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In Chiang Mai, it's two in the afternoon. Golden light filters through the broad leaves of the trees and dances across the tables of the small open-air restaurant where Sky and Nani have been sitting for at least forty minutes—though it feels like five. Yet they’re already on their second dish, and Sky has completely lost himself watching the way Nani eats, as if every bite were the discovery of the century, as if the whole world existed in the unexpected taste of tamarind sauce or the sudden crunch of a bean sprout.
When Nani eats, he becomes something tender and brazen at the same time—his mouth pushes slightly forward, as if every chew required solemn concentration, his lips just barely pursed, his eyes shiny and wide like a child tasting mango sticky rice for the first time. And while he nods enthusiastically, he points his chopsticks at Sky, says something with his mouth still full, then pauses, chews with reverence, swallows as if delivering a final judgment on all of Southeast Asia, and only then declares with a satisfied seriousness:
"The coriander is perfectly balanced."
Sky, resting his elbow on the table and a finger to his temple, wonders how it's possible that someone like this can mess up all his thoughts with so little—a coriander leaf, a shared bite, or a sentence said in that calm voice that never seems to rush.
"Are you sure about tomorrow?"
The question comes as naturally as asking if someone took an umbrella, but for Sky it's a small knot in the throat that has to be loosened with courage and laughter—because tomorrow means stepping out of something safe and into a little leap of faith they’ve just started calling an "experience."
Nani takes another bite—this time he picks from Sky’s plate with his chopsticks, unconcerned about manners—and smiles with smug satisfaction:
"Mmmh. Yours is better than mine."
Then he pauses, glances sideways at the sky, chews slowly like he's calculating weather coordinates in his head, and finally turns back to Sky and asks:
"What does the forecast say?"
Sky pulls out his phone like a diviner with his dowsing rod, opens the weather app, scrolls with his thumb, tilts his head slightly, then reads aloud in a report-like tone:
"Seventy-five percent chance of rain."
Nani nods. Shrugs. And keeps eating like it only ever rains on other people.
"Nani," Sky repeats, trying to sound serious but failing under a smile, "are you sure?"
With perfect sitcom timing, Nani takes another bite from Sky’s plate, chews slowly, shrugs like it’s the most philosophical gesture in the world, and then says, between spoonfuls and a grin:
"I told you. I want to try new things."
Sky stares at him, eyes narrowed slightly, as if searching for something more, some hidden reason. But he knows that with Nani, there are no hidden compartments: he is exactly what he says and nothing more.
"You’re impossible when you step out of your comfort zone."
Nani laughs without looking up, then with startling ease, he dips his spoon into a bowl of green curry and says, with the casual tone of someone deciding what show to watch tonight:
"You’re my comfort zone. If I step out of other comfort zones, I can take shelter under you."
Sky doesn’t say anything. But something stirs inside him.
There’s always a moment, with Nani, when his heart shifts a little to the side in his chest, moves to make room for that crystal-clear honesty that arrives without warning, without shame, like a hug thrown across the shortest distance. And every time, Sky thinks he’ll never get used to it—that kind of transparency always catches him off guard, because he didn’t grow up in a world where people spoke like that. But each time, he promises himself he’ll try to learn—even if he stumbles, even if he’s scared, even if that seventy-five percent chance of rain feels like the perfect metaphor for everything Nani makes him feel: unpredictability, euphoria, and the idea that maybe, getting soaked together isn’t so bad after all.
While Nani finishes his plate like the world is going exactly as it should, Sky looks at him the way one looks at beautiful things they never want to lose.
***
The hotel room smells of wood and air conditioning, of fruity shampoo and happy exhaustion, with the lights dim and the sounds of the city arriving muffled through the window’s mosquito net. Shoes have been abandoned in a corner like silent witnesses to a long day spent walking without a real destination, laughing too loudly in the markets, getting lost in backstreets where cats sleep perched on parked scooters.
Now Sky is folding one of his sweaty T-shirts with unnecessary care, and glances toward the chair where Nani has neatly laid out his spoils of the day: a set of five transparent rain ponchos, with a label that says “rainproof deluxe.”
"I still can’t believe it," bursts out Sky, feigning disbelief as he drops onto the bed with a soft thud. "You really bought a set of five?"
Nani, standing in boxers and a loose T-shirt with a smiling daisy on it, turns to him with the offended look of someone who feels misunderstood by the world.
"I’m being prepared. What are you laughing at?"
Sky covers his face with a pillow, but the laughter escapes anyway, the kind that makes his shoulders shake and his eyes shine.
"Yeah but five, Nani. Five. Is that a random number or have you entered a parallel dimension where it rains on your soul too?"
Nani crosses his arms, tone proud, as if explaining a survival strategy to the UN.
"Two each for me and you, in case one breaks."
"And the fifth?"
Nani lets out a loud sigh, like a weary old sage tired of having to explain the obvious, then rolls his eyes so dramatically that Sky has to hold his side not to double over with laughter.
"The fifth is for fate, okay? Maybe we meet someone in the rain and they fall in love with us because we hand them a life-saving poncho. Be open to the possibility of meteorological romance."
Sky laughs so hard he has to roll onto his side, his face buried in the mattress. Nani lets himself fall onto the bed next to his, and for a moment, there’s only silence—the rustle of sheets and the low hum of the air conditioner filling the room.
The beds are two singles, separated by maybe three, maybe five centimeters: a symbolic distance, ridiculous, too small to be real, too large to ignore—and yet they fit within it as naturally as if it were home. They turn toward each other almost at the same time, hair tousled, eyes tired but still awake, and there’s no awkwardness, no hesitation—only that kind of quiet joy that comes from sharing something good and knowing it won’t disappear the moment it ends.
"Today was nice," says Nani softly, a half-smile curling under the warm light of the bedside lamp.
Sky looks at him, lashes lowering slowly as if savoring every syllable, then replies:
"Tomorrow will be even better."
He doesn’t say it out of politeness or optimism, but because he knows it’s true: because tomorrow, for the first time, someone who isn’t him—someone not there to impress or please—has chosen to understand what makes him happy. Has chosen to wake up at dawn—him, Nani, the man who considers anything before ten in the morning a crime—just to try to see, to feel, to understand what’s so special about the silence of the world when it first wakes, the cool air before the sun, the soft rhythm of footsteps on dew-wet asphalt.
All this, because Nani asked on his own, without a push, while they were flying toward Chiang Mai, looking out the window as if already imagining the morning landscape, and he had said: "Tomorrow I can come with you, if you want. I want to understand what it’s like."
Because Nani, every day, finds a quiet, silly, sometimes absurd way to show that he belongs in Sky’s life—not just with words.
"Did you set the alarm?" he asks now, with a half-yawn that curls his voice.
Sky sighs and turns toward the nightstand.
"Yeah… but you don’t want to know how long we’ve got."
"Tell me."
"Four hours."
Nani stays silent for a moment. Then he mutters something incomprehensible, like "this violates basic human rights," pulls the sheets up to his nose, and with a muffled voice says:
"If I die tomorrow morning, tell them I fell in battle."
"I’ll say you saved a puppy in the rain thanks to your fifth poncho."
"Make sure it’s a cute puppy."
"It’ll be the cutest."
They look at each other. They smile. Neither says anything more, but the silence is full of everything that matters. Then, slowly, gently, they fall asleep—each on their own bed, but close enough that a hand could reach across and touch. And who knows, maybe in their sleep, one of them will.
***
The alarm goes off with that gentle, persistent chime Sky chose specifically to avoid traumatizing his wake-ups, and yet, when his eyes open, it feels like only a heartbeat has passed, a breath, not even a full dream since he fell asleep. But Sky has never been the kind of person who suffers in the morning: his body responds with the efficient promptness of a smartphone on fast charge—just a moment, and he’s already lucid, centered, ready to move through the dawn’s silence like a monk who knows the value of the first steps.
It’s four a.m. The room is still wrapped in shadow, the drawn curtains letting through only a hint of blue, that liquid, suspended blue that comes before real light, before the birdsong, before the world.
Nani breathes deeply in the bed beside him, a hand resting on the sheets, his lashes still, his face relaxed in an expression so tender that Sky instinctively holds his breath not to disturb him. He doesn’t wake him right away. He gives him a few more minutes tucked in the warm folds of dreams, in that silent kingdom where, probably, Nani is still choosing the most elegant cloak to face an imaginary storm.
Sky gets up with light movements, picks up the clothes he had prepared the night before—running shorts, yellow t-shirt, black jacket, black cap, and the shoes already tied with bows—and closes himself in the bathroom with the discretion of a shadow. The water runs quietly, the mirror barely fogs up, and he washes his face, combs his hair with his fingers. When he comes back out, the room is still motionless and silent, time suspended like a gentle parenthesis.
He sits on the edge of Nani’s bed, near his feet, and watches him sleep for another moment—so small, so disarmed, with his breath softly rising and falling. Then, slowly, he strokes his bare arm, the skin warm, soft like crumpled silk. His fingers glide through Nani’s hair with the patience of someone who’s in no hurry, then bend down in a light tap on his nose.
“Nani…” he calls softly, as if trying to convince a dream to disappear.
Nani stirs slightly. His brows furrow, his eyelids flutter and lift with difficulty. His eyes open just halfway, dazed, glistening, and for a moment he really does look like a newborn kitten, with that sleep-drenched gaze and the only instinct to reach for something warm and familiar. He searches for Sky with his eyes like one searches for the edge of the bed in the dark, then murmurs in a sleepy, tender voice:
“…Is it time?”
Sky smiles, nods gently, brushes his cheek with the back of his hand.
“Yes. But take a shower, get ready slowly, we’ve got plenty of time.”
Nani closes his eyes again for a second, groans something that sounds like a philosophical protest against the very concept of morning, then turns in bed with the existential drama of someone facing a personal tragedy. But he moves, stretches, slides his feet out from under the covers, and Sky already knows he’ll make it. Because that’s who Nani is: he protests, grumbles, exaggerates—but he does it. Because he cares. Because he cares enough to wake up at four, follow a boy into the streets, and maybe, if it rains, even wear a transparent raincoat and call it “adventure.”
The dim light of the hotel room reflects off the large mirror where the two stand side by side, like two alternate versions of the same morning idea: one sober, dark, composed; the other… more like a secondary character in a Japanese cartoon, ready for his special rainy episode.
Sky, dressed all in black, is an elegant block of functionality and minimalism: technical shirt, shorts, neatly tied shoes, his gaze focused and already awake, as if about to face not an early morning walk but a summit with Zen monks. Next to him, Nani is the perfect embodiment of maladapted morning cheer: an oversized sporty t-shirt with a giant pink and blue “97” stamped on the chest that screams I bought this by accident but now I love it like a child, soccer shorts, white socks pulled up with almost military precision, a pale pink cap and, of course, the inevitable transparent raincoat, already proudly worn and zipped up to the neck.
“Sure you don’t want it?” he asks, turning to Sky with the serious tone of someone offering the last blanket on the Titanic. “It’s raining, and I don’t think it’ll stop.”
Sky looks at himself in the mirror, then at Nani, then back at the mirror, as if to make sure that yes, he really is awake, and yes, the person beside him is dressed like a cross between an NBA player and a waterproof crayon.
“Do you have any idea how hard I’m trying not to take a picture of you?” murmurs Sky with a half-smile, glancing down at the glossy raincoat that rustles with every breath Nani takes.
“I do,” replies Nani, with exaggerated swagger. “And that’s exactly why I won’t let you take it out of the bag. When the rain hits your face, you’ll think of me. I am the future.”
“The future looks like a strawberry-flavored chewing gum.”
Nani sticks out his tongue, adjusts his cap with a deliberate gesture, and turns back to the mirror.
“I call this look ‘cute storm.’”
Sky chuckles softly, shakes his head, and gives him a pat on the shoulder.
“Come on, storm. Let’s go walk in the silence of dawn.”
“With style,” Nani replies, as the plasticky rustle of the raincoat follows them out the door, into the fine gray rain and a new day beginning.
The sky is still heavy with light rain, a thin mist rising between the trees as the van slowly climbs the winding road to Doi Suthep. The windows are fogged from the human warmth inside and the morning chill outside, and Nani draws a little heart on the glass with his finger, gazing out, then turns to Sky with the air of someone about to say a philosophical absurdity.
“You know we can’t go back anymore, right?” he says gravely, even though he’s still wearing the pink cap and holding the folded raincoat on his lap like Linus’ security blanket.
“Why?” asks Sky, even though he already knows where this is going.
“We’re about to climb Doi Suthep together. According to legend… we’ll be bound forever. It’s the rule. My people say so, and the internet too, so it must be true.” Nani nods very seriously, while a warm orange reflection from the dashboard light paints a sort of mad monk halo around him.
Sky laughs, shaking his head, but there’s a tenderness in his eyes that betrays him, one of those that only surface when Nani says these ridiculous things, as if the absurdity were his way of saying something deeply real without exposing himself too much.
“And what if I don’t want to be bound to you?” asks Sky, resting his chin in his palm, tilting his head toward him.
Nani fakes a scandalized look.
“Too late. The curse is already active because of our intentions. And it can’t be broken. Now we’re doomed to… watch series cuddled together, share food even when one says ‘I’m not hungry’ and then eats everything, argue about who picks the movie, put up with your fully-charged-battery mornings at four a.m.… and yes, even kiss in the rain, because that’s what lovers do in Thai dramas, right?”
“There’s no rain in the drama, but you brought it from home with that raincoat,” comments Sky, nodding toward the transparent tangle.
Nani grins proudly. Then he leans a little, brushing Sky’s side with his elbow.
“Come on, I know that deep inside your minimalist heart, a part of you believes this story.” He looks at him. “You wanted to be an archaeologist, right? If you don’t believe in legends…”
The van stops with a gentle jolt. The driver turns around, gestures with his thumb toward the trail.
“From here it’s on foot.”
Outside, the mountain waits, wrapped in mist and the silence of a morning not yet fully awake. Damp stones, roots snaking over the earth, the scent of wet soil and leaves, and in the distance, Wat Phra That Doi Suthep hidden in the clouds, like a promise.
Nani stands and solemnly puts on his raincoat.
“Well, Sky. This is the beginning of our journey. Physical. Spiritual. Emotional. Precipitative.”
“You forgot ‘muddy,’” replies Sky, slinging his backpack over one shoulder with a crooked smile.
“True. But at least we’ll be two lovers covered… Or rather, I’ll be well-covered, you moderately so.”
***
The trail winds slowly along the mountainside, through thick greenery and humid air that smells of moss and eternal rain. For Sky, used to walking with a steady, silent pace, following the regular beat of his breath like a secular prayer, today's pace feels almost like a slow-motion game. He checks the display of his smartwatch — lower heartbeat than usual, miserable distance, interminable time — then chuckles, comparing it to his usual solo stats from dawn runs. But he doesn’t mind.
Quite the opposite.
This slowness, the rhythm broken by the sound of wet shoes on mud, by the pauses to wait for Nani as he stops to photograph a flower growing between two rocks or a lone snail on the trail, is perfect. It's full. Every second, every step, is filled with the presence of the other.
Sky takes photos. Of the landscapes, the rain dripping from giant leaves, but mostly of Nani: when he laughs, when he adjusts his cap, when he mumbles something to himself that Sky doesn’t hear but pretends to understand. He also shoots videos, short ones, little fragments of time where Nani walks ahead of him, a slender shadow in the mist with his rain poncho rustling like a hero’s cape on a mission.
And Nani, silently, does the same. He likes catching Sky when he’s not looking, when he’s focused on adjusting the camera or recording a voice note, or when he stops and smiles to himself, as if he were talking to something inside. Those are his favorite photos, the ones not meant to be beautiful, but true. Nani loves capturing the emotion that lingers between the eyelashes, behind an unconscious gesture, in the way Sky brushes his chin when he's thinking or tilts his head slightly when he's listening.
Just before the real climb begins, they stop on a ledge along the trail, a scenic point that promises a breathtaking view of Chiang Mai. But that morning, the mist was thick, humid, milky. The city lights could barely be seen, flickering like fallen stars. The dawn was unfolding slowly, shyly, as if the day itself hesitated to show up. And yet, there was something magical in that dense veil, in that glow that wouldn’t quite let itself be caught.
Sky had his hood down, his face turned toward the muffled horizon. Nani came closer in silence, nestling beside him.
"I get it now, why you love this hour," he murmurs, his voice just above a whisper. "Why you wake up so early… to say goodbye to the moon and the stars, and welcome the first light of day."
Sky lowers his gaze toward him, with a soft, grateful smile. But he doesn't answer right away. He lets the moment speak for them.
"You’ll still sleep in whenever you can, won’t you?" he finally asks, in a fondly teasing tone.
Nani chuckles, his shoulders lifting just slightly beneath the damp poncho.
"You can bet on it," he replies, and then, with a slow, almost timid gesture, he brushes the back of Sky’s hand with his fingers. A barely-there touch, like a silent, deep sign of tenderness. "But I’ll never forget this day."
They remain like that for a few more moments, motionless, watching a panorama that might not show everything — but for them, it's already perfect. Because you don’t need to see everything, if the essential is already there, in each other's presence, in the shared warmth under the rain and among the clouds of morning.
Then they start walking again. Toward the climb. Toward that legend that might just be a pretext. Or maybe it’s real. And they’re writing it, step by step.
It keeps raining. Not a storm, but a fine, stubborn rain that follows them like a persistent musical background.
"It’s a challenge now too, you know?" Nani says at one point, turning toward Sky. "Because if two lovers have to climb a mountain to protect their love, well… we’re doing it in the rain."
Sky laughs, shakes his head fondly, but follows him. Always.
"Are you thirsty? Want to take a break?" Sky asks after a few minutes, his voice low, as if afraid to break the liquid silence of the forest.
"No, let’s go," Nani replies, without even thinking. "If I stop, I’ll want to stay there forever, and instead, I want to reach the top."
Sky looks at him with tenderness and takes a second to film that moment. Nani marching ahead, facing the climb in his own way — clumsy, determined — with the soaked poncho sticking to his shorts and his socks pulled up like he's about to play basketball in the rain.
In the clip they’re recording — one they’ll edit later to make their followers laugh — Nani turns to the camera, his eyes bright with rain and effort:
"This climb will make us one hundred percent citizens of Chiang Mai!"
Sky smiles and agrees with a "Chai." "Too bad that every time we try to do something, there’s some kind of obstacle," he adds. "And no, Nani’s poncho isn’t aesthetic. Not futuristic fashion. Not Japanese minimalism either."
They both burst out laughing, that full, round laughter that only comes when you're tired and happy at the same time.
"It’s raining," Nani says, throwing a quick glance at the camera, "but our hearts love it, right?"
Sky can’t hold back a look that’s somewhere between pride and surrender. That’s where the video cuts off. Maybe by accident. Maybe because trembling fingers touched the screen. Or maybe not. Maybe because that moment — so simple, so full — belongs to them alone. And the heart, jealous, decided no one else should see it.
Sky moves closer and gives him an affectionate shoulder bump — one of those gestures that’s worth as much as a hug.
"You’re ridiculous, you know that?"
"I know," Nani answers, laughing softly. "But I make you laugh, and that’s what matters."
They smile at each other, and then start walking again, slowly, together, with hearts a little lighter and clothes a little heavier, climbing that mountain that might just be a trail, or maybe a rite, or maybe a truly invisible threshold that is changing them, without them even noticing.
They stop beside a thin waterfall, hidden between the rocks and the green. The water falls like a transparent curtain, breaking into droplets that dance lightly over the damp path. There’s a low stone wall, smoothed by time and water, and Sky points to it.
“Sit down,” he says, already framing the shot on his phone to find the best angle. “I want a bad guy photo of you.”
Nani huffs but obeys. He sits, leans forward slightly, elbows on knees, gaze lowered, lips pressed in a neutral line. He doesn’t look at the camera, just like he’s done a thousand times in real bad boy shoots.
Click.
Sky grins, all gums, behind the lens. It’s an involuntary reaction—tender and impossible to hold back. He looks at him and thinks that no matter how hard Nani tries to look tough, that natural sweetness still clings to him like rain on leaves. Unavoidable. Impossible to ignore.
“What?” Nani asks, raising an eyebrow. “Did it come out bad?”
“You came out tender.”
Nani mutters something Sky doesn’t catch, but he gets the tone. Then Nani shifts slightly, rubs his hands on his damp thighs, and shoots him a defiant look.
“Your turn. Show me what you’ve got.”
Sky laughs, pulls back his hood, adjusts his jacket, and stands up with his back to the waterfall, arms crossed, gaze intense.
Click.
Click.
Click.
“What?” he asks when he notices Nani’s amused expression.
“Striking a pose won’t help,” Nani replies, standing up. “You’ll always look like an overgrown baby animal.”
Sky drops his arms and laughs quietly, accepting the truth without protest. They sit side by side on the rock, their pants now completely soaked—but who cares. They share a sip of water from the same bottle, passing it back and forth without a second thought.
Then Sky stretches out his arm to frame them both.
“Smile.”
The first photo is simple. Two tired, genuine smiles, eyes shining under drenched hats.
But in the second one, suddenly, Nani leans in and brushes Sky’s cheek with his nose, breathing softly and leaving a gentle, almost imperceptible kiss. Not a secret. Just theirs. Intimate, silent. As if to say I see you, I’m here, I belong to you in this moment and in all the ones to come.
Sky slowly lowers the phone, looks at him, and feels something gently tighten in his chest.
“Save that one in the secret folder called ‘Nani,’” Nani murmurs, almost nonchalantly.
Sky feels his ears burn.
“You know about that?”
“Mmh,” Nani hums, shrugging as he adjusts his rain hood and then the cap underneath. “Let’s say I suspected it. Now I’m sure.”
He stands, shakes off the dampness, and turns toward him with a half-smile that smells of rain and mischief.
“I have one too—with your name on it.”
Sky lets out a brief, incredulous laugh. Nani extends his hand with theatrical flair.
“Shall we, warrior? The road’s still long.”
Sky takes that hand, without saying a word. Because there are gestures that speak far louder than any promise.
***
When they reach the top, soaked but happy, the rain has softened, as if even the sky wants to watch them without getting in the way. Between the trees, welcoming them, are strings tied from trunk to trunk, from which small yellow flags and Thai flags hang, swaying in a gentle breeze. A simple sign, and yet powerful: they made it. They reached the top. They’ve kept their love safe.
Sky looks up, then turns to Nani, and without saying a word, they both raise their fists to the sky in an instinctive, joyful, liberating gesture. They cheer, laugh, shout broken words between shallow breaths and overwhelming emotion. And then that gesture—their gesture: fist against fist, fingers closed, eyes wide with happiness. The one that made them famous. The one that, without needing any explanation, says it all.
Sky takes his phone and films Nani with the flag in the background, then records the two of them together. Wet hair, clothes clinging to their bodies—yet they look more beautiful than ever. Two survivors. Two boys who climbed a legend under the rain.
They sit on a low stone wall beside the path, under a tree that drips slow, steady drops. They huddle close, watching the videos they just recorded. They laugh softly. At one point in the video, their silhouettes can be seen moving closer, and then—almost by chance, almost by magic—their bodies form the shape of a heart. It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t posed. It just happened.
They look at each other. Neither of them says anything, but a soft blush rises on Sky’s cheeks. Nani lowers his gaze, then slightly raises an eyebrow, as if to ask, “Did you see that too?” Sky nods, just barely. And lets the phone rest on his knees.
The rain continues, soft, gentle, like a blessing. Neither of them speaks, but they know they’ve arrived where they were meant to. Not just at the top of the mountain. But in each other’s heart.
Sitting on a bench of damp wood, sheltered by a small roof and surrounded by the soft, constant sound of rain falling on the foliage, they finally enjoy a moment all to themselves. Breakfast is simple: sweet coconut bread, hard-boiled eggs, sliced fruit in a plastic container Sky had carried in his backpack—ever organized—and a thermos of green tea now resting between them.
They eat slowly, sitting face to face, their knees touching, their eyes chasing each other between bites. They speak in low voices, as if the mountaintop were sacred and deserved reverence—or maybe just because they’re afraid to break the magic with a voice too loud.
“The best part?” Sky asks, bringing a slice of mango to his lips.
Nani watches him, chewing slowly, eyes still shining with fatigue but lit by a new, different, more intense light.
“The part where you wanted to quit but pretended it was my fault.”
Sky laughs and tosses him a piece of apple, which bounces off Nani’s shoulder and falls to the ground. Nani, unbothered, picks up a piece of bread and offers it to him directly with his fingers, slow, with a gaze that’s both sweet and mischievous.
“Eat, champ,” he says, and Sky accepts, wordless, his eyes fixed on Nani’s.
They keep teasing each other, passing bites like gentle lovers, exchanging smiles and little gestures that say everything even in silence. At one point, Nani leans back, stretches his arms and yawns so loudly the wind almost carries him away.
“You’ve got a different energy today,” Sky says, leaning over to get a better look at him. “Like you woke up from a spell.”
“Maybe it’s the legend taking effect,” Nani replies, not joking, but with a mysterious tone. “Or maybe it’s the fact that this morning I saw a part of you I’d never seen before.”
Sky looks at him and feels something strike a deep chord inside him—gently, but precisely.
“What can I do,” he says, his voice lower now, more serious, “to repay you for what you did for me today?”
Nani freezes for a moment, as if the question caught him off guard, then scratches the back of his neck, embarrassed, his eyes drifting away and a smile on his lips trying to hide something—and failing completely.
“We’ll go back to the hotel,” he says, trying to defuse the emotion with his usual irony, “and sleep until lunchtime. No—dinner. If you really love me, until tomorrow.”
Sky shakes his head, laughing softly.
“What do you think is going to happen? That we’ll have a shared dream?”
“Why not?” Nani shrugs, adjusts his now-soaked pink cap, and snuggles into his transparent raincoat that makes him look like a character from some weird, endearing film. “We honored the legend. Now we’re bound. You, man of science… have a little faith.”
Sky looks at him. And in that gaze is the answer. No need for sharp replies. No need for jokes. Just a look, steady and eternal.
In that moment—among the dripping branches, the waving flags, and the sky slowly clearing—it feels like they really have made a pact. A dream. A silent vow, sealed not with words, but with everything they’ve never stopped giving each other.
***
In the room, the air smells of clean sheets and rain trapped in their backpacks. As soon as the door closes behind them, Nani abandons any semblance of posture and, with a theatrical yet exhausted gesture, strips off his rain poncho, then his oversized t-shirt, then his shorts, letting them fall into a messy pile near the chair. He drops onto the bed like a dying shooting star, lying on his back with his arms spread out as if he'd just returned from a space mission.
Sky, still dressed, watches him with his arms crossed, one eyebrow raised and a half-smile playing on his lips.
"You weren’t kidding about wanting to sleep, huh?"
Nani doesn’t even open his eyes, but he lifts a hand and beckons him over with his fingers.
"Come here, let’s play a little."
The invitation is tender, lazy, almost innocent, but Sky lets himself be tempted—because when Nani says "let’s play," it could mean anything in the world. He approaches, sits on the bed beside him, leans toward his face, ready for a joke or a touch, but the moment he brushes the mattress with his hip, Nani grabs his phone and, with a movement far too alert, launches an app on the screen.
"Let’s play, he said," Sky mutters, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling, "and then he starts with Pokémon."
Nani kicks him with precise aim, without even looking.
"We climbed a mountain. My calves are screaming revenge. My quads are in mourning. The muscles in my toes have become a political party. What did you expect? More physical activity?"
Sky laughs, that calm, deep laugh that relaxes his shoulders. But then he looks more closely, really sees how tired Nani is, how that ironic smile rests on a body that has given everything and now demands peace. So he changes tone, softens, the way he only ever does with him.
"Turn around. Come on."
Nani looks at him sideways.
"Why?"
"Trust me. You'll like it."
The suspicion in his eyes is so clear that Sky laughs again, shaken, and raises his hands in surrender.
"I swear. No hidden motives. Just a massage. Premium. Satisfaction guaranteed or your money back."
"It’s just… when you’re this nice, it’s worse." Nani grumbles, but he turns, resting his face on the pillow and letting his arms fall along his sides with a small, resigned sigh. "If you touch my ass, I’m reporting you."
"If I touch it, it’s only to stabilize the treatment area. It’s science."
"You and your science should be arrested."
Sky smiles softly, takes off his pants, leaving only his t-shirt and boxers, then kneels beside him, on his legs, and begins. First gently, just placing his fingertips, then with more pressure, following the design of his muscles, the curves of his tense calves, the joints of his feet still warm from the strain. Nani lets out a small sound halfway between a groan and a sigh.
"Oh. Okay. This… this I like…"
"I know. I told you."
"If you advertise yourself as a roaming masseur on group treks, you’d make a fortune."
"But I only do it for you."
Silence. A silence that weighs like a caress.
Nani doesn’t reply, just sinks a little deeper into the bed, his face buried in the pillow, his phone slipping off to one side. Sky continues, moves to his thighs, with movements always careful, always present, with the precision of someone who knows where to touch to bring relief—not just contact. Between the two of them, a new slowness arises, a full calm, as if this kind of intimacy asked for nothing more than to exist. As if it were enough on its own.
"Sky…" Nani murmurs, barely audible. "If you keep going like this, I’ll fall asleep."
"That’s the plan."
"And then who massages you?"
"I didn’t complain for 70% of the hike up the mountain."
"False. 60%. And only when it was raining sideways."
"Sleep, Nani."
"Are you… staying here?"
"Yeah. I’m staying here."
The phone blinks on the nightstand, the rain continues outside the window, and the room is filled with a warm silence made of trust, of warm hands and hearts beating in the same rhythm. Nani really does fall asleep, slowly, and Sky stays beside him, watching for a while before lying down too, in the bed beside him. There’s no need to talk, nor to touch again. Because in that room—just like on the mountain peak—they’ve made their love safe.
Nani wakes slowly, as if sleep were reluctant to let him go. The light filtering through the curtains is soft, golden, and the rain has stopped some time ago. The room is silent—the kind of silence that only exists in places where you are loved.
He turns, stretching just a little, and in the movement he gently bumps into Sky, who has his eyes closed but speaks immediately, in the husky voice of someone waking up:
"You snored. I really wiped you out."
Nani groans, burying his face in the pillow, then rubs his eyes with his knuckles like a child.
"Did I snore at least in a cute way?"
Sky opens his eyes, turns on his side and looks at him. His smile is slow, affectionate, so full it seems to spill out of his eyes.
"Everything you do is cute. Or maybe I’ve just completely lost my mind because of you."
Then he reaches out, grabs him by the waist and pulls him close, rolling him into his embrace, sharing the bed like there was never a time before they were this close.
Nani lets out a small surprised sound, almost a fake squeal, while his hands instinctively land on Sky’s shoulders. He gives him a light, theatrical slap, as if to scold him.
"Earthquake!"
"I prefer Sky," he replies with a smirk, teasing him with that warm, playful voice already full of love, even so early in the morning.
And then he kisses him. A full, deep, lingering kiss, the kind that doesn’t search for oxygen but for the certainty of contact. Their mouths brush, then seek each other again, slowly, with restrained hunger. Sky holds him tight, one hand on the curve of his back, the other in his hair, still tousled from the pillow.
Nani doesn’t pull away. He gives him space, gives him everything. And while the world outside stays silent and still, he entwines his legs with Sky’s, locking him into a knot that is sweet, carnal, perfect. He breathes against him, as if that’s where he finds his oxygen. His home.
"I’m hungry," Nani murmurs against Sky’s lips, not pulling away, his voice still thick with sleep and mischief, his tone petulant like a child who wants everything right now but refuses to get out of bed.
Sky looks at him with a raised eyebrow, that slow, dangerous smile sliding across his face like a warm wave.
"Hungry for what?" he asks, and there’s a glint of mischief in his eyes, a flicker of intent that makes even the room smile.
Nani doesn’t let himself be distracted. He exhales softly, without moving, still wrapped around him.
"Food," he clarifies, with a deliberately flat tone, as if to say don’t get your hopes up, even though the corners of his mouth are trembling from trying not to laugh.
Sky sighs, but does so while kissing his entire face softly. A kiss on the forehead, the nose, the cheeks, even the jaw—as if he were trying to memorize every inch of him. Each kiss is a smile.
"I’m hungry too," he finally whispers, his voice low and deep. "For you. For food. For everything. But never leave your lover on an empty stomach… or it’ll come back to bite you."
"Is that what legend says?" Nani asks, narrowing his eyes, already knowing the answer will make him laugh.
Sky lets out a low laugh, shaking his head as he buries his face in the curve of Nani’s neck.
"No. That’s what you say, Nani. And sometimes, when you’re hungry… you scare the shit out of me."
Nani laughs—finally, fully—and pulls him tighter, as if that moment could last forever.
Outside, Chiang Mai stretches out like a sacred, oblivious city. But inside that room, a love story has just been written.