Archive of Our Own

Sira’s breath had been taken away from him. Vehicles honk in the background, there was noise, somebody speaking incoherent sentences—but everything was muffled. He couldn't hear them. He couldn't hear anything but his own heart beating out of its chest as it aches, painfully so. His stomach churned at the slightest movement. He was barely keeping all the food he ate down, barely even keeping himself together.

It was like a wave was hitting him with its full force, breaking his calmness, shattering the composure he had always managed to maintain. 

Sira has seen ghosts. He’s seen ghouls, the most frightening spirits, demons that sought to eat out his heart.

But nothing… nothing haunted him, made his blood run cold and throat dry—more than Day. In the flesh. Alive. 

The one who had him imprisoned. The one who kept his heart squeezed and caged for a very long time. The one who could tear it to pieces, break it apart, and eat it whole. The one who left him four years ago with nothing and no one but tears and misery as company.

At first, Sira thought the silence was because of grief. Maybe it was. 

Day stopped speaking to him then. Sira understood—he thought that he was only mourning his brother. But the days turned into weeks, weeks to months—before he knew it, nearly four years had already passed and Sira could have never imagined that he’d be the one being haunted by a boy who still lived. 

If this was four years ago, maybe even 3, he’d be crying already—too young and immature. But that was before he had fully succumbed to the life of the gods, before he had turned the sadness to fuel. Now, he didn't know how to react. How would he? 

No time in ordination could have ever prepared him for this, and no scripture had told him of the sorrow that’ll awaken when he sets his eyes on Day again.

Is this real? He asks himself—because it cannot possibly be. This is a nightmare. A vision of a future that’ll never come. A dream of another life that wasn't his. But the pendant wrapped around Day's neck mocks him, four golden rays laughing at the silver moon around his neck, one that Sira had sworn to throw away the second he had realized Day was never coming back.

“Day, swear to God, if you still don't believe me—this thing is the real deal man. Daow told me,” the boy beside Day shook him when he saw that he wasn't responding. 

Still, Day stood unmoving, wordless, almost lifeless—almost as if time had stopped running, frozen in place. He couldn't hear himself breathe—maybe because that stopped too. He might have as well just seen a ghost. 

He shouldn't have come here. He didn't want to go in first place—but Kaew was a force he didn't have the energy to defy. If he had only known that it was Sira who’d be on the frontlines receiving him, he would have protested further.

But good God, all things aside, Day was so glad to see him. He didn't even want to blink, drinking the sight of Sira. 

He looked as beautiful as the tragedy Day had left with him. 

“Wait, do you guys, like, know each other?” Beside him, Kaew asked, confusion written all over, probably sensing the tension between the two of them. Or no—not tension, not entirely—but between them, something bubbles and settles with heat and the cold alike. 

Day could not bring himself to name it. He does not even know how.

He couldn’t bring himself to make a sound, afraid to break the silence, to shatter the illusion, to prove that all that was in front of him is such. He wanted to stop himself from staring—but he couldn’t steer his eyes away. Not when Sira looked as mesmerizing as the stars they used to gaze at.

Four long, agonizing years had since passed, and still, Day was drawn to Sira’s eyes and presence like a moth to flame, like Icarus to the Sun. Or maybe he was the Sun that was drawn to Icarus, and he simply made sure not to let him burn.

After the unstoppable movement of time, though he did not know if it were seconds, minutes or another four years, Sira spoke not even half of their truth. 

“We’ve met,” he said. They’ve met. Of course they’ve had met. Their bodies too, had met in sync, their breaths and voices met in the night like an orchestra. They’ve met. And they’ve kissed. They’ve loved.

A beat passed. Day saw him gulp before his heart drops to the ground he was begging to consume him as Sira straightens his back, and finally moves his eyes away. “But I don’t know who he is.”

“We’ve met.” It took a while for Sira to find his voice again, and most of his strength, to look away. “But I don’t know who he is,” he tells the other boy. At least not like I thought I did, is the part he chose to leave. “What brings you here?” He didn’t know who he was asking, but there was a certainty inside him that knew Day wouldn’t be the one who would answer.

“My friend is cursed.” Sira turns to the boy, brows knitted, desperately trying to remember the name Daow had introduced him before as. 

“Cursed how, exactly?” He was intrigued. 

Before, he had always felt some sort of heaviness around Day, but it was easy to ignore, easy to shift his focus on the haziness he had felt whenever they touched. 

“Are you aware of the leap day curse?” 

Sira doesn’t answer, and it isn’t because he doesn’t know, but because for the first time in years and sorrowful hours that came, he finally does. 

Clarity hits him as though he had seen the end of a maze he didn’t know he was wandering in. 

Hours that he had spent laying on a bed that were too small for the heavy tears that had dripped on them as he wondered where he went wrong, what part of him wasn’t enough, suddenly made sense as the pages ripped out of Day’s book had returned to him with scribed words and etched pictures of his reality. 

The boy goes on to tell him about the curse, but he was no longer listening, too aware of it to forget—why Day had blamed himself for Ozone’s death despite it being an accident, why Day never mentioned when his birthday was, why a particular kind of darkness trailed him wherever he went, outshined only by the light he brought to others. 

“—he refuses to date, he refuses to even acknowledge that he has friends, he refuses to speak to people—it’s just,” the boy—Kaew, Sira finally fucking remembers—sighed, visibly frustrated. “He lives in constant misery, can you help him?”

Processing everything and after finally catching his breath to even it out, though barely, Sira throws a single nod. “I can,” he claimed.

Kaew beamed and excitedly nudged Day, who had been a statue all this time. “See, I freakin’ told you, Day. Daow can be trusted when it comes to these sorts.” Brows knitting, Sira watched as the boy tried to catch Day’s attention, snapping his fingers, waving his hands—but to no avail, Day remained unwavering, like his feet were planted on the ground, like his eyes had been permanently fixed on Sira. “I think he’s gone completely insane,” Kaew comments with a frown laced with worry. “Fuck this, I need to use the restroom. If I come back and he’s still like this, I’m taking him to an asylum.” 

He exits the scene when Sira had pointed him the path towards the resident restroom, murmuring curses and sentences Sira couldn’t make out.

Again, he turned his body today—the grip he had on himself behind his back was painful, and the restrain was torture. He drinks up the sight of Day, who did not, for once, break eye contact, as if he was assessing if any of this was real too. 

Sira wondered, as he basked himself in Day’s presence, if this would be the last time he’ll get to see him again—if, like the last time, it would take another four years for him to heal once more. He hoped not—and it was then that he decided that it simply would not be.

Day looked different. Strikingly handsome, hauntingly beautiful, like the orange glow of the Sun at a time you wouldn’t know if it were saying hello or bidding its farewell. 

He had grown into his features. A sharp jawline, and a tall nose, impeccably perfect physiques that made the world seem unfair, that made people question if God truly favors some over the others.

Sira wanted to laugh at himself for actually believing that he was already okay. 

All this time, he realized, he was just alone. 

Because the second Day shows up, carrying the colors he had lost, bearing the face of his executioner, everything comes crashing down on him, and the heartache that Day had given him was back like it had never left.

The afternoon light brushed the floor, sneaking from the canopies that tried blocking it. It was soft—softer than what the weather would usually give them, as the winds breeze past to soothe the space, as if even the heavens and the earth knew to treat them with gentleness, because the reality that sat unresolved between the two of them was harsher than anything they could have ever faced.

It had taken strength for Sira to open his mouth, even more so to hold back his own tears as he spoke. “Day,” he called him. He never knew he would utter that name again. 

Before, he treated it like a prayer. 

Today, he knew it was his damnation.

Day moved. Barely. A subtle hitch of his breath, his eyebrows knitting with his widened eyes, emotions so pure and raw that no one could ever deny the truth behind them.

Sira speaks again. “All this time…?” Day managed to nod. “Why did you… I could've helped you.” Sira didn't even know what he was saying. He couldn't have helped. He was young with too little knowledge of the world he lived in, of the elements he breathed, of the powers he borrowed. But he could have tried—he could have found a way. He could have taken him to someone who knew better, could have swallowed his pride and knocked on Niran’s door, paid him for however much he wanted. 

“I didn't want to trouble you,” was a stupid reason that Day should not have even troubled himself with.

“So you decided to hurt me instead?” The words come spilling out without permission. He lived with the ache for so long it had turned into a blade that he knew would sting anyone it would land on, and yet, stubbornly, Sira chose to let it all happen. “Why did you leave?” The words come out with more venom that he had wanted to show.

“I didn't want you to die,” the answer came easily, painfully honest. 

But it was only Sira who kept refusing to accept it. He scoffed as he shook his head, a mockery he’d thrown over, though he didn't know to whom it was for. Himself, maybe. “You leaving—it already killed me before any curse could,” he said; they were words he had never admitted to anyone. The spite came with pain—like a dog learning how to bite as the world became crueler. 

“I’m—I’m sorry,” was all that’s left for Day to say. His voice breaks apart much like everything else in them. “I’ll just—I’ll leave.”

“No,” Sira said. Not again, he thought. “I didn't say I wouldn't help you.” He swallows. Because of course he would. “It’s my duty.”

But more than that, Sira knew that deep down, that was just shitty excuse he had been forcing himself to swallow—and the truth, the raw and honest truth he was terrified to say aloud—Sira knows that beyond duty, was the love he still stupidly, painfully, has for Day… even after all the years that passed, even with the scars the boy had left on him.

“You don’t-” whatever protests Day wanted to make, he stopped it as soon as Sira’s expression turned a little more serious, eyes darker, mouth closed as he blinked slowly. Day swallowed, looking half-afraid, half-thrilled to see this side of Sira again—to see any side of him again.

Sira makes a step. Just one—or not even, half a step if you will count it. The distance was close enough for him to see everything he needed to—Day stepped back, as if startled, but it was okay, as everything had been made clear to him now. 

A mark had appeared on Day’s neck, beside his ear. Or, not really appeared, but Sira had only noticed it now. He wanted to curse himself. It was quite literally out in plain sight; it was so fucking onvious that he couldn't believe that he hadn't seen it before. He should've known better. He could've avoided everything. He wouldn't have had to live with the constant agony that refused to stay as an emotion, turning into a physical pain that weighed down his breath and broke his bones. 

“You're not cursed,” he told Day. “There's a demon inside you. It’s the one doing the killing.”

“What?”

Sira sighed and inched himself forward, trying to lessen the distance between him and Day. This time, Day allowed him—but there was still a barrier, invisible but improbable to break. He raised his arm. “See this,” His fingers grazed the skin on Day’s neck, touching a scar; the familiarity of the closeness, the contact of skin on skin, made both of them breathless. Sira retrieved his hand immediately, almost like he remembered his place. He cleared his throat and forced sanity upon himself. “This is the mark of a demon. And based from your… partner’s story…” Sira hopelessly waited for Day to correct him.

He thanked the heavens when he did. “Friend… co-worker, at most,” he said. “I’m surprised you don't know your friend’s boyfriend.”

Sira didn't know what made his heart swell with warmth; if it was the fact that Day likely wasn't taken, or the fact that his friend had finally gotten a boyfriend.

He chose to believe it was the latter—but God knew that it wasn't. He knew it too.

He nodded before continuing. “Like I said, from what your friend told me, it’s the Gregorian demon. It leeches on leap day “babies” whose soul had been tainted by their ancestors, or themselves in past lifetimes, and kills the living bodies of those whom its vessel loves so it may continue to cling on them.”

Once Day had seemed to process all the information Sira had given him, which isn't much, but the words weighed heavy, utter confusion spread across his face, he stumbled the sentences he tried forming next. “What—what if I… what if there are none to kill? What if I’ve detached myself to those whom I love?”

Then… Sira didn't answer that. He can't. Just thinking about it makes him want to bring heaven down and hell up so it could destroy the earth itself. “It doesn't matter,” he claimed, declaring, “Because it’ll be over by tomorrow.”

“But if-”

Sira turned around, unwilling to hear Day’s morbid nonsense. “Tomorrow,” he started again, carefully picking an amulet in the form of a pin before walking towards Day as it rested in his hand. “It would be the night before your birthday. We will perform the ritual then.” 

Sira brings the hand that cased the pin to his mouth, closing his eyes to chant a silent invocation, calling all the gods, elements, and spirits he knew of to protect Day. 

As he blinked his eyes open, lashes grazing his cheek, Sira breathes in, holding the pin tightly, mentally begging for the heavens to bestow him what he needed. “For now, wear this. It’ll prevent the demon from lurching out.” He unravelled his hands in front of Day, who did nothing but stare at the slender carved stone. 

When Day looked like he was about to refuse, Sira sighed, and took it upon himself to grab his wrist, pulling Day so that he could attach the pin himself. It was mindless as how the ones Sira found natural to do with Day, falling back into a pattern as easily as that. 

The proximity that he had only realized mid-way made Sira feel dizzy, as the scent of Day’s usual perfume reached his nose. The warmth of his skin touched his senses. 

Day’s mouth parted ever so slightly open, but not a sound came out of it. He licked his lips, eyes falling on Sira’s own pair. The movement of his hand, which had unconsciously reached for Sira’s waist like muscle memory, seemed to be the one that flicked him back into reality. Their reality. 

It took a moment or two before he pushed himself away from Sira. The blood in his ears spread across his cheeks as his gaze turned to the ground due to the embarrassment Sira had always found endearing.

Kaew comes back not a minute too long, as if he had sensed the danger forming. “Sorry I took too long. I saw you two talking already so I went for a smoke.”

After Sira had explained what was to happen, and what already had, Kaew and Day decided it was time to leave. Sira lets them, but not without a warning which he had given to Kaew. “Make sure your friend comes back tomorrow… because if there is truly no one in his life who would die…” Sira nearly choked, throat dry, colors drained as he said, “He will.”

“Fuck.” 

Day wobbled out of his bed like a mad-man, reaching for the water that had been sitting on the nightstand for more than a week. 

He couldn't sleep. He’s been slipping in and out of his consciousness for hours that he had stopped counting. 

The last days before his birthday were always spent like this—with his own anxiety and phobias following him like he was a wild prisoner and they were the guards with guns always pointed at him. 

At this point, he just wanted them to shoot.

When he was 12 years old, Day had tried convincing himself that it was all just a coincidence. At 16, he realized that it was not, and that he will never get to spend his birthdays with a celebration knowing that they were somebody’s grave. Then, as he was turning 20 years old, having both Sira and Ozone by his side, he stupidly, selfishly thought that if he had prayed enough—if he had just made more merit, lived a life worthy of kindness, if he had begged God, then He would listen.

But he realized, as Ozone sat naked in the bathroom, cold and deprived of the life Day had taken from him, how arrogant it was for him to think that he was important enough for God to listen to.

And now, he was less than a day before turning 24, wondering why would anyone have to die for his stupid, unworthy life, knowing, tomorrow it would be Sira.

How did it come down to this? He distanced himself, he did—he suffered alone and he hurt Sira in a way no one deserved so that they may stay away from each other. So he wouldn't be the next. 

But what could he have done in his past life to make himself so deserving of the cruelty that had been following him? What evil did the demon see tainting his soul that it made him a vessel of its darkness and misery?

The curse—the demon, Day knew who it would take next. Sira was the one he loved the most—the only one he ever allowed himself to love outside his family. Sira was the one he lost with Ozone, and he was the one Day was about to lose again.

After leaving him, Day tried to forget him. But he could not. He saw him in sleep, and sensed him awake. He tried to hate him—but how could such one hate a boy so perfect he made the angels look like sinners?

Never more did he contemplate in his life than now. Would he go, would he proceed? 

Shall he go running to Sira tomorrow, having faith in the miracle he might give, he might die.

Should he not, and run away from the rest of the world, Sira might still die. Worse, without Day ever knowing it.

Either way, Day thought, he would never be able to forgive himself.

Light spilled through the windows a few hours after he laid down again. He didn't get much sleep, but he was thankful to have gotten any. 

Yesterday’s meal was still rotting at his table, barely even touched—it had been a while since he had eaten properly as he found it impossible in moments like these. Yet his stomach churned in a way that it both felt full and empty—like he wanted to throw up all the food he had never eaten.

A knock came by his door, just after lunchtime, where all he had consumed was water; Day knew that it would be Kaew, but the slim possibility of it being another body, another soul, made him reel with fear.

He had managed to open it before the third set of knocks came. 

“Wow, you look like Death,” were the first words Kaew had ever said to him as soon as they saw each other. 

“Thanks,” Day said, not hiding his aloofness. 

Kaew lived next to the apartment he had rented after his brother died. He also worked at the bar Day was stationed at. If in any other circumstance, Day could call him a friend. But he could not. Because his attachment would mean a misfortune that would cause Kaew his life. And Day could not let anyone die because of himself anymore.

But, when he told this to Kaew, who had gotten frustrated with the way Day was treating him despite the opportunity to get closer, expecting the boy to be weirded out and finally leave him alone, he was met with Kaew’s utter determination to help him, mentioning it to his boyfriend, who then led them to Sira. 

Kaew stepped inside, inspecting. “Did you at least eat?”

“You think I can?”

“Did you try?” Day’s lips pursed into a line, earning a sigh from the other. “If you just said yes, I would have let it go.”

“I’ve already killed people, I don’t wanna be a liar too,” Day said, a quarter of a joke that he meant fully.

The crease between Kaew’s forehead deepens. “You’re not a killer, Day.”

“But I’m still the reason they're dead.”

“No-”

“Kaew,” Day stopped his reasoning. He believed there was no point in denying it anymore. Maybe Kaew believed otherwise, but it’s only because he couldn't understand. 

He wasn't there when his perfectly healthy mother died, or his father who wanted to explore the world died, or his beloved brother Ozone who had been planning to go to the planetarium died at Day’s expense. “If I hadn't met them or loved them, they would still be here.”

Kaew gave up on trying to rationalize with Day after that, probably being lenient with him today more than others because of what’s to come.

In the end, Day couldn't run away. Kaew watched him like a hawk as he bathed and dressed himself, taking him to Sira even after Day had insisted that he go alone. “If I let you go alone you might not go, and both my boyfriend and Khun Sira will have my head. So no,” he said.

Because Day was given no choice to use his free will, he is now here, in the confinements of Sira’s home, the inside of the shell they had been out of yesterday.

Immediately, Kaew, the little shit, threw him under the bus, grimacing at Sira as he said, “Day hadn't eaten yet.” Sira’s eyes bore toward Day, raising a brow when Kaew told him, “He has barely touched any food since the other day.”

Sira clicked his tongue before he quietly licked the corner of his lips, something familiar, as he had already been doing it before as a sign that he was unimpressed.

Day didn't know whether he wanted to punch Kaew, or thank him for invoking this sort of emotion from Sira, which Day had always thought was hot.

“I’ll prepare something.” Sira taunts Day with his point finger, “You’d better eat,” he said. In no matter way Day looked at it though, he just found everything cute. “Kaew, it’s dangerous if you’d stay here while I perform the ritual.”

“So… is this my cue to see myself out?” When Sira nodded to confirm, Kaew hesitated, interchanging his glances between the two of them. “Can you promise me that, when I come back here, I’ll see you both alive?”

“Yes.” There wasn't any bit of doubt in Sira’s voice, full of confidence—like he wasn't giving himself any choice but to be sure. Like he knew that, at any cost, that Day will keep on living—and that scared Day more than the demon inside him.

It seems that confidence is the reason why Kaew had found himself nodding without any more retaliation, giving Sira his full faith. He gave Day one last look before they parted ways, with Day’s eyes lingering for a bit, kind of etching his figure in his brain, just in case this would be the last time he would see his dear friend, who stopped at nothing to help him.

Day would miss him, probably, if he dies today. Maybe his soul would haunt Kaew just to see his reaction as he knew how insanely jittery the boy was.

Day hoped it was not, for he would still want to thank Kaew for being the good friend that he was, despite everything, for somehow, in his own way, filling the empty hole Ozone had left in his life.

Sira had told Day to wait in the living room, and so he boredly skimmed through his phone, trying to get comfortable, but finding it impossible as the smell of freshly cooked eggs made their way into his senses, with the sizzle of oil in the background simmering down until it was completely gone.

Emerging from another room, Sira holds a plate of omelet and rice, paired with nothing but the red sauce from ketchup. “Eat,” Sira said, not a request, as he placed the plate on the table . “You’ll need energy.”

“I can't.”

“You can,” he claimed. “You just don't want to.”

“I’m going to throw it all up,” Day reasoned. It was the truth.

A beat passed with Sira looking at him thoroughly. The tension thickened, begging to be addressed. It felt as though all the vases around could break at any moment.

Then, Sira sighed. “My duty is to keep you safe today and alive tomorrow,” he started. “Yours is to not make it any harder for me by eating and keeping your food down your stomach.”

Wordlessly, Sira leaves without sparing a glance back at Day, who could hear the words he wanted to say through all his riddles. That’s not my problem.

Fondness grew in his heart only to be stopped by a slight headache. It was not as harsh, only beats that banged softly as if to remind him that he could not be happy—that he could not love so easily if he could at all.

Sira returned with two glasses of water that, similarly to the plate, he placed on top of the table, where he eyed the food that remained untouched. “Do I have to feed you myself, Day?”

Day wondered what it would be like to be fed by Sira again. Would he treat him with tender and care like he did before, or would he be harsh, only bound to take care of Day by duty? 

Sira throws a look of annoyance mixed with pity, attempting to grab the spoon and fork from Day’s side. “This will grow cold.”

“I eat cold foods.”

“You don't like cold omelets,” Sira suddenly blurts.

He remembered. 

“Just eat,” Sira told Day when he saw a smile creep on his face. Then, he murmured something that was so inaudible that Day almost didn't hear it. But he did. As if Sira wanted him to. “I made it the way you like it.”

At the first swallow, Day thought he really couldn’t—but it kept getting easier, as Sira kept watching him with an eagle’s eye. The water helped too—and the thought that if he could get this over would, then his life wouldn’t be as miserable anymore.

“May I ask?” Sira answered by looking at him. “How would the procedure go?”

He eyed the pin he gave to Day, lightly tapping it with his point finger. “Every matter has energy. An inanimate object has less, but it’ll work once I’ve amplified it. I’ll draw the demon out of you and deceive it into transferring into a new vessel, which, right now, has your scent, and a part of your energy too.” Sira explained. “Once it’s out,” his eyes darkened, Day could tell that he was hesitating whether to tell him or not. In the end, Sira chooses honesty. “I’ll try killing it.”

“Killing it?” Day clarified, anxiety running over his voice “But wouldn’t that be dangerous?”

“Of course,” he said, exasperated, but Day appreciated the fact that he didn’t try sugarcoating anything. “But if I don't kill or seal it, it might come after you. If not in this life, then your next ones—and once it does that, it will, for sure, be the one killing you.”

“You shouldn't be doing this, Sira. Not for me. I don't deserve it.”

“Stop your pity-party, Day. I’m doing this because it’s my duty, and because-” Sira stopped himself from saying anything else. “Doesn't matter. I’m doing this.”

It took only a single glance for Day to know that there was nothing he could do to change Sira’s mind. “Then…” he started to negotiate. “If—if it doesn't work-”

“It will.”

“If it doesn't… can you… save yourself?” Sira doesn't answer, but his breath hitches, as if he knew beneath the words was a confession he hadn't heard for four years. “You know what I mean, don’t you? It’ll come for you, Sira. I just—I just fuckingknow it will—please, I’m begging for you to save yourself, okay? I can’t have another body turn into a corpse because of me. If you—” Day almost choked at the mere thought. “If you die, I’m going after you. I swear.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Sira… please.” 

Both of them looked at each other, with Day’s eyes sending his pleas. Sira didn't speak for minutes and just stared at him like that—with a bored, almost apathetic look, but Day knew better. He knew that Sira cared. He cared as much, if not more. Because if he didn't, he wouldn't be here cooking eggs in the way Day liked it, wouldn't remember how he did. 

If Sira didn't care, he wouldn't stand up only to sit closely beside Day; he wouldn't be placing his hand on top of Day’s. “Day,” if he didn't care then he wouldn't be uttering his name with the softest tone Day had ever heard him use; and he wouldn't say, “I need you to trust me, hmm?”

Tick

Tock

Tick

Tock

Day stares at the ticking clock hidden among the candles of the altar circle in the middle of the room. It was relatively dark, but not as much—just lit enough by dancing flames to see things.

A string of ashen smoke comes up from the matchstick Sira blows out as orange glows and goes to dance with the others from the last candle he had lit. “Sit inside the circle. Meditate if you can,” he instructed, head turning toward the clock that had its hands pointing at exactly 11:25pm. “We’ll start when the clock strikes 11:30.”

With tepid, tiptoed steps, Day places himself inside the circle that was only half a whole away from two meters. He sat down, and wiped the insided of his clammy hands in his pants. “Is this anything I can do to help?” 

“Keep yourself calm and alive,” Sira tells him. “And keep away from me. I know what I’m doing.”

He glances at the clock again—it was only a matter of time and trust and faith and skills now. Luck too, if it counts. This time, Sira takes a stand in front of Day, carrying incense stones. It smelled like the forest. Like life itself.

“Day, I’m being serious.  Whatever you see, whatever you hear, whatever comes before me, do not step out of the circle.” It was a demand—an oath that Day couldn't have made because as he opened his mouth, a high pitched tune rang in his ear. 

Day hissed in pain as he heard it passed by one ear through another just to go back and do it over and over, like a metal scraping against each other. “Aaah—fuck!”

When he raised his head, he met Sira’s eyes. A flicker of sheer panic flashed—but it was only for a moment before Sira had become intensely focused, sitting down.

“Day, stay calm. Remember what I told you.” 

It was the last thing Day had heard before he had watched Sira closing his eyes, breathing through his mouth as he tried to do the same—as instructed by Sira. Stay calm. 

He didn't open his eyes even as unfamiliar words coming out of Sira’s mouth, Latin, Mandarin—whatever the fuck it was—tangled with whatever bullshit he was hearing. 

It felt like hours of that, or minutes—but maybe it was only seconds; Day didn't know. He had his eyes closed the entirety of it and he was falling asleep, but at the same time he felt more awake than he had ever felt like. Time moved faster and slower—he didn't know, he couldn't have known—it had all ceased to work.

“Stay calm. It’ll all be over soon. Stay calm,” were words that he was thinking above all noise, so that he would be composed, so that he could breathe.

And it was going well, he thought, until he heard Sira yelp.

“Aah!” 

And when Day had opened his eyes, he was still in the circle, and Sira out of it, in the same sitting position Day had last seen him in, murmuring words Day could not comprehend. The difference was the deep frown that had formed in between his eyebrows.

The worst—the deep, vibrant red that was slowly gushing out of a cut in his arm. Blood. Injury.  

“Sira—” Day couldn't help but breathe out. 

Everything had been getting louder in his head, along with the sudden need to breathe deeply, as if in any second he was going to forget about it. 

There was a surge of energy coming out of his body, but he couldn't see it, he couldn't see anything. His vision had started to blur, the candles started to dance like there was a wind—and Sira’s voice started to fade into a distance Day found hard to reach.

Then, right before his eyes, another slash had cut on Sira’s skin. Out of nowhere. It had appeared below the other cut as though someone had done it. More red. More blood.

This has to stop, Day thought.

It was a good thing he didn't promise anything to Sira.

Day had stood up, taking all his strength, as he ran forward to Sira, who had jolted as Day touched him. “Stop—

“Are you crazy?!”

“I can't let you do this-”

“Day–”

“I can't.” Sira didn't have time to say what he wanted, as Day had already started being frantic. He was shaking Sira’s shoulder, staring cross-eyed at the blood dripping in his arms. “You're—you’re bleeding, you’re already bleeding—you’re going to die!”

“No, you are going to die! I have to continue this.” Sira turned his head towards the clock so quickly you would believe he had a whiplash. He couldn't believe what was happening. He couldn't believe himself, nor Day—there was no time to waste, or at all. Fuck. 

“No no no— you’re hurting, I can't—I— just let me go, just let me die! Sira, I can't watch you do this to yourself, please.”

He turned towards Day again, ready to do everything, ready to get down on his knees and pray to Day like he was the altar, like he was a saint. “Day, I can protect myself: you can't! It’s almost time, it's going to take you, you have to let me continue, Day, I’m begging you just go back in the circle-”

“No!” It was like Day wasn't even hearing him anymore.

This is bad. Sira could practically feel the demon all around them. The energy was too negative and it became a surging pressure. He had been losing all control and sanity. 

“Day, just please— I-” Sira couldn't continue what he was saying as he felt a sudden relief all around, light and airy, like no darkness had ever stepped foot. But he knew he couldn't celebrate.

This is really bad. The moment he and Day met eyes, he saw the other’s visibly darken as his expression turned into this eerie, gory look that Sira couldn't even describe if he was held at gun point. Fuck.

Sira tries shaking him. “Day. Day! Fight it, fight please! Stay with me, for me, okay?”

Day’s mouth curved upward, and with a terrifying smile, he grinned, darkened eyes staring right through Sira, like he could see his soul—like he wanted it for himself. 

“No no no no no.” Sira could feel the tears in his eyes, gathering up, threatening to fall, to permanently break him. He was losing Day again. It will consume him. Kill him. And it was only a matter of time that for it will to be it has.

This time, Sira doesn't know if he could take it. 

Without much thought, Sira shoves Day into the circle, acting quickly and thoroughly, murmuring practiced words like they were muscle just memory. He channeled all his energy, strengthened his core, facing the demon that was now controlling a body that wasn't theirs. Killing people using someone who would rather be hurt than hurt.

Sira closed his eyes, feeling all his wounds ache at once, dizzy from the blood loss he had been tolerating. Ehen he had heard Day’s laugh, Sira didn't have to open his eyes to know that his spells were not working—and when he did, he only saw the demon's anger in the smile of his angel.

The angel he would have to kill if he failed to do this.

Which is why Sira was giving himself no other options. He can not kill Day, or let him die; it does not matter whether it is bh his hand or not—he can not break Kaew’s heart by bringing him sad news on Day’s birthday.

Sira’s eyes floated down to his wrists. There was one thing, one territory he knew not to trample. There were rules, even, especially, for people like them, protectors of heaven and earth, who carry bodies that are temples of saints and gods. 

But Sira knew, right now, with the time being at the far end of the world away from his side, it was the only way.

Sira breathed deeply as he placed a shard of a broken stone on top of his wrist. It felt cold—like it was a warning of the treatment he’d be getting from the others if he would do this, a reminder of the rules, and do’s and dont’s echoing with it. He closed his eyes and let the sharp edges call upon the blood in his veins. He will not let Day die. 

If saving Day meant defying the rules bestowed upon him, then Sira will be like the sinners he had cursed, and taint himself with a shame he will carry in the next lifetime and every other, and shall live with the cross that could be his grave.

And if the heavens decide that it shall spare no mercy for a soul like his, Sira’s final plea was for his bones to be burned and thrown in the air so that the wind may bear his ashes and lead him to the Sun he had flown too close to once again.

He takes the pin he had given Day, sitting neatly beside him, beginning the ritual by covering it with his own blood. The flames on the altar had started to go out, one by one they did, minute by minute, like a timer. 

Sira turned to where Day should have been, and found himself face to face with the beauty of a boy who had gone through far too much in life to be this kind. 

Sira’s eyes widened, overwhelmed—a mistake he so terribly made, as the next thing he knew, Day was reaching for him with claws as sharp as knives and as dark as the night.

Day grinned. Sira knew it wasn't him. This was not his Day. He knew there was only a fragment of him left to save. “Day-” Sira didn't really get to continue what she had been saying, hissing at the pain on his cheek, stinging and itching as Day touched it, burying his fingers deep enough to cut. Sira bled again. 

Still, he didn't stop, he wouldn't even if he should. He kept on praying, chanting, and kept his hands on the blood-coated amulet. Sira felt Day’s hands crawling down to his neck. He was going to choke him. He was going to die.

There was a hesitation in the way Sira now moved. For a moment, he was questioning everything—if he should just let it happen, if he should just die and wait for the demon to kill Day too so they could join in a world where they would be together without interference.

Or, Sira thought like some sick fuck, if he should kiss Day as the monster kills them both in bare hands. Let the world find them together, in this room, as dead bodies who had reached for life at the mercy of each other up until the very end. Let their corpses rot until their bones touch. Let the blood that had once been in their hearts mix. 

But Sira wouldn't do that. He knows that he can't—not when there is a life out there waiting to be lived by him, and Day—together, if it would permit. 

With all the strength he’s got, Sira pushes Day’s body away, loudly intoning a blood ritual that would seal the demon away, though impermanently, it would be enough to let the others figure out how to kill it.

All the candles blew out at once. Silence came after. The relief didn't hit him even as he saw Day’s eyes returning to normal, even as his hands gained color other than red and a shade lighter than the darkness which left and left nothing of itself as though it wasn't even there. No. The relief came when Day had his head lifted to look at him, with all the softness he had never been given, and as his name sounded like it had always did, sweet, and like Day was the only person who can say it like that, as it rolled of Day’s tongue, barely a breath away from him. 

“Sira…” 

It was the last word he had uttered before his body met the concrete ground below them. Sira knew he was going to be alright, he knew—and still, he walked over to him, checking the pulse in his hand just to feel that he was alive. And Sira felt it, slow and pumping in a beautiful rhythm beneath his fingers. 

Sira swallowed thickly, and felt the hot tears filling his eyes. He sat and laid beside Day. He would move him later. For now, he just wanted to feel. The ache in his bones and joints that he couldn't tell where had come from—the ritual that almost killed them both, or all the years of longing he had kept to himself over the same man lying unconscious beside him.

Stars scattered on the sky, on a dark blanket that had been set above them. They blinked as the moon smiled down at them, as if even she knew how happy the moment was.

Water collided with sand in a hushed tone, Sira sat comfortably, legs sprawled as his head was thrown back a bit. Day was right next to him, thinking how the stars don't shine as brightly as his boyfriend. Boyfriend. Sira was. He had asked him today—and Sira had finally said yes.

In the background, Ozone talked like he always did. His glasses were sitting perfectly in his nose as he pointed out constellations, names Day could barely even remember, too busy being enchanted by Sira to listen. 

“Stop staring, Day.”

“I can't.” 

“Oh, you can't?” Sira turned to him, eyes narrowing, “And why is that?” Before Day could even answer, he had already started to smile.

“Because you are beautiful,” Day said. A simple truth such as how the sky is blue and the earth spins. 

Sira lets out a fond scoff as Day keeps staring at his lips. Beautiful—and when Day leaned in, Sira didn't choose to move away. And when Day kissed him, he smiled before kissing back.

Day felt so giddy—could barely contain himself. He wanted to take him here. Out here in the sand—but he can’t.

Ozone makes a sound in the background. “You guys are disgusting,” and suddenly, Day was reminded why he absolutely can not.

In another distant memory, there was Sira again; he was beside him, offering a soothing hand as Day cried as though he had never before. It was one of the Days he felt as though he was not the best person to take care of Ozone. He had shouted, and Ozone did too—and they fought, quarreled like the siblings that they weren't, and Day had told him how hard it was to take care of him alone as he balanced studies and work on top of him.

The worst part is that he meant it. It was hard—but the one thing he didn't tell Ozone, was that even though it was hard, he could live with it for as long as they stay together.

“It’s okay, Day. I’m here,” Sira says as his fingers softly scratch Day’s head in an attempt to help him calm down. 

“I’m sorry, I’m such a mess,” Day blurts out, head in his hands.

“And I love you,” the words left easily in Sira’s mouth it was like he had meant to say it.

Day froze, head lifting. It was the first time Sira told him that. When he searched for any kind if panic, any signs of a mistake in Sira’s face, all he found was a calm, reassuring smile. 

“I love you, Day,” Sida says again. For finality. 

“Fuck, I love you too—I have been loving you since I don't even know-”

“Stop talking.” Sira pulled him in, chuckling as he tasted the salt of Day’s tears. “I love you.”

Day didn't know why he was remembering all of this.

Even the worst time of his life.

The memories were simple fragments, blurred out. When Day would be asked about it, he could recall more feelings than images. 

Because the worst time of his life came with rain, dropping tears he couldn't cry as he stood there while they bury his cousin—brother—Ozone was his brother. Along with it was Day’s will to live, and the reality of lost hope. Hope for a normal life where people don't die at his birthday, where people grow old with him. Hope for a future with Sira.

Day curled up on his bed for so long he couldn't count. His phone would ring, Sira’s name would flash. He deleted the number, but he had memorized it in his head. He rotted like a corpse—and he prayed to God for him to be one. But God didn't hear him. Day doubted if God even knew him. 

The calls stopped.

The bell would ring. He could hear them from his bed. It went on for weeks. Sira’s voice would call out his name but he had no more left of himself to answer. It was better that way. 

Eventually, the bells stopped ringing too.

Day didn't dare to touch anything in his house. He didn't clean, afraid that there was no one, not even a ghost, to mess it all up again. To make it lived in. 

Day didn't know how long it took hum to have a proper bath or a haircut and a shave. 

But he knew that he had done it when he moved out, and rented an apartment he could barely afford. The one he’s living in now. 

Without Kaew pointing it out, he would have probably never shaved or have a haircut or get some fresh clothes.

For a long period, Day wondered why time hadn't stopped—why, how, it kept on going while he was stuck in every moment, evey joint and bones aching, every muscle pulsing with want and longing.

He thought he would die. But he didn't. And it was worse. Maybe he deserved it. Maybe the world had punished his killings for every heavy breath, he lived the lives he took, mourning both the living and the dead.

Spots of light bring Day to his consciousness. He had just dreamed; he had just relived every memory he thought would be his last. 

When he had, at last, breathed—as in, truly breathed, one made while he was aware of it, there was a sniffle that came with it; only then did Day feel the tear duct trailing on his temple; and only then did he realize that he wasn’t home, nor was he in a hospital, but a place made familiar by the heavy scent of Sira’s favorite perfume. He started to wonder if even this was a dream. He couldn’t tell the difference anymore.

Sira, Day realized. He sat up straight as quickly as he thought of it. His world spun as he stood up but he pushed it back, moving with heavy steps as he navigated his way out of the room. 

“Sira?” He called out. No one answered, and the terror 5 times in the last 24 years of his left rushed and made his heart beat so quickly he thought he wouldn’t make it out without puking all of his guts. “Sira!” His voice was louder. 

A part of Day wanted to stop calling, wanted to stop hoping, afraid of what he’d find out—but another, one that had beat all the fear, was trust. 

Sira said he could do it.

Sira said it would be over.

So it should—it should be over. “Sira!” He called out again, the air knocked out of his lungs. The door way out was shut. Day stood in front of it, hesitating as the door knob felt cold in his hands. Please… Please.

Day breathed and closed his eyes, ready to see no one outside, ready for his whole world to crumble, ready to die again for the 5th time in this life. 

Wind blew as the door pivoted outward. 

Three heads turn toward his direction. Day couldn’t believe it. 

Sira, Kaew, and Daouw, all looking at him astonished as they each took a sip of their tea. Fuck, they were having tea. 

Kaew had been the first to stand up, running towards him with arms spread wide. “You’re awake! Finally! Good god,” he exclaimed with an exasperated breath, squeezing him with a tight embrace. 

It took a while for Day to hug him back, still in a daze. “What’s the date today?”

“Huh?”

“Date. What day is it?”

“It’s March 2. You’ve been asleep for almost 3 days.” It was Sira who answered that. Day didn’t even notice he had walked towards them too. “We’re all alive Day,” was the next thing he said, like knowing it was what Day wanted to hear first. “And so are you.”

But Day hadn’t been able to focus on his last words, eyes wandering, attention drifting all towards the mark on his cheek. It was a strike of dark red, almost violet. Day’s eyebrows knit.

Instinctively, Day’s hand flew up to cradle his cheek, thumbing the trail of the cut. It had been too late when he had realized what he was doing, so Day simply waited for Sira to move away. He didn’t. “Did I… Did I do this to you?”

“I’m fine,” Sir said firmly and a tone so cold it would shake anyone who didn’t know him—and yet, he still wouldn’t move away, or even take Day’s hand from his face.

“This doesn’t seem fine.”

“I said I’m okay.” This rime, Sira inched his face away as he tenderly reached for Day’s hand with his own. He did not let go of it. “Can you please worry about yourself?”

“Woah, okay—” Kaew started. “So me and Daouw are gonna go,” he announced, narrowing his eyes. “You guys better fix whatever tension you guys have. Day…” Kaew didn’t say anything to him anymore, but he smiled. Day had gotten the message. “Sira, thanks.”

Sira smiled back. “Thanks for bringing him to me.”

Daouw cleared the way, slinging an arm on Kaew’s shoulder as he joined the conversation—though not for long. “I’m glad you both are alive. I’m gonna go have sex with my boyfriend now—”

“Babe!” Kaew hits him.

“I suggest you do the same.”

“You are as insane as ever.”

Daouw laughed as they left.

Now, Day and Sira are alone. Together. Still holding each other’s hand. Still not backing away—neither of them.

Is this real? Are you a dream? Day questioned his sanity, especially with the silence wrapping around them. The sun was hot, and the humidity of the country only helped the sweat to build up on Day’s forehead, trickling down to his chest.

Sira was the first to break the silence. He did so as he squeezed Day’s hand, keeping him grounded when he was feeling afloat. “How are you feeling, Day?”

“I…” Day finds his voice. “It’s over?” 

Sira gave him a smile. So subtle, barely there, but so so real.

“It’s really done?” Day asked again. This time, Sira nodded. Day swallowed, a lump on his throat sitting there heavily. “I can’t—I can’t believe it’s… I— fuck, I’m sorry, I don’t know why—It’s done,” he kept repeating, as if it’ll be taken back once he stopped.

“Day-”

“It’s done, it’s done—and I—” Day heard himself sob, but he couldn’t feel the tears. He couldn’t feel anything but the mixture of every emotion he didn’t allow himself to have for the past 24 fucking years of his life. He looked at Sira—searching for the purchase he had lost.

“Day-”

“I’m sorry,” he said, seeing Sira’s widened eyes and open mouth. “I’m sorry,” he said again, as if saying it over and over would weigh heavier than saying it once. “For everything I’ve done. For leaving. For hurting you even right at the very end,” He feels his knees buckle and break as he went down, still holding Sira. “For—everything. I’m so sorry, Sira. Forgive me, forgive me.”

Day’s chest tightened at every word, trying his very hardest to not choke on his tears as they fell to the ground. He begged himself to stop crying. He looked pathetic, he is pathetic, but he just fucking couldn’t. Everything hurts. He was exhausted and he was physically dying, but at the same time, he was so glad—relief and pain flooded his senses. He could not stop crying.

“Day, Day, please stand up,” Sira begged, holding himself strong, as he helped Day lift himself up. “Stand up—please.” He breathed through his mouth, looking Day in the eye, offering him a reassuring smile and hand on his shoulder. “I’m okay. You’re okay,” he said. “Can you breathe with me? Breathe, yeah?” Sira nodded in approval as Day had found a rhythm to his breath, slightly calming down as his tears kept on falling. 

Wordlessly, Sira pulled him into a hug, letting Day breathe into his skin. “I’m here, Day. Right here,” he said.

Lips shaking, Day sobbed into Sira’s shoulder. He hugged back—and he couldn’t believe, even after all these years, even through the cold facade he had been putting up, Sira had the same warmth in his heart, as Day found the same comfort in his arms. “I love you.”

4 months later

It wasn’t hard to find Day—well, of course there was the fact that he wasn’t actually hiding and Sira knew exactly where he was. It was a good day, Sira thought, despite everything that came before this moment. The sun shone brightly, lighting up the green grass that stood above many bodies that succumbed to it. 

Day was sitting on a blanket, patterned with planets and stars, on top of the mound that held what Sira understands to be the most precious thing in the world for him, as the marble stared back at him with a name engraved in iron and silver.

“Took you long enough,” Day jests as he saw Sira. He could do that now. Joke around. Sira was proud of him, though he had to roll his eyes and pretend that he was annoyed. 

“I waited for you for nearly four years,” Sira stated, an overused argument that neither of them took seriously anymore. “You waited for what, like, an hour? And you complain?”

“I’m kidding,” Day said, smiling as he pats the space beside him, urging Sira to sit. 

Ozone Anawin, the name now clearly reads. Day had been visiting him now, something that he had confessed to not been doing the past years. Said that it would just feel too real.

“Hey, Ozone. Missed me?”

‘No,’ Sira hears, eyes flickering towards a figure beside them. Ozone. He was always here. Always waiting for Day. Sira smiled as he contained a scoff. He had been ignoring Ozone, though not by choice. He could see him, hear him, feel him, even—and he so badly wanted to tell Day, but there were rules. More of them, now that he had lost all rights to use his abilities after using his sacred blood to fight a demon. That was the trade he knew he was making the night he had decided to help Day. His duty in exchange for Day’s life. And it was okay.

“I bet he does,” Day claimed, oblivious of the fact that the person Sira had asked had already answered. “He talked about you all the time when he was alive. Like you were the brother, you know?”

“Oh yeah?” An amused grin spreads on Sira’s face. “Does he?”

‘Liar,’ Ozone accused, making him chuckle. 

But Day had already decided the truth, humming to confirm what he believed. “But he’ll deny it, for sure.”

Another chuckle comes out of his mouth. “I bet he would…” Ozone murmured something that echoed in a way that was incomprehensive. At that moment, Sira had decided to change the topic. “How did your therapy go?”

That was another one of the things Day had been doing to heal himself. He had been going in and out of therapy after Sira and Kaew had breathed down his neck about it for at least a month. 

“It was… fine.” Day didn’t look him in the eye, choosing to pick the skin beside his thumbnail, as if hesitating if he should say more. Sira waited, because he knew he would. He always does. “I… they gave me a higher dosage of pills,” he claimed. “For the nightmares.”

“You still have them?”

A beat passed before Day nodded with a hum, looking all ashamed.

Courage found Sira at the best time, as his hand moved on its own, taking Day’s to soothe him. Day freezes and looks at him, astonishment written all over his face. Sira only smiles. He knew Day was shocked. Sira had never done this—never initiated for the past months, at least not yet, not until this very moment.

They weren’t really together again yet. Sira was still trying to get over what had happened, and Day had acknowledged that he, himself, still had issues to work on, and the baggages they’ve been carrying had only started to lighten. It wasn’t the time. Not now. Not yet. But they do talk—a lot, treating one another as anchors. And that was enough.

“And how’s your meeting?”

Sira shrugged. “I no longer have responsibilities over the council.”

“What? You lost the trial?” Sira shruggs again, but that was enough to confirm it. “I’m-”

“Don’t say you're sorry.” Day pressed his lips into a line, as his eyes welled with sympathetic tears. “And don’t give me that pitiful look. I don’t regret anything. I’m glad I did it. I have you now, and I would have traded anything for you,” he said, honest.

It had seemed like Day wasn’t even half-convinced, still looking like he had ended Sira’s world, when in truth—he really was everything Sira could want.

“Day,” Sira shakes his hand and squeezes it too. “It’s really fine.” Day nodded, but he couldn’t look Sira in the eye. He didn’t even utter a word. “Come home with me tonight,” Sira suddenly says.

To his luck, Day had finally perked up, head tilting as they stared into each other. “What?”

“Come home home with me. I’ll give you something for our nightmares…” Then, Sira bit his lower lip, feeling the heat in his ears and cheeks. “You can… you can sleep next to me too,” he offered, because Day had always slept soundly when Sira was in the room. “If you’d like.”

Day beamed. “Yeah… I’d like that.”

They stay there for a couple more hours. Ozone stayed too—listening, making snarky comments though Day couldn't really hear it. Later in the day, they’d go home. Sira would drive. 

If this were four months ago, he’d be full of ifs and wishes. Two months ago, it would be a maybe—but today, this moment, and every other that’ll come, Sira couldn't be more sure of anything else. He doesn't know how he’ll get where he wanted, but he knows now where it was.

And he knows, for certain, Day would be there with him too.