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"Either I'm talking to or hanging out with you or I'm talking at and hanging out with him," Peem said.
Phum laughed. "'Talking at?'"
A shrug. "It's not like Khaophan can actually talk back."
Phum wouldn't ever admit it out loud, but Peem's words bothered him.
Arguably, he had options: he could get over himself and just tell Peem about his furry problem (and risk losing Peem forever, as if that was acceptable). Or he could pretend like Khaophan was super smart and could totally understand human speech.
Or he could walk away, which was entirely out of the question.
So, buttons it was.
The idea wasn't new to Phum. He, like anyone born in the Gen Z era, was just as addicted to TikTok as everyone else - probably more so, considering that he couldn't have proper friendships. It was hard to keep up with people when they're asleep the only time you have opposable thumbs. The closest he'd ever come were Mick and Beer, who spend most of their time online, though even they have to sleep at some point.
He'd seen the videos of dog owners teaching their pets to press the prerecorded buttons. More than a few have gone viral in the past few months. Was it the most elegant solution to his problem? No. He'd be limited in how many words he could use. But, would it help him - Khaophan - connect with Peem? Maybe even enough to stay when the truth inevitably came out?
He hoped so.
He scrolled through Amazon until he came across the largest set of buttons he could possibly find. Fifty would do, right? That would be enough. Maybe one hundred? He dropped his head into his hands and let out a frustrated growl. How many words would he need?
He grabbed a nearby pad of paper and a pen. He'd make a list for himself and include all the words he'd need. However many he ended up with, he'd buy.
Words, as it turned out, were not easy to come up with.
He'd sat at his kitchen table with a notebook open in front of him. Blank page. Clean lines. Then, he had written at the top in neat lettering: BUTTONS.
...and that was as far as he'd gotten.
He sat there for an hour, staring at the notebook and wondering why language was so difficult. This was just organization. Planning. He was good at planning. He'd planned his entire life around a curse that turned him into a dog at every sunrise. He could plan a few dozen words. This was fine.
He took a deep breath. Start big. Themes.
He divided the page into neat columns:
Needs - Food. Water. Outside. Bathroom.
People - Peem. Fang.
Feelings - Happy. Sad.
There. That was simple. Logical. The perfect, reasonable things a very smart dog might need to communicate. Absolutely not suspicious in the slightest. There was nothing there that would make Peem ask questions Phum couldn't answer.
He stared at the categories.
This is fine. This is totally fine.
It... wasn't fine.
His pen hovered over the Feelings column. After a moment's hesitation, he added: Tired. Scared.
Then, before he quite realized what he was doing, he added: I love you.
The words innocently sat on the page. The three words that had been living in his throat for weeks, trapped behind teeth that couldn't produce them in the day and his own cowardice that kept them buried at night.
I love you.
If Khaophan pressed a button like that, what would Peem think? That Phum had made it as a prank? Or worse, worse, that it was sweet or endearing or some other thing that Peem, kind, way too forgiving Peem might think. Look at my friend's dog telling me he loves me, isn't that adorable?
And then, if - when, because Peem wasn't stupid in the slightest - he put the pieces together and figured this whole thing out, that Khaophan and Phum were one and the same, that Phum had been lying to him this entire time...
Phum struck his pen through the words once, twice, then three times. He watched as the ink bled through the paper and left a small tear in the page.
He groaned and flipped to a new one.
Feelings - Happy. Sad. Tired. Scared.
...Fond.
No. No, not fond. Fond was weak. I'm fond of you, Peem. I'm fond of the way you smile when you're absorbed in painting. I'm fond of how you talk to Khaophan like he's a person, even if you think he's just a dog. Fond didn't even begin to describe his feelings.
He wrote: Miss you. He crossed it out.
Want you. Crossed out just as quickly.
Stay.
He stared at the word. Considered it. Left it.
It was vague enough. Owners told their dogs to stay all the time. Dogs wanted people to stay. Phum wanted Peem to stay. Forever, preferably. It was why he'd bought the art supplies. Why he'd offered his condo. Why he'd... why he'd even considered this. Any of this.
He'd wanted someone who would stay.
He kept writing and crossing out and rewriting and thinking in a vicious cycle of nerves and want.
You're beautiful. When Peem painted. When he sat in the sunlight, looking like an angel at the easel Phum had bought for him. When he smiled. When he laughed. When Phum FaceTimed him in the middle of the night and he smiled that little smile that was reserved for Phum and Phum alone - and no. That wouldn't work.
I think about you constantly. True, but no chance that would make it.
I'm sorry for lying to you. Definitely not staying on the list.
Please don't leave me - Fuck.
He paused, breath heavy and heart beating a frantic rhythm as he stared at the page. It had become a mess of ink and regret. He'd somehow managed to fill the entire thing with half-formed confessions that would never see the light of day. Not if he could help it. His handwriting had gotten smaller as he'd continued, as if the words wouldn't count if he let them diminish in size. Like they wouldn't be real.
Fifty buttons wouldn't work. A hundred wouldn't even work.
The problem was that he had so much to say. Every day he was Khaophan. Every day, Peem was right there. Every day, Phum couldn't say a single thing. He couldn't tell him that the joke he made was funny. He couldn't tell Peem that he was in awe every time he picked up a paintbrush. He couldn't ask Peem about his day, or what he was thinking, or what he wanted. He couldn't comfort him when he looked sad. He couldn't laugh with him when he was happy. He couldn't -
He dropped the pen on the table and slumped against the back of his chair. His head lolled back over the slats behind him so that he could stare at the ceiling.
This was impossible. How was he supposed to fit an entire relationship with all its jagged edges and oddly shaped puzzle pieces into a grid of recordable buttons?
He righted himself. Sighed. Turned the page again.
People - Peem. Phum.
He stared at his own name.
Phum.
If he didn't include it, Peem would notice. Peem talked about him, Phum, all the time in casual mentions that sometimes felt too casual. Looks like he forgot his phone again. Oh, are you going to tell him about that? I wonder what he's doing right now - he takes such good care of you.
If there was no button for Phum's name, it would be weird. It would seem like Khaophan didn't care about his owner, which, fine, some owners wouldn't, but Peem knew Khaophan was smart. He'd notice the gap.
He tapped idly on the notebook with the clicker side of the pen. It would be odd, talking about himself in the third person the other way around. He was used to talking about Khaophan. Acknowledging the existence of his furry half as if it were a different thing separate from him was sometimes the only way he could remind himself that he was... well, him. Let him separate himself from the curse for just a little while.
Talking about the real him as Khaophan would be - it would be something, he supposed.
He flipped the pen back over and wrote: Where. When. Why. What. How.
Questions. Those were important, right? Question words. Ways to ask Peem what bothered him in those quiet moments when he was looking out the windows, or if Khaophan - if Phum - had done something to upset him, or maybe even to ask about Peem's feelings-
The guilt hit him almost immediately. Sharp. Cold. Overwhelming. This was the same thing he'd been doing since the beginning: he was hiding and watching. Loving someone from two different angles and never giving them the full picture.
Never giving them a choice.
It's not the same, a soft voice in his mind whispered. This is just trying to connect. Trying to talk with him.
Peem had said it himself, "It's not like Khaophan can actually talk back."
But it was the same, wasn't it? Another loophole. Another workaround. Another way to avoid the actual problem, which was that Phum couldn't just tell Peem the truth. He was so afraid of... of what? Of rejection? Of Peem looking at him in disgust? Of Peem deciding this isn't worth it and leaving forever?
He looked down at the notebook. In it were pages of crossed-out confessions, words he'd deemed safe, his own name in the People column.
He turned to a fresh page, his last fresh page, and started writing the final list of words he'd actually record. He'd need to order the buttons sooner rather than later. He couldn't stall any longer.
Basics - Hello. Goodbye. Yes. No. Please. Thank you.
Needs - Outside. Bathroom. Tired. Play. Mine. Want.
People - Peem. Phum.
Feelings - Happy. Sad. Scared. Miss. Stay. Fond. Good. Bad.
Places - Balcony. Go. Room. Home.
Things - TV. Paint. Play. Seat. Stop.
He kept adding until he couldn't think anymore. He stared at the forty-something words on the page and then added a few more, just in case. He hoped there would be enough to have a conversation and ask questions. That the words would be enough to tell Peem in all the little ways that Khaophan, Phum, was paying attention.
It wasn't I love you, but it was something.
He ordered the buttons.
The box arrived at 7:24 PM.
Phum knew this because he heard the knock and nearly tripped over his own feet getting to the door. The delivery guy thrust a tablet at him for a signature, yawned sleepily, then left without a word. Meanwhile, Phum stood frozen in the doorway holding the box, staring at his name printed in neat black letters along the top.
No backing out now.
He carried it inside and sat it on the kitchen counter. The condo was quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator and the background conversation of some K-drama he'd put on for shits and giggles.
Honestly, he could just leave it unopened. Return it. Pretend he never ordered the stupid things and go back to Peem talking at him. Pretend to be a normal dog for just a little longer until Peem found out the truth and left him.
He tore the box open.
Beneath the bubble wrap and plastic bags, fifty buttons lay nestled at the bottom of the box. They were smaller than they looked in the videos: round, about the size of his palm. The record button was on the side, and the top button was ringed with speaker grills. Six foam hexagon pads lay beneath them. Beneath that were papers with instructions and QR codes to videos that he'd already watched six times in preparation for this moment.
He pulled everything out, opening his notebook to the last page.
Peem was coming tomorrow. The curse would activate at 8:00 AM. He had a little under eleven hours to set up and record these for Peem. That would be enough... maybe.
He grabbed his laptop, the USB cable he found hidden in a cocoon of bubble wrap, and the first button. He'd already downloaded the app the company used to manage the system. He'd been annoyed with it when he'd poked around the interface earlier this evening. The company had made it aggressively cheerful with cartoon dogs popping out with instructions and bright colors all over the place.
Button 01 - Unassigned.
He typed: Peem.
There. Done. Now to record it. He held the button down, mouth open...
Nothing came out.
His throat went tight. His tongue felt like sandpaper. What was he supposed to say? Just... Peem? Like it was just another word?
He cleared his throat and tried again.
"Peem."
He played it back.
"Peem."
That... no. Just no. No, no, no. He sounded like a robot. He sounded too flat, too formal. He sounded like a bored teacher taking attendance just- Just, no.
Delete.
He buried his head in his hands to muffle his frustrated scream.
7:46 PM.
He held the button down, took a silent breath, and tried to think about Peem. Peem, smiling when he thought no one was looking. Peem's voice and its softness when he was tired. Peem.
"Peem."
"Peem."
Fuck. That was worse. So much worse.
He could hear his own breathlessness and longing. His voice dipped at the end as if he were about to cry. Confess. Propose. All of the above.
If Khaophan pressed that button, Peem would hear all of it: Phum's desperation and the crush (which was far worse than a crush at this point, but Phum would never admit it) he'd been holding onto for weeks now.
He'd hear the truth.
Delete.
8:12 PM.
Phum sat on the floor of his bedroom with the button in his hand and his eyes closed for attempt number three.
He was overthinking this. He knew he was overthinking this. He tended to overthink a lot of things - it wasn't like he could do much else as a dog but think when someone with opposable thumbs wasn't around to do things for him. That was why he'd started his whole deal with Peem in the first place. He'd just wanted to stop drowning in his own thoughts (and if the guy was nice to look at, it was an added bonus).
The problem wasn't the word. Phum knew that. It was him and his inability to just be normal about the person he liked.
Loved.
He pressed the button.
"Peem."
Played it back.
"Peem."
His own voice spoke back to him through the surprisingly decent speaker, present, but not overwhelming. It was warm this time, but the desperation was thankfully absent. There was affection, but not anything more than a very smart dog who liked his dogsitter.
He saved it.
9:02 PM.
"Hello" was easier.
He recorded it with the kind of cheer he used when he was calling Peem on one of his better nights, when his body was less sore than usual and he didn't have a shitty voicemail from his father telling him off for one thing or another. Bright. Happy.
"Hello."
Perfect.
"Goodbye" took four tries because he kept making it sound too sad, like Peem was abandoning Khaophan forever instead of just leaving him alone until Phum felt well enough to call.
"Yes" and "No" were easy. "Please" sounded too pleading at first, but he fixed that on his second try. "Thank you" made him feel just a little ridiculous. Did dogs even know to say thank you? And what would he even thank Peem for? Existing? He recorded it anyway.
He moved on to the feelings.
"Happy" was simple. All he had to do was think about Peem in the lotus gardens and let the memories bleed into his voice.
"Happy."
"Sad" was one of the harder ones. He had to get the tone right. His voice had to carry concern, but not pity - Peem wasn't the type to be pitied. He needed to be gentle. Empathetic. He imagined Peem coming over with that tiny little pout he had when something was bothering him, and Khaophan pressing the button to ask what's wrong?
It took him three tries to get it right.
"Why" was similar. He wanted to be curious rather than accusatory. Why are you upset? not Why are you like this?
When he was done with that set, he tested them together.
"Peem. Sad. Why."
Hearing his own voice echo back at him in the quiet apartment was unsettling but- A shiver of anticipation went down his spine. It was a sentence. A question. It was a bridge across the gap between his two lives and actually communicate with Peem.
He glanced at the clock.
10:56 PM.
He made coffee.
"Phum" was the hardest one so far.
He'd decided to leave it for later, for when he was absorbed in the recording session and too tired to overthink it, but now he was holding the button that was supposed to be for his name.
Now, it felt impossible to say.
How was he supposed to say his own name? What tone? What inflection? Khaophan was supposed to use this button to talk about Phum. He was supposed to ask where Phum was, to tell Peem that Phum was... what? Good? Bad? Missed?
He pressed the button.
"Phum."
He played it back and immediately hated it. The name was too neutral. He sounded like he was introducing himself at a meeting.
He tried again, adding warmth to his voice this time. He tried to emulate Peem - Peem, who sometimes added that little uptick at the end when he was trying to get Phum's attention.
"Phum."
Still wrong.
He deleted it. The button sat innocently on the floor in front of him.
The problem was that he didn't know how Khaophan felt about Phum. Well, he knew, obviously. Khaophan was Phum. Phum was Khaophan, but Peem didn't know that and wouldn't know it so long as Phum had any say in the matter. To Peem, Khaophan was separate from Phum. He was a dog. He belonged to someone. He maybe liked his owner, maybe didn't care, maybe resented being left alone all day.
What would a dog sound like saying his owner's name?
He closed his eyes and said, "Phum."
It was casual. Simple. It was the way you'd say someone's name when they happened to come up in conversation. Phum? Yeah, he's around.
"Phum."
That would work. It didn't reveal anything or expose him. It was just a name.
11:19 PM.
His throat hurt.
"Outside."
"Bathroom."
"Tired."
"Play."
The needs were the most straightforward. All they had to be was functional. He recorded them quickly, though he was rapidly losing his voice. He drank more coffee.
"Mine."
"Want."
"Go."
"Stop."
Simple. Easy.
"Miss."
He paused on that last one. His fingers hovered over the button as he thought about all the hours he'd spent as Khaophan. Every moment he watched Peem move through the apartment, wishing he could say I'm here. I miss you when you're gone.
"Miss."
His voice sounded soft. Maybe a little sad.
"Miss."
He saved it.
11:49 PM.
It took six tries to get the tone for "Stay" just right.
The first five sounded too desperate. Stay. Please stay. Too pleading. Don't leave me.
The sixth one was better. It was hopeful, but had lost the begging. It was an invitation.
"Stay."
He saved it and immediately wanted to delete it again.
What if Peem hears that and thinks it's weird? he thought, staring at the word on the app. What if he thinks Khaophan is too much?
He forced himself to move on before he could spiral further.
"Fond."
"Good."
"Bad."
"Scared."
Each word had a different emotional color. Each one was a piece of himself, a piece of his thoughts, that he was handing over to Peem without any explanation.
"Peem. Miss. Stay."
"Peem. Fond. Happy."
"Sad. Why. Scared."
His heart beat wildly in his chest. He ran a shaky hand through his hair and let a small smile pull at the edges of his lips. This was real. It was happening. In a few hours, Peem would arrive and Khaophan would be able to speak. He'd be able to say Peem and Hello and Why are you sad? and Peem would hear it in Phum's voice and-
He swallowed around the lump in his throat.
Maybe it would be enough.
Or maybe Peem would think it was weird. A dog speaking in its owner's voice? Asking personal questions? Maybe even getting too close?
12:37 AM.
He made more coffee.
The words after that blurred together.
"Balcony."
"Room."
"Home."
His voice was hoarse now. He had to clear his throat in between takes, sometimes having to go back when his voice cracked too much on certain words.
"TV."
"Paint."
His hands were trembling from far too much caffeine. The apartment was still dark, but dawn would be fast approaching. He'd be Khaophan again sooner rather than later.
He recorded. Deleted. Re-recorded. Saved.
2:12 AM.
He looked at the list. Forty-seven words recorded. Three to go.
The last three words he'd written were "Love," "Sorry," and "Me."
He stared at them in his notebook. They'd been crossed out, rewritten, then crossed out again over and over.
He'd told himself that he wouldn't record "Love." It was too much. Too risky. It was too close to that line of truth that he couldn't bring himself to cross.
But now, sitting on the floor of his bedroom at 3:45 in the morning with his voice wrecked and heart racing, he thought: What if I need it?
What if there was a moment where Khaophan needed to tell Peem the truth and "Fond" just wasn't enough? What if-
He pressed the button.
"Love."
The word came out soft and gentle, like he was holding something fragile in his hands.
In a way, he supposed, he was. He'd realized a while ago that Peem was it for him. Curse or no curse. Love or not. Peem was... Peem just was. Phum was utterly, unabashedly gone for him, and if Peem didn't-
If Peem couldn't-
He'd broken a plate, once. When he was young. It had been late, his brothers and father were already transformed, his mother was away visiting family and he was hungry. Then he'd tripped, and the plate shattered on the kitchen floor into dozens of pieces.
Phum, terrified of being blamed for something else, had spent the rest of the night gluing the pieces back together. He'd finished just before the clock struck eight, proud of his work.
But in the first light of the sun, just as he'd begun his transformation, he'd seen the cracks. Deep. Dark. Cutting. He might have found all the pieces and spent the entire night putting them back together, but there was no way to fully repair something that had already shattered once.
"Love."
He saved it before he could change his mind.
"Sorry" was easy in comparison. He knew he'd need it for all the things he couldn't explain, the lies by omission, and simply being a coward. He'd been saying it under his breath and behind closed doors since the beginning - since the moment he fell, if he were truly honest with himself.
"Sorry."
Done.
He held the final button in his hand and thumbed at the switch that would allow him to record his voice. He worried at his lip, then tested the word on his tongue.
"Me."
To anyone else, it meant Khaophan. It was the dog calling attention to itself. Sure, most dogs didn't have a sense of self that strong, but Khaophan was a smart dog.
To him, it was Phum. The real him. Me. I'm here. I'm trying.
He pressed the button.
"Me."
"Me."
He saved it. Sat back against the bed frame.
Fifty buttons. Fifty words. Fifty chances to say whatever he could.
4:15 AM.
By the time he finished assembling the hexagon pads on the floor in an order he'd be able to remember, the sky outside was turning grey.
Forty-nine buttons faced the ceiling. Waiting. He'd foregone the stickers that would tell him what they were - some words he'd only use if he truly needed them, and he didn't want Peem to ask why they were there. He'd tried to organize them by category to make it easier. Red for feelings, yellow for needs, purple for items or actions, etc.
One button, he'd left out. It sat in a drawer in his room. Waiting.
Maybe one day.
He spent the next hour practicing, pressing each button and listening to his own voice bounce back at him.
"Hello. Peem. Happy."
"Peem. Sad. Why."
"Phum. Where."
"Miss. Peem."
"Peem. Mine."
His throat was raw. His hands were still shaking. There were three empty coffee cups on the counter, and his eyes felt like sandpaper. Normally, he tried to get a nap in before the transformation. The magic didn't erase bodily needs like sleep, water, or food. He wasn't that lucky.
Peem would be over at noon. He'd probably get at least two hours of sleep in before then, once he was done practicing pressing the buttons as Khaophan rather than Phum.
He swallowed. Everything was ready.
He could only hope everything didn't fall apart.
He stood in the living room and stared at the buttons. A part of him wondered if this was too much. If this was going too far. He'd already done so much for Peem. Would this be the straw that broke the camel's back?
But, then again, Peem made it easy. Peem made everything easy. Living, breathing, even loving around Peem was so natural. So right. Caring for Peem, taking care of Peem, was simple. There was no other option.
7:45 AM.
He went to his bedroom, undressed, and lay down on top of the covers. Waited.
The transformation started at the edges. His fingers tingled, then the sensation crept up to his wrists and quickly overtook the rest of him.
He'd spent all night giving Khaophan a voice, and now he was about to become him. The irony was not lost on Phum.
His eyes closed as the magic took hold, and somewhere in the dark behind his eyelids and the pain, he thought: Let's see if this works.
.
.
.
.
.
.
"Phum?" Peem's voice drifted from the bedroom. He appeared at the doorway, a stack of foam hexagon panels in his hands. He leaned against the wood and smiled fondly. "I didn't know we still had these."
Phum looked up from where he was unpacking the second of six boxes Peem had brought over in the move.
Shit.
He'd forgotten about those. He'd shoved them in the back of his closet six months ago and tried not to think about them. Apparently, he hadn't pushed them far enough back.
"I, uh." Phum cleared his throat. He already felt his ears burning. "Yeah. I kept them."
Peem raised an eyebrow and stepped into the room. "Fifty dog communication buttons?"
"Forty-nine," Phum corrected before he could stop himself. He immediately regretted it when he saw Peem's eyes narrow thoughtfully.
"Forty-nine?"
Phum swallowed. "One of them... didn't work out."
That was a lie. All fifty worked fine. He just hadn't been able to attach the fiftieth one to the board. He couldn't risk Peem pressing it during those first terrifying days when everything was still fragile and new. When one word could shatter the small piece of happiness he'd built.
Peem set the hexagons down on the carpet, buttons still attached, and sat cross-legged next to them. He pressed one.
"Hello," Phum's voice said. He could hear the exhaustion in his voice.
Peem grinned. Then, he pressed another.
"Peem."
The name was fond, warm, and devastatingly obvious in hindsight. A large part of Phum wanted to crawl under the bed and stay there. Preferably forever.
One of the few downsides to no longer being a dog: it was much more difficult to hide his embarrassment.
"Oh my god," Peem said. His grin grew into a delighted smile. "You sound so gone for me."
"I was terrified," Phum muttered. He turned back to the box. Socks. He could focus on socks. Socks were safe.
"You were adorable." Peem pressed another button. "Outside."
"Play."
"Khaophan was very articulate," Peem noted. There was laughter in his voice, but it was the good kind - not mocking or cruel. "Very chatty."
"He had a lot to say."
Peem hummed his agreement.
"Sad."
"Why."
"Happy."
"Stay."
The buttons' chatter stopped abruptly.
Phum glanced back at Peem, who was holding one button in his hand. His head was tilted slightly, lips parted in that expression he often had when he was puzzling over something he couldn't quite place. Phum's eyes trailed to the hexagons on the floor.
All but one space were filled.
His hands stilled in the box.
"I thought you said there was no fiftieth button?" Peem asked.
Fuck.
"It's nothing," Phum said quickly.
Peem looked up at him. "It was in the box."
"It's broken."
"Then why did you keep it?"
"I just did." Phum turned to face Peem and buried his hands in his lap before he gave into temptation and snatched the button away from Peem. "It's broken."
"Is it?" Peem looked at the button again. "Should I press it?"
"No."
Peem's hand hovered over the button.
"I'm going to press it."
"Peem-"
He pressed it.
"Love."
The word hung in the air between them. It was Phum's voice: raw and quiet and so fucking vulnerable it made his chest hurt to hear it now. When he'd recorded it that morning six months ago, he'd done it knowing Peem would arrive in six hours and that it might be the last chance he'd ever have to say it. He didn't care if it was through a plastic button in a dog's voice.
He'd been devastated when he'd realized it was still in the drawer that morning Peem had discovered his secret.
Peem stared at the button. Then his gaze shifted to Phum.
Phum focused very intently on folding the pair of socks he'd pulled from the box.
"You recorded 'love,'" Peem said slowly, as if he were turning the idea over in his mind.
"It's a common word."
"You recorded 'love' and then didn't put it on the board."
Phum's gut twisted. "It didn't fit the layout." Lie. There was a spot for it right in the center of the red hexagon.
"Phum."
"I'm busy."
"Phum," Peem's voice was soft, but stern. "Look at me."
He didn't want to. Looking at Peem right now felt dangerous - like it would crack something open that he'd worked very hard to keep contained for the past six months. They were good now. Happy. The curse was broken, Peem knew everything, and there was no reason to dredge up how pathetic and desperate he'd been that night. How lonely he'd felt recording fifty buttons in the dark and hoping it would be enough to make Peem stay.
Regardless, Phum looked up.
Peem was smiling. It wasn't a mean smile. Peem wasn't mean. He was just smiling. Soft. Fond. Maybe a little sad. "You were going to tell me you loved me through a dog button."
"I was going to let Khaophan tell you."
Peem shrugged. "Same thing."
"Not really."
"Phum." Peem scooted closer, button board forgotten as he leaned into Phum's space. "You spent an entire night recording these. You were so scared that I'd figure it out and you'd lose me, but you still did it."
Phum's throat felt tight. "It was stupid."
"It was brave."
"It was desperate."
"It was both." Peem dragged the board between them and pressed one of the buttons. "Peem."
He pressed the button in his hand. "Love."
Then a third. "Phum."
Peem. Love. Phum.
Phum's breath caught in his throat.
Peem looked up at him. His eyes were bright and suspiciously shiny. "That's what you were trying to say, wasn't it? With all of these."
He couldn't answer. Phum's voice had disappeared somewhere deep within the recesses of his stomach.
Peem pressed three buttons in sequence with deliberate slowness.
"Peem. Love. Phum."
The words rang out one after another in Phum's voice. It sounded like a confession. It was everything he'd been too terrified to say six months ago now being offered back to him in his own words.
Phum reached for the button board.
"Phum. Love. Peem."
Peem's smile was beatific. He reached over and pulled Phum by the collar into a soft kiss.
"We're keeping these," he said after they both finally came up for air.
Phum glanced down at the foam board. "We're not keeping fifty buttons."
Peem huffed. "Fine. We're keeping three."
"Three?"
Peem let go of Phum and popped two buttons out of the hexagon. Then he placed them next to the "Love" button. "Peem," he said, tapping on the first button. "Love." A second tap. "Phum."
He grinned at Phum like an idiot, and Phum's heart melted all over again. He pressed back, "Phum. Love. Peem."
They sat there on the floor surrounded by boxes of clothes, paint supplies, and forty-seven discarded buttons, pressing the same three words back and forth over and over again until they were breathless with laughter.
It was stupid.
It was perfect.
"I can't believe you kept these," Peem said eventually, once they'd had their fill of silliness. He leaned his head against Phum's shoulder.
"I couldn't throw them out."
Peem's head tilted up to look at him. "Why not?"
Phum looked at the three buttons on the floor. At Peem's hand resting on his knee. At the boxes half-unpacked and the life they were building together in this space that used to be just his.
"They worked," he admitted softly.
Peem's hand idly traced patterns on his knee. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." Phum picked up the Peem button and turned it over in his hands. "You stayed."
"Of course I stayed." Peem took the button from him, pressed it, then pressed the others. "Peem. Love. Phum."
Phum grinned. "You're going to wear those out."
"Good. Then you'll have to record new ones."
"I'm not recording new ones."
Peem poked him in the side. "You will if I ask nicely."
"I won't." He would. He'd record them a hundred times if Peem asked him to.
Peem pressed the buttons again. "Peem. Love. Phum."
"You're ridiculous."
"You recorded fifty buttons to talk to me."
"Forty-nine."
"Fifty. You just didn't attach the last one because you were scared."
Phum looked at him. "I wasn't scared."
"You were terrified."
Phum didn't argue with that. There was no point to it. Peem knew him too well by now.
"Come on," Peem said, standing and pulling Phum up with him. He reached down and picked up the three buttons. "Let's finish unpacking. We can figure out what to do with the other forty-seven buttons later."
Phum glanced at the foam pads on the floor. "Trash them."
Peem hummed. "Donate them."
Phum snorted. "To who? 'Gently used communication buttons, previously owned by a cursed man pretending to be a dog to spy on his crush'?"
Peem laughed in that bright and easy way that made Phum's chest ache with fondness. "We'll workshop the listing."
They went back to unpacking. Peem's clothes ended up in the closet next to Phum's. His art reference books went on the shelf beside Phum's action figures. His toothbrush went into the holder in the bathroom. Small things. Big things.
Pieces of a life being built together.
That night, after the boxes were mostly empty and they were both exhausted and sprawled on the couch, Peem reached over and pressed the buttons one more time.
"Peem. Love. Phum."
Phum didn't even open his eyes. He didn't need to. He simply reached out and found the buttons.
"Phum. Love. Peem."
"We're definitely keeping these," Peem murmured into his chest.
"We're definitely keeping these," Phum agreed.
And they did.