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Flashback
In hindsight, neither of them can pinpoint the exact moment when “JimmySea” stopped being a brand and started suffocating the real Jimmy and the real Sea underneath. It wasn’t malicious. It wasn’t even dramatic. It was slow, creeping, banal. The kind of drift that starts with tiny things: a missed dinner, a postponed date, a script revision that suddenly takes priority over sleep.
For the first year of their relationship, they were a honeymoon cliché with good lighting. They were new, giddy, stupidly in love, discovering each other’s habits in real time. Sea learned that Jimmy ran on three things: coffee, precision, and the quiet pride of taking care of others. Jimmy learned that Sea was allergic to half the planet, slept like he was wrestling imaginary bears, and could go from chaotic gremlin to laser-focused athlete in thirty seconds flat.
But somewhere along the way, boundaries blurred. Career seeped into every conversation. Home became an extension of the set. Even when they were physically together, they were mentally running lines, thinking about the next photoshoot, the next brand deal, the next interview where they’d be asked to describe each other in three adjectives. (Sea hated that question. Jimmy loved that Sea hated it.)
By the end of that first year, they had perfected the art of functioning as a unit in public and completely missing each other in private.
Sea started venting to friends and family instead of to Jimmy, not because he didn’t trust him, but because Jimmy always had something heavier on his plate. A patient emergency. A reshoot. A contract clause. Another three hours of studying a script like it was a medical chart. Sea didn’t want to add weight to a man who already carried the world like it was a personal assignment.
Jimmy, meanwhile, didn’t notice the silence growing between them, because he filled it with work. He loved Sea deeply, but he loved working hard too, and sometimes the two loves collided in ways he didn’t recognize as neglect.
But the breaking point was stupid. It always is.
It happened one evening after a long day. Jimmy had come straight from the clinic, shoulders knotted, brain fried. He had a new script he’d been obsessing over for hours. Sea had been home all afternoon after badminton training, exhausted in that bone-deep, soul-scraped way that only athletes understand. He was sprawled on the sofa, one arm across his face.
Jimmy walked in venting before he even took his shoes off.
“They rewrote the entire second half,” he muttered, tossing the script onto the coffee table. “Again. And the clinic had a flood of acne cases after that skincare trend went viral. I swear, everyone suddenly decided they needed emergency treatment today.”
Sea sat up a little. “Rough day?”
“You have no idea,” Jimmy exhaled.
Sea nodded and listened. For the first ten minutes. Then fifteen. Then twenty. But exhaustion blurred his edges, and his brain began drifting—not away from Jimmy, but just… away. The way tired people do when they’re barely holding themselves upright.
Jimmy didn’t notice. He kept pacing and spiraling. He needed to vent. He needed comfort. He needed Sea awake and fully present.
Sea tried.
He really tried.
But at some point his eyes closed for two seconds too long.
Jimmy stopped mid-sentence.
“Are you even listening?”
Sea blinked. “I am. I’m just tired.”
Jimmy scoffed. “You’re always tired lately.”
Sea frowned, groggy irritation rising. “Well, sorry I’m human.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Jimmy snapped, but the frustration was already spilling. “I just… I talk to you about my day, and you… check out. It feels like you don’t care.”
Sea stared at him, incredulous. “Jimmy, I do care. I’m tired. Why are you making it about that?”
“Because I’m always there for you,” Jimmy shot back, “but you can’t even stay awake while I’m falling apart.”
Sea sat up sharply. “Don’t start counting who does more. I hate that.”
“And I hate feeling like I’m talking to a wall.”
The air shifted. Both of them felt it. Neither backed down.
The argument escalated with terrifying speed. Words sharpened. Voices rose. Sea accused him of never unplugging from work. Jimmy accused him of shutting him out. Sea said he didn’t want to be Jimmy’s emotional assistant. Jimmy said he was tired of giving and giving and being met with silence.
They were both hurting. They were both exhausted. They were both saying the wrong things in the wrong way.
Then Jimmy said it.
“I think maybe we should break up. Because even when we’re together, I feel alone.”
It was a slap. A clean, precise wound.
Sea froze, something in his chest going cold and final.
“Okay,” he said quietly.
Jimmy blinked, stunned. “Sea, that’s not—”
But Sea was already standing. Moving. Decisive in a way he almost never was in fights. He grabbed the car keys off the hook with a controlled calm that terrified Jimmy more than any yelling could.
“Sea.” Jimmy followed him down the hall. “Wait. Hold on. That’s not what I—”
But he didn’t say I’m sorry. Not once. He kept trying to explain. To rationalize. To soften the blow without removing it.
Sea went to the bedroom, pulled open the small drawer where he kept a few clothes. A pair of shorts. A shirt Jimmy liked on him. Socks. A hoodie Jimmy kept stealing.
He shoved them into a backpack.
“Sea, please,” Jimmy begged, trailing him like a shadow. “We can talk. I didn’t mean it. I was upset. I love you. Just stop for a second.”
Sea didn’t look at him.
“Say something,” Jimmy pleaded. “Yell at me. Call me an idiot. Just… don’t leave.”
Sea paused, toothbrush in hand. “…You said you felt alone.”
“That’s not— I didn’t— I was angry,” Jimmy stammered. “I didn’t mean it.”
“I’m tired of guessing what you mean,” Sea said, voice low and exhausted. “I’m tired of you never apologizing when you’re wrong.”
It hit Jimmy like a blow. Because it was true. He wasn’t good at sorry. He was good at fixing things, explaining things, patching things—but real apologies were a language he hadn’t learned yet.
Sea zipped the backpack.
Jimmy’s breath cracked. “Please don’t go."
Sea didn’t look back.
“I’ll come get my other things another day,” he said.
And he walked out.
Jimmy stood in the doorway, helpless, watching the person he loved leave with a backpack of clothes and a heart full of bruises.
He didn’t sleep that night. Or the one after.
But that was the night everything changed.
End of flashback
Two years have passed since that night neither of them likes remembering. The fight is something they’ve pressed between the pages of their history like a dried flower: fragile, painful, but part of the story.
They worked through it, apologized properly, learned the hard way that love needs boundaries, that silence can be a weapon, and that sometimes the scariest thing in a relationship is saying I’m wrong.
They never talk about that evening unless they need to. And they haven’t needed to in a long time.
Tonight, they’re home. Their real home. The one they ended up moving into together six months after making up, because Sea had announced, dramatically, “I refuse to carry my toothbrush back and forth like a nomad,” and Jimmy had laughed and handed him a drawer.
It’s quiet, warm, domestic in the way Jimmy secretly adores.
Sea is sprawled on the sofa like a starfish, surrounded by at least three different snacks: dried mangoes, chips, and something suspiciously crunchy Jimmy told him he wasn’t supposed to eat at night because it upset his stomach. Sea ignored him immediately.
He’s watching a badminton match on his tablet. He’s also eating, kicking his feet, humming, and occasionally yelling at the screen. Sea has mastered the art of multitasking in the way only athletes and chaos demons can.
Jimmy sits at the dining table flipping through the new script.
He’s calm at first. Concentrated. Focused.
Then he freezes.
He reads the summary again, slower this time.
Two rookie actors.
Both signed under the same entertainment company.
Paired as a duo for a new BL project.
Polar opposites in personality and style.
One is a cosmetologist the other one a tennis player.
Frequent arguments.
A slow-burn shift from conflict to attraction.
They fall in love.
One year into the relationship, an explosive fight tears them apart.
They break up.
Separate.
Three years later, they reunite for a new project…
…sparks reignite.
Jimmy lowers the script.
He inhales. Exhales. Inhales again.
Then whispers, horrified: “No way.”
He flips a few pages, searching for distance, difference, anything.
The details are changed.
Different careers.
Different context.
Different triggers.
But the bones?
The emotional rhythm?
The core beats of pressure, blurred work boundaries, and one devastating argument?
Too familiar.
He turns toward the living room.
Sea is deeply invested in the badminton match and completely unaware that someone has apparently been reading their private memories like a personal diary.
Jimmy tries to be calm. Professional. Rational.
He fails spectacularly.
“Sea.”
No response.
“Sea.”
Still nothing.
“Sea, babe.”
Sea holds up a finger without looking away. “Wait wait wait, he’s about to smash—YES! YES! Look at that movement! Hia, did you see that? Look. Look!”
Jimmy does not look. Jimmy stares at his boyfriend like he’s witnessing a man enjoying snacks while the universe is breaking into their house with a screenplay.
He tries again. “Sea. We have a problem.”
Sea pauses the video. Slowly. Like he’s approaching a suspicious animal that might bite.
He sits up. “Okay. How big of a problem? Emotional? Financial? Something I forgot to do?”
Jimmy holds up the script like it’s radioactive.
“This.”
Sea squints. “Is… that a contract?”
“It’s a script.”
Sea blinks. “Oh! For the new project? Did they confirm the cast already?”
Jimmy flips it around dramatically. “Sea. Read. The. Synopsis.”
Sea grabs a handful of dried mangoes and the script, because he is physically incapable of processing information without snacks. His eyes skim the page. Then skim again. His expression goes from curious to confused to mildly offended.
He looks up at Jimmy.
Jimmy holds up the script. “Read. This.”
Sea takes it, grabbing dried mangoes with the same hand because Sea believes emotional processing requires carbohydrates.
He skims once.
Stops.
Skims again.
Blinks.
He looks up, frowning. “Hia. Is this… is this supposed to be about us?”
“No,” Jimmy says. “But also yes? Somehow? Accidentally? Psychically?”
Sea reads more. “Okay, but they changed details. A lot of details.”
“I know.”
“They’re actors starting together in the same company."
"Polar opposites in personality and style."
"One is a cosmetologist the other one a tennis player.
"What's even that? A cosmetologist? It exists?
“It does, it's a professional who works with skin, makeup, hair, and nails, giving treatments and advice. It's not a doctor."
After two seconds of silence Sea started reading again.
“They fight constantly at first.”
““They fall in love—”
Jimmy sighs.
“They break up after a year of dating.”
Jimmy pinches the bridge of his nose. “Yes.”
“And then reunite three years later to shoot a new project.”
Sea lowers the script slowly. He taps the cover. “Hia… this is… creepy.”
Jimmy sits back, rubbing his temples. “It’s too close to our life history. And the emotional beats of the fight—while not exact—feel… familiar. Someone clearly understands what that kind of blow-up looks like.”
Sea frowns deeper. “But only P'Juju, P'Bookie, Hia Force, Aou, and Hia Boom know what happened that night.”
Jimmy nods. “Exactly.”
“And none of them would ever talk.”
“Exactly.”
Sea flips another page. “Okay but… the breakup part didn’t happen to us. And the reunion-after-three-years thing is totally different.”
Jimmy nods again, more pensively. “That’s what bothers me. Someone wrote a new version of our story. A parallel one.”
Sea’s eyes widen. “A fanfiction multiverse?”
Jimmy gives him a look. “Sea.”
“No, I’m serious. What if the writer is just… observant? Or they heard something vague and made it dramatic? Like telephone game but with trauma.”
Jimmy exhales, shoulders slumping. “They know too many details. It’s not malicious. But it’s personal in a way that makes me uncomfortable.”
Sea sits next to him, pressing their knees together. “Then we talk to the director before agreeing to anything. I’m not reenacting our emotional apocalypse blindly.”
Jimmy nods. “Exactly my thought.”
Sea leans his head on Jimmy’s shoulder. “You good?”
Jimmy hesitates. “I don’t love the idea of revisiting… anything close to that.”
Sea loops an arm around him. “We’ll do it together. And we’ll be careful. And if something feels wrong, we walk away.”
Jimmy lets out a breath. “You’re handling this better than me.”
Sea shrugs. “I have snacks. Emotional support mangoes.”
Jimmy laughs.
Sea perks up. “Also, if the character based on what you said "maybe we should break up." I’m hitting him with the script.”
Jimmy sighs theatrically. “Violence?”
“Acting improvisation.”
Jimmy presses a kiss to his temple. “You’re impossible.”
“And permanently yours. Sorry, no returns.”
Jimmy glances at the script again, then at Sea, safe at his side.
Two years ago, they almost crashed.
Now they’re considering acting out a different version of the same storm.
🔆🔆🔆
Two days later, they’re walking into P'Aof office.
P'Aof has directed one of their best work. He’s warm, sharp, talented, and blessed with the emotional intelligence of a man who can smell tears three minutes before they happen. Normally, Jimmy and Sea trust him blindly.
Normally.
The moment they step in, P'Aof beams. Arms wide. “My favorite duo! You’re here to say yes, right? Right?”
Sea jumps into the hug immediately. Jimmy accepts it with two seconds of hesitation, which for Jimmy counts as enthusiasm.
P'Aof ushers them to the sofa. “Sit, sit. I can already imagine the chemistry. The tension. The emotional depth. It will be brilliant!”
Jimmy exhales slowly. “P'Aof… about the script.”
Sea sits stiffly beside him, for once quieter than usual.
P'Aof blinks. “You didn’t like it?”
Sea and Jimmy exchange a look.
Jimmy clears his throat. “It’s not that we didn’t like it. It’s well-written. It’s interesting. But… we have a question.”
P'Aof tilts his head, curious. “Ask anything.”
Jimmy folds his hands. “Who wrote it?”
P'Aof squints like he misheard. “What do you mean?”
“We want to know who the writer is,” Sea says. “It’s kind of important.”
P'Aof looks between them, baffled. “You think the writing isn’t strong? You want to meet the team? We can do a workshop, no problem.”
Jimmy shifts. “No, it’s not that. We just… need to know.”
P'Aof frowns now, more seriously. “Why?”
Jimmy and Sea share another look, the kind that communicates: you say it. No, you say it.
Jimmy inhales. “Because the story is… strangely familiar.”
Sea nods vigorously. “Like… weirdly familiar.”
P'Aof blinks. “Familiar how?”
Sea opens his mouth.
Jimmy subtly kicks his shin.
Sea closes his mouth.
Jimmy answers carefully. “Let’s just say it resembles some experiences we’ve had. But not in a way that feels like coincidence.”
P'Aof takes a moment, brows rising. “Ah… you think someone you know wrote it?”
Jimmy’s silence is telling.
Sea finally blurts, “None of our friends would write fanfic about us!”
Jimmy pinches the bridge of his nose. “Sea.”
“What? It’s true!”
P'Aof laughs in confusion. “Fanfic? No, no. The production company bought the script from a new writer. Someone online. A platform for amateur authors. Pen name only.”
Jimmy goes still.
Sea does too, but with significantly more open-mouthed bewilderment.
“Online?” Jimmy repeats. “Like… anonymous online?”
P’Pai nods happily. “Very up-and-coming. We wanted something fresh.”
Sea leans forward. “P’Aof. Do you know the writer’s real name?”
“No. Not yet. But why—”
Jimmy interrupts, voice calm but tight. “We can’t accept the project until we know who wrote this.”
P'Aof blinks again, now recognizing this isn’t standard actor fussiness. “It’s really that important?”
Jimmy meets his eyes. “Yes.”
Sea crosses his arms. “We’re not being dramatic. Well. I am. But Hia is being very mature about it.”
Jimmy ignores him. “We just need to know.”
P'Aof looks between them, trying to decipher the hidden layer. His forehead creases with concern. “Did something happen? Something related to the story?”
Jimmy chooses his words carefully. “Let’s just say it’s oddly personal.”
Sea nods. “Creepy personal.”
Jimmy shoots him a look.
“What? It is!”
P'Aof sits back, finally serious. “Alright. I understand enough to know I don’t understand yet, but I trust you both. And if something feels off, we’ll sort it out.”
Jimmy relaxes slightly. Sea does too.
P'Aof leans forward, hands clasped. “I’ll find out who the writer is. I promise. I want you both for this project, but not if you’re walking onto set with doubts in your chest.”
Sea cracks a smile. Jimmy’s drops his shoulders in relief.
P'Aof adds with a grin, “You two are worth the extra work.”
Sea beams. Jimmy blushes an amount he hopes is invisible.
They stand to leave, and P'Aof gives them another affectionate pat on the shoulder. “Give me a few days. I’ll call you as soon as I have the real name.”
As they step into the hallway, Sea whispers, “What if it really is a stalker?”
Jimmy mutters, “What if it’s N'Joong? He is the only one we know that write fanfictions right? Maybe he wants to be an actual writer now”
Sea gasps. “And how would he know about us?.”
Jimmy huffs. “ I don't know maybe Aou said something."
The elevator doors close, and Sea leaned against Jimmy’s side, kissing him lightly.
“We’ll figure it out,” Sea says, softer now. “Whatever it is.”
Jimmy laces their fingers together. “We will.”
🔆🔆🔆
They returned home, at least relieved that P’Aof—reliable as ever—promised to get them answers soon.
Sea immediately claimed the kitchen, turning dinner prep into a one-man musical. Music blasted, pots clanged, and he danced around, tossing vegetables like confetti. Jimmy sat at the table with his laptop open, scribbling notes for some skincare research he’d been obsessing over.
Every so often, he looked up to watch Sea twirling like a hurricane with a spatula in hand, humming off-key but proudly, and couldn’t help the grin spreading across his face. He loved this man so much it sometimes made him feel dizzy. Lucky, terrified, completely undone.
“Hia,” Sea said, plopping into the chair across from him, still brushing a bit of flour from his hair. “I was thinking… the script doesn’t even say how they reconciled. Our friends know, so if they had written it, there’d be, I don’t know, some little detail, a hint… something. But there isn’t. So it can’t be them.”
Jimmy nodded, twirling a fork in his pasta. “Yeah, I was thinking the same thing.”
Sea leaned forward, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Okay, let’s make it a game! Who else could know so much about us? We make a list. Like a detective show! But, like… cute detectives.”
Jimmy raised an eyebrow, but he smiled. “Fine. Cute detectives.”
“Okay, first round: our directors,” Sea started, counting on his fingers. “They’ve seen us together, know the dynamics…”
Jimmy shook his head vigorously. “No. Unless you started narrating our fights during meetings, they wouldn’t know the messy stuff.
"Our managers?." Sea asked
"P'Pat and P'Joel? Too good, too trustworthy—they’d never spill. Not a chance.”
Sea pouted. “Hmm… fine, fine. But what about… other people we told? Who else knows about the… Big Argument™? Us being boyfriends? Or how dramatic we are in private?”
Jimmy rubbed his temples, smiling despite himself. “Besides our closest friends… no one else really knows. And even then, only a few."
Sea leaned back, tapping a finger against his chin like he was solving a murder mystery.
“Okay, let's think. Besides our managers and the boys… who did we tell the details of our fight to? Who knows about the mess we were at the start? Who knew when we got back together? Who knew were together in the first place?”
They both went still.
The answer came quietly, instinctively.
Sea had single shared realization.
Only the people who had supported them through the worst of that fight…
Only they could know those details.
They looked at each other.
And the room felt different.
Flashback
Sea hadn’t looked back as he walked out the door. He knew if he did, he’d forgive Jimmy instantly—and he couldn’t forgive him, not yet. He needed to practice some self-love, even if it hurt. For once, he had to put himself first.
He’d hoped the first words he’d hear would be, “I’m sorry, Sea, forgive me,” but as always, it seemed he was the one who would cave, the one who would shoulder the apology.
He couldn’t do it anymore. He had to leave the house, leave the argument, leave the relationship as it was turning—slowly, imperceptibly—into something suffocating. Not toxic yet, but getting dangerously close. And he couldn’t be part of it.
Jimmy’s words cut deep—but not for the reasons he thought. They weren’t true. Sea had always been there for Jimmy, bending, listening, supporting, giving. He had been the constant presence, the one carrying more than his fair share of emotional labor.
Jimmy, on the other hand, seemed weighed down by so much—work, pressure, pride—that he often forgot to be there for Sea in the ways that mattered. And tonight, that imbalance had shattered the fragile equilibrium between them.
Sea also knew he wasn’t blameless. He hadn’t communicated enough, hadn’t expressed the way he felt trapped and suffocated, hadn’t been adult or rational enough. Perhaps he’d neglected some of Jimmy’s needs, seeking solace elsewhere—in friends, in distractions, in anyone who didn’t carry the weight of him.
But still, Jimmy’s accusations stung because they didn’t match reality. Sea had been faithful, present, loyal. And seeing Jimmy unaware of his own part in their drift, unwilling or unable to acknowledge it, made him realize that continuing this cycle would only hurt them both more.
By the time he reached his car, his phone was buzzing incessantly. Jimmy. But Sea couldn’t answer—not yet. He needed to breathe. He needed space. So he called the only friend he knew would drop everything: “Hia Boom!” His voice cracked, raw with heartbreak and exhaustion. The sobs were audible even through the phone, shaking his whole body.
Half an hour later, Boom arrived, and Aou was with him, as expected. They didn’t ask questions—they never did at times like this. Boom pulled Sea into a long hug, letting him lean into the warmth and stability of someone who would simply be there.
Sea didn’t want to go to his own apartment. He knew Jimmy would come looking for him there. No, he needed a neutral place—a safe zone. So Aou drove them to his apartment, the one he often shared with Boom and his mischievous kitten.
Jimmy’s calls continued, flooding their phones. Boom made the executive decision: not now. Sea came first.
Once they arrived at Aou’s apartment, Sea finally sat down, feeling a fraction of his tension drain away. Slowly, he began to recount everything—the argument, the exhaustion, the heartbreak, the words neither of them could take back.
“When I was there… in his apartment,” Sea said softly, voice still trembling, “I realized something. If our relationship is going to be like this—if I’m always the one holding us together, and he doesn’t even see it… maybe he’s right. Maybe it’s better to end it… Better to leave now than to hurt each other even more.”
Boom and Aou listened in quiet solidarity. There were no judgments, no platitudes. Only the steady reassurance that someone could hold your grief while you tried to make sense of it.
🔆🔆🔆
The next thing Sea did, once his friends had to rush off to work—Boom and Aou were in the process of filming a new scene—was call his older sister, P’Nana. If anyone could give him rational, steady advice right now, it was her.
He poured out the entire story—the argument, the exhaustion, the heartbreak, the suffocating feeling that had finally tipped him over the edge. P’Nana was quiet for a moment, letting him finish. Then she spoke, her voice calm but firm.
“Nong… you haven’t made a mistake. It’s normal to feel hurt, upset… it’s human. Anyone would feel this way in your shoes,” she said, pausing.
Sea sniffled, wiping at his cheeks.
“But from everything you’ve told me… the way P’Jimmy makes you feel is very special. Different from anything you’ve ever felt before. You even said he might be the love of your life. If anyone else had said that, I might not have believed them—but you’re thoughtful, you don’t say things lightly. I believe you.”
Sea exhaled shakily, holding onto her words like a lifeline.
“Give yourself a few days to calm down, to think. But if this relationship is really that important… if it’s really special… then it’s worth fighting for. And you’re not the only one who has to fight. P’Jimmy has to fight too. Relationships… they’re about compromise. If you’re both willing, you have to sit down and talk. Set boundaries. Agree on compromises that work for both of you.”
Tears were still streaming down Sea’s face, and he nodded, though P’Nana couldn’t see him.
“I don’t think I could love anyone else the way I love him,” he admitted in a whisper. “No one compares. I want to fight… but I don’t want to fight alone.”
P’Nana’s voice softened. “Then tell him that. And if this relationship ends, make sure he understands why. Then… let’s see how much he’s willing to fight. Let’s see if he wants this as badly as you do.”
🔆🔆🔆
Jimmy didn’t know where to start. He called everyone—every single friend Sea could possibly have gone to. Boom. Aou. Force. Book. His fingers moved almost automatically, dialing, redialing, leaving frantic, breathless messages. No one picked up.
He paced the apartment like a caged animal, every step echoing his panic. His hands ran through his hair, tugging at it in frustration, and every missed call made his chest tighten further. His mind spiraled:
What if Sea hates me? What if he never wants to see me again? What if… I’ve ruined everything?
Meanwhile, Book, tied up with Force on set and unable to come to him, recognized the danger in Jimmy’s messages rising panic. He quickly called Junior, who was free that day, and explained the situation: Go to P'Jimmy’s house. Something’s wrong. Fast.
When Junior arrived, the door swung open, and Jimmy was a whirlwind of tears, pacing, and muttered apologies.
“I ruin everything… I hurt him… everything I touch breaks,” Jimmy choked out, voice cracking, face buried in his hands.
Junior froze for a second, unprepared for this level of raw emotion from someone usually so composed. Then he stepped forward, pulling Jimmy into a firm, grounding hug.
“It’s okay,” Junior murmured. “I’ve got you. Breathe. Just breathe.”
Jimmy clung to him, shaking, sobbing openly. “I can’t… I can’t fix this… I can’t make him see…”
“You don’t have to do it alone,” Junior said softly, holding him tighter. “You’re not alone in this, P'Jimmy. Just… just start by being calm. Then we figure it out, okay?”
Jimmy nodded weakly against Junior’s shoulder, trying to inhale without hyperventilating, trying to regain a shred of control. But every heartbeat was a reminder of the words he’d said, the hurt he’d caused.
“I… I can’t believe I let it get this bad,” he whispered, tears soaking Junior’s shoulder. “I… I love him too much to… to mess it up like this.”
Junior just hugged him tighter, murmuring reassurances. “Then don’t think about the mess. Think about getting him back safely. One step at a time, P'Jimmy. One step at a time.”
Once he was slightly calmer, with a glass of water trembling in his hand, Jimmy sank into the couch, elbows resting on his knees. His breaths were still ragged, but less frantic, and he began to speak, each word heavy with guilt.
“It… it all started at the clinic today,” he murmured, voice tight. “The flood of patients—acne cases, allergic reactions, last-minute emergencies. I barely had time to eat. Then the script—someone rewrote half of it, again. I was… I was so frustrated.”
He paused, taking a shaky sip of water, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. “And then I got home, and Sea… he was tired, yes, but I just… I needed him to… to listen. I needed him to be there.” He shook his head, wiping at his eyes. “But he… he wasn’t. And I just… I snapped. I said things I shouldn’t have. Terrible things. And then…” His voice faltered. “Then I said the one thing I can never take back. I told him maybe we should break up. And now… he’s gone.”
Junior stayed silent, letting Jimmy spill everything, letting the emotions tumble out unjudged. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t offer immediate solutions—he just held space for Jimmy to face his own panic and shame.
“I was an idiot, I know. I shouldn’t have taken it out on him. It’s just… sometimes I feel like our worlds are disconnected, and I expect him to bridge them,” Jimmy admitted, voice heavy with guilt.
Junior was silent for a moment, weighing how blunt to be. Jimmy needed honesty more than reassurance.
“Because he does,” Junior said simply, and Jimmy looked at him, puzzled.
Junior exhaled, ready to speak the truths Jimmy hadn’t noticed himself.
“You live in different worlds—your work, your schedules, your personalities. He’s been trying, really trying, to connect with you. But when was the last time Sea came to you about a problem at training or on set?”
Jimmy stayed silent. The question lingered.
“Exactly,” Junior continued. “He doesn’t unload on you because he knows you’re carrying enough already. He’s trying to meet you halfway, even when it tires him. When you came home today, did you hug him? Kiss him? Told him it was good to see him after your long, terrible day?” Jimmy’s silence answered.
Junior’s tone softened, recounting a concrete moment. “The other day, he had a splitting headache at the location. You weren’t even aware. I found him holding his head in the bathroom. I gave him a pill, and he joked, ‘Why doesn’t my doctor boyfriend help me?’ But he wasn’t joking. He didn’t want to add to your worries. That’s how he is—always trying to connect, always thinking of you, even when it costs him.”
Jimmy’s shoulders shook as tears threatened again.
Junior leaned forward, calm but firm. “I’m not saying this to make you feel worse. I’m saying it so you see what’s been happening right in front of you. If you want him back, you need to see him—really see him—and recognize what’s working and what needs to change. Give him space, give him acknowledgment, and give him the respect he’s earned. That’s the only way you’ll close the gap without hurting him again.”
“Sea has made his mistakes too, Doc, I’m sure of it. But if you care about this relationship, you two need to talk. I know you love each other—only a blind man wouldn’t see it.” Junior gave Jimmy another tight hug.
“In the meantime,” he added with a grin, “you’ve got me—your very handsome and exceptionally useful emotional support.”
Jimmy chuckled, the first real smile he’d managed all day.
That night Jimmy sent Sea a message before going to bed.
“When you’re ready, please come back to me. I know I have so many things to apologize for, but I want to do it looking into your eyes. And please, Sea… remember that no matter what, I love you.”
🔆🔆🔆
For two days, neither Jimmy nor Sea had slept or spoken. But Sea knew they had to. He knew he had to call Jimmy—he had already invited him, after all.
There wasn’t time for a conscious choice; circumstances made it for him. Sea hadn’t returned to his apartment during those days, staying at Aou’s instead, lost in his thoughts, nursing his broken heart, and obsessing over how to mend it. His surroundings barely registered. Even the quiet hostility of Aou’s home faded into the background.
Yes, there was a problem: Aou had a cat—a beautiful white tomcat that shed endlessly. Sea was so consumed by his own turmoil that he forgot everything else, including the fact that he was allergic to practically half the world, cat hair included. The reaction didn’t hit immediately, but prolonged exposure—two or three days at most—was enough. And of course, when he’d left Jimmy’s house, he hadn’t brought his EpiPen or any other medication.
It wasn’t anaphylactic shock yet, but it was dangerously close. Aou and Boom were in a panic as Sea’s lips swelled, his skin broke out in red blotches, and his discomfort grew. Boom, knowing full well how angry Sea would be, did the only sensible thing: he called the one person equipped for this situation—Doctor Jimmy.
Jimmy arrived quickly, worry etched on his face, but every move precise. He immediately assessed Sea—swollen lips, red patches—and pulled out the EpiPen.
“Sea, breathe. This will help,” he said, his voice calm but urgent.
Sea didn’t resist. He’d expected this moment, even hoped for it—just to see Jimmy again.
Boom and Aou watched quietly as Sea took a brief hug, murmuring thanks. “I… I have to go home now,” he said. “I can’t stay here, I still don't have a death wish.” Sea joked poorly.
Jimmy helped him up, careful, professional, but every glance at Sea made his chest tighten. In the car, he tried to stay composed, giving him space—but the longing, the worry, the relief of finally being near him, was impossible to hide.
Jimmy brought Sea back to his apartment with a knot in his chest, afraid that the conversation ahead might end with goodbye. But once the door closed behind them, something shifted. They didn’t fall apart. They opened up.
The night stretched long and quiet and raw. They spoke about insecurities they had never fully named, the moments they’d felt small or unheard, the silent fears that had grown between them. They cried. They held each other. They apologized without rushing, without defensiveness, without trying to win. Jimmy’s voice broke more than once; Sea’s hands shook. But neither of them looked away.
And somewhere in the middle of all that honesty, the fear of losing each other gave way to something steadier: a decision. Not a promise born out of panic, but a choice to build a future with intention.
They wrote down the things that mattered, not as rules to follow, but as anchors for the life they wanted together.
When one of us comes home, the first thing we give is a kiss or a hug, a moment to reconnect before anything else. And before any hard conversation, we hold each other close until the tension softens.
Work stays at the door as much as possible. Our home is a place for us, not for deadlines or pressure.
If Sea feels troubled or needs to talk, he reaches out. Jimmy answers with whatever presence he has, because Sea’s voice will always matter to him.
We never hang up a call, end a message, or walk out the door without saying “I love you.”
When something hurts, scares, or unsettles us, we speak up early. No silent suffering, no letting things build into storms.
We don’t go to bed with distance between us. Even if it’s late, even if it’s hard, we find our way back to each other.
We make space in each other’s worlds. Jimmy watches Sea train; Sea visits him at the clinic. Presence is love too.
We choose quality time. Cooking together, watching a movie, sharing a sofa, or even working side by side. Whatever it is, we do it together, as partners who want a life, not just a relationship.
By dawn, nothing was magically fixed. But they were holding onto each other with a clarity they hadn’t had before. They had chosen, deliberately and wholeheartedly, to stay, to grow, and to build something that would last.
End of flashback
🔆🔆🔆
Sea arrived at the conclusion before Jimmy even finished turning the thought over in his head.
“There’s only one person who knows about everything… and doesn’t know how we made up,” Sea said quietly, voice low but certain. Jimmy looked at him, eyebrows lifted, waiting for the missing piece.
“It’s not the guys. And it’s not our managers,” Sea continued. “It’s my sister. P’Nana.” He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I never told her about the allergic reaction because I didn’t want her to freak out. And I definitely didn’t tell her what we talked about that night. I just… thanked her for everything. She’s the only one who doesn’t know the whole story.”
Jimmy froze, realization dawning slowly and unmistakably across his face.
Sea put the call on speaker as soon as Nana said, “Okay, fine, it was me,” in the tone of someone confessing to burying a body rather than writing a script.
Jimmy and Sea exchanged a slow, practiced look. Showtime.
“You wrote an entire script about us?” Sea’s voice cut sharp and incredulous. “Every fight, every kiss, every argument… from the very beginning, all the way through the breakup—and you didn’t think to tell me? My life, Nana. You just… wrote it like it was nothing!”
Nana’s voice wobbled. “I… I didn’t think GMM would actually produce it! I… I swear!”
Jimmy crossed his arms, slipping into his deadliest expression, the one patients feared and Sea found annoyingly attractive. “Let’s discuss the character representing me. You made him… aloof? Emotionally constipated?” He tilted his head. “Is that really what you think of me?”
Sea immediately betrayed him. “I mean… you do get a look when you’re irritated. Like you haven’t pooped in three days.”
“I’m clinically composed,” Jimmy corrected.
Nana snorted. “See?! This chemistry is why the script worked so well!”
“Not helping!” Sea hissed, hands trembling. “Do you even understand what it feels like to read your own heart printed as someone else’s story?”
Jimmy leaned toward the phone. “And the big argument scene. That was word for word what we said three years ago. You even kept Sea dramatic exit.”
“It was good material!” Nana protested. “Realistic! Authentic!”
Sea placed a hand over his heart. “And why am I always the dramatic one?”
“Because you are,” Jimmy and Nana chorused.
Sea stared at both of them like he had just been stabbed.
Nana rushed on before he could launch into a monologue. “Look, I’m sorry! Truly! I didn’t know the studio was hunting for scripts. If I’d known it’d land on your desks, I would’ve—”
“Told us?” Jimmy said pointedly.
“Next time, P’Nana… if you want to write about my tragic love life, maybe—just maybe—show me the draft first.”
“SEA!” Nana yelped. “You’re making me sound like a villain!”
Jimmy mused, “More like a well-written antagonist.”
“Jimmy!”
The couple exchanged a synchronized, slow-blinking stare. The sibling fear response activated instantly.
Finally, Sea’s expression softened, though just barely. “P’Nana… I love you, but Next time, P’Nana… ask me. Ask me before you turn my life into a plotline.”
“And preferably don’t let a major studio option it, especially if it's our studio." Jimmy said.
“I didn’t let them! They just emailed me, I panicked, and suddenly I was sending attachments!” Nana wailed.
Jimmy and Sea let the silence stretch. Delicious, petty silence.
Then Jimmy exhaled. “We forgive you.”
Sea nodded. “But you owe us. Dinner. At that expensive place you like to pretend you can’t afford.”
Nana groaned in defeat. “Fine. Anything. Just stop scolding me like a committee.”
When the call finally ended, Sea tossed the phone aside and inhaled, ready to apologize again in his sister place, lips parting—
Jimmy closed the distance, cupped his face, and kissed him quiet. This one wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t mischievous.
It was steady. Intentional. Reassuring.
Sea’s fingers curled in his shirt. “We’re really okay?” he murmured against Jimmy’s mouth.
Jimmy rested his forehead against his. “We are.”
Sea’s voice softened. “Even on dramatic, sibling-written-script days?”
Jimmy smiled. “Especially on those.”
🔆🔆🔆
Obviously, once the truth was out, Jimmy and Sea had no choice but to star in the drama themselves. No one else could do it justice—it was their love story, written in black and white, even if only a handful of people truly understood it.
The names of the protagonists were almost laughably on-the-nose. Sea became “Tawin,” echoing his real name, Tawinan, and Jimmy became “Tara,” a subtle nod to Jitaraphol. Nana hadn’t exactly been creative with the names, but somehow, it worked.
Production went smoothly. Jimmy and Sea insisted on choosing their supporting cast, handpicking their real-life friends: Junior, Aou, Boom, Book, and Force. The authenticity of the cast gave the story a resonance that no other actors could have matched. Every laugh, every small gesture, every argument carried the weight of truth.
When the first episode aired, the reaction was instantaneous and overwhelming.
My Destiny: The Series became a phenomenon, surpassing even “Last Twilight,” their previous hit. Every episode went viral across Thailand and eventually reached international audiences.
Fans quoted the lines obsessively, turned their most emotional moments into memes, and discussed every argument and reconciliation as if they were living the story themselves.
Famous lines circulated endlessly:
“Relationships… they’re about compromise. If you’re both willing, you have to sit down and talk. Set boundaries. Agree on compromises that work for both of you.”
“I don’t think I could love anyone else the way I love him.”
“You live in different worlds—your work, your schedules, your personalities. He’s been trying, really trying, to connect with you. But honestly? I can’t say the same for you. When was the last time Tawin came to you about a problem at training or on set?”
“I think maybe we should break up. Because even when we’re together, I feel alone.”
Fans quickly created memes referencing Tawin’s dramatic expressions or Tara’s “emotionally constipated” moments.
One viral clip featured the scene where they reunited after three years, fans captioning it: “Me, when I finally text my crush back after 3 years.”
Another meme circulated showing Tawin glaring at Tara, with the tagline: “When your boyfriend eats the last piece of cake and pretends he didn’t.” Social media was flooded with GIFs, edits, and even TikTok dances inspired by the characters’ quirks.
Yet, the fandom didn’t just stop at humor. Heartbroken fans shared long threads dissecting every line of dialogue, relating Tawin and Tara’s arguments to their own lives. Some wrote essays about the beauty of compromise and communication in love, inspired by the show’s realistic depiction of conflict and reconciliation. The series became a reference point in conversations about relationships, mental health, and emotional honesty.
Jimmy and Sea watched all of this with a mixture of disbelief and amusement. Sea shook his head one evening while scrolling through Twitter.
Sea groaned, scrolling through Twitter in disbelief. “People… people are quoting our fights,” he muttered, eyebrows shooting skyward. “Look at this one: ‘When Tara refuses to apologize but Tawin has a 37-point checklist of all the ways he’s wrong.’ That’s literally us in episode three!”
Jimmy nudged him with a grin. “And this one—‘Tawin glare: applied to any situation in life where someone eats the last piece of cake.’ You’re welcome, world.”
Sea buried his face in his hands. “It’s mortifying. My private life… turned into memes.”
Jimmy chuckled, brushing hair from his forehead. “Ridiculous, yes. But also… beautiful. Look at this post: ‘If your love doesn’t make you both cry, scream, and then laugh hysterically, are you even dating like Tawin and Tara?’ They’re not just laughing—they’re learning from us, from our chaos, our choices. Isn’t that… kind of amazing?”
Sea peeked through his fingers, seeing a fan edit of their climactic reunion. The caption read: ‘Me running back to my love after 3 years like Tawin sprinting to Tara.’ He shook his head, laughing despite himself. “Ridiculous… but I have to admit—it’s sweet. They actually get it.”
Scrolling further, Sea burst out laughing. “Oh no… look at this one: Tawin facepalming with the tagline: ‘When Tara says “I’m fine” but you know he's definitely not fine.’”
Jimmy snorted. “And don’t miss this: Tara looking cold and clinically serious with the text: ‘Emotionally constipated? More like clinically composed,”. Oh, and this gem: Tawin holding a cup of coffee, captioned: ‘Morning caffeine before apologizing for emotional trauma.’ I mean, who writes this stuff?”
Sea shook his head, still laughing through disbelief. “And they made a whole meme thread about our breakup scene. Three GIFs, each labeled: ‘Stage 1: Anger. Stage 2: Silent crying. Stage 3: Screaming into pillows like a normal adult.’”
Jimmy wrapped an arm around him, teasing: “See? We’re not just actors. We’re cultural icons now. People care about our mess, our compromise, our fights… and yes, our bed scenes. Don’t forget that one—they’re definitely talking about that one.”
Sea groaned. “I cannot believe the whole country knows about my life. And the internet is living for it. Ridiculous… but kind of perfect.”
Jimmy kissed the top of his head. “Exactly. Only we could tell this story. Only we could make people care about the heartbreak and the love that comes after. And all those memes? They’re just a love letter from the fans.”
Finally, Sea leaned into him, exhaling. “Tawin and Tara… our ridiculous, messy, perfect selves… famous all over, and we’re still here. Together.”
Jimmy smiled, soft and certain. “Yeah. Choosing each other again, every day. And now, with an audience laughing and crying with us.”
And as the world shared, joked, and adored them, Jimmy and Sea celebrated in private. Their love, once fragile and secret, was now immortalized—raw, messy, real, and utterly theirs.
And so, while fans laughed, cried, and argued online, Jimmy and Sea quietly celebrated their own private victory: their love, once raw and fragile, was now immortalized, unapologetically real, and fiercely theirs. Tawin and Tara might have become cultural icons, but for Jimmy and Sea, they were—and always would be—just the two of them, choosing each other over and over again.