Archive of Our Own ^beta

A fire had eaten the building alive. That was Phum's first thought upon seeing the images on his computer an hour ago. Now, taking his lunch break in the nearby park, Phum couldn't help but think that they had really torn the training wheels off for his first project as lead engineer. Somehow, he was both incredibly confident in his abilities and unbearably terrified he was going to screw up the entire project.

He wasn't entirely alone, Phum rationalized. His mentor would attend meetings with him and check his work before submission, and would be available for any consultation Phum needed. So yeah, there were definitely some training wheels involved, but the project was much bigger than Phum had expected for his first go. Not only did he have to test the land and the materials, run risk analyses and cost assessments, and submit regulatory paperwork, but he also had to take into account the damage to the foundation by the fire, possible hidden future health issues from it, and all the clean up it would take to even get the site ready to start building.

As Phum collected his coffee and sandwich from a food truck, he started making a list on his phone of everything he would need to do. What came first? Who did he need to contact? What should he have prepped before he contacted anybody?

And then he collided with something chest high and hard, the edges of it digging into his ribs as he, his lunch, and it went crashing to the ground while someone shouted.

Shit, that hurt! What the hell had he run into? What idiot had put something in the way where people would walk to the tables to eat? And dammit, he'd dropped his coffee! Someone was going to pay. Literally.

"What the hell?!" yelled the person who had shouted.

Shaking his head, Phum pushed himself up, then blinked down at what he'd landed on. A canvas, the painted side face down on the dirt and grass, an easel that didn't look broken, and his coffee, soaking into the back of the canvas.

"Oh my god," the other man gasped in horror when he saw the coffee spill.

Yeah. He'd better be sorry. He owed Phum a new cup of coffee.

Standing up, Phum brushed himself off and then finally looked at the owner of the voice—and easel, he supposed. Oh. Oh, the guy was pretty. Not pretty in the fake, overly done way idols were, but in a way where Phum wanted to brush his hair out of his eyes and watch his face for hours. Yeah, Phum was asking this guy to lunch.

Putting on his best, most charming smile, Phum said, "You owe me a coffee."

The other man's eyebrows furrowed in bafflement, and he let out a sardonic laugh. "I owe you?" he asked, pointing between them, then down at the canvas. "You ruined my painting. I think you're the one who owes me."

Phum barely glanced at the canvas. It was just a painting, after all. "You put it in the way. It was bound to get hit," he said with a shrug. "What's your name?"

Now the guy started to look positively angry. It wasn't a beautiful look. His eyes went dark like a storm, his mouth twisting in a scowl. "You're the idiot who wasn't watching where he was going and damaged my stuff, Asshole."

"Asshole?" Phum repeated with a surprised huff, crossing his arms. "I'm not the one calling people names."

"No," the other guy said, also crossing his arms. "You're just the one who won't apologize when he's done something wrong."

Phum rolled his eyes. "It's a painting. You ruined my lunch."

For a few long moments, the other guy didn't speak. Instead, he visibly ground his teeth together, like he was chewing on all the snarky comments he was holding back. The guy wasn't nearly as pretty when he was angry, and his attitude was clearly awful. Phum didn't want to take this man to lunch anymore. If this had been even five years ago, Phum would've already started throwing punches, but he could get into trouble if his work found out, and Fang would be sad.

"So you won't apologize?" The not-pretty guy asked, mostly a statement. And since it was basically a statement, Phum merely glowered at him in response. The guy nodded. "Alright."

He was gonna back down that fast? Huh. He wasn't nearly the tough guy Phum had been expecting. Even as Phum started to uncross his arms, the other guy knelt down in front of him to pick up what remained of Phum's coffee. Phum lifted an eyebrow. The guy was still going to offer to buy him another coffee? Well, Phum wouldn't turn him do—

The coffee hit Phum's chest in one great splash. Phum gasped. The painter quickly dropped the cup, grabbed his easel, canvas, and a bag, and took off. Phum was too in shock to give chase, too thankful that his chest wasn't burning. Thank goodness he'd gone for iced with lunch.

"What the hell!" Phum shouted. He glared in the direction the painter had fled, but could no longer see him. Of course not. Phum would just have to keep an eye out for annoying, asshole artists who liked to throw coffee on people and get the guy to pay for it next time.

This time, when Phum approached the food truck, his brain was not thinking about work. Instead, he was making a list of all the ways he could get his revenge.

…

…

When Fang entered the apartment, with barely a knock to announce himself, Phum was sitting on the couch, holding his favorite plush bear and pouting. With a small sigh, Fang crossed to sit on the other side of the couch.

"What's the emergency?" Fang asked.

Phum pressed his lips together. It was going to sound so stupid out loud. "I need to get revenge on a painter."

Lifting an eyebrow, Fang said, "Okay?"

"He threw coffee on me and stained my shirt," Phum said, half-whining. "My own coffee."

Fang, the traitor, started to grin. "What'd you do to him?"

"Nothing!" Phum shouted, aghast. "But I had to send the shirt to an expensive launderer to get the stain out."

He would just pass over how he'd failed to get the shirt clean after coming home and, after throwing it in the dryer, did a google search and realized that the dryer was the worst possible thing he could've done and had forced the machine to stop so he could drag it out, but it had been too late, and now the expensive launderer was the only place he'd seen that promised it could save his shirt. The only upside was that he was able to use his father's money to pay for it.

Something of Phum's failure must have shown on his face, or perhaps his brother just knew him too well, because Fang's expression held the kind of acceptance a parent wore when their child told a really bad lie but they were going to play along.

"So you want revenge for your shirt?" Fang asked.

"Yes," Phum said. He squeezed his bear tighter. "You have to help me."

In school, Fang would've agreed immediately. Now, however, "I can try, but I'm not sure what I can do."

Getting a job had taken way too much of Fang's free time and now he worried about getting in trouble with his boss. Granted, Phum also didn't want to get in trouble with his boss. He quite liked his job, thanks.

"Help me find him," Phum said. "Then I'll do the revenge myself."

A nod. "Okay. What do you know about him?"

Leaning back and staring at the ceiling, Phum recalled the painter's face. "Black hair, about as long as mine. A lean face. Narrow eyebrows. Dark eyes. A long nose. Full lips." He trailed off for a moment, remembering just how pretty the guy had been. It was a shame he was an asshole. Clearing his throat, Phum continued, "I know he paints in the park across from my work."

Or had at least once. Damn, but that wasn't a lot to go on.

"Hm," Fang let out, putting his hand to his chin. "I don't know how we'll find him with just that. You'd be better off waiting to run into him again in the park." Then he gave Phum a small, teasing smile. "Are you sure you want to see him again for revenge though? Nothing else?"

Glaring, Phum shifted uncomfortably on the couch. "Of course. He owes me for my shirt. And my coffee."

Thankfully, Fang took what he said at face value and let the matter drop. There was a time, when Phum had first returned from abroad and started school again, where Fang had insisted that each new friend or acquaintance he met might be the match to his soul markers. After all, Phum had two that weren't a match to family. He'd been wrong every time. None of those people stuck around for more than a few months, let alone long enough to be considered one of Phum's Bonds.

Then Phum had pointed out Fang's obsession with that idiot Tan from their rival school and his older brother suddenly stopped trying to match him up with people. Ironically, Phum had met one of his Bonds in high school, but Fang had had nothing to do with it. Still, Phum didn't need Fang to start trying to foist friends on Phum again. They were adults now. Phum didn't need the help.

Really. He was fine as he was.

…

…

Phum went for lunch in the park every day for a week at the same time he'd met the painter before, with no luck. Clearly the guy knew Phum would be looking for him and ran away. On the one hand, that meant that Phum was the winner because he wasn't the one who couldn't use the park anymore. On the other hand, it meant he couldn't get his revenge, or even talk to or see the (not) pretty man again. Somehow, he was more disappointed than anything.

Then, Monday.

The initial cleanup from the fire was well underway, and a report came in on the remaining building's structural stability. From it, Phum would be able to figure out what foundations needed to be rebuilt and what could be saved. It also meant that he could start planning what the new construction would look like. The original building was an office, but the new owner of the building wanted to make it an art museum – to "increase the cultural wealth of the city," they'd said.

"Phum," his mentor, Sand, said, as Phum came back from lunch, "the client is here for the meeting early. And she's brought a consultant to help design the new museum."

Phum frowned even as he gathered what he needed for the meeting. "We have designers on payroll, though."

Sand nodded, placing his hands on his hips. "We do. But our clients are allowed to bring in outside consultants if they want to. It's on their tab, not ours, so we let them do it if they want. In any case, you still have to take what they say into account because, at the end of the day, we're still at fault if the client is unhappy."

Great. Phum hoped the consultant at least had some experience and wasn't just the client's second cousin or her sister-in-law's nephew or something.

When Phum entered the meeting room, with Sand a step behind him, the client and her consultant were already seated and chatting amicably. They looked up at the sound of the door opening and Phum stopped just shy of his chair. The consultant. It was the painter from the park! Who clearly recognized Phum too, if his horrified expression was anything to go by.

Good.

Smirking, Phum gave the client a wai. "It's good to see you again, Khun Lin. Who's this with you today?"

The painter was visibly grinding his teeth as Lin said brightly, "This is my art consultant, Khun Peem."

Still smirking, Phum held out his hand over the table. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Khun Peem."

When Peem stood and took Phum's hand in return, the grip was almost too tight, and Phum quickly gave as good as he got. Still, Peem managed to keep a pleasant expression on his face. It was actually impressive.

"Same. I hope we work well together," Peem said, and Phum could almost believe him.

Even as they retook their seats and started the meeting, Phum's chest was full of a fluttering warmth. He had the upper hand on the pretty painter. This was his job, something he'd worked hard for, and his home turf. Peem was just a painter.

…

…

Peem was a very opinionated, passionate, and knowledgeable painter.

Throughout the meeting, Lin asked for his opinion, and he always had something to add. The windows should look like this to prevent sun damage to the art in the outer halls. The lighting should be done like this to best show the colors and paint strokes. The rooms should be set up in this way or that way to maximize display area while facilitating visitor traffic. And he had such a calm, reasonable way of talking that Phum actually let his guard down for a moment.

"Food and drink shouldn't be allowed," Peem said, then glanced pointedly toward Phum as he continued, "What if someone spills coffee on one of the artworks?"

Phum nearly snapped his pen, fireworks going off in his stomach. This—!

"You're right, of course. But the days are so hot, and I want people to spend a lot of time here. So at least a place selling water would be nice," Lin contradicted lightly, and the meeting moved on.

By the end of the meeting, they had hashed out a lot of details for what Lin wanted from her museum. Now it would be up to Phum to try and make it all come true—working with contractors, designers, electricians, plumbers, and more, and writing permit requests and running more tests and—

"If something comes up and you have to make a design change," Lin said as they walked her to the elevator. She briefly touched Peem's arm. "Ask Khun Peem. As an artist himself he'd know what's best better than I would."

"Of course," Phum agreed with a smile.

As soon as the elevator doors closed behind her, Phum and Peem frowned at each other. With a huff, Peem reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card, which he handed over begrudgingly.

"I hope I don't hear from you," he said.

Phum stared at the card. Even it was a work of art, with a wave crashing along the side. Lifting his eyes to Peem, he said, "I hope you do. You owe me nine hundred baht."

Spluttering, Peem asked, "For what? Your ego?"

A smirk. "My dry cleaning."

Peem rolled his eyes. "I'm not paying for your dry cleaning unless you pay for my ruined painting."

Oh, if it was going to be a money game, then Phum would win every round. Crossing his arms, Phum said, "Sure thing. Tell me how much and I'll have it for you in an hour."

His father's money had to be worth something after all.

His easy acceptance flustered Peem, who struggled to respond. Finally, "Fine! I'll pay you as soon as you pay me," he said like a challenge. It made Phum's chest warm again.

Phum held out his hand and, after only a moment's hesitation, Peem took it. They shook on it like it was a business deal, once again squeezing as hard as they could while doing their best not to show it in their faces. When they let go, Phum used his left hand to offer Peem his own business card.

"Text me when you have your price."

Scowling, Peem took the card and hit the button for the elevator.

…

…

That evening, Phum's phone went off with a text from Peem. The price he put on his painting was 15,887 baht. With a few taps of his phone, the money moved from the account his father regularly put money into to the account held by Peem. Immediately after getting confirmation that the money was sent, Phum sent his own text.

'I've decided I don't want your money,' he typed. 'Bring me coffee every day until you pay it off. The kind I like only costs ฿100'

Moments later, Peem sent back, 'You're not serious'

'Very serious. If you start tomorrow, you'll be done in nine months.'

'nine months is long enough to have a baby. no'

'Bring me coffee or have my baby. Your choice.'

It didn't even make sense, but it had Phum grinning anyway. Even more so when Peem sent him a middle finger emoji but asked what his coffee order was.

…

…

"I think you like him," Beer said over drinks a week later, after Phum told him about how Peem was actually bringing him coffee each day.

Phum nearly spit out his own drink, his heart racing. "No," he denied.

Shaking his head, Beer sighed. "Think about it, Phum," he said. "You've been thinking about him nonstop since you met. Almost every text you send me these days is about him. You're insisting he buy you coffee to pay you back for your ridiculously expensive dry cleaning just so he's forced to come see you every day. I think you're hoping he's your last Bond."

"No," Phum said again, but it was weak, especially when he couldn't meet his best friend's eyes.

Instead, he glanced at people walking by and spotted several Bond marks on clear display on people's necks, arms, and one on the face. Wonky stars, squiggly lines that looked like wind, an origami crane, a sunflower.

Beer, being Beer, didn't let it slide. Instead, he held up his hand and started counting on his fingers.

"You have three marks. Chain links on your left hip for Fang."

As a child, Phum had thought they were a paper clip, but no. It was a symbol of unbreakable connection. Phum had clung to that mark when he'd lived abroad, knowing that his brother would always be there for him no matter what because they were Bonded.

"A garuda on your right shoulder for me," Beer said, sounding proud of the mark.

He should be proud. It was a symbol of power, protection, and being unconstrained. Beer had definitely allowed Phum to be himself, to not have to be the happy child his parents thought he should be. Beer pushed him and knew him better than anyone else.

"You don't know who matches the wave on your wrist, but it's on your left side, so it's probably family or a lover. And you like this artist guy. You want him to be your Bond match."

Phum kept his final mark hidden under his watch band. As Beer said, being on the left, it was most likely a romantic Bond, but no mark was safe, no matter how pretty. Fang's frangipani mark matched with their father's, but the minute Fang came out to their father as gay, it had been clear that it was a bond of animosity, not family.

Only when Beer cleared his throat did Phum realize he'd been rubbing his watch band. Phum quickly pulled his hand away and took a sip to seem unaffected. Beer just lifted an unimpressed eyebrow.

"Even if I did like him, which I don't," Phum insisted, even as his cheeks warmed at the thought of Peem's face, "he flips me off every time he sees me, so it'd be a doomed relationship from the start." He did his best to sound flippant and not disappointed.

Because he wasn't disappointed. Yes, he thought Peem was pretty—almost too pretty to look at—but that didn't mean Phum liked the guy. Just because he got excited every time Peem texted that he was on his way with coffee, and that Peem's parting middle finger made him smile, and Phum kept texting about work stuff even when he didn't actually need an art consultant's opinion….

Fuck.

Beer was right.

Of course Beer was right.

From the look on his friend's face, Phum knew his revelation was written all over his face. He hid behind his glass again.

Leaning forward, Beer said, "Maybe it wouldn't be if you could have a conversation that didn't involve forced labor or insults to his profession." And he lifted an eyebrow, almost daring Phum to contradict him.

Phum narrowed his eyes, but Beer looked entirely unaffected. Eventually, as always, Beer won the staring contest.

With his own, exaggerated sigh, Phum asked, "So what should I do?"

…

…

No sooner had Phum parked his car than his phone rang. He answered without turning the car off so that his brother's voice came through the Bluetooth, and he could talk in the air conditioning.

"What's up?" Phum asked.

He turned in his seat to fiddle with the shopping bag in the passenger seat. Beer's idea for winning Peem over started with a verbal apology. Then, a conversation about Peem's interests. Then a gift. But Phum was terrible at apologies, so he'd decided to move the gift up to step one. And if Peem was mad about his painting getting damaged, well, Phum could afford to replace it. One two-foot by two-foot canvas and one bag of paints suggested by the lady at the shop. That should do it. Now he just had to wait until Monday to hand it over.

"I want you to meet someone."

Fang's tone was cautious in a way that never meant good news, and Phum stopped touching his purchases. Frowning at his console, he asked, "Who?"

A long pause, and then, "Tan."

Tension leaked out of Phum's shoulders, replaced by confusion. "Tan? From high school? I've met Tan."

During high school, even though it was on the left, Phum had been certain that Fang's third Bond mark—a sun on his ankle that he usually hid with socks—was an enemies Bond with Tan. They'd thrown punches and insults almost every time they met–out of view of teachers, of course. Once in college, they were in different faculties and—as far as Phum knew—never saw each other. Tan had been in Phum's faculty, though, and had latched onto him. He'd complained that none of his other friends were engineers, he needed at least one familiar face around, and swore he'd put his fighting days behind him.

Phum hadn't seen him since graduation.

"I want you to meet him….as my boyfriend," Fang clarified.

Phum's brain screeched to a halt. "Your what?"

Silence. That meant he'd heard right and it wasn't a joke. Phum could imagine the way Fang pressed his lips together when he was nervous. His older brother would never admit to being nervous, but Phum knew.

"How long have you been dating Tan?" Phum asked, still unable to keep his incredulity out of his voice.

Another silence. The longer it went on, the more Phum frowned. Why wouldn't Fang say anything? Was it some big secret? From Phum, of all people?

Finally, "Three years."

Three years put them back in college when it started. How had Tan managed to keep it a secret? He was terrible with secrets! Tan stuttered and fumbled and tripped over himself whenever he was hiding something. How had Phum not noticed?

He wished he was face timing his brother, or sitting beside him, rather than sitting in his car. "Of course I have to meet him," Phum said, putting on his usual casual air. "I have to figure out how he managed to win you over, and how he managed to keep his big mouth shut about it."

And grill Fang on why his brother hadn't trusted him—him! a Bonded brother!—with the secret.

A sigh of relief came through the speakers. "He stayed quiet because I asked him to."

Fang didn't come out to their parents as gay until after college graduation, once he had a job lined up and his own apartment. By then, he'd already been dating Tan for some time. It made sense to hide it before that point, but why after? Habit? Worry that his Bond with Phum would become another one of contempt if he knew?

"If you wanted it to be a secret so bad, then why are you telling me now?" Phum asked.

After getting kicked out of their parent's house, Fang had told Phum he had a boyfriend. He had. But the relationship had come up so infrequently that Phum had assumed it wasn't anything special, that perhaps when Fang said 'my boyfriend,' he was always with someone new. Because if he was in a long-term relationship, surely Phum would've caught a name at some point, right?

"Because telling his friends will make him happy," Fang said, as easy as explaining the weather.

Or maybe Phum hadn't thought to ask. He'd assumed Fang would just tell him, and maybe Fang had assumed that Phum would ask if he wanted to know. Their Bond was deep, but a lot of it was unspoken understanding. There had to be something that tripped them up, he supposed.

Nodding, even though Fang couldn't see him, Phum said, "Okay."

Because it really was that easy.

…

…

The building Phum parked in front of on Sunday afternoon was a café, where the owner clearly lived in the house above it, surrounded by a white stone fence and gate. A long table with many chairs had been set up in the ample green space around the building, and Tan was there, standing over a grill. Cooking.

"I didn't know you could cook," Phum said, a tease in his voice.

Tan jumped so badly that he almost dropped the tongs he was using to flip meat. For a moment, it looked like he might say something rude to Phum for startling him, but then he caught sight of Fang and his expression melted into happy goo.

"Teerak~" he cooed, holding his arms out and hurrying over for a hug.

Fang held out a hand to stop him, catching Tan gently by the shoulder and flipping him back around, then walking him to the grill again. "You're cooking. Don't get distracted," Fang chastised.

Instead of getting upset, Tan smiled. "You're right. I can't let you eat burnt food." He gently touched Fang's arm and then motioned to the table. "Go go go, go sit. Relax~"

With a shake of his head but a besotted look in his eyes, Fang did as bade. Phum followed, bemused. No sooner had Phum taken a seat beside his brother than the side door of the building opened and a guy with a scowl on his face stepped out carrying a bucket full of drinks. He had hair long enough to tie into a tiny ponytail, the bangs falling into his eyes. The guy got three steps from the table before he took notice of Phum and Fang.

If possible, he frowned harder. "Oi, Tan. I thought you said you had a boyfriend, not a harem," he complained.

"Harem?" Phum repeated, disgusted. Him and Tan? Gross.

"Harem?!" Tan shouted at the same time. He slapped his free hand against his chest dramatically. "Ai'Q, how dare you? I am loyal to my teerak and no one else. How dare. Teerak," he whined, pouting in Fang's direction. "You're the only one for me!"

Lips curling into a pleased smile he couldn't hide, Fang raised a hand and nodded, silently telling Tan he believed him.

Rolling his eyes, Q finished walking to the table and set the bucket down. In a way that suggested the action was beneath him, Q fished a can from the bucket and held it out to Phum. Phum glanced between the can and Q and Q made an impatient sound, so Phum hesitantly took the proffered item. He'd been expecting beer, and it was, but the can also boasted 'non-alcoholic' on the side. Phum didn't know Tan's other friends, but the Tan he'd gone to college with would never have touched such a thing. Times had changed, Phum guessed.

When Phum popped the tab on the beer and took a sip without complaining or grimacing, Q's scowl turned mildly approving, like Phum had passed a test. As he turned away, Phum caught sight of a pencil shaped Bond mark near the crease of his left elbow, and an arrow high up on his right bicep.

"Darn, I was hoping you would complain so he'd bring out the real stuff."

Phum jolted and looked over his shoulder, where a thin man with wide, almost doll eyes was pouting at the can in Phum's hand. He wore a yellow shirt that was almost too bright to look at. Before Phum could say anything, an arm slid over yellow-shirt-guy's shoulders and pulled him back into the embrace of another guy, this one wearing a light brown shirt, who looked fondly exasperated. Both of them had the head of a penguin peeking out from their shirt collars.

"It's too early for alcohol," the brown-shirt guy said, then ruffled the thin guy's hair. "I'll get you something alcoholic after dinner tonight."

Skinny Guy's face lit up. "You promise, Chain?" Chain hummed his assent and the thin guy beamed at him. "You're the best and I love you."

Expression going even fonder, Chain said, "I love you, too, Pun."

"Hey!" Q called out, then tossed a can of beer at them. Chain had to let go of his Bonded to catch it. "You two took the longest to figure out your Bond was romantic, and you haven't stopped pissing me off with it since."

"You're just jealous," Chain shot back good naturedly.

"You're all gonna be jealous of mine," Tan threw in from his place finishing up the meat, "because Fang is the best."

"I'd rather be jealous of your cooking skills. You're not burning lunch, are you?"

Phum knew that voice. His head snapped in the direction of the café to watch as Peem made his way over, carrying a platter full of sides to go with the meat.

Peem had short sleeves on. He'd always had three-quarter sleeves on before, or long sleeves rolled up to his elbows. High up on Peem's left bicep was an arrow, just like Q's. Next to the arrow, a paw print. Wait, Phum knew that paw print. Tan had that same mark. The outside of Peem's bicep had a streak of green that faded into blue, while the far inside had a sparrow. Four marks making a band around his arm.

Exactly how many marks did Peem have? Could it be five? Was one of them under the band of his watch, like Phum? Or did one of those marks mean he was romantically Bonded to Q or Tan, even though they were on the right? It would be just Phum's luck, if so, but having more than three Bond marks was already rare.

When Peem laid eyes on Phum, he stopped walking. His eyebrows came together, his lips pulling down. "Khun….What are you doing here?" Peem asked, and Phum couldn't tell if he was angry, irritated, or just confused.

"This is Phum, he's Fang's younger brother," Tan introduced, plating the last of the meat and bringing it over to the table. "This is Chain and Pun. They're romantically Bonded, finally," and Chain flipped him off while Tan grinned. "That's Q and Peem. They're artists who run a studio together."

He didn't say 'romantically Bonded.' That meant they were just friends, right?

"They're my best friends," Tan said, motioning to the group as a whole.

Q took the platter from Peem with a raised eyebrow and set it on the table. The action made Peem blink and shake his head, but still Phum couldn't read his expression.

"Guys, this is my beautiful, wonderful, perfect teerak, Fang!" Tan introduced emphatically, moving to wrap his arms around Fang's shoulders from behind and press their cheeks together. "And we share a Bond mark, so you know he's the best," he gloated.

Chain, Pun, Q, and Peem groaned or gave expressions of 'sure, sure.' In general, they seemed unimpressed, but with their friend, not Phum's brother. Knowing Tan, Phum understood. Tan was so dramatic.

"I'm so hungry. Let's eat!" Pun chimed in.

"If the meat's edible," Chain joked, earning a quick middle finger from Tan.

"I'm a great cook," Tan declared, then turned puppy eyes on Fang, "Right, Teerak?"

Smiling, Fang made an affirmative sound and nodded, which brightened Tan's day. But really, could they trust Fang to be honest? He was in love with the guy and would probably say dirt tasted good if Tan had put it on a plate.

It turned out that Tan could grill, because the meat was actually good. From the teasing he received from his friends, it was a relatively new skill. They said he'd only learned to cook because he had a boyfriend to cook for, and their friendship wasn't enough for him, clearly. Tan played into it, saying they were right and sticking his tongue out, to a chorus of mock offended shouts.

When Chain reached over the table to hand something to Peem, Phum caught sight of the same green to blue streak on his arm that he could see on Peem. And, at one point, Pun and Chain started kissing, Pun's arm came to grab the back of Chain's head, and Phum saw the sparrow on his inner arm for just a second. All of Peem's visible Bonds were at the table with them.

Surrounded by that much care and affection, around these people his soul had chosen, Peem lit up. He smiled warmly, crooked but beautiful. His eyes sparkled and crinkled at the edges. His movements were looser, softer. Phum chest ached, wanting to be someone that Peem could be like that around. But Peem had four Bond marks around the table. If he had one more, it would be for an enemy. Phum had never met someone with four Bond marks before, but he'd never heard a story of someone with that many who didn't have at least one negative mark among them.

Luckily, Fang asked the question that was eating Phum alive. "You all have a Bond mark with Peem?"

A round of nods. "Peem has seven Bond marks," Pun said proudly.

"Seven?" Phum blanched. He'd never heard of someone with that many!

Peem frowned. "Yeah. Seven," he said, just shy of being a challenge. "My friends and my parents."

"And your lover," Q and Tan sang at the same time, which made Peem both laugh and tell them to shut up.

"We don't know if it's a lover," Peem said. "I haven't met them yet."

Phum's wrist was burning. His right hand covered his left wrist, and he caught Fang looking at him with the motion. Frowning, Phum squeezed his wrist to stop himself from doing anything else. Even if Peem had a mark under his watch band, it probably wasn't a match for Phum's. Phum had thoroughly ticked Peem off every time they met. He wouldn't get his hopes up. Someone like Phum, whose own family didn't pay him any mind, who would sooner piss someone off than endear them…any relationship he managed wouldn't be with a Bonded lover.

The afternoon slipped away into early evening, with Tan and his friends finding endless new ways to entertain themselves. Singing and dancing—badly, in some cases. Non-alcoholic versions of drinking games. Dragging each other with embarrassing stories from high school and college—Tan didn't like those because of his past loose dating habits in high school, but Fang just held his hand and agreed that Tan loved only him. A lack-of-talent show, where Phum was forced into the 'stage' area and told to rap. It was…humiliating, but Peem laughed until he cried and that was somehow worth it. Through it all, Tan kept pressing sniff kisses to Fang's cheeks, neck, and shoulder—wherever he could reach, and Fang only protested the first time before letting his boyfriend do as he wanted. Phum loved that his brother looked so happy.

Then Toey showed up—the kid Phum and Fang had mock-adopted in school to protect from bullies—and revealed that he and Q were Bonded lovers. The fact that they all knew Toey started a whole new round of stories and teasing and non-alcoholic games.

"We've known Toey since Phum was in his last year of junior high," Fang said.

"Right after I got back from almost ten years abroad," Phum added, and hoped it sounded like a rich boy gloating and not a sad kid mourning. Across from him, Peem's lips pressed together, which could've been a reaction to either one. "People picked on Toey, so we gave them a taste of their own medicine."

"Huh," Q let out. He pointed around the table before crossing his arms. "We're a bunch of reformed fist fighters."

"Speak for yourself," Peem and Chain said at the same time, then air-high fived each other across the table.

Toey being the reason Q insisted on non-alcoholic drinks was also teased and bemoaned in equal measure. As Phum had thought, they'd been heavy drinkers until Q got 'all conscientious' about Toey's liver health and longevity. And before Phum knew it, night had fallen.

The friends—and Toey—were spending the night in the house, above the café, but Phum and Fang took their leave. They hadn't brought overnight bags and had work in the morning. It took ten minutes to extricate Fang from Tan's clinging fingers, but everyone was only playfully irritated by it. With one quick goodnight kiss, Fang was able to escape to the car while his boyfriend swooned.

Even as the others headed inside, Phum and Peem stared at each other. It was the first time they'd had fun around each other, hadn't sniped and bickered at each other. What was Phum meant to say?

Lifting a hand, Peem said, "Drive safe."

Phum nodded. "Mm." Then he lifted his own hand in a mock wave as well…and walked away.

Perfect.

Once they were driving away, Phum said, "Tan was definitely happier than I remember in school. He was practically made of bubbles." He glanced sideways at Fang, who wore a small smile of his own. "You too."

Fang's cheeks turned pink but he didn't shy away from the topic like he once might have. "I am."

"His friends seem…nice," Phum said diplomatically.

Tan's friends were high energy and wild, matching his freak. It didn't matter that they only shared a mark with Peem rather than each other. Either way, it was clear they all loved each other very much. They were like a family, and Phum's lips turned down, wishing he had anything remotely like it in his life.

"I can ask Tan what Peem's other Bond marks look like," Fang offered.

Hands clenching on the wheel, Phum shook his head. "No."

Fang tilted his head curiously to the side. Phum frowned harder.

"It's not a Bond like that," Phum said.

He didn't try to hide his feelings. Fang would've already realized that Phum thought Peem was attractive, would've guessed that Phum hoped his Bond mark matched one of Peem's. But Phum knew what their relationship was and what it wasn't. If he and Peem were Bonded, it wasn't romantic. Most likely, they weren't Bonded at all, and Phum's one-sided crush would go unrequited until it fizzled away with time.

Fang put a hand on Phum's shoulder, giving it a commiserating squeeze. The touch was nice, but so was his brother's silence. They both knew no words would be comforting in that moment.

Seeing Peem lit up with love, surrounded by his Bonds, solidified in Phum's mind that he needed to apologize, though. Peem deserved it. Peem might not be his, but he was a good person. And Phum might play the role of an asshole sometimes, but he knew when to let the role go.

…

…

The building was officially cleaned of debris and muck from the fire. Phum had done a walk through that morning, taking pictures and video to look at later, before heading into the office. Contractors would be in by the afternoon to start rebuilding the walls that had been too damaged to save. Now, Phum had to finalize the design plans with the architectural department so the contractors could really get down to work.

As he was waiting for the elevator, a hand appeared in front of him, holding a coffee. Heart leaping, Phum turned to find Peem staring at him—for once, not with resentment. His expression was carefully blank.

Accepting the coffee, Phum cleared his throat. "Thank you."

The thanks, said not with pomp but with sincerity, appeared to catch Peem off guard and Phum did his best not to hunch his shoulders.

"You know how to be nice?" Peem asked, surprised.

Part of Phum bristled, but he forced it back down. He'd started this feud, after all. "Of course I can."

Peem adjusted his bag on his shoulder and pressed his lips together. For several long moments, they stood in silence, looking at each other. While Peem couldn't meet Phum's eyes, Phum had free reign to stare at Peem's handsome face and marvel at the way his eyebrows furrowed and relaxed or his lips twitched up or down.

Fix it. Apologize. That's what Beer had said. That's what Phum intended to do with the canvas—which was in his car. Shit.

Clearing his throat again, Phum started, "About the coffee." Peem finally looked him straight on. "You don't have to buy it for me anym—"

"What? No," Peem interrupted abruptly.

Phum blinked. Peem blinked.

Then, cheeks turning pink, Peem said, "I mean, yes I do. You paid me for the canvas you ruined, so I owe you for the dry cleaning, right?"

Eyebrows furrowing, Phum hedged, "You…want to keep bringing me coffee?"

Peem let out a gush of air and looked away. "No. But a deal's a deal, right?" The elevator dinged as it arrived and Peem waved at it. "You have to get to work and so do I, so go. See you tomorrow. Bye!"

He rushed off before Phum could respond, escaping through the front doors of the building like he was running late. Phum stared after him for so long that the elevator doors shut, then opened again sometime later with new riders. What had just happened?

…

…

The next day, Phum made sure to bring the art supplies up to the office with him. The bag sat next to his desk as he made phone calls, adjusted the digital blueprint files and sent them to the appropriate people, filled out forms, and attended a meeting with one person from each department that was working on the museum project.

Sometime after lunch, someone set a coffee on his desk, drawing his attention away from the computer for the first time in what felt like forever. And there stood Peem, looking as pretty as ever, wearing a two-tone blue shirt and khaki shorts. Maybe it was Phum coming out of deep focus, but did Peem look concerned?

"Peem?" Phum questioned.

Cheeks turning fetchingly pink, Peem crossed his arms and said, "I guess you have a lot of work, huh?"

"What? Oh." Phum glanced back at the files around and on his computer. He shook his head. "Sometimes."

A nod, and Peem began to look uncomfortable. He glanced around the office, like he'd never been there before and was uncertain he was allowed. Phum never wanted him to feel unwelcome.

"I guess I'll get out of here, then," Peem said, dropping his arms as he made to leave.

Later, Phum would blame a lack of caffeine and too many phone calls for the way he latched on to Peem's left wrist, fingers wrapping around Peem's watch just tight enough to stop the other man from taking another step. Peem's eyes snapped to Phum's hand, then trailed up to Phum's face.

Doing his best to seem inviting, Phum looked up into Peem's eyes and said, "Have dinner with me?"

As Phum watched, Peem froze - like a computer crashing from a processing error. His expression went still, not even the barest movement, not even a blink. After two seconds, panic rose in Phum's chest. He released Peem's wrist and leaned back in his chair. The chair rolled back, hitting the bag beside his desk.

"Oh." Phum turned and grabbed the bag, then stood and presented it to Peem. "Here. To replace the one I ruined."

Numbly, as if on autopilot, Peem took the bag and looked inside at the canvas and art supplies.

Phum did his best to sound nonchalant when he continued, "I don't know if they're good or not. The lady at the store picked them out."

After several silent moments of staring into the bag, Phum feeling sweatier by the second, Peem lifted his eyes to Phum again.

"Dinner," he said, with a note of finality. A small nod. "I'll meet you out front at seven."

Then, with a small wave, Peem held the bag up in some sort of silent thanks—maybe—and then spun around to leave. He almost immediately bumped into the next desk over, and Phum tried not to laugh. He really did. Surprisingly, Peem didn't flip him off for it, just glanced back with pink cheeks and then hurried away.

Phum waited until he was out of sight before picking up his phone.

'Can't we make it six? I'm already starving.'

It almost instantly showed as Read and Phum smiled.

'You're impatient,' Peem sent back. Phum sent a gif with sad puppy eyes and, less than a minute later, received, '6:30.'

…

…

It would have made sense to Phum if Peem hadn't shown up. Other than the apology, they hadn't had a lot of positive interaction. It would have been expected—if not still disappointing—to exit work at 6:30 and find that he'd been stood up.

He had not been stood up.

As promised, Peem stood outside, leaning on a light post while he waited. As soon as he spotted Phum, he stood up straight, fixing his clothes in a way that Phum might almost call 'nervous.' And those clothes were different from the ones Peem had been wearing earlier in the day. Instead of a two-tone blue shirt and khaki shorts, Peem wore a light t-shirt under an open cream-colored button up with brown pants.

Maybe he'd spilled paint on his old clothes while working on a new canvas. Maybe it had rained and Phum hadn't noticed and Peem got soaked. Maybe someone spilled their drink on him, or someone had smoked next to him, or a car ran through mud and splashed him. There were a million reasons why Peem might have changed his clothes.

Maybe he was trying to look good for Phum.

But probably not.

"Been waiting a long time?" Phum asked, his usual tease in his voice. It was easier to hide nerves that way.

Peem rolled his eyes. "Asshole." But he didn't sound angry. "Let's just go. Didn't you say you were starving?"

A nod. "My car's parked over there," Phum pointed toward the parking garage down the street. "I'll give you a ride."

Now Peem shook his head and motioned the other way. "No need. We're going just around the corner."

When Phum's brow furrowed in confusion—what restaurant was around the corner?—Peem's lips quirked up. The artist waved for Phum to follow and started walking, expecting Phum to obey.

He did.

They walked down the block and around the corner, then down four buildings to where an open space allowed for a small noodle soup shop with lots of outside seating.

It was one of those places seen in dramas, where people gathered after a late night at work or after a breakup and drank with friends while eating small plates, or stole ingredients from each other's bowls. Phum had never been to one, didn't know how to order at one, and once he'd sat down at the table and looked at the menu above the shop…he didn't know what any of the stuff on it even was.

A waitress—cook?—came over with water. "Are you ready to order?" she asked kindly, a gentle smile on her lips.

Phum was one hundred percent not ready, and he didn't want to look like a fool in front of Peem. Across from him, Peem's lips pulled into a small smile. Was he going to tease Phum already? Dinner was a terrible plan.

"We'll have two bowls of spicy dry egg noodles," Peem said, turning to the waitress. Phum shifted in his seat. Was Peem ordering for him? He'd said 'we.' "And do you still have some crispy pork?"

"We do."

"May I add some crispy pork and wontons, too?"

"Of course."

"That's all. Thank you."

The woman left with a smile, and then Peem turned his attention on Phum, who straightened in his seat. "You've never been to a place like this, have you?"

Phum cast his gaze around—taking in the other patrons, the stalls, the menus that didn't actually help someone order food—then said, almost like a challenge, "No, but I'm always up to try new things."

The look he received in response was assessing, like Peem didn't know whether to be impressed or irritated. Phum just tried to seem confident yet honest. He was way out of his element, but he was trusting Peem. After a few moments, Peem seemed to decide on 'cautiously pleased.'

The food arrived quickly, and Phum mimicked how Peem flavored his noodles. Then he put one more scoop of chili powder. He wasn't a huge fan of spice, but if Peem was, then Phum would be too.

Peem raised an eyebrow. "You sure you can handle that?"

Without a word, Phum held Peem's eyes and took a big bite of his noodles. And then coughed and cursed. Across from him, Peem let out a huff of laughter and handed him water.

"Are you alright?" Peem asked.

Lips and tongue on fire, Phum drained his water cup and was halfway to raising his hand to get the waitress's attention when Peem slid his own water cup over. Then Peem stuck his thumb in the water and pressed it to Phum's burning lips. Cool water calmed the burn for a moment, but Phum was more struck by the fact that Peem's thumb was on his lips. His mind stuttered to a halt.

Pulling his hand back, a startled expression on his face, Peem said, "The water here is icy, so…" He cleared his throat. "Do that."

Peem's cheeks turned pink, visible even as the sun set around them, and he couldn't hold Phum's gaze, instead darting his eyes up and then away over and over. From the first moment they had met, Phum had thought Peem was pretty, and lovely, and beautiful. This shy, embarrassed Peem was adorable, and the caring action toward Phum's pain had Phum's heart racing in his chest.

Oh, it was going to be terrible when Phum's last Bond mark didn't match the last of Peem's. It was going to hurt when Peem left him. Because Phum wanted moments like this for the rest of his life. With the wonderful man across from him.

…

…

The rest of dinner turned out to be better than the start. Once they had both managed to embarrass themselves, talking became easier.

When asked about his living arrangements, Peem lifted an eyebrow and, pointing his utensils at Phum, said, "You've been to my house."

"What? No I haven't," Phum said, even as he racked his brain for a memory of being in Peem's space. He would remember that.

A nod. "The café where we all met up with you and Tan's boyfriend," Peem clarified. "It belongs to my aunt and I live upstairs."

Oh. Phum put a dab of cold water on his stinging lips, then asked, "You don't live with your parents?"

Peem shook his head, but he was smiling. "Nah. They're back in Chiang Mai. I moved to Bangkok for high school with Q and we've been here ever since. I go back and visit every few months, though," he said. "I help Aunt Pui out in the café whenever I'm free, or if I've stared at a canvas for so long I'm about to go blind," he joked.

It was so different from Phum's family, who could hardly stand to have a meal together—if his father was even in town for the opportunity.

"What about you?" Peem asked, and there was open curiosity on his face. He honestly wanted to know about Phum's family life.

Before he could overthink it, Phum said, "We're…not close. My father is away on business most of the time. Both me and Fang have our own apartments. We don't go home much."

Peem's lips pressed together as he processed the information. "You said you were abroad for a while, right? Where? Did your family go with you?" Then he took another bite of noodles while Phum considered his answer.

Surprisingly, people rarely asked where he'd been. "Hm. Germany," Phum said, clasping his hands on the table. "I went alone. I lived with…a friend of the family."

The food froze halfway into Peem's mouth. The artist sat like that for four full seconds before finishing eating. By the time he'd swallowed, it looked like Peem had eaten something sour rather than spicy. He seemed to struggle with something, but ultimately let it go. With a deep, slow breath, he moved on.

"Is Fang your only sibling?"

Phum let out his own relieved breath, then shook his head. "My older brother Oat lives two hours away. He married a police officer and they've adopted a kid. He's nice," Phum said, shrugging his shoulder. "We talk on the phone sometimes."

"And neither of them had a problem with you living on your own as a child?" Peem asked, his voice coming out snappish. Almost immediately, his eyes widened and he put a fist to his mouth, his cheeks darkening with shame.

Phum had no idea what his own expression looked like, but it had to be at least as surprised as Peem's had been. The only person who had seemed angry about Phum being sent away was…

Reaching across the table, Phum lightly covered Peem's free hand with his own, drawing Peem's eyes down, then back up. "Fang and my father had a huge fight about it a few years ago. It was actually scary, seeing Fang that angry. He was always the peacekeeper of the family before." A one-armed shrug. "Fang later told me Oat left home in protest, too."

Body visibly relaxing, Peem turned his hand over to gently hold Phum's on the table. "Good. That's good."

After a brief silence, they then talked about what their jobs were like on a daily basis—with a brief dip into 'how's the museum coming along' before Peem declared no work talk was allowed. Then conversation moved to if they had any other hobbies—Phum did photography for fun and played video games while Peem practiced coffee art and cake decorating, things he'd started because his aunt needed help in the café but found he enjoyed. When pushed for something not art related, Peem said he liked swimming and visiting the beach. Phum was already calculating how far to the nearest beach in his mind.

By the time Peem let Phum drive him home, Phum was absolutely buzzing with endorphins. If he'd been younger, even just in college, Phum might have dared to give Peem a kiss before letting him leave. As it was, he simply said, "Good night, Peem."

Peem stared at him for several long seconds—was he also considering a kiss or was it just Phum hoping for one—then, quietly, "Goodnight."

He made to leave and immediately tripped over his own feet. Turning back to Phum, he grimaced.

"Goodnight," he said again, clearly embarrassed but trying to hide it, before scurrying away.

And then he was gone, into the dark café and ending what might have been the best date—not date?—that Phum had ever been on.

…

…

Two days after the date-not-date, Phum took a long lunch and drove Peem to a meal at an ocean themed café that had wall sized aquariums and pay-to-interact touch zones of little rays and sea stars and other small sea life. And, of course, he paid for Peem to interact. It was like watching someone be born again. Every bit of tension leaked out of Peem as he had his hands in the water, and his face was full of innocent, pure joy with the barest brush of an animal.

It only occurred to Phum afterward that he could've seen if Peem shared his mark then, if Peem had used his left hand to reach into the pools. Alas, he'd only used his right hand. Phum wasn't sure if the not-knowing was better or worse than being proven right that Peem's wrist was bare.

Three days after that, Peem met Phum after work and directed him to a gallery owned by a friend. Instead of paintings, however, the art on the walls was all done with a camera. A photography exhibition on the beauty of rural Thailand. Though the photographer was a friend of Peem's, Peem was quick to admit that he didn't know how the prints had been created; Phum was more than happy to explain, however. Photography was just a hobby, but he knew enough. He had once considered becoming a professional photographer, but eventually focused on building structures that improved lives, instead. Peem asked insightful questions and only teased Phum a little for how passionate he got about the subject.

"It's ironic, though," Peem noted with a sardonic grin. "You like making art, and you want to make people's lives better with beautiful buildings, but you weren't sorry at all for destroying my canvas."

"I apologized!" Phum protested, and Peem laughed—warm and lovely, so Phum couldn't even fake being angry.

When the weekend rolled around again, Beer wasn't available for drinks, but he did answer a video call.

"Look at you," Beer said with a grin, "You did it. High school or college you would've fucked it up somehow."

Rolling his eyes, Phum settled back on his couch. It was true, though, so he couldn't even be mad. There was a reason he'd started with the gift instead of his words. In school, Phum had been known for being threatening, pompous, and rude. Something about his mannerisms or his 'accent' from living abroad—though Phum's family had never mentioned anything wrong with his Thai.

Even his other friend, Mick, had only approached him because he was Beer's friend first. And because he was so nose-deep in his video games that he never heard the bad news about Phum beforehand. Or after.

"I'm a grown up now," Phum said. "I'm perfectly capable of making friends."

The look Beer gave him said he didn't believe a word of it and was actually surprised Phum had even tried. Honestly? Valid. They both knew Phum was shit at making friends.

After a long pause, Beer said, "Anyway, will you believe me now that your Bond mark isn't for an enemy?"

Phum shook his head. "No." When Beer made a confused sound, Phum elaborated, "Just because Peem isn't my enemy, doesn't mean the mark isn't for one."

There was a long pause in which Beer covered his face with his free hand and breathed. It was his 'someone is doing something stupid but I have to be mature about this' move. But really, Phum wasn't being stupid. He just knew what his life was like, and what kind of person he was, and what kind of Bonds he was allowed to have because of those things.

"I might regret asking…but why are you so convinced the mark has to be an enemy Bond?"

Because his parents hadn't loved him enough to keep him around, instead sending him—and only him—abroad to live with a friend of the family. They'd only brought him back because Fang kept insisting and because his father's promotion into a very public role meant more eyes on the family, strangers who would view their ostracizing of their youngest child with disdain.

Because even in exile, he hadn't been able to maintain friendships, let alone Bonds. The other kids always ditched him after a few days or weeks, and often left him alone in places while they went off to have fun, then laughed about it later.

Because anyone he'd had a crush on grew bored of him within two dates. So obviously, the only Bonds he was capable of were the result of a loyal older brother with a quiet will of steel and the dedication and nerve of a member of the royal family. Neither of which formed on Phum's efforts, but on their individual decisions to stick with him.

Phum didn't know how to love someone. He'd never learned from his parents, and all the dramas weren't realistic. If they were, he and Peem would have fallen in love at first collision. Instead, the only spark they'd had was one of anger.

Beer knew all of this. He knew Phum almost as well as Fang. Whether it was because of their Bonded status or if that status was a result of them getting close, Phum had shared nearly every insecurity with Beer. And since he knew all of this, Beer didn't need Phum to answer.

After several seconds of silence, where Phum cast his eyes away and started to fidget uncomfortably, Beer sighed.

"You're not unlovable, Phum."

Phum's eyes shot back to the phone in his hand. He expected Beer's expression to be intense to match his voice, but it was actually soft.

"You like Peem, and I can tell he likes you too. I just hope he can convince you of that."

It was only everything Phum dreamed about. But dreams and reality were different. Phum and Peem would work on this museum project together. They might become good friends during this time. But once the work was done and Peem stopped buying him coffee? Nothing would force them together and any feelings they had for each other would fade. Just like every other relationship he'd ever had. But it was nice to dream, and he was glad he had a friend like Beer to give him hope, however small.

Phum hummed, noncommittal, and Beer rolled his eyes.

"Since nothing I say gets through to you, Asshole," Beer finished in a much lighter tone, his mouth curling into a smirk.

With a laugh, Phum held up his middle finger. "Asshole," he said right back. "Your love life is no better than mine."

"That's what you think," Beer said suspiciously, his smirk growing bigger.

What? Phum narrowed his eyes and leaned forward on the couch again, propping himself up with his elbows on his thighs. "What does that mean?"

Beer, the conniving jerk, just shrugged. His eyes glanced off to the right, then he said. "I gotta go. I'll talk to you later."

"Don't you hang up on me. What does that mean?" Phum demanded.

"Bye," Beer said, and then the call disconnected.

Asshole! Oh, Phum wouldn't let him off that easily. Next time they hung out in person, Phum wasn't letting Beer leave until he knew everything, absolutely everything, about whoever Beer was dating.

…

…

Best Friend love lives notwithstanding, Phum still had work to do. There were more meetings, more site visits, more communication with contractors and the client, more paperwork. More, more, more. But with every step, the museum came together. There were still weeks, possibly months, of work to do, but Phum knew it would be the best museum they could build, could see it in his mind's eye, and couldn't wait.

Only a few days after his conversation with Beer, Phum was dragged out of a work-induced haze by coffee sliding onto his desk, pushing a paper out of the way. Looking up, he saw Peem's lifted eyebrow.

"Lunch?" he said, as if reminding Phum.

Nodding, Phum said, "You're late," and made to collect his things.

Peem scoffed. "I'm early. You're just always 'starving' and can't wait," he refuted with a laughing smile.

Shrugging, Phum didn't argue. Peem was right. He'd take his lunch at eight thirty in the morning if Peem showed up then. With his work organized, coffee in one hand, phone in the other, Phum followed Peem toward the elevators. The plan was to go somewhere new to both of them that day, and Phum needed the directions to drive them there, so he wasn't looking where he walked, simply trailing after Peem's form in his periphery.

Which was probably how someone managed to collided with his arm and knock him sideways. The other person yelped and Phum heard the sound of papers fluttering to the ground, but he was more focused on the iced coffee now coating his entire hand, forearm, watch, and even the front of his shirt and leg of his pants.

"Shit. Sorry," Jet, one of Phum's coworkers, said. He brushed his hair back and sighed at the mess of papers on the ground, then noticed the liquid and looked up, up, until he saw Phum's arm and the coffee cup. With a wince, he asked, "Was it hot?"

"No. But now I'm gonna be sticky," Phum said. He flicked some coffee off his fingers, then sighed. "So much for lunch. Tomorrow?" he said to Peem, then headed for the bathroom, slipping his phone in his pocket as he went.

"I'm sorry!" Jet called after him.

Phum raised his clean hand to give a wave and said, "It's fine," before pushing his way into the bathroom.

It wasn't all fine, but they'd bumped partly because Phum wasn't watching where he was going, and this was his workplace, so Phum wasn't about to start problems over some spilled coffee and a ruined not-date. Beer would be proud of him for his restraint.

Once in front of a sink, Phum took off his long, outer shirt so he could rinse it out and hang it on the next sink to dry. Checking his watch showed no noticeable liquid damage, so Phum removed it as well and set it aside while he washed his hand, wrist, and forearm. His pants were only vaguely damp in comparison, and Phum didn't have any spares in his desk, so they would have to do.

He'd just lathered soap on his arm when someone reached forward and grabbed said arm, straight in the suds. With a jerk, Phum looked over to find Peem standing beside him, an intense look on his face. His lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes on Phum's arm. For a moment, Phum thought Peem was concerned about the coffee, but that would be stupid. It wasn't a hot coffee that had hit him.

So Phum followed Peem's gaze down, down, to Phum's arm in the sink. To Phum's Bond mark, on clear display. A crashing wave. No sooner had Phum clocked it than Peem guided Phum's arm under the water, rinsing the soap away from the image, all the clearer to see it with. Phum let him because…because it was too late.

Peem had seen the mark. From the grim look on his face, it was clear that he was unhappy. Peem had seven Bond marks—four for his friends, two for his parents, and one as of yet unmatched. Maybe he'd had ideas about them being Bonded, like Phum had, and now he knew they weren't. Or maybe he hadn't, since his Bond mark was for a lover, and Phum wasn't that important to him. Phum watched the bubbles flow down the drain and felt his heart go with them.

Would Peem stick around? Phum had fixed their initial antagonism, right? So it shouldn't matter that they weren't Bonded in some way. Plenty of people had relationships or friends that weren't Bonded to them. Peem wasn't going to leave, right?

Phum should say something to make him stay. He should say something. But all he could hear in his head was his father telling Fang—during their falling-out argument—that Phum would be lucky to find someone to marry him at all, so why was Fang stealing their chance at a grandchild from them? Even his parents didn't think he was worth sticking around for. Why would—

A hand shut off the water, and then Phum was pulled into a hug. Peem's arms wrapped around him, one around his lower back, the other curling up his body to cradle his head and gently lead Phum to rest his head on Peem's shoulder.

"I've never seen you like this before." His voice was soft, his breath just tickling Phum's neck where it disappeared into his shirt.

Tentatively, Phum wrapped his arms around Peem in return. His arms shook the whole way, as did his breath against Peem's shoulder, and his heart in his chest. The longer Peem held him, the less it felt like Phum was about to come out of his own skin, the more settled he felt. It didn't make sense. Peem wasn't giving him reassurance, wasn't showing off a matching Bond mark, wasn't doing anything but holding him. Yet his warmth and presence were enough to bring Phum's mind back from the edge, to make him feel whole and real again. Phum tightened his hold, pressing their bodies even closer together, wanting more of those feelings.

Peem hummed out something that, in any other situation, might have been amusement. Maybe it was because Phum had basically dried his hands on Peem's clothes? Peem's voice was wholly concerned, though, when he asked, "What's wrong?"

Phum didn't want to say it. He didn't want to break the moment, to remind Peem of his mark, to expedite Peem's removal from his life.

And yet. "I have three Bond marks. One for Fang. One for my friend, Beer," he said into the fabric of Peem's shirt, voice heavy. "I've always figured the last one would be an enemy mark. My parents think it is." Peem's grip tightened for a moment and Phum stopped talking.

Part of him wanted to confess that he'd thought Peem was that enemy. That he'd tried to change their relationship into friendship, at least. That he'd tripped and fallen straight into wishing it was a lover's Bond mark, that he would be Peem's and Peem would be his for the rest of their lives. That they were meant for each other. But his confidence had gone.

"It's not an enemy mark," Peem said with conviction. This time, the sound he made was amused. "Though you definitely did a good job trying to make it one."

Phum let out a sound of confusion and Peem pulled out of the hug just enough to place his hands on the sides of Phum's neck and look him in the eye. Though his eyes looked wet, there was a small smile on his lips.

"I meant to ask you eventually," Peem told him, still in a quiet yet certain tone. "But I was nervous too. I've never - No one's ever made me feel this way, the way I feel for you."

Phum searched Peem's face for answers even as his chest expanded with hope. Feelings? The way Peem was touching him? The warm look on his face? "Peem?"

With a soft exhale, Peem pulled his hands away. Phum missed the touch immediately, but his sound of discontent died when Peem reached to unhook his watch. He watched, rapt, as the accessory was pulled away. A car could've crashed into the lobby outside and Phum wouldn't have noticed.

A crashing wave. Shades of blue and white rising up and curving over, the perfect swell in miniature on his skin. An exact match to Phum's.

Throughout his life, Phum had never thought his wave was beautiful. It was evidence that he would have an intense relationship with someone, but he'd assumed that relationship would be negative. Someone like him didn't get that lucky—most of the time, he hadn't felt he deserved to be. He'd hidden the wave so often that there were times he forgot its exact shape or colors.

But seeing it there, on Peem's skin? No image had ever been so stunning. Phum held his own wrist out so that it mirrored Peem's, just to be sure. It felt unreal, but the truth stared up at him in bold pigments.

"I like you, Phum."

Phum lifted his gaze and found Peem staring at him, still smiling warmly. Everything about him was open, welcoming, and full of light. Unable to help himself, Phum wrapped his arms around Peem again, holding him close. Peem was quick to reciprocate.

"I like you, too."

Peem had seven Bond marks. Four for his friends. Two for his parents. And one for Phum.

Maybe it was a friendship Bond, like the others. That was always possible. It would be better than an enemy Bond by a long shot. But it was on the left side of his body, and the feeling in Phum's chest was too big to be friendship. So, just this once, he would let himself hope and wouldn't trample on his own feelings. Maybe everything would work out after all.

Then Peem pulled back and met his eyes for a moment before leaning in for a kiss.

…

…

Peem looked good on Phum's couch.

He looked good anywhere, obviously, but the sight of him on the cream couch, the blue of a mid-day Bangkok sky out the windows behind him, holding one of Phum's plushies? It took Phum's breath away.

"What's this?" Peem asked, holding the bear at arm's length and looking it over curiously.

"A bear," Phum replied from the kitchen, where he was pouring them waters.

Peem rolled his eyes and snorted. "No, really?"

His amusement made Phum smile too. "Fang bought it for me while I was abroad."

Quietly, Peem lowered the bear to his lap. When Phum headed over with the drinks, he saw a contemplative expression on Peem's face as he gently brushed the green bow around the bear's neck. Phum set the glasses on the coffee table and, hesitantly, put his hand on Peem's knee. Peem lifted his eyes to meet Phum's. It wasn't pity reflecting in Peem's gaze, but empathy, and Phum almost pulled away.

"It looks pretty good for being old," Peem noted, with a hint of his usual sass.

Phum nodded, then shrugged. "Well, I've had him patched up any time he starts to look worn down, obviously."

"Obviously."

They grinned at each other for a few seconds, then Peem's lips turned down and he placed a hand over Phum's on his knee.

"You've done well, Phum."

Phum's mouth opened and shut multiple times as he tried to come up with a response, but nothing came to him. His own parents didn't think he'd grown up well, but Peem did. Fang and Beer might think it, they might not, but either way they never said it aloud. To deny it sounded too self-deprecating, and Peem wouldn't like it. To accept it felt too prideful and false.

Eventually, he landed on a lame, "Thank you." But it made Peem smile again, so it must not have been too bad of a reaction.

After a moment, Peem grabbed one of the glasses and took a sip. Then he said, "So? What's this drama you wanted to show me?"

Lips lifting in a smile, Phum picked up the remote and turned the TV on, navigating to one of his many streaming services. The show started with a clutzy guy rushing to get to work and thinking about how he was turning thirty years old but hadn't accomplished anything worthy yet.

Peem snorted when the guy got hit by a closing elevator door, so Phum wasn't worried if he was enjoying it. Not too much, at least.

The show continued through the main guy gaining the ability to hear people's thoughts, with silly little shenanigans to go with it. At the end of the first episode, Peem was the one to pick up the remote and skip to the next one, even bypassing the preview. Tension leaked out of Phum's shoulders.

"I usually watch Korean dramas, but," he shrugged. He thought perhaps those might be too melodramatic for Peem. Maybe he was wrong, but starting with a Thai show he liked was fine too.

And this one had a couple that knew, without a doubt, that they loved each other before ever seeing their Bond marks; where the couple had great communication and helped each other through difficult life obstacles and supported each other. The exact kind of relationship Phum wanted with Peem.

Peem hummed. "I've never watched one." But it sounded like 'I'll watch one with you.'

By the halfway point of episode two, Phum's head was in Peem's lap, the bear clutched to his chest. His attention was mostly on the show—even though he'd already seen it, but Peem kept absently running his fingers through Phum's hair. It was wonderfully distracting.

The end of episode two had the leads almost kissing, and Phum couldn't help but imagine the kiss he and Peem had shared in the bathroom at work. And the ones after dinner the night after. And the sneaked elevator kiss to say 'thanks for the coffee' two days after that. Eyes drifting from the TV screen to Peem's face, Phum found Peem already looking down at him, his eyes far away like he, too, was imagining their previous kisses.

Phum lifted himself up at the same time that Peem leaned down, bringing their mouths together. One kiss became two became more, with Phum sitting up to kiss properly without hurting his neck. Kissing Peem was like breathing after holding his breath for too long, like surfacing after being underwater. It was heady and freeing and made his chest feel open and light. It had taken only one kiss for Phum to become completely addicted.

"If I could read your mind," Peem said when they parted for a moment, foreheads resting together so they were still touching while they breathed, "what would I hear right now?"

Phum lifted a hand to touch Peem's cheek, and Peem's eyes went soft and warm at the contact. It still blew Phum's mind that someone like him was Bond marked with someone like Peem—and a lover's mark at that.

"I'm so happy," Phum said, and Peem's lips lifted. "And terrified."

Frowning, Peem said, "Are you still worried the mark isn't for lovers?"

They'd talked about it the same day Peem had revealed their Bond marks matched: Phum's assumptions about the mark, his lifetime of thinking he'd never have a lover mark, the expectations his parents put on him about relationships throughout his life. Peem had been honest—he didn't know if they would later find the Bond mark was merely friendship, but that his feelings for Phum didn't feel like friendship.

"They're so much more than that," he'd said. "I've never wanted to stick my tongue in one of my friend's mouths, for one."

So, with laughter, Phum had accepted that the mark was a Bonded Lovers mark. But one conversation did not undo an entire lifetime of worry.

"The Bond mark says we're lovers, and I get that…but I'm scared I'll still screw it up. That I'll make you so mad you stop loving me."

Peem lifted his own hand to caress Phum's cheek, his jaw, the bridge of his nose. Phum closed his eyes and enjoyed the feelings.

"I'll do like in the show, then," Peem said, and Phum made a questioning sound without opening his eyes. "I'll just have to show you how I feel in little ways every day until you finally believe me," he said, teasingly, but when Phum finally looked at him, Peem's eyes were very serious.

His heart thudded heavily in his chest. Every day. With Peem. And somehow, Phum wasn't screwing it up—wouldn't screw it up in the future.

Swallowing thickly, Phum said, "Yeah, I guess you'll have to."

…

…

The beach was, honestly, too bright. There were hardly any clouds in the sky to block the sun, and its rays lit up the sand in blinding white, making the grains hot even through a towel. The light glinted off every wave in flashes, like a million tiny cameras.

But the water was cool, and getting to dunk Fang and splash Beer and Tan was fun. Getting Toey to help ambush Q or squirting Peem when the other man least expected it was funny. Seeing Peem absolutely glow with happiness as his love of his friends and his love of water combined? It was all worth it.

It wasn't often that everyone wore their Bond marks on clear display, but the beach was one of those places. Sure, plenty of people wore long sleeved swimsuits or swim pants that hugged their legs to hide their marks, but just as many beach goers let the world see their Bonds. Peem's friends were in the latter category. Phum would usually have been in the former, but since learning that he and Peem were Bonded? Since spending months treated to Peem's soft yet insistent love? He went shirtless for the first time, letting all three of his Bond marks show as he rushed across the hot sand to find solace in the water.

Without the worry about his third mark, finally feeling confident that it was all real, Phum wanted to brag about them. He had a family member, a friend, and a lover shining out from his soul. The three good categories of Soul Bonds. Everyone else should be jealous, honestly.

He'd waited until after the art museum project was completely done before switching his watch to his right hand at work, though. Professionalism, or whatever.

If you'd told ten-year-old Phum he would be this happy as an adult, he would never have believed you. Fifteen and twenty-year-old Phum, too. Twenty-seven-year-old Phum was still getting used to it. Slowly.

Suddenly, someone grabbed Phum and threw him underwater. He came up gasping and, seeing Peem was the perpetrator, pouted. Peem had admitted he thought Phum's pout was adorable, so Phum made sure to use it to his advantage.

"You're thinking too much," Peem said with a shrug. Then he held out a hand to help Phum back up. Phum considered dragging Peem onto his butt beside him, but then Peem nodded toward the shore and said, "We're heading back for some lunch. Tan is worried Fang will get a sunburn."

Rolling his eyes, even as he laughed, Phum accepted the hand up. "Tan is always worried."

High school Tan would shrivel up and scream if he saw what a besotted simp his adult self had become. But both he and Fang were happy, so their high school selves could stay in the past where they belonged. Just like Phum's should.

Even as they waded their way toward the sand, Peem asked, "Everything alright?"

Phum hummed positively. He held his hand out and, with an eye roll and a smile, Peem took it. Since they learned they were Bonded four months ago, Peem had teased Phum about how he always, always, always wanted to be touching Peem. Hugging, resting a chin on a shoulder, and arm about the waist or shoulders, legs entwined, a head in a lap, and lots and lots of hand holding. And yet, despite his teasing, Peem never shied away, so Phum knew he loved the connection as much as Phum did.

"Guys! Guys! You guys!" Toey yelled as he ran back to Phum and Peem, his arms flailing. "You'll never believe it!"

He kicked sand all over their legs when he stopped beside them, but they didn't say anything. It was Toey, who would be the baby of the group no matter how old he got. Instead they just kept up their casual walk back to the resort. Luckily, Toey didn't need an answer beyond a hum from Peem to keep talking.

"Mick and Matt share a Bond mark!" Toey squeaked loudly.

"Really?" Phum asked.

He'd known Mick had at least two Bond marks–him and Beer, but had never thought to ask if Mick had any others. Who knew? Maybe he had seven like Peem. If Mick had a Bond with Toey's friend Matt, too, then that made three so far.

It had barely been a month since they had all learned that Mick and Pun shared a Bond mark: a mynah bird. The two had been practically unbearable, making mynah jokes and mimicking random things they heard around them for weeks after. But it was also kind of endearing. Phum had never been around people with so much positive energy before.

The fact that so many people in Peem and Phum's friendship group shared Bond marks with each other meant that these were relationships that would last. They didn't have to worry about losing touch over the years or falling out over something. It was a family like Phum had never known–if a family was made up of all the weird uncles. Well, at least one could count on the weird uncles to be weird and always show up.

Toey nodded so hard and so fast that Phum worried about his neck. "Matt took his shirt off and there it was, in the middle of his back! It looked like an incense stick or something. Do you think Matt's gonna get super religious or something?"

"A sparkler?" Peem suggested.

Toey clapped his hands. "Yeah, maybe!"

When they crested the small incline, they caught sight of Q standing behind Matt, holding his shirt up even as Matt tried to pull it down. Just the bottom of the Bond mark was visible, not enough to know if it was an incense stick or a sparkler. Pun and Mick were debating if it was cooler than their Bond mark, with Chain holding Pun around the waist and shaking his head fondly. Tan was simultaneously rubbing sunscreen on Fang's exposed arms and yelling at Matt about being proud of his marks, while Fang had turned away to hide his smile. At the sight of them, Toey ran back to Q's side and wrapped his arms around Q's free arm.

Among the madness, Beer grabbed Matt's wrist. Somehow, the simple act made everyone else shut up. It was a power of Beer's that Phum respected—the ability to calm chaos, or incite it, with minimum effort. Beer reached over to take Mick's wrist in his other hand.

"Weren't you two hungry?" he asked, lifting an eyebrow.

They both hummed in agreement and Beer nodded before heading inside, tugging the two Bonded boys along with him. He nodded toward Phum as he went and Phum nodded back.

"Alright, fine," Q groused, "Let's go eat."

It sounded almost like a complaint, like someone had interrupted his fun. But it worked to get everyone following the trio inside for food. Phum and Peem hung back just a bit, enjoying watching the group have fun as much as they would have enjoyed taking part in the silliness.

Peem's expression was one of love, as usual when gazing upon his friends, but held a probing gaze as well. He was thinking about a canvas again, about wanting to paint something.

With a pompous air, Phum squeezed Peem's hand and said, "I guess I'll buy you a new canvas today. I'll even have it delivered to the hotel room."

For a moment, Peem just blinked at him, clearly surprised Phum had picked up on his thoughts. Then he snorted and shook his head. "Why would I paint in the resort?"

Phum wrinkled his nose. "Why not? Afraid someone will spill coffee on it?"

A full laugh that time. It had not escaped their notice that their first meeting and the moment they learned they were Bonded had both come about due to coffee spills.

"Forget coffee. This lot will spill an entire lunch buffet on it." He shook his head again, looking fond. "I'll paint them when we get home."

The way he said 'home' made something ache in Phum's chest. It was a good ache, one of longing and anticipation. They'd only been dating for a few months, but Phum wanted to ask Peem to move in with him. Since his current condo didn't have a space to dedicate to Peem's art supplies, he'd been looking at new ones. With each one, Phum thought about how Peem's things would fit in them alongside his own, how they would fit together in the space. He wanted, and someday soon, he would ask the question.

"Uh oh. I know that look," Peem said, poking Phum in the cheek with his free hand. "You're planning something."

Phum grinned at him. "Maybe I am," he teased. "You'll just have to wait and see."

He wouldn't ask today. Today was for teasing Mick and Matt. And enjoying the sun, the waves, and the resort. Maybe tomorrow. Phum could pop the question tomorrow. Over breakfast in bed, with Peem still a little sleepy and adorable. Phum would bring coffee, and he wouldn't even spill it.

…

…

fin