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Sea had a gift—an unfair, borderline offensive talent—that every exhausted actor in the company resented deeply.
Give him a flat surface and sixty seconds of stillness, and Sea would be asleep. Properly asleep. Not the polite kind where you might wake at your name, but the full, irrevocable shutdown. Studio lights, laughter, someone dropping equipment nearby—irrelevant. Once Sea’s body decided it was time, the world was dismissed.
It had become a tradition.
Someone would whisper, “He’s out.”
Someone else would take pictures.
Sea asleep with his head on a makeup table. Sea asleep hugging a prop like it was emotionally significant. Sea asleep with his mouth slightly open, microphone still clipped to his shirt like a badge of honor.
Sea pretended to be offended. “One day,” he said, scrolling through his phone, “I will sue all of you.”
Jimmy, meanwhile, was already choosing the best angle.
“This one,” he said, sending it to the family group chat. “Your son fell asleep standing up again.”
Sea glanced over. “You didn’t.”
“I did.”
“To both families?”
“Of course.”
Sea leaned over, kissed Jimmy’s cheek, then his mouth—quick, fond, practiced. “You’re unbearable.”
Jimmy hummed, pleased. “Eat your lunch.”
For a long time, that was all it was. Funny. Warm. Familiar.
Until it wasn’t.
Jimmy noticed the shift before he could name it. Sea didn’t drift off anymore—he vanished. One moment animated, the next blank.
“—and then P'Book said—”
Nothing.
Jimmy waited. Counted. Touched Sea’s wrist lightly.
“Hey.”
Sea startled awake, blinking. “Did I stop?”
“Yes.”
Sea frowned. “That’s annoying.”
Jimmy didn’t answer.
Later, Sea fell asleep mid-bite. Jimmy caught the fork before it clattered, leaned in, kissed Sea’s temple until he stirred.
“Busy day,” Sea mumbled.
“You say that every day,” Jimmy replied, gentle but observant.
He tried to talk about it. Not elegantly. Just… honestly.
“You’re tired,” Jimmy said one evening.
Sea sighed. “That’s not news.”
“This kind is.”
Sea rolled his eyes, but he leaned into Jimmy’s side anyway, like his body disagreed with his mouth.
The real conversation happened in the kitchen.
Sea grabbed his keys. Jimmy didn’t block him, didn’t raise his voice.
“I don’t want you driving.”
Sea turned, irritation flaring on instinct. “Hia—”
“I know,” Jimmy said quickly, already stumbling through it. “I know it sounds controlling. I’m not— I just—”
He stopped, scrubbed a hand over his face, then looked at Sea properly.
“You scared me this morning,” he said. “When you didn’t wake up.”
Sea’s irritation faltered. “I woke up.”
“Eventually,” Jimmy replied. Not accusing. Just factual. “And I know you think I worry too much. I probably do. But I keep imagining you stopping at a light and deciding to rest your eyes for one second.”
Sea opened his mouth to argue. Closed it again.
Jimmy stepped closer, voice quieter but steady. “I don’t need to be right. I just need you safe. Please”
That was it. That was the weak spot.
Sea exhaled sharply, frustration dissolving into something warmer and more dangerous. “You’re playing dirty.”
“I’m trying,” Jimmy admitted. “I’m bad at this.”
Sea shook his head, half-smiling despite himself. “Yeah. You are.”
He stared at the keys in his hand for a moment longer than necessary. Then he pulled out his phone instead.
“I’m calling a cab,” he said, resigned but gentle. “This doesn’t mean you win.”
Jimmy nodded immediately. “I don’t need to.”
Sea stepped into his space, pressed a kiss to Jimmy’s mouth—longer this time, grounding. “Just so know,” he murmured, “you are paying the cab now and next time too.”
Jimmy kissed him back, careful and earnest. “Deal.”
The cab confirmation chimed.
Sea dropped the keys on the counter and leaned into Jimmy’s chest. “You’re annoying.”
Jimmy wrapped his arms around him without hesitation. “You love me.”
Sea smiled, eyes already heavy. “You are a lucky man.”
Jimmy had tried to stop the doctor inside himself.
He really had.
He told himself he was overanalyzing, catastrophizing, letting his profession bleed into his personal life like it always threatened to do. Sea was an actor. Filming schedules were brutal. Sleep deprivation was practically an occupational hazard. There were simpler explanations than the one his mind kept circling back to.
And yet.
The simplest answer—the one that slid too easily into place—was narcolepsy. It fit too well. The sudden shutdowns. The lack of transition. The way Sea didn’t feel tired before it happened. It was textbook enough to scare him.
But textbook didn’t always mean correct.
Jimmy lay awake at night, staring at the ceiling while Sea slept heavy and warm beside him, counting breaths, tracking the rise and fall of his chest like it might suddenly change rhythm.
He knew what he needed to do.
He needed to take Sea to a doctor. A specialist. Someone with answers.
Convincing him, however, would be war.
Sea hated hospitals. Hated the smell, the lights, the waiting. He hated needles most of all, which Jimmy had always found faintly ironic, considering Sea carried antihistamines and an EpiPen everywhere he went because of his allergies.
Prepared for emergencies, allergic to prevention—that was Sea in a sentence.
Jimmy didn’t want to be controlling. He was painfully aware of the line between care and pressure, and how easy it was to cross it when fear sharpened your instincts. He didn’t want Sea to feel managed, supervised, reduced to a patient.
He just didn’t want to watch him collapse somewhere he couldn’t reach him.
Sea, meanwhile, had started noticing.
That was the cruel part.
He felt it when conversations slipped out of his hands, when his body betrayed him without warning. He felt the looks—too careful, too concerned—from friends on set. He heard it in the way people said his name now, slower, like they were checking whether he was still there.
And he hated it.
“No offense,” Sea said one evening, already irritated before Jimmy had finished his sentence, “but I’ve had enough doctors for a lifetime.”
Jimmy kept his voice level. “This isn’t—”
“I don’t want another one,” Sea cut in. “I don’t need another reason to sit in a waiting room being told something’s wrong with me.”
Jimmy opened his mouth. Closed it again.
Sea folded his arms, defensive and exhausted all at once. “I’m fine.”
Jimmy didn’t argue. He just looked at him.
That look—concerned, restrained, too gentle—made Sea bristle even more. He brushed off his friends’ comments with jokes. Dodged the subject when Nana or Zen asked. Pretended that nothing had changed, because admitting otherwise meant admitting fear.
And fear, to Sea, felt like surrender.
So when that day came—when he woke up feeling good, clear-headed, energetic—he took it as proof.
See? he told himself. Responsible adult. Fully functional.
Jimmy was already at work. Sea didn’t call him. He didn’t ask. He didn’t want permission; he wanted normalcy.
His sister Nana needed help assembling furniture. He grabbed his keys.
Twenty minutes into the drive, it happened.
Not slowly. Not gently.
The world didn’t blur or fade—it vanished. A clean cut. As if someone had flipped a switch behind his eyes.
The next thing Sea saw was white.
Harsh. Blinding.
Voices overlapped, distant and urgent, words swimming out of reach. He tried to move and couldn’t. Tried to speak and failed.
An ambulance ceiling swam into focus for half a second.
Oh, he thought, distantly. This is bad.
Then everything went black again.
And this time, Jimmy wasn’t there to wake him.
The irony of it all was brutal.
There had been an accident. Sea had collapsed. For several terrifying minutes, he was convinced—through the haze of shock and fear—that he had caused it. That his body had betrayed him behind the wheel and taken others down with him.
But reality, as it turned out, was crueler and cleaner.
A truck had hit him from behind.
Hard. Violently enough to push his car forward into the one in front. Metal crumpling, glass shattering, momentum doing what momentum always did. Sea hadn’t caused the crash—he’d just been unconscious when it happened.
Jimmy didn’t know any of that yet.
He was halfway through a shoot when his manager appeared at the edge of the set, face tight, eyes searching for him with an urgency that made Jimmy’s stomach drop before a word was spoken.
“Jimmy,” she said quietly. “We need to stop for a moment.”
The crew froze. The director frowned. Jimmy stood up, heart already racing.
Sea was in the hospital.
Injured. Car accident.
The words didn’t land all at once. They shattered. Jimmy barely remembered nodding, barely remembered the director gripping his shoulder and telling him to go—now, immediately, don’t even think about coming back today. Someone shoved his bag into his hands. Someone else was talking, but Jimmy wasn’t listening.
His world narrowed to one thought.
He drove.
The ride to the hospital was a blur of red lights and restrained panic. Jimmy’s hands shook in his lap. He wanted to scream. He wanted to rewind time. He wanted to be furious—you promised, I asked you, why didn’t you wait—but all of it was buried under something stronger.
Please be okay.
The hospital smelled exactly like Sea hated. Jimmy noticed that stupid detail as he ran through the corridors, heart pounding so hard it felt like it might bruise him from the inside.
When he reached the room, the door was open.
Two police officers were inside.
Sea was sitting up in the bed, smaller somehow, drained of color. A bandage wrapped around his head, stark white against his hair, and his left arm was secured in a sling. He looked exhausted, eyes heavy, voice low as he spoke.
“I—I don’t remember much,” Sea was saying. “I think I passed out, and then—”
Jimmy didn’t think.
He stepped into the room and straight between Sea and the officers, one hand already reaching back to touch Sea’s knee, grounding himself as much as possible.
“Stop,” Jimmy said, breathless but firm. “Don’t answer anything else.”
Sea blinked up at him, startled. “Hia—?”
“We need a lawyer first,” Jimmy continued, words tumbling out sharp and precise, the doctor replaced by something far more feral. “You don’t say anything without legal counsel. Not now.”
The room went quiet.
Sea stared at him, stunned. The officers exchanged a glance.
Then one of them snorted.
Jimmy froze. “What?”
The officer lifted his hands slightly, placating—and amused. “Relax. He’s not in trouble.”
Jimmy’s brain stalled. “What?”
“The accident wasn’t his fault,” the officer explained. “A truck rear-ended him. The driver was intoxicated. We’re collecting his statement as the victim for the criminal complaint.”
The words took a second to register.
Victim.
Not responsible. Not at fault.
Jimmy’s knees went weak. He leaned back against the bed without realizing it, one hand still gripping Sea like a lifeline.
Sea exhaled. “I didn’t do anything wrong, Hia.”
Jimmy closed his eyes for half a second.
When he opened them again, he leaned down and pressed his forehead to Sea’s, uncaring of the audience, voice breaking despite himself.
“Don’t scare me like that,” he whispered.
Sea’s free hand came up, fingers curling weakly into Jimmy’s sleeve. “I didn’t mean to.”
Jimmy swallowed hard. “I know.”
For the first time since the phone call, he allowed himself to breathe.
The police had left.
The room was quieter now, the adrenaline draining away in slow, unpleasant waves. Jimmy was still shaking—not visibly, not in any way that would alarm a nurse—but inside, his body hadn’t caught up with reality yet. Sea was alive. Sea was conscious. Sea was fine, relatively speaking.
The knowledge helped.
It didn’t fix everything.
Jimmy stood by the bed, hands clasped together too tightly, staring at nothing in particular. His mind chased itself in tight circles. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do next.
He could yell.
He could accuse Sea of driving without telling him.
He could demand explanations.
But all of those risked turning him into something he had spent years trying not to be—controlling, obsessive, someone who mistook fear for authority.
Or he could apologize.
Apologize for assuming. For arriving like a storm. For immediately believing, without asking, that Sea was at fault just because.
Neither option felt right. Both felt necessary.
Sea watched him for a moment, eyes tired but sharp enough to see the war happening just beneath Jimmy’s skin. He reached out with his uninjured hand and tugged lightly at Jimmy’s sleeve.
“Hey,” he said.
Jimmy looked down.
Sea leaned up as much as the cracked ribs allowed and pressed a soft, brief kiss to Jimmy’s lips. Nothing demanding. Just enough to interrupt the spiral.
“Can you text my sister?” Sea asked quietly. “Tell her I won’t make it. She’s probably already worried sick.”
Jimmy nodded immediately.
“And our parents, Zen, Mimi and the company,” Sea added. “Before some tabloid decides I’m dead.”
That earned the faintest curve of a smile.
Jimmy didn’t reply. He just did as he was told.
He stepped aside, phone in hand, fingers moving automatically. Nana first. Then their respective parents. Then a couple of carefully worded messages to people who mattered and needed to know. By the time he finished, half an hour had passed, and the tightness in his chest had loosened enough for him to breathe normally again.
He sat back down beside the bed.
This time, he was ready.
Ready to speak calmly. Ready to ask. Ready to beg, if that was what it took.
Because even if Sea hadn’t been at fault this time, luck wasn’t something Jimmy trusted.
He opened his mouth.
The door opened first.
A nurse stepped inside, gloves already on, carrying a tray. “Hi, Khun Sea. I’m just going to take a blood sample.”
Jimmy blinked. “Why?”
He’d already read the chart, it was attached to the bed panel. Head laceration. Abrasions from glass. Two cracked ribs. Pain management. Observation. There was absolutely no indication for blood work.
He turned toward the nurse, confusion sharpening into concern—but Sea moved faster.
“Hia Jim,” Sea said, calm but firm.
Jimmy stopped.
The nurse drew the blood efficiently, professionally, offering a brief explanation about additional tests and thanking Sea for his patience before leaving the room again.
The silence that followed was heavy.
Jimmy turned slowly. “Why are they—”
“I asked for it,” Sea said.
Jimmy froze. “You… what?”
Sea shifted carefully against the pillows, wincing slightly, then settled. His voice was steady when he spoke.
“I talked to one of the doctors while you were texting,” he said. “I told him about the blackouts. About falling asleep without warning. About everything.”
Jimmy stared at him, stunned.
“I told him I didn’t want to ignore it anymore,” Sea continued. “So I asked for additional tests.”
For a long moment, Jimmy couldn’t speak.
Then his shoulders slumped, tension draining out of him in one slow exhale. He reached out, resting his hand over Sea’s, careful of the IV.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
Sea looked at him, eyes soft despite the exhaustion. “You were right to worry.”
Jimmy shook his head. “I don’t care about being right.”
Sea squeezed his fingers. “I know.”
And for the first time since the accident, the fear between them didn’t feel like a threat—it felt like something they were finally facing together.
It was only then—when the room was quiet again, when no one needed anything from him—that Sea finally broke.
At first it was subtle. A sharp inhale that didn’t quite steady. A tremor Jimmy felt through their joined hands. Sea turned his face slightly away, as if embarrassed by the impulse, as if he could still control it.
He couldn’t.
Tears spilled over, silent and sudden, streaking down his cheeks without warning. Sea pressed his lips together, shoulders tightening as he tried—instinctively—to hold it in.
Jimmy noticed immediately.
“Hey,” he murmured, moving closer. “Sea.”
Sea shook his head, breath hitching. “I was so scared,” he whispered. The words came out broken, uneven. “I thought… I really thought I’d hurt someone. I thought it was my fault.”
Jimmy slid his hand up Sea’s arm, careful of the sling, thumb brushing slow, grounding circles into his skin.
“And I didn’t listen to you,” Sea went on, voice cracking now. “You asked me not to drive. I told myself I was fine. I told myself you were just worrying too much.”
A sob slipped out despite his best efforts.
“I’m scared there’s something wrong with me,” Sea admitted, tears falling freely now. “I’m scared about what they’re going to find. And I keep thinking—what if it had been worse? What if—”
His voice collapsed completely.
Jimmy didn’t let him finish that thought.
He leaned in, resting his forehead against Sea’s, then carefully wrapped his arms around him, adjusting for the injuries with the kind of practiced tenderness that came from loving someone fragile without making them feel fragile.
“I’ve got you,” Jimmy said, quietly but firmly. “You’re safe. You’re here. Nothing else matters right now.”
Sea clutched at him, fingers curling into Jimmy’s shirt like he needed proof. His sobs shook through both of them, sharp and cathartic, the kind that only came when you stopped pretending to be strong.
“Are you mad at me?” Sea asked suddenly.
The question was so quiet Jimmy almost missed it.
Jimmy frowned. “What?”
Sea didn’t look at him. His voice wobbled. “You’re being… very calm. That usually means you’re upset.”
Jimmy opened his mouth to deny it, but Sea kept going, words tumbling over each other now.
“I know I shouldn’t have driven. I know. And I didn’t tell you, and I didn’t listen, and I keep thinking—if something had happened, if someone had gotten hurt—” His breath hitched.
Tears welled up fast, blurring his vision.
“And what if there is something wrong with me?” Sea whispered. “What if this isn’t just stress or sleep or whatever? What if it’s something serious?”
Jimmy shifted closer instinctively.
Sea’s voice dropped even lower, almost embarrassed. “I googled it.”
Jimmy froze.
Sea sniffed. “Like… a lot.”
Jimmy had to bite the inside of his cheek. This was exactly what you were never supposed to do.
Sea barreled on, panic gaining momentum. “Brain tumors. Neurological disorders. Cancer. Seizures. Degenerative stuff. There was this forum where someone said it started just like this and then—”
“Okay,” Jimmy said gently, cutting in before the spiral could fully take off.
Sea looked up at him, eyes red and terrified. “I don’t want to die.”
Jimmy’s heart clenched.
He did not laugh.
He did not lecture.
He did not say don’t Google symptoms—even though every cell in his body screamed to.
Instead, he cupped Sea’s face carefully, thumbs brushing away tears.
“Hey,” he said, steady and warm. “Look at me.”
Sea did.
“You’re scared,” Jimmy continued. “And you had an accident. And your brain is panicking by imagining the worst.”
Sea shook his head weakly. “What if it’s right?”
Jimmy exhaled slowly. “Then we deal with it. Together. With real doctors. Not internet forums written at three in the morning by people who are also scared.”
A fragile, watery almost-smile flickered across Sea’s face.
Jimmy leaned in, pressing a kiss to Sea’s forehead. “I’m not angry. I was scared too.”
Sea’s breath shuddered. “I feel really stupid.”
“You’re not,” Jimmy said immediately. “You’re human. And you’re hurt. And you’re overwhelmed.”
Sea’s tears spilled over again, quieter this time. “I don’t want to be alone.”
“You’re not,” Jimmy replied without hesitation, wrapping his arms around him. “You haven’t been alone for five years. I’m not starting now.”
Sea melted into him, clutching Jimmy like an anchor as the fear finally spilled out—messy, irrational, and very real.
Jimmy held him through it all, thinking briefly—absurdly—how much easier this would be if he could laugh.
Sea spent exactly two full days in the hospital.
Officially, it was for additional checks. Unofficially, the doctor wanted him under observation. A blow to the head was still a blow to the head, and caution mattered.
By the second evening, the fear had settled into something restless, crawling under Sea’s skin and making it hard to stay still. Every sound in the corridor made him tense. Every pause felt too long.
“I need a distraction,” Sea admitted quietly. “Something strong.”
Jimmy didn’t hesitate.
He leaned in, slow and deliberate, giving Sea time to stop him. Sea didn’t. He met him halfway, lips parting, the kiss deepening with familiar urgency. Jimmy’s hand slid under Sea’s shirt, warm and steady, anchoring him to the moment.
Sea breathed out against his mouth, shoulders easing.
Then came the knock.
They separated instantly—Jimmy stepping back, Sea tugging his shirt down, both of them adopting expressions of innocent composure that fooled absolutely no one.
“Come in,” Sea said, voice hoarse.
The doctor entered. The same one Sea had spoken to earlier. He paused briefly, took in the scene, and chose not to comment.
“I have your results,” he said, tone calm but serious.
Sea tensed. Jimmy moved closer, resting a hand at Sea’s side.
“It’s not narcolepsy,” the doctor said. “And there’s no evidence of a neurological disease.”
Relief flashed across Sea’s face.
But the doctor didn’t soften.
“What you’re experiencing is a combination of factors,” he continued, turning slightly toward Jimmy as he explained. “Severely altered circadian rhythms—chronic sleep deprivation, irregular schedules—and a significant iron-deficiency anemia.”
“Significant?” Jimmy repeated.
“Yes,” the doctor said plainly. “Enough to cause extreme fatigue, dizziness, and episodes of sudden loss of consciousness. Combined with sleep deprivation, it becomes dangerous.”
Sea swallowed.
“If you don’t intervene now,” the doctor went on, “it will get worse. This is your body forcing you to stop.”
He outlined the plan without sugarcoating it. Forced rest. Strict sleep schedules. No driving for the time being. Dietary changes aimed at correcting the anemia, supplemented as necessary. Follow-ups already scheduled.
“This isn’t optional,” he concluded. “Ignoring it is how accidents happen.”
When the doctor left, the room felt heavy—but anchored. Like something frightening had finally been given a name.
Sea lay back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling. “So,” he said slowly, “not dying.”
Jimmy let out a shaky breath—and then, unexpectedly, a quiet laugh escaped him. He covered his mouth immediately, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to.
“I’m sorry,” he said, still smiling despite himself. “I just—this is why you don’t Google symptoms.”
Sea glanced at him. Then snorted. “You mean I don’t have three kinds of cancer and a mysterious brain parasite?”
“Thankfully no,” Jimmy replied, brushing a kiss to his lips. “Just exhausted. And anemic.”
Sea sighed, half-relieved, half-defeated. “I hate that you were right.”
Jimmy rested his forehead against his. “I don’t care about that. I care that you’re going to rest.”
Sea nodded slowly. “You’re going to make sure of that, aren’t you.”
Jimmy smiled, gentle but unyielding. “Absolutely.”
This time, when they kissed again, it wasn’t panic or distraction.
It was relief—and the beginning of healing.
Three weeks later, Sea was fine.
The bruises had faded into faint yellow shadows. The cracked ribs complained only when he laughed too hard or bent the wrong way. His head no longer throbbed, and the dizziness had retreated into memory. He hated admitting it, but the forced rest had helped. So had the iron supplements. So had sleeping like a functional human being.
Jimmy made sure of all of it.
Lights out at the same time every night. No late scrolling. No “just one more episode.” Meals that suspiciously contained a lot of leafy greens and red meat. Sea endured it all with dramatic sighs and minimal resistance, still a little shaken, still too aware of how close things had come to going very wrong.
Jimmy hadn’t been angry.
But he had been storing something.
Not resentment.
Not blame.
Something lighter. Petty. Earned.
Family dinner night at Sea’s parents’ house arrived like fate.
Sea was relaxed for the first time in weeks, sitting at the table with his parents, Nana and Zen chatting beside him, the house warm and loud and familiar. He leaned into Jimmy automatically, comforted by the normalcy.
Big mistake.
Jimmy smiled politely across the table. Then he cleared his throat.
“So,” he said casually, reaching for more rice, “did Sea tell you about how the accident happened?”
Sea froze.
His mother’s chopsticks stopped mid-air. “He didn't go into details”
Sea shot Jimmy a look. A warning. A plea.
Jimmy ignored it.
“Well,” Jimmy continued, tone mild and conversational, “it started when he kept falling asleep everywhere. Standing up. Eating. Mid-conversation.”
“Hia,” Sea hissed under his breath.
“I asked him not to drive,” Jimmy went on, turning kindly to Sea’s mother. “Very calmly. Multiple times.”
Sea’s father leaned forward. “And?”
“And then,” Jimmy said, smiling faintly, “he drove anyway.”
Sea’s mother gasped. Nana covered her mouth.
Sea groaned, dropping his face into his hands. “I hate you.”
Jimmy patted his knee under the table. “I know.”
Jimmy narrated everything. Not dramatically. Worse—accurately.
The hospital.
The ambulance.
The bandage.
The sling.
The anemia.
The forced rest.
“He googled brain cancer,” Jimmy added lightly. “Several kinds.”
Sea’s mother turned pale. “Sea!”
“I was scared!” Sea protested weakly.
Jimmy nodded sympathetically. “He cried.”
Sea looked up sharply. “Hia can you stop!?”
“They need to know..” Jimmy replied. “This is your mother.”
Sea’s mother was already out of her chair, hugging him fiercely. “My baby.”
Sea shot Jimmy a betrayed look over her shoulder.
Jimmy just smiled into his water glass.
By the end of dinner, Sea had been fed twice as much as usual, ordered to rest more, reminded to sleep early, and threatened with daily check-in calls.
As they walked back to the car later, Sea crossed his arms. “You enjoyed that.”
Jimmy didn’t deny it. “A little.”
“That was cruel.”
“That was educational,” Jimmy corrected. “Community-based health intervention.”
Sea huffed, then sighed, leaning into Jimmy’s side anyway. “You’re lucky I love you.”
Jimmy kissed his hair, soft and familiar. “Extremely.”
And for the first time in weeks, Sea laughed without fear trailing behind it.