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Sea Tanawjn groaned as he blinked at the ceiling. Sick. Really sick. Not “I’ll just feel a little off” sick—this was “I might actually collapse if I move too fast” sick. And of course, he had work today. The kind of work that could not, under any circumstances, be postponed. Perfect.
And then there was Jimmy. Doctor Jimmy. His boyfriend, his partner in life and art, a dermatologist with an eagle eye for skin and health—and the tendency to verbally flay anyone who dared be remotely unhealthy. They hadn’t seen each other in four days, schedules tangled and lives running in opposite directions. Today was supposed to be different: today they were working together. Sea had been excited. Until this.
He sat up carefully, wincing, and rummaged through his bedside drawer like a man on a mission. Fever meds—none. Vitamins—maybe, can't find them. Breakfast—can't get up off the bed. But a least his voice might still be functional, and maybe, just maybe, he could get through the day without Jimmy noticing.
Except he knew better. Oh, he knew better. Jimmy would notice. He always noticed. And Sea knew exactly why he was sick. The nights alone, air conditioning cranked to Arctic levels while he slept, ignoring Jimmy’s endless warnings about proper self-care. Every call, every message, every pointed question about “are you taking care of yourself?” had been answered with stubborn silence. And now, karma had come in the form of a pounding headache and a rising fever.
Sea groaned again, flopping back onto the pillow. Great. Today was going to be… fun.
🔆
Sea had a plan. A perfect plan. He would call P’Pat for help—just P’Pat. No Jimmy. No lectures, no fussing, no judgment. Just get up, get to work, maybe survive the day. Simple.
Except plans rarely survive contact with reality.
P’Pat arrived, eyes widening the instant he saw Sea sprawled in bed, pale, shivering, and looking far worse than “a little sick.” Before Sea could even croak out a protest, P’Pat was fumbling for his phone.
“Jimmy! Now!” P’Pat shouted, his voice tight with panic. “He… he’s really sick! You need to come!”
Sea tried weakly, “Wait—no! Don’t—” but his protests dissolved into a pitiful cough. His perfect, flawless plan—call P’Pat, get discreet help, avoid Jimmy—was obliterated in one second.
Jimmy, the doctor, the boyfriend, the man who never missed a chance to scold Sea about self-care, was now on his way. Sea buried his face in the pillow, feeling equal parts dread and helpless.
🔆
Jimmy arrived, eyes scanning Sea from head to toe, his worry so thick it almost hurt. “Sea… what happened to you?” he demanded, voice tight but not unkind.
“I… I’m fine,” Sea croaked, though the words sounded hollow even to him. He had been insisting for days that he was taking care of himself, eating properly, sleeping, staying hydrated. And now here he was, a miserable heap in bed, looking like he’d been through a storm.
Jimmy’s eyes narrowed. “Fine? You’re barely conscious and sweating like you ran a marathon!” His tone had that edge Sea hated—part worry, part scolding, all authority.
Sea groaned. Of course. He knew Jimmy’s arrival would bring an even worse headache. He hadn’t expected to end up arguing so violently with his boyfriend while feeling this vulnerable, but here he was.
“You’re not allowed to get out of bed,” Jimmy said firmly, crossing his arms.
Sea blinked at him, disbelief sharp in his fevered brain. “I… I have to… work. I don’t have a choice.”
Jimmy’s irritation flickered. “You don't get a choice. Not in your state. You obey me. I’m in charge of your health, you are not working like this.”
Sea tried to argue, tried to reason, but the words came out weak, jumbled, and laced with stubbornness. “I—Hia, I have to!”
“You don't have to do shit! You are not getting up, Sea!” Jimmy’s voice rose slightly, the mixture of exasperation and genuine worry impossible to ignore. “Do you understand? Bed. Now. And don’t argue.”
Sea’s body wanted to comply, wanted to melt into the mattress and give in—but his mind was already fighting, tangled between pride, obligation, and the heat of the argument. He felt trapped, frustrated, and utterly human.
And Jimmy… well, Jimmy just stared at him like a general assessing a stubborn soldier, ready to win the battle for his health no matter how messy it got.
🔆
The argument spiraled faster than either of them could control. What began as a tense exchange became a landslide—voices rising, words sharper than either intended, emotions snapping loose. Sea’s voice cracked, strained by fever and frustration, and Jimmy’s replies came back just as loud, just as cutting. The manager, standing helplessly in the doorway, tried to intervene for the fifth time, reminding Jimmy that this event was important, that both he and Sea needed to be there.
But none of it mattered now.
Not the event.
Not the schedule.
Not the reminders.
Sea understood why Jimmy was worried—he always had. The medical reasons were obvious. Jimmy’s responsibility as a doctor made sense. But what cut deeper, what burned, was that it was Jimmy—his own boyfriend, the man he trusted most—raising his voice at him, ordering him, choosing for him while he was at his weakest, unable to defend himself.
And that hurt more than anything else in the room.
Sea’s guilt only twisted the knife. He knew he had ignored Jimmy’s warnings for days. He knew he had brought this on himself. But that didn’t make the sting of Jimmy’s tone, the sharpness of it, any less brutal.
Jimmy’s jaw was tight, his eyes glowing with frantic worry that had no place to go except into anger. He knew he should stop. He knew he was the older one, the doctor, the boyfriend—the one who should never be speaking like this, especially not now.
But the words kept coming, sharper each time, frustration and fear bleeding together.
“Sea Tawinan, fucking listen to me! You cannot get up!” Jimmy snapped, voice cracking with raw panic. “Do you understand me? I’m not joking! You’ll collapse if you take one step!”
“I don’t care!” Sea’s voice tore out of him, hoarse and shaking. “I have to go! I don’t get to stay in bed just because—you’re yelling at me like I’m some kid—! We have contracts, responsibilities to take care off "
“You are acting like one!” Jimmy threw back. “You’re sick, Sea! You’re burning up! Why can’t you understand something so damn simple?! Even if you want to you won't be able to do shit today! Are you an idiot or what!?”
“Because you’re not letting me think!” Sea sobbed, pushing himself upright with trembling arms. “You’re just—you’re just shouting—and choosing—cursing—and telling me what to do!”
“If I don’t choose, you’ll end up in a hospital bed!” Jimmy shot back, voice breaking for the first time. “You never listen! Not even when it’s about your own damn fucking health! I’m trying to keep you safe!”
“It doesn’t feel like that!” Sea screamed—louder than Jimmy had ever heard him, louder than Sea had ever heard himself. His whole body shook. “It feels like you’re controlling me! Screaming at me, I'm fucking sick! You are the damn doctor and I'm feeling worse than before. It feels—”
He choked on the words as new tears rushed out, hot and overwhelming.
Jimmy froze mid-step, breath stopping in his chest.
Sea wasn’t just crying.
He was shaking—sobbing from the deepest place inside him, as if the argument had torn straight into something he never wanted touched.
“I—I can’t—” Sea gasped, breath hitching. “Just—Get out! Get out—I can’t stay here with you yelling at me! You have to get out! I—I can’t breathe!”
The scream fractured into a sob that echoed painfully in the room.
Jimmy’s heart stuttered. He felt the floor drop under him. He had seen Sea upset, tired, irritated—but never like this. Never breaking. Never looking at him with hurt so raw it made Jimmy feel sick.
His hands trembled. He opened his mouth, closing it again. Every instinct screamed to comfort Sea, to apologize, to take it all back—but the damage was already done, hanging between them like smoke.
For a heartbeat, no one moved. Not Jimmy. Not Sea. Not the manager standing frozen beside the wall.
Then Sea collapsed back onto the pillows, sobbing so hard his entire body curled inward. Exhaustion, fever, heartbreak—everything hit at once.
Jimmy stood there, breathing unevenly, helplessness and guilt crashing into him with full force. He had crossed a line he never thought he would cross. And in Sea’s eyes, he had become the one thing he swore he would never be:
someone who hurt him.
They were both left in the ruins of a fight they had never imagined—one that neither wanted, neither understood, and neither knew how to step back from.
🔆
Jimmy didn’t move. Not even when P’Pat finally exhaled, shaky and horrified, and stepped closer to Sea.
“Sea… Sea, hey—” P’Pat’s voice was gentle, but Sea flinched as if the sound itself hurt. He curled tighter into the blankets, shoulders trembling violently.
Jimmy’s guilt surged so violently it made him nauseous.
“Sea,” he whispered, barely audible. It wasn’t an order this time. It wasn’t frustration. It was fear. Raw, crippling fear. “Please… just breathe for me…”
Sea didn’t answer. He only sobbed harder, breath catching in ragged bursts that bordered on hyperventilation.
P’Pat shot Jimmy a sharp, shaking glare. “Jimmy… you need to stop. He’s terrified right now.”
Jimmy’s throat tightened. “I— I know that. I never— I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
“Well, it did!” P’Pat snapped, stepping in front of Sea protectively. “You two never fight like this! Never! And he’s sick, he’s exhausted, he— he’s not okay to have a fight with anyone let alone boyfriend and doctor!”
Sea’s cries punctured the air again, cutting off whatever Jimmy might have said. He pressed his face into the pillow, gripping the sheets like he could anchor himself to them.
Jimmy felt the urge to move closer, to kneel and fix it, to take every word back. But Sea’s earlier scream still echoed in his ears:
Get out! I can’t stay here with you yelling at me! You have to get out!
And Jimmy—God—Jimmy didn’t know if getting closer now would help or make everything worse.
P’Pat crouched beside the bed, voice low, trying to steady Sea’s breathing. “Sea, hey… hey, look at me. It’s okay. You’re safe. No one’s yelling anymore, okay?”
Sea tried, but every attempt at inhaling turned into another broken sob.
Jimmy closed his eyes, shame burning through him. He had made this worse. He had made him worse. The man he loved more than anything was falling apart in front of him, and Jimmy had pushed him there.
“P’Pat,” Jimmy finally forced out, voice rough. “Should I… go?”
The room went still again.
Sea froze—not fully, but enough. The next sob caught mid-breath, jagged, painful. He didn’t look at Jimmy. He didn’t speak. But something in his posture flinched so visibly that Jimmy felt it like a punch to the ribs.
P’Pat looked between them, torn. “I… I don’t think leaving will help right now. But getting closer won’t either. He needs space. He needs to breathe.”
Jimmy’s fingers curled into fists at his sides. He hated this—hated how powerless he felt, how his attempt to protect Sea had exploded into something cruel and unrecognizable.
He finally spoke, voice barely steady. “Sea… I’m not going to yell anymore. I promise. I’m… I’m right here. Not touching you. Not telling you what to do.” He swallowed hard. “I just… I’m here.”
Sea’s sobs softened—only a fraction, only enough to show he had heard. His body still trembled, his breaths still fractured, but the sharp edge of panic dipped slightly.
But he still didn’t look at Jimmy.
And that hurt more than any word he’d shouted earlier.
Jimmy stepped back a pace, hands shaking, eyes fixed on the floor. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, though he knew Sea wasn’t ready to hear it—not yet, not fully.
P’Pat rubbed Sea’s shoulder slowly. “Just breathe, okay? Just breathe.”
Sea hiccupped through the tears, breath stuttering, voice shredded. “I… I didn’t… want to fight with you…”
Jimmy’s heart cracked cleanly in his chest. “Me neither,” he whispered back, not daring to step closer. “Not ever.”
Sea broke again, pressing his face deeper into the pillow, exhausted and devastated.
Jimmy moved before he knew he’d made a decision.
Not toward Sea—he didn’t dare, not when every inch of Sea’s shaking body screamed don’t touch me—but toward the nightstand where his medical bag sat. His hands were still trembling, but his voice, when it finally came out, was stripped of anger. Low. Controlled. Clinical.
The only way he could speak without breaking again.
“Manager,” Jimmy said quietly, not taking his eyes off the floor, “I need space to work.”
The manager exhaled shakily and nodded, stepping back but staying in the room. Sea didn’t want to be left alone, that much was obvious—even in pain, even furious, he clung to the presence of people around him. But the manager kept distance, as if afraid one wrong move would shatter Sea all over again.
Sea curled tighter, breath still coming in ragged, painful bursts. His sobs echoed less now, but each one was sharp, cutting through the room like glass. He didn’t look up. He didn’t even seem to hear what was happening around him.
Jimmy swallowed hard and knelt at the edge of the bed—not touching Sea, not reaching, just close enough to work if Sea allowed him.
“Sea,” he murmured, voice steady but gentle, stripped completely of command, “I need to check your vitals. For your health. Because you’re not breathing right.”
Sea stiffened. Jimmy froze, hand hovering inches from Sea’s wrist.
A full second passed.
Then, without looking at him, Sea gave the faintest nod. Barely there. But it was permission.
Jimmy inhaled deeply, grounding himself, then took Sea’s wrist with two fingers—light, careful, as if Sea were made of fragile glass.
His pulse was racing at a feverish, erratic speed.
“Sea,” he murmured, “your pulse is at 130. You’re dehydrated, fever’s climbing again, and you’re hyperventilating. If we don’t calm your system down, you won’t be able to stand in four hours, let alone go to an event.”
Sea let out a small, broken sound—half sob, half frustration.
“I know,” he whispered, voice shredded. “I know that, P'. I’m not… I’m not stupid.”
Jimmy squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, guilt slicing through him. “I didn’t say you were.”
“You did.”
Jimmy didn’t have an excuse. There wasn’t one.
He opened his bag and took out electrolyte packets, a fever reducer, a mild sedative to ease the anxiety spike, and a cold compress. His hands moved automatically—efficient, precise—but his chest felt heavy with every breath.
“I’m giving you the minimum dose,” Jimmy said. “Just enough to bring the fever down and stop the shaking. You’ll still feel weak, but you’ll look functional for a few hours.”
Sea didn’t respond. His eyes stayed shut, tears slipping silently across his temples.
Jimmy handed the water bottle to the manager instead of Sea.
“Please hold this for him. And lift his head slowly. I don’t want him fainting.”
The manager nodded and followed instructions with careful hands. Sea drank in small, shaking sips.
Jimmy placed the cold compress against Sea’s forehead. Sea flinched.
“Sorry,” Jimmy whispered immediately. “Too cold. I’ll warm it a bit.”
Sea’s breath hitched, but he didn’t tell him to stop this time.
Jimmy prepared the fever reducer, but before giving it, he hesitated. Then:
“Sea,” he said quietly, “look at me for just a second.”
Sea’s lashes fluttered, and he finally raised his eyes. They were red, swollen, full of hurt Jimmy wished he could peel out of existence.
“I know you hate me right now,” Jimmy said steadily. “You have every reason to. But I need to know if I caused any chest pain when you started hyperventilating. Did it hurt? Here?”
He gestured to his own sternum.
Sea shook his head slowly. “Just… couldn’t breathe. And you yelling made it worse…”
Jimmy’s throat tightened painfully. “I know. And I’m sorry. I’ll handle the medical part now. Then we’ll figure out the rest later. I promise.”
No anger.
No command.
Just a promise he wasn’t sure he deserved to make.
Sea nodded again—tiny, exhausted.
Jimmy administered the medications and monitored his breathing until it slowed, still uneven but no longer spiraling into panic. The room felt less like a battlefield, more like the tense, quiet aftermath.
The manager let out a breath. “Will he make it to the event?”
Jimmy glanced at Sea. Sea’s eyes were half-lidded, drained, but focused.
“He’ll look human in four hours,” Jimmy said. “But only if he rests. No pressure, no talking, no getting up.”
Sea muttered, voice hoarse, “You’re still… bossy.”
Jimmy exhaled softly—not a laugh, not even relief, just something slightly less horrible than the guilt choking him.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I’m trying to fix that.”
The room fell quiet again.
Sea didn’t forgive him.
Jimmy didn’t expect him to.
But for now, Jimmy did the only thing he knew how to do: keep Sea alive, stable, and upright enough to face the world—even if the world between them had cracked deeper than either knew how to fix.
🔆
Jimmy stayed beside the bed like a shadow.
Not hovering.
Not touching.
Just there—quiet, steady, never more than an arm’s reach away.
Sea slept through the worst of the fever spike, his breathing evening out slowly as the medication took hold. Jimmy watched every rise and fall of his chest, counting each cycle like a prayer he didn’t deserve to make.
And in the silence, the guilt gnawed at him.
He replayed each second of the fight, every word he’d thrown, every time Sea had flinched as if Jimmy had struck him. He could still hear Sea’s voice breaking—
It feels like you’re controlling me… I can’t breathe… get out…
Jimmy closed his eyes and pressed his thumb against the bridge of his nose to stop the sting forming there. He didn’t deserve to cry. Not when Sea had already cried more than enough for both of them.
When it was finally time to prepare for the event, Jimmy moved with the delicate care of someone handling a wounded animal—or perhaps someone terrified he was the one responsible for the wound.
“Sea,” he said softly, “We need to get you dressed.”
Sea didn’t look at him. But he sat up with Jimmy’s support.
No words.
No eye contact.
No anger, but no warmth either.
Just quiet cooperation.
Jimmy helped him into the clothes the manager had set aside. He buttoned Sea’s shirt with careful fingers, making sure not to brush too close to his skin unless necessary. Each accidental graze made Sea’s muscles flinch, and Jimmy’s stomach dropped a little further.
He carefully combed Sea’s hair. Adjusted his collar. Helped him sit when standing made his head swim.
Still no words.
Sea needed the silence.
Jimmy feared breaking him again.
The drive to the event was equally wordless—Sea leaning weakly against the window, Jimmy keeping his gaze fixed on him in the reflection, checking every pallor shift, every shaky breath.
At the venue, Sea slipped into work mode by sheer force of will. The lights, the cameras, the fans—it all seemed to hold him upright. Jimmy stayed at his side, eyes never leaving Sea for more than two seconds.
He saw the moments Sea swayed.
He noticed the second Sea’s smile faltered.
He was there the instant Sea pressed a hand to his own stomach in a subtle plea for relief.
Jimmy had never felt so useless in his life.
The event ended without any problems, shockingly. Sea got through interviews, autographs, photos. No one seemed to notice the feverish flush, the trembling hands, the exhaustion barely concealed behind practiced smiles.
But Jimmy noticed everything.
And the longer he watched, the worse the self-loathing grew.
Why had he yelled?
Why had he made Sea cry like that?
Why had he let fear come out as anger?
He could have helped him gently.
He could have calmed him down.
He could have waited until Sea was healthy to address the bigger issues.
The result would have been the same:
Sea would’ve still been here.
Sea would’ve still made it to the event.
But instead of a grateful boyfriend leaning on him…
Jimmy was watching a Sea who didn’t even glance his way.
When Sea nearly stumbled coming off stage, Jimmy instinctively stepped forward—but Sea steadied himself without reaching for him.
That tiny refusal hurt more than the entire fight.
Jimmy swallowed hard, jaw tightening as he stood back.
He wanted to beat himself up.
He deserved it.
I hurt him, he thought, bitter and nauseous. I hurt him when he was already hurting.
And now Sea was right there, within arm’s reach—but miles away in every way that mattered.
🔆
The manager got Sea home safely, guiding him inside while Jimmy followed in the doorway like a ghost—present, but uncertain if he had the right to step any closer.
Sea looked half-asleep on his feet, swaying lightly as he sank onto the couch. His fever had crept back up; his cheeks were flushed, his eyes glassy, and each breath came a little too warm.
Jimmy knelt beside him and checked his temperature again.
A low, quiet inhale—too warm. Too fast.
The manager handed Jimmy the evening meds. Jimmy gave them carefully, supporting Sea’s back, making sure he swallowed without choking. Sea didn’t resist—just followed instructions, limp and silent.
It hurt worse than shouting would have.
When it was done and Sea was tucked under a blanket, the manager hovered for a moment, then bowed out with a soft, worried look.
Jimmy stood stiffly by the door, clutching his bag, guilt weighing down every motion.
He forced himself to speak quietly, gently.
“Sea… I’ll go now. You need rest. I don’t want to—”
“Where are you going?” Sea’s voice cut in, hoarse.
Jimmy froze. “Back home. I don’t think you… want me here. Not after—everything.”
He couldn’t make himself look at Sea when he said it.
But Sea dragged in a shaky breath, and Jimmy heard the wetness in it before he saw it. Tears welled up again—exhausted, fever-bright, far too big for Sea to hold in.
“You’re leaving me?” Sea whispered, voice cracking like broken glass. “You’re going to leave me alone? When I’m sick?”
His lower lip trembled, a childlike hurt twisting his expression.
“Are you… abandoning me?”
Jimmy felt his heart tear clean in half.
“No—Sea, no, I would never—” He took a step forward instinctively.
But Sea’s feverish panic only rose.
“You fought with me,” Sea cried, voice thick and unsteady. “You screamed at me—and now you just want to leave? You don’t want to see me? You don’t want to stay with me anymore?”
“Sea—!” Jimmy’s voice broke.
Sea reached out with small, weak grabbing hands, as if his body moved before his mind could catch up—reaching for Jimmy like a child reaching for comfort in the dark.
“Hia Jim… please—don’t go.”
The sight nearly crushed Jimmy. Sea’s hands shook uncontrollably, reaching, missing, reaching again—a desperate, feverish plea for the one person who had made him feel safe every day before today.
Jimmy dropped his bag instantly and rushed back to him, catching both hands gently in his own.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he breathed, voice trembling. “Sea, I’m right here—I’m staying. I’m staying all night. I’m not leaving you alone.”
Sea let out a sob of relief—pure, unfiltered—and collapsed into Jimmy’s chest, clinging to his shirt with surprising strength. Jimmy wrapped his arms around him, holding him steady, supporting the trembling weight.
Sea nuzzled his face into Jimmy’s shoulder, crying softly, voice small and fever-muddled.
“Don’t leave me… Hia Jim, don’t leave me…”
“I won’t,” Jimmy whispered into his hair. “I’ll never leave you. Not ever.”
And this time, Jimmy held him as if nothing in the world could pull him away again.
🔆
Sea needed two full days to return to something that resembled himself—two long, heavy days where fever came and went, where headaches pulsed behind his eyes, where exhaustion chained him to the bed.
And Jimmy never left.
Not once.
He postponed appointments, rescheduled shoots, called colleagues with clipped apologies.
Sea came first—because the moment he had screamed, the moment he had cried, the moment he had reached for him with those small, desperate hands—Jimmy knew nothing else mattered.
He stayed on the edge of the bed when Sea slept.
He helped him drink water when he woke.
He cooled him with damp towels.
He held him when the fever spikes brought tears again.
He whispered gentle words, soft and steady, the way he should have from the start.
Sea didn’t talk much.
He didn’t have the energy—and Jimmy didn’t push.
But the silence between them wasn’t like before.
It wasn’t cold.
It wasn’t distant.
It was the quiet that follows a storm—heavy, humid, waiting.
On the second night, Sea finally looked like himself again. His fever had broken, his voice was clearer, and his eyes no longer glazed with pain. He sat up on his own, tugging the blanket close around his shoulders.
Jimmy brought him warm broth, setting it on the table without a word.
Sea watched him for a long moment—eyes focused, not drifting.
Present. Fully there.
“Hia Jim,” he said softly.
Jimmy’s heart lurched at the sound.
“Yes?”
Sea hesitated, picking at the edge of the blanket.
“Sit with me? Please.”
Jimmy obeyed instantly, perching on the edge of the bed. Sea shifted closer, knees brushing against Jimmy’s thigh. For the first time since the fight, he looked him straight in the eyes.
“We need to talk,” Sea murmured.
Jimmy swallowed hard. “I know.”
Sea continued, voice steady but soft. “I know I was sick. I know I didn’t listen. I know you were scared. But that doesn’t change the fact that you shouted at me in my own home while I was barely holding myself up. You know how I am with fights. You know I shut down. And you still pushed.”
Jimmy exhaled slowly, his voice low. “You’re right. I did. And it wasn’t okay.”
“But it’s not just that,” Sea said, leaning forward. “Hia Jim… I can’t be with someone who’s going to talk to me that way when things get hard. I shouldn’t have to weigh whether calling you will make things worse. You’re my safe place. Or you’re supposed to be.”
Jimmy’s eyes softened with something between pain and acceptance.
“I hear you,” he said, voice steady. “And you deserve better than how I behaved.”
Sea watched him, waiting.
Jimmy continued, speaking with measured honesty. “I lost my cool because I was terrified. I walked in and saw you burning up, barely able to sit, and something in me just… snapped. I wasn’t thinking like a doctor or even like myself. I was thinking like someone who was scared of losing the person they love.”
He paused, searching for the right words.
“But that doesn’t excuse it. Fear isn’t an excuse to yell. Especially at you. I should have stayed grounded. I should have listened.”
Sea nodded, but his gaze stayed firm. “I understand you were scared. Really. But that can’t happen again. Not like that. I can’t be with someone who turns into that version of themselves when things get stressful. I need you to be someone I can go to—not someone I hesitate to call.”
Jimmy breathed in sharply, as if the truth stung, but not in a way he rejected.
“You’re right,” he said simply. “I don’t want to be that person for you. I don’t ever want to be the reason you hesitate to ask for help.”
He rubbed his palms together slowly. “I know you, Sea. I know you hate confrontation. I know raised voices shut you down. I know home is the only place you ever truly unclench.”
A pause.
“And I took that from you for a moment. I’m sorry.”
Sea’s eyes dropped, his voice softer. “It hurt. A lot.”
Jimmy didn’t look away. “I believe you. And I’m not going to pretend that just saying sorry fixes it. But I want to do better. We can set boundaries. Clear ones.”
“Like what?” Sea asked quietly.
“Like this,” Jimmy said. “If I’m worried, I talk to you. I don’t raise my voice. I don’t try to control your decisions. And if I feel like I’m getting overwhelmed, I step back for a second instead of dumping that on you.”
He shifted closer, but not too close. “And you can tell me if I’m crossing a line, even if you’re sick. Even if you’re scared.”
Sea considered that, then nodded slowly. “And I’ll tell you earlier when I’m not okay. So you don’t have to find out when I’m already half-dead.”
Jimmy huffed the smallest breath—a tired, grateful exhale. “That would help.”
Sea tugged the blanket tighter. “Hia?”
“Yes?”
“I need to be completely clear.” Sea’s voice was calm, mature, decisive. “I love you. And I want to be with you for long time, if possible forever. But if yelling becomes part of this relationship—if that ever becomes normal—I can’t stay. I won’t. I won’t live like that.”
Jimmy didn’t flinch. He absorbed it with full seriousness.
“And you won’t have to,” he said, steady. “I won’t let that become us. Not ever.”
“Good,” Sea murmured. “Because I want to feel safe with you. Always.”
Jimmy reached out slowly, giving Sea the choice.
Sea leaned into the touch, resting his head lightly on Jimmy’s shoulder.
Jimmy exhaled, relief and resolve settling over him.
“I’m here,” he said quietly. “And I’m learning. And I love you.”
This time, the quiet between them held warmth instead of hurt—two people choosing each other with clearer boundaries, clearer expectations, and a promise to do better.
🔆
Sea shifted on the bed, still a little pale but unmistakably himself again. He lifted both arms toward Jimmy in a clear, wordless request.
“Come here.”
Jimmy didn’t hesitate this time—not even for a breath. He knew exactly what that tone meant. He moved onto the bed immediately, and Sea pulled him down with full force, settling against his chest like he belonged there.
Sea let out a satisfied little hum the moment Jimmy’s arms wrapped around him. “That’s better.”
Jimmy’s lips twitched into a small smile. “You really missed this, huh?”
“I always miss this,” Sea mumbled, already burrowing into his shirt. “You’re warm. And soft. And mine.”
Jimmy shifted so Sea could lie fully on top of him, one hand stroking slowly down his back. Sea practically melted, hugging him tighter, as if trying to fuse them together.
“You like being spoiled way too much,” Jimmy murmured, amused.
“You spoil me because you love me,” Sea answered without shame. “And because I’m cute.”
Jimmy huffed a quiet laugh. “That’s… not untrue.”
Sea tilted his head up and kissed the underside of Jimmy’s jaw—soft, quick, familiar. “So don’t act scared of me anymore. You can hug me. Kiss me. Touch me. I want it.”
Jimmy’s amusement softened into warmth. “I know you do.”
Sea snuggled back down, cheek pressed over Jimmy’s heart. “Good. Then stay like this. And put on a movie.”
Jimmy reached for the remote without disturbing him. “Which one?”
“Something we’ve seen,” Sea said, voice muffled. “I’m gonna fall asleep on you.”
“I assumed,” Jimmy replied, brushing Sea’s hair gently. “Come here.”
Sea didn’t need to be told. He tucked himself even closer, one leg thrown over Jimmy’s, fingers curled loosely in the fabric of his shirt. Jimmy wrapped him up fully, holding him just how Sea loved—secure, warm, unrestrained.
The movie started playing. Sea didn’t make it ten minutes before his breathing evened out, drifting into sleep exactly where he wanted to be.
Jimmy glanced down at him—content, clinging, safe—and let his hand rest on Sea’s back, steady and protective.
“Yeah,” he whispered, barely audible. “I’ve got you.”
🔆
Sea sat at the table, wrapped in one of Jimmy’s hoodies, hair still messy from sleep, spooning porridge into his mouth like it was a survival exercise. He looked better—still pale, still fragile—but undeniably more like himself.
Jimmy set a cup of warm tea in front of him and slid into the chair across. “Eat a little more,” he said quietly. “You’ll need the energy.”
Sea didn’t answer. He just stared.
Jimmy pretended not to notice, taking a slow sip of coffee and scrolling through his messages. But he felt it—the weight of Sea’s gaze. Seven days without touching, holding, kissing… and here Sea was, giving him that look.
He cleared his throat. “Sea?”
No response. Just those big eyes, fixed on him like he was trying to read Jimmy’s soul—or maybe just daring him to make the first move.
Jimmy’s ears warmed. “You’re… looking at me like I grew a second head.”
Sea blinked, slow and deliberate. “No.”
Jimmy raised an eyebrow. “Then why—”
Sea set down his spoon. Slowly. Deliberately. The chair scraped lightly across the floor. Footsteps. Soft, confident. Then—
Sea slid onto Jimmy’s lap in one fluid motion, arms looping around his shoulders.
Jimmy froze for a heartbeat. And then… he laughed. Not a big laugh—just a little breathless chuckle that vibrated against Sea’s shoulder. “Okay. I approve,” he muttered smiling.
Sea didn’t respond. He just leaned in, kissing Jimmy softly at first, almost shyly—but the heat underneath it made Jimmy’s pulse jump immediately.
Jimmy tilted his head, lips parting, letting the kiss deepen. Slow, steady, claiming without hesitation. His hands found Sea’s waist, feeling the shiver ripple through him.
Sea sighed, fingers threading into Jimmy’s hair, tugging lightly. He pressed closer, shifting until their bodies fit perfectly, thighs brushing, chest to chest. Jimmy groaned softly, amused despite himself. “You are extra today,” he murmured against his lips.
“I missed you,” Sea whispered back, pressing closer. “You can’t even imagine.”
Jimmy’s hands roamed, under the hoodie, over the small curve of Sea’s back. Sea melted into him, letting his body speak, pressing, arching, sighing, hands roaming under Jimmy’s shirt, teasing, warm, familiar. Jimmy responded naturally, lips moving against him, hands exploring, teasing, holding—all of it with the rhythm of knowing each other for years.
Sea broke away just enough to glance up, flushed and wide-eyed. “Hia…”
Jimmy brushed hair from his forehead, thumb tracing his cheek. “I know,” he said softly. “I’ve missed you too. Every little thing.”
Sea grinned against him. “Good,” he murmured, pressing his lips back to Jimmy’s. “Because I’m not done with you either.”
Jimmy laughed into the kiss, pulling him flush against his body. “Not that I mind,” he said, low and teasing. “But you’re starting to hog the porridge table too, you know.”
Sea giggled, muffled against Jimmy’s mouth, tugging him closer. Hands slid under shirts, skin pressed together, but it wasn’t frantic. It was deliberate, playful, hungry, and soft all at once—like they were rediscovering each other after a week apart and enjoying every second of it.
They kissed slowly, deeply, pressing close, hands tracing curves, ribs, backs, shoulders. Sea sighed into him, little whimpers escaping, and Jimmy responded with gentle growls and teasing murmurs, letting the tension of the week slide away.
When they finally separated, foreheads touching, breaths uneven, Sea whispered, half-dazed, “Hia… don’t stop.”
Jimmy smiled, brushing hair from his eyes. “Never,” he said.
Sea melted back against him, arms tightening, lips brushing, hands exploring, teasing, pressing. Jimmy let him—chuckling softly at how utterly clingy and affectionate Sea could be, how much he loved being babied, kissed, held.
It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t frantic. Just two adults in love, in their little world, enjoying each other, full of warmth, laughter, and just enough heat to make their hearts—and bodies—race.