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The strings of lights adorning the streets have nothing on how bright Khem’s smile shines in the dark of night.
It’s the first time Peem has been to this city, the first witnessing of snowfall in his whole life, the first Christmas decoration-filled journey he’s ever been on – all of it pales in comparison to how brilliant Khem is, the greatest star in his personal constellation.
Pulling him by the hand into a coffee shop, it’s as if Khem knows that Pharan would follow him anywhere, the ends of the earth itself, and he doesn’t even have to ask.
It’s enough for Peem to look into his eyes and see the love that threatens to overcome him reflected in pretty brown irises.
That’s how they find themselves lost in the snow-covered sidewalks in a part of London they’re completely unfamiliar with so far, quarter to midnight and chasing after Khem’s sweet cravings – all it takes is one look from Khem and Pharan’s running, to wherever, whenever, to do whatever Khem wants.
Fingers intertwined with Peem’s, Khem tugs him towards the display filled with cake slices and little pies, some that Pharan can’t even name, yet it’s Khem’s excitement that enthrals him more than the food could, no matter how delicious it all looks.
All he needs is Khem and a mug of the rich-scented coffee brewing in a pot next to the counter.
“What about this one, Phi?” the younger man points towards a bright red small cake, topped with strawberries. “Or that one?” he ponders out loud, gaze following the woman behind the counter as she adds a blueberry concoction to the glass case.
“You can get whatever you want, Khem,” Peem agrees easily, drawing more pleasure from Khem’s bashful grin than the sweets might give him. “Phi will pay for it.”
Khem hits him lightly on the shoulder, full cheeks tinged with a pink shade that has nothing to do with the coldness of the air outside. In here, they’re warm, Peem’s chest pressed to his side and larking in the heat that comes from Khem in waves.
“I’ll get one of these,” Khem tells the lady on the other side of the display, eyes twinkling as she picks up a small tart filled with coffee cream and topped with dark chocolate.
“Good choice,” she commends, “it’s our Christmas special this year.”
“Perfect,” Khem remarks, thanking her as the staff tells him she’ll be serving their treat and beverages soon.
Pharan trails after him as they make their way into the back of the shop, helping Khem set his coat and red scarf aside and settling next to the younger man in their little booth.
“You could seat in front of me,” Khem points out, thought he makes no effort to have Peem get up, arm locked with his.
“Why, when I can be by your side?” Pharan flirts right back, transfixed by the way Khem’s engagement ring catches the soft lights hung above them.
“Cheesy,” Khem giggles, nose scrunching adorably.
There’s barely a month left before the wedding, preparations in full steam, especially where Charn and his dedication to making everything perfect are concerned, but right now, they’re in a bubble where only the two of them exist, already married in this and in every life.
Peem will never, not for a single moment, regret having Khem by his side, sharing a life that is just as much Khem’s as it is his own with him.
Arms locked, hands intertwined, eyer never straying from each other – this is how Peem wants to spend the rest of his days having Khem here with him.
“Thank you,” Khem utters, thumb brushing over Peem’s rings.
“What for?” Peem inquires, gaze fixed on him.
“Many things,” the other man admits after a beat of silence. “Right now, for agreeing to this trip.”
“You said you really wanted to visit London,” Peem explains, like it was all Khem needed to do for him to buy plane tickets and book a hotel.
And it was.
Khem sighs happily, a serene smile painting his face. Peem has always been astounded by how gentle he is, even after losing so much, terrified that he was going to die in only a few months’ time.
It broke his heart each time he pushed Khem away to keep himself safe from feelings that were bound to kill him – it heals each scar on his chest when Khem snuggles up to him like Pharan’s the only thing he wants, the only thing he needs.
“I used to try really hard to not think about things I wanted to see if I ever got the chance,” Khem claims, his lips curled with a hint of sadness to them. “I didn’t want to make plans if I could never fulfil them. Most of the things I did were because I didn’t want the people I love to worry. You know, finishing school and going to university. Living by myself, making art. I didn’t want my father to think that all he did for me was for nothing. I didn’t want Jet to mourn me before I was gone. I pretended to have hope, but I was so scared.”
Each word pierces through Peem’s heart, Khem’s pain felt in him. He wishes there was more he could’ve done, lessened Khem’s hurting, if only a little.
“Are you scared now?” he asks, squeezing Khem’s hand tightly between his own.
Shaking his head, Khem offers him his for Peem’s eyes only smile, the one that only comes about in nights like this, where the stars can blanket them for long enough that the world outside fades away.
“It feels so good to worry about mundane things,” he laughs, “like groceries or study plans. I’m 23,” Khem breathes out, relief flooding into his tone. “Never thought I’d get to say that. And I can finally admit that I did make plans, even when not getting to them was so certain for me. I’m so glad I’m alive, and that I have you when my plans come true.”
Palm cupping Khem’s cheek, Peem basks in his warmth, tears brimming in his own eyes. “I’m so glad I have you,” he claims, voice barely above a whisper, so much love in his heart for Khem, it it’s about to beat right through his ribcage.
Blinking the crying away, he fits himself even closer to Khem’s body, if that’s possible, taking in the sweet of sugar that clings to his skin. Khem only stares at him, softly patting his hair with that look in his eyes, the one that shows he knows if Peem speaks more, he’ll end up as a sobbing mess in the middle of this coffee shop.
“Why London?” he wonders aloud, a stray leaf falling from one of the decorations and clinging to Khem’s bangs, swiftly brushed away by Peem’s careful fingers.
“My mother bought me a snow globe for my birthday when I was a kid, it showed a bunch of sights here.” Khem laughs to himself, gaze far off as if he’s reliving the memory. “I remember being obsessed with it, shaking it all the time. She told me I’d get to see snow one day, that she’d bring me here for it.”
“I promised her I’d take care of you,” Peem tells him, holding him close. “Didn’t know that included seeing snow, but I can do whatever it takes to fulfil your wishes.”
Khem giggles, bright and unguarded, soft in the way he has always been, despite the heartache and the fear. “I know that, fiancée,” he emphasises the word, toothy grin too adorable for Peem not to kiss him right then and there.
Peem wishes he’ll remain this way forever, happy and safe, the love of all of Pharan’s lives.
As they pull away, kiss too brief for Peem’s liking, Khem’s gaze travels upwards, over the garlands and lights, settling on a jar filled with tiny white and red candy canes.
Eyes lighting up, he rummages through the pockets of his jacket, pulling out a small notebook and an array of pencils.
“Someone else gave me an important birthday present as well,” he announces, flipping through the pages of the sketchbook Peem neatly covered in wrapping paper to hand to him only a few months ago until he finds a blank page, promptly getting to work in delineating the outline of the jar.
They sit in silence for a few moments, Khem watching his drawing and Peem watching him, one of his favourite things to do, without a doubt.
“Everything’s ready,” the waitress tells them, but there are no plates or pipping hot coffee settled in front of them.
Instead, a door’s left open, the silhouette of a staircase visible in the dim lighting, and Peem’s beyond confused.
“It’s time for us to go,” Khem announces, tugging Peem out of his seat with a knowing smile.
“What…?” he mumbles in return, puzzled yet following behind Khem as he’s always been meant to do, trailing after his footsteps in all his lovesickness.
“I’ve got a surprise for you,” is all Khem says, walking through the backdoor and up the stairs with Peem hot on his heels.
The stairs go up further than Peem expects them to, a few floors at the very least, until they just end, a single lamp illuminating the closed entryway.
Halting at the door, Khem turns to him with a playful twist dancing across his face, the glint in his eyes alluring in the darkened hallway, shining so much brighter.
“Close your eyes,” he says, giggling at Peem’s confusion. “Just close your eyes, Phi. Please?”
Not immediately complying to Khem’s request seems impossible, especially when he uses such a tone, his teasing grin reserved only for Peem turned up to full power, and Pharan lets his eyelids drop, feeling Khem step behind him to cover his eyes with his palms.
In the darkness, Peem hears the doorknob be twisted, the door slightly squeaking on its hinges as it falls open, and then a light breeze, not cold as he expects it from the end of December so up north, just barely there, enough to be felt.
Reaching out for the door frame, he steps forward, Khem’s hands gently cupping his face as they walk into wherever he’s been taken to together.
Slowly, the younger man lets his hold slip off Pharan’s eyes, fingers trailing down his arm to fit perfectly against Peem’s, hands woven with each other’s as they ought to be. “You can open your eyes now,” Khem says, voice wobbly.
There are strings of fairy lights hanging from every corner of the glass ceiling, meeting the snowflakes gathering over the translucent surface; and candles fickler over the floor, bringing warmth to the frozen scenario outside, the yellow-red flames beautifully calling for him to sit down and bask in Khem’s heat.
“Happy birthday, P’Peem,” Khem whispers, only loud enough to be heard over the rush of blood in Pharan’s ears, heart beating so hard it feels like it’ll burst right out of his chest any moment now.
The longer Peem stays silent, lump in his throat stopping him from speaking as tears spring freely from his eyes, the more Khem fidgets, fiddling with the hem of his shirt in a way too reminiscent of years past.
“Do you like it?” he tentatively asks, blinking owlishly at Peem’s quiet reaction.
Before Khem stumbled into his life under the burning sun of Ubon Ratchathani, Pharan could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times he celebrated his birthday since his mother’s passing, the year-end always feeling more melancholic than celebratory.
After Khem, after his survival, after his return to Peem’s life to make everything make sense at last, every day feels like a reason to thank the heavens that he was born, brought onto this world for the sole reason of loving Khem with all he has, until nothing can break them apart again.
Tears gathering in his eyes once more, Peem wraps both arms around Khem, squeezing him against his chest as he hides his face in the crook of Khem’s neck. A sob tears out of him, Khem’s shoulder going tense as he holds the older man. “Phi…?”
“I love it,” he responds all at once, winded and glowing and feeling as loved as he’s always desired to be. His soul sings at finding what he’s searched for through lifetimes, the truth he can only find in Khem. “I love you.”
Khem’s sigh of relief hits his ear, a hand rubbing up and down Pharan’s back with such tenderness, more than he could ever deserve. “I love you yoo, P’Peem.”
If he could forever stay right here, arms wrapped around Khem and taking in the scent of his shampoo that lingers even to the day’s end, Peem’s certain he would, never move away from Khem’s body for as long as he lives.
They do have to separate at some point, however, if only to enjoy the lavish meal waiting for them laid out on the low table settled in the middle of the rooftop.
Khem steps back first, hand around Peem’s to lead him to the cushions spread out over thick blankets, his eyes sparkling just as much as the array of candles.
The food smells delicious as they settle down, Khem pressed close to his side. “You know, you could seat in front of me,” Peem parrots, laughing to himself at the light slap that meet his shoulder.
“It’s your birthday,” Khem tells him, “you get to be clingy today.”
“Really?” Cocking an eyebrow at him, Peem doesn’t wait for his reply before he’s throwing himself onto the other man, drinking in Khem’s giggles like a parched man. “It’s the best day of my life. I can’t believe you managed to plan this without me finding out.”
“It wasn’t easy,” he admits, offering a tiny crouton covered in jam to Peem. “Someone’s always glued to me,” Khem teases, nudging at him with an elbow.
“Jet and Charn didn’t know about this, did they?” Peem gives him a couple grapes.
“No,” Khem shakes his head. “They would’ve tattled on me if they did. Does it taste good?”
“I don’t know,” Peem’s struck by a sudden idea, slathering jam all over Khem’s bottom lip and proceeding to lick it clean. “Hmm,” he sounds out, pleased, “it does.”
Khem pretends to be mad over it, brows furrowing and nose scrunching, before he too leaves a large stripe of marmalade over Peem’s cheek and kissing it away. “Tasty,” he whispers, conspiratorial, and presses a soft peck to Peem’s face as he leans away.
Pharan has other plans, though, not letting him get too far with a hand behind his neck, lips parting as Khem’s meet his, chasing for the taste of coffee tarts on Khem’s tongue.
Everything vanishes into thin air when he has Khem this close, his fingers in Peem’s hair, Peem’s hands on his waist, all the time in the world for just them, just this moment, just for his Khemjira.
“The food will go cold,” Khem mumbles against his mouth, making no motion to pull away from the passion that simmers low in Pharan’s gut.
“It can wait,” he fires back, and Khem finds him like he always does, like he always knew that Peem was weak to resist him, to not fall into his trap made entirely of a fate he never thought belonged to him.
It’s impossible to delineate where one begins and the other ends – it’s impossible to count how much change Peem has seen in himself since Khem burst into his life, bringing the sunshine that lacked in Pharan’s rain-soaked reality.
All that he knows is that here and now, he can’t think of anything else but Khem, can feel nothing else but love, love for a life he thought was unattainable, meant for people who aren’t broken the way Peem is, who haven’t lost everything and everyone they held dear and exist as merely shells of who they could be.
Because Khem too has lost too much, faced too many trials, and remains sweet, still as bright as ever, proving to Peem that he deserves love no matter what, that his broken shards can be mended back together by Khem’s careful, precise hands.
Air becomes a necessity too early for his liking, breath coming in harshly as he, against his best desires, separates from Khem, keeping him close still by his grip on the other’s hips.
“I love you,” he utters, needing to externalize the thoughts racing through his mind.
The voices quiet down at the sight of Khem’s happiness, the smile he always has when they kiss hitting right to Peem’s core. “And I love you,” Khem claims, never knowing how to be anything but honest. “Let’s eat.”
Peem nods slowly, still hazy from their kisses, eyes following Khem’s every move.
There was a time when Khem was filled with hesitation, stepping forward only when he was certain it was what he should do – how magnificent he is now, shedding that shyness and being sure of himself, of what he wants.
And nothing is more mesmerizing to Peem than just getting to live in his presence, take in the view of Khem coming home in the evenings from work, or cooking in their kitchen, or soundly sleeping in their bed, nightmares far away from him.
Or simply just handing Peem the tiniest biscuits for him to try, excitedly reading out every flavour and comparing them like they’re at a taste test for their wedding again.
Their wedding…
Peem still can’t believe that it’s actually happening, the only thing he’s been able to think about since he decided to propose months ago, the ring he kept in his pocket taking up his thoughts and the set date ticking closer and closer, the day where he’ll become Khem’s husband, vow to spend the rest of his life and every other that comes in the future by his side.
Khem’s giggles break him out of his momentary revery, a fork filled with cake waiting for him that he didn’t even realize was there. “You’re thinking about the wedding again, aren’t you?” the younger man asks, his teasing streak growing since they met.
In lieu of answering, Peem stuffs his mouth with the chocolate-covered slice, feeling his face burn in a way it rarely does.
Count on Khem to be the only person who could ever make him blush.
Khem can only laugh at his antics, tasting the cake himself and humming in appreciation. “Are you happy, P’Peem?”
“With you? Always,” he promptly replies, taking one of Khem’s hands and settling it on his lap, fingers entwined.
Khem’s expression softens, looking at Peem with so many emotions, it’s hard to describe. Pharan wishes to be the reason why he’s always this carefree, always fulfilling his wishes. “And your birthday? It’s not every day you turn 31.”
Crying in front of others was something Peem forbade himself from doing the day his mother died, though there were times when keeping such an oath to himself was impossible.
Crying in front of Khem feels like freedom, the happiest tears rolling down his cheeks unbidden, Khem cradling him with utmost care.
If he falls, Peem knows Khem will catch him.
“It’s the best birthday of my life,” he admits, so full of light, he feels like he might himself become a star. “Every day with you is perfect.”
“You know how much birthdays mean to me,” Khem explains, pressing a napkin to the corners of Peem’s mouth, “and just how wonderful it’s been to grow older without fearing it. And it’s thanks to you. I get to celebrate my birthdays without thinking I’m closer to dying because you helped to save me.”
“You saved yourself, Khem,” Peem reassures, fixing the hairs at the shorter man’s nape.
“We saved each other,” Khem affirms, leaving no room for arguments. “I wanted your birthday to be special too, for the most special person in my life.”
“It is,” Peem reassures. “It’s the most special thing anyone has ever done for me. I’m so happy to have you in my life.”
“I’m happy if you are. And I love that I get to love you,” Khem lifts his hand, showing off the engagement ring, “forever.”
“Forever,” Peem whispers back, thumb running over the smile lines on Khem’s cheek.
“You know,” Khem starts, “I used to love that snow globe so much. Until I broke it.”
A frown sets itself between Pharan’s brows. “Maybe I can fix it–”
Khem presses a finger to his lips, and Peem falls silent in an instant. “There’s no need for that. I cried when it broke, but my father told me that it was a sign. My mother was telling me to find a new one, a new wish for me to seek for myself.”
From under the table, he pulls out a box, covered in red wrapping paper with little drawings of Christmas trees. Khem holds it with great care, like a fragile thing is held inside, his hands trebling slightly.
Peem’s heart skips a beat at the thought that Khem touches him in the same way.
“This,” Khem motions around at the glass-encased rooftop around them, the snowflakes falling from inky navy-blue sky, the Christmas lights and the candles, “is my new snow globe. You are my snow globe, P’Peem. I wished to live so I could have all the wishes I could possibly come up with, and it came true.” Offering him the gift box, Khem grins, wide like the crescent moon. “Happy birthday, my Peem.”
Fireworks go off, tracing through the night in blazing reds and greens, and Khem looks as astounded as Peem feels, watching the lights create patterns in the distance.
“That wasn’t part of my plans,” Khem claims, breathless laughter battling over the sounds of the fireworks. “But now it is.”
Delicately, Peem takes the box from his grasp, sliding off the lid to reveal a snow globe – no, that’s not quite the word for it, because instead of snow, there are flecks of gold, and in place of London’s sights, is his house, their house, recreated with meticulous details.
Khem has made the wooden slats of his house a home, Khem has made his dreary days filled with sunrises he longs for, Khem has made him believe that the sun does come after the storm, that his scars are beautiful, that Pharan was born to be loved.
Khem has made him the luckiest man in the universe, and he has to know as much, be reminded of it every waking second and each dreaming one.
Peem will spend the rest of eternity showing him how much it means to be Khem’s wish.
“Happy birthday,” Khem tells him once more as he’s tackled to the ground and showered with kisses, holding Peem like he’s deserving of his tender touches.
“The happiest,” Peem agrees, covering Khem’s lips with his own.