Chapter Text
Joss stared at the calendar on his phone like it had personally betrayed him.
Tokyo Solo Concert – Gawin Departure: 22 May, 07:45 BKK Return: 25 May, 23:10 BKK
Three days.
Three whole days of Gawin in Tokyo without him.
Last year it had been easy.
Gawin was one of ten artists on a massive multi-act stage, the schedule loose, the company relaxed.
Joss had simply cleared his own light promo work, booked the seat next to him, and spent the entire flight feeding Gawin overpriced airport sushi while Gawin pretended to be annoyed.
They shared the same hotel room in Shibuya, wandered around at 2 a.m. eating convenience-store ice cream, and Joss had filmed approximately four hundred blurry videos of Gawin doing soundcheck from the wings.
Perfect.
This year Gawin was the headliner.
Solo. His name on the big screen, his setlist, his fans flying in from everywhere.
The company had gone all-in: bigger stage, longer rehearsal block, media day, fanmeet extension.
And somehow, at the exact same time, they had decided this was the perfect week to lock Joss in back-to-back meetings about the new series, the upcoming fancon, the album teaser, the brand deal renewals, and “let’s talk about your next single, Joss, we need to decide the concept.”
He had tried.
He had begged.
“P’Palm, I can do the meetings over Zoom from Tokyo,” he’d said, voice already edging into whine territory.
“I’ll fly out after the first one, I swear. I’ll be back for the table read on the 26th.”
P’Palm had given him the look. The one that said I love you like a son but I will end you if you push this.
“Joss, the sponsors are flying in from Korea. They want you in the room. All three days. No exceptions.”
Joss had sulked so hard he’d actually felt his blood pressure drop.
Now he was sitting on the edge of their bed in the condo, watching Gawin pack the last of his stage outfits into the giant silver suitcase.
Gawin moved with that calm, focused energy he always had before big shows earphones in, humming under his breath, folding each shirt like it was sacred.
Joss hated how hot he looked doing it.
“You’re really not coming,” Gawin said without looking up. It wasn’t a question.
“I tried,” Joss muttered. He flopped backward onto the mattress, arms spread like a starfish of misery.
“I even offered to pay for my own ticket and do the meetings at 4 a.m. Tokyo time. They said no.”
Gawin zipped the suitcase, then crawled onto the bed and hovered over him, hands braced on either side of Joss’s head.
His smile was soft, a little teasing, but his eyes were worried.
“Baby, it’s three days. I’ll be back before you can finish sulking.”
“Three days is forever,” Joss complained. He reached up and hooked his fingers in the front of Gawin’s oversized hoodie, tugging him down until their foreheads touched.
“Last year I got to watch you from the back of the stage and scream like a fan. Now I have to watch on Twitter like everyone else.”
Gawin laughed, low and fond. “You can scream in the group chat. I’ll read it during breaks.”
“Not the same.” Joss’s voice cracked a little. He hated how small it sounded.
“I had the whole itinerary, Gawin. Hotel room with the view of the Tokyo Tower, that ramen place we found last time, the late-night Lawson runs… I was gonna wear the matching masks again and pretend we were normal tourists.”
Gawin kissed the tip of his nose. “We’ll do it next time. Promise.”
Joss closed his eyes and breathed him in fabric softener and the faint citrus of Gawin’s cologne.
He wanted to memorize it so he could survive the next seventy-two hours.
The car to the airport came too early.
Joss stood in the doorway in nothing but sweatpants and one of Gawin’s old tour shirts, arms crossed tight over his chest like he could physically hold the sadness in.
Gawin was in full airport disguise: cap pulled low, hoodie zipped to his chin. He still looked stupidly handsome.
“Text me when you land,” Joss said. His voice was hoarse.
“I will.”
“And when you get to the hotel.”
“Mm-hm.”
“And before soundcheck. And after. And—”
Gawin stepped in and kissed him, slow and deep, the kind of kiss that usually led to them missing flights entirely.
Joss clutched the front of his hoodie like it was a lifeline.
When they pulled apart, Gawin rested their foreheads together again.
“I’ll call you every night before you sleep, okay? Even if it’s stupid o’clock here.”
Joss nodded, eyes stinging. “Don’t let the fans hug you too long.”
Gawin snorted. “I’ll tell them my boyfriend is jealous and scary.”
“He is.”
Another quick kiss, and then Gawin was gone, suitcase wheels echoing down the hallway.
The door clicked shut and the condo felt suddenly, horribly empty.
Joss stood there for a full minute, then walked straight back to the bedroom and face-planted into Gawin’s pillow. It still smelled like him.
The first day was the worst.
Meetings started at 9 a.m. sharp.
Joss sat at the long glass table in the company conference room, nodding at the right moments, scribbling notes he didn’t care about, while his phone stayed face-down on his thigh.
Every vibration made his heart jump.
Gawin [08:12]: Landed. Customs is slow. Miss you already.
Joss [08:13]: good. don’t forget to eat something real not just airport bread
Gawin [08:14]: I got the melon-pan you like. Sending proof.
A photo followed: Gawin in the airport, showing his tired smile, holding up the fluffy melon-pan like a trophy.
Joss saved it immediately and set it as his lockscreen.
By the afternoon meeting about the new series concept, Joss was openly sulking.
When someone asked for his opinion on the color palette for the teaser poster, he answered “Whatever Gawin would like” and then had to pretend he was joking.
P’Palm side-eyed him the entire time.
That night Joss tried to stay up.
He ordered his usual late-night delivery steak but it tasted like cardboard.
He put on the live recording of Gawin’s last rehearsal, volume low, and curled up on the couch with Gawin’s hoodie draped over him like a blanket.
At 2:17 a.m. Bangkok time, his phone lit up with a FaceTime call.
Gawin’s face filled the screen, hair still damp from the shower, hotel lamp casting warm light across his cheeks.
He looked exhausted and happy and so far away it hurt.
“Hey, baby.”
Joss’s throat tightened. “Hi.”
“You’re still awake? It’s almost three there.”
“Couldn’t sleep. The bed’s too big.”
Gawin’s smile went soft. “I left you the weighted blanket and my pillow. Use both.”
“I did.” Joss turned the camera so Gawin could see the fortress of pillows and blankets he’d built. “Still not the same.”
They talked for forty minutes about the rehearsal hall, the way the lights hit the stage, how the fans outside the venue already had posters ready even though the concert was still two days away.
Gawin told him the hotel room had a tiny balcony and he could see the city lights.
Joss told him about the stupid meeting where he’d accidentally said “Gawin” instead of “concept.”
Gawin laughed until he was wheezing.
Eventually Joss’s eyes started drooping. He fought it, blinking hard, but Gawin noticed.
“Go to sleep, Joss. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
“Promise you’ll text me in the morning?”
“First thing.”
Joss nodded, already half-gone. “Love you.”
“Love you more. Night, baby.”
The call ended.
The room went quiet again.
Joss stared at the dark ceiling for another ten minutes, then gave up and dragged himself to bed.
He set an alarm for 6 a.m.
Day two was meetings from hell.
Script read-through for the new show.
Brand meeting for the upcoming concert tour they were co-headlining.
Photo-shoot planning for the album jacket.
Joss sat through all of it with his knee bouncing under the table, answering in short syllables, checking his phone every time it buzzed.
Gawin [11:45]: Soundcheck went good. The stage is HUGE. Wish you could see it in person.
Joss [11:46]: send pics or it didn’t happen
Gawin [11:48]: [seven photos of the empty arena, lights sweeping across the floor, Gawin’s reflection in the black stage floor]
Joss saved every single one.
By evening he was so sulky that even the staff noticed.
Someone offered him coffee.
He took it and immediately complained that it wasn’t as good as the canned coffee Gawin always bought him from the 7-Eleven near the condo.
At 9 p.m. he gave up pretending to be functional.
He brushed his teeth, changed into Gawin’s shirt again, and crawled into bed at the ridiculous hour of 9:45.
He never went to bed before midnight when Gawin was home usually they stayed up playing games, or watching terrible variety shows, or just talking until one of them fell asleep mid-sentence.
Tonight the silence was too loud.
He pulled the blanket up to his chin and opened the chat again.
Joss [21:47]: going to bed early like a loser because you’re not here to keep me awake
Gawin [21:48]: Baby…
Joss [21:49]: i hate this
Gawin [21:50]: I know. Me too. But tomorrow is the concert. I’ll call you right after, okay? Even if it’s 3 a.m. your time.
Joss [21:51]: i’ll be awake
Gawin [21:52]: No you won’t. I’m setting a reminder to call you anyway. Sleep. I love you.
Joss turned his phone face-down on the nightstand and closed his eyes.
He still didn’t fall asleep for another hour.
He kept imagining the roar of the Tokyo crowd, the way Gawin’s voice would echo through the arena, the way he’d smile that bright, shy stage smile and wave at the fans.
And then he imagined being there in the back, arms crossed, watching with that proud, stupidly-in-love look he always got.
Instead he was here, alone in their bed, sulking into the pillow that still smelled like Gawin’s shampoo.
He hugged the pillow tighter.
One more nights like this.
He was never letting the company schedule anything during Gawin’s solo trips again. Ever.
Day three dawned gray and rainy in Bangkok, which felt appropriate.
Joss woke up at 5:58 a.m. to the sound of his alarm and immediately checked his phone.
Gawin [06:02]: Good morning, my favorite sulky boyfriend. Concert day. I’ll be thinking of you the whole time. ❤️
Joss smiled despite himself, the first real one in days.
He typed back quickly.
Joss [06:03]: break a leg. i mean don’t actually. but you know what i mean. i’ll be watching the live stream like a normal fan
Gawin [06:04]: You’re never normal. You’re mine.
Joss [06:05]: shut up i’m trying to be sad
But he wasn’t as sad anymore.
The concert was happening, and Gawin would be home tomorrow night.
They’d have their late-night ramen eventually.
They’d have a thousand more trips.
Still… Joss opened the photo album on his phone and scrolled through every picture from last year’s Tokyo trip Gawin laughing in the hotel yukata, both of them wearing matching masks at the Shibuya crossing, blurry selfie in the Lawson at 2 a.m.
He saved the best one as his wallpaper again.
Then he dragged himself out of bed, already planning the exact moment Gawin walked back through the door tomorrow.
He was going to tackle-hug him so hard they’d probably fall over.