha is the prettiest flower. and phoom wants to have him. can i?
close. closer. closest. vicha's eyes speak thousands of words phoom wishes he could address. please.
oh.
and their lips touch, only a graze. but vicha kisses him back. lovingly. with the same tender ardour, the simmering buzz of his laughter, the delicate advances of his steps, the softness of his palms against phoom's rough ones.
and their lips touch, only a graze. but everything is fiery red, flaming by the consuming love that never ceases from that brightest day, and phoom sinks into vicha, his warmth, his eternal sunshine, his forever summer love.
phoom pulls away, fearing for his life if he wrongly read the signs, interpreting vicha's change of demeanour around him as more than just cordial, hesitantly searching for answers from the glint in those mesmerising eyes.
will you have me? phoom wishes to say. will you have all of me now that i'm eternally yours? phoom desires to confess.
vicha smiles. he's grinning. he's the prettiest flower in phoom's galaxy.
oh.
phoom seals this blossoming love with a soul-mending hug. he smiles, knowing now, everything he is belongs only to vicha.
his head is now up in the clouds. his body dances to the tune ringing in his ears. his arms circle vicha's back, holding him close, don't go anywhere.
and vicha hugs phoom tighter. i won't.
because that summer—as phoom invites vicha into another dance, their lips mould together repeatedly, chaste and heart-fluttering, professing love stories and evermore promises, spinning and twirling in the middle of the room, laughing and chuckling as phoom steps on vicha's foot again, smiling and grinning as everything of them intertwines oh-so-perfectly—they fell, forever, in love.