Archive of Our Own

It hurts in an indescribable way.

The pain feels unending as the sobs continue to rage through Kaew’s body. It was not just the hurt of P’Jom’s rejection, but the agony of his own words and the curse he had placed on the man he loved. He wanted him to know the pain he felt, but at the same time, he felt guilty for what he had spoken. Yet, he also knows he needs to let go and allow P’Jom the life he clearly wants, with a proper wife but it hurts; it hurts so deeply. Kaew knows now that he can not have P’Jom, but it would kill him to see him marry someone else, to have children and a home with a woman. He had been jealous and possessive as a child, and felt, even now, he would not be able to look kindly on any woman who called P’Jom hers. There is an amalgamation of emotions that stir dangerously inside him only stoking his ire, his pain, and his regrets.

His tear filled eyes gaze upon the wishing stone on his side table. The wishing stone that P’Klao had gifted him and bid him make a wish. Kaew does not know if he believes in the magic of wishing on an ordinary stone, gifted by an oracle. However, right now, his mind is filled with childish thoughts of how unfairly this life has treated him. All he wants at this moment is to see a life where P’Jom loves him, if only to have him for one day. It is a desperate desire that has him reaching for the rock, gripping it in his palm, and pressing it to his lips to repeat the wish over and over. If magic were real, he wishes it would grant him this one kindness.

The actions are that of a pathetic heartbroken boy, and Kaew knows that, but he still finds himself repeating the wish until the waves of sleep take him and he drifts into nothing. Though, admittedly, it has been hard for him to sleep since Songkran, so he is not surprised that he wakes rather quickly. What is odd is that he is awakened by a shrill tingling kind of bird or perhaps a bell. He does not know the source of the sound, but he calls for his servants to cease the incessant noise. His eyes are dry from crying, his nose still drips, and his throat is hoarse, so if granted, he would permit more sleep. Only, there is no response to his request and the shrill screaming continues on.

With no choice but to halt it himself Kaew sighs and moves his blankets when he realizes the blanket feels foreign. It is not the fine jacquard he is used to. In fact, it is much heavier, soft, and has an odd smell when he brings it to his nose; like lavender but not. Then, he realizes the bed he sits on is soft, like a cloud. Kaew had found himself looking to the sky often in his youth and contemplating what it would be like to sleep on a cloud. P’Jom had once chuckled at the pondering but as a young boy, he had sworn one day he would sleep on one. The bed he sits on—the softness and the way it yields under his weight—must be what it is to sleep on a cloud which is incredibly odd.

Next, what comes to him, is his clothing, or rather, lack thereof. He wears trousers that are loose, soft, and smooth against his skin, but he’s absent a shirt and knows that he’d been wearing a shirt. In fact, he’d been wearing the same shirt for days despite his servants' insistence that he please change and allow them to wash the garments. Kaew had refused, because leaving his room garnered the chance of running into P’Jom, who he knows has been lingering about the manor to speak with him. It is possible they came in after he fell to slumber to sponge him clean and change him, but it would be disgraceful to be put to bed without proper garb.

Nothing is making sense.

When his eyes focus on his surroundings, all he feels is immediate panic. He knows not where he is. The cloud-like bed aside, there are objects surrounding him that he has never seen before. Odd shaped strange lanterns sit unlit around him, but when he peers closer there is no place for him to light their flame. Beneath him the floors are odd. They are not wooden, but shine as if made of white jade. Though there are woven rugs upon the floor, when he sets his feet upon them, the fibers feel coarse and foreign. At the very least, the shrill bird has stopped singing but that is merely one concession in this strange environment.

He wanders, tentatively, over to the large fabric wall, and draws the drapery back. Behind the fabric is surely windows with a pane of glass inside them, but that is of minor consequence to what awaits him below. Outside the window is a view he has no words for, and sends him stumbling back to the bed. Wherever he has found himself, he knows it is not his home. For there are no words to describe what he has seen and once more the shrill bird begins to yell anew. This time he sees the source is a box on the stand beside the bed, and he clambers over to it. Without pretense he knocks it over so that it thunks heavily against the floor. Unfortunately, the shrill cry does not cease. Kaew lets out a wail of despair and burrows himself beneath the pink sheets of the bed, closes his eyes, and bids the Gods to please take him home.

Moments later the shrill bird ceases its song again, which Kaew is thankful for. However, that sound is replaced by a thunderous knock that comes rapidly and rhythmically. He tries his best to ignore it, until he hears, “Pun! You awake?”

He would recognize that voice anywhere and right now he can not even bring himself to allow his anger to continue. Kaew needs something familiar, and someone that may hold the answers to his strange experience. Right now, he needs someone to lean on, and in his life, that person has always been P’Jom. So, he shoves the blanket down and jumps from the bed and makes haste for the source of the knock.

“P’Jom!” He calls in acknowledgment until he is upon the barrier between them. He believes it to be a door, but the back is laden with a number of silver objects that he has no idea of how to discern them. Kaew fumbles and twists and turns each of them in combinations, growing increasingly frustrated until the door finally opens and he sees P’Jom on the other side, brow drawn in worry. Though he may be scolded, he throws himself forward to wrap his arms around P’Jom’s neck to cling to the man. To have this one familiar thing right now helps to ground him in reality.

“Wait—hold on—” P’Jom’s voice says, and Kaew withdraws quickly, eyes downcast; his scolding is swift, it seems. P’Jom walks past him to place some kind of strange medicinal elixir he is holding upon a low table. Then, he turns and opens his arms to him, “Yeah—you can do that again now.”

“What?”

Kaew then notices that P’Jom himself is dressed—strangely. His trousers are blue, and long to almost cover his feet, as well as torn as if he had recently seen battle. Upon his torso is a shirt, black, and loose around his frame paired with odd metal chains that hang around his neck. Strange garb aside, Kaew can not recall a time P’Jom has so openly offered him affection in their adult age.

“—P’Jom?”

“I wasn’t ready the first time, I didn’t get to savor it, so can you hug me again, please?” He says with his lips pushed into a pout that is not befitting his face. His eyes look at Kaew’s only momentarily before they drift down to his bare chest. There they linger and grow dark as his tongue wet his lips. Kaew is quick to cover his chest with his arms but P’Jom’s gaze lingers and Kaew recognizes the lustful gaze. Despite the acerbic words of the common people, there were often times men looked upon him in the same manner. They spoke one way, but acted in the opposite. Of course, Kaew also recognizes the look from how he, too, has gazed upon P’Jom’s form. Like when he had come upon P’Jom bathing, and instead of covering his modesty, P’Jom had shown him everything. Kaew had thought of that moment for days, his heart beating so rapidly he thought he may perish.

No.

The image of P’Jom’s naked form still continued to haunt him when he lay alone at night. His strong thighs, large hands, and rather sizable manhood that had seemed to react to Kaew’s admiration were frequent visitors to his dreams. As so said, Kaew’s thoughts upon seeing P’Jom nude form had only been of the wicked nature and now it seemed that P’Jom’s thoughts ventured in the same direction.

“I’m not strong enough for this,” P’Jom declares as he turns from Kaew and reaches for a sheet that he wraps around Kaew’s shoulders to cover him. The fabric is the most different so far, and itches against his skin, but he does not remove it as P’Jom adjusts it, “Do you know how deliciously tempting you are?”

Kaew takes hold of the sheet to hug it tighter around his form as he takes a wary step back, “Are you so cruel, P’Jom, to say words of such a manner?”

P’Jom scratches the back of his head, with a grimace, “Has my flirting gotten that bad? But, you’ve never—you know—let me see you shirtless before—” he says and makes a motion up and down Kaew’s body. He turns away and covers his eyes, then begins tapping his forehead, “Yeah, I’m so sorry, my thoughts are not pure right now.”

Kaew blinks.

Something is amiss. This man has P’Jom’s face, and his voice, but his manner is not that of P’Jom. Then, he notices the cadence at which he speaks and is reminded of someone else who spoke in a similar manner, “You speak the way of P’Klao, but I do not recall you venturing to Phichit.”

P’Jom looks over at him like he is mulling over a thought, “Is this your way of telling me you want to ditch class? Because I’m in! We can even make the drive to Phichit if you want! Well, actually, the train may be faster, but we can do whatever—”

Train?

Drive?

Each word sounds more foreign than the next, and he wonders if these are terms common in Phichit.

“Why must you attend to a ditch?” He asks as it is the one word he does understand. P’Jom simply laughs, in a way that Kaew has never really seen.

P’Jom picks up the green elixir and holds it out to him. Without thought, Kaew accepts it and then P’Jom guides him by the shoulders to turn him toward the room he had awoken in, “Get dressed, drink your matcha, and I’ll look up the fastest way to Phichit. We’ll even make it a date,” he says with a wink.

“I am not ill,” Kaew says as he looks at the green elixir, cold in his grip.

“I would hope not, but I can check if you’d like,” P’Jom offers and steps closer with a lascivious smirk upon his face. Kaew attempts to take a step away but P’Jom’s hand catches him upon the waist, his eyes searching Kaew’s as he leans in for their noses to nearly touch. Kaew’s heart begins to beat so rapidly, he is sure that P’Jom will hear it.

“Please, keep your distance—” Kaew bids, “—if someone should see—”

P’Jom does not even glance away from Kaew as he answers, “There’s no one but us.”

P’Jom’s head tilts and Kaew realizes the man is going to place a kiss upon his lips. That makes Kaew step back and remember why it was that he held anger for P’Jom, and reminds him of his harsh words, “You’ve never once held affection for me.”

P’Jom frowns, his brow furrowing deeply, “What?”

Kaew shakes his head, “I shall retire for now, pray, allow me a respite.”

“Wait,” P’Jom says and reaches for his hand, “When have I not “held affection” for you? You do remember I’m the guy that asked you to marry me the first time we met, right?”

Kaew snatches his hand away and narrows his eyes, “You have said no such thing! To jest so is a cruelty, I thought you not capable of. Since childhood—”

“Childhood?”

“Are you perhaps the one who ails from memory lapse? We have known each other since infancy, have we not?”

“Uh—maybe you are ill,” P’Jom says and scratches his head again, “Was kind of hoping this was a strange roleplay but—Pun, we didn’t even meet until the first year of University, remember?”

What is a University? He wishes to ask, instead, he is preoccupied by the means of address P’Jom has used.

“Pun?”

P’Jom sighs, “Okay, you really need rest. How about you get dressed in comfortable clothes and I’ll keep you company? We’ll order some broth and watch movies, okay?”

None of that made sense.

P’Jom urges him anew towards the other room and bids again, “Go on, go change, I’ll be right here.”

Kaew starts walking before something occurs to him. In the eve, he had wished upon the stone P’Klao had gifted it. He remembers wishing to live a life where P’Jom loved him, even if just for one day. What if that wishing stone had worked and he was in a life where P’Jom did love him. A life where P’Jom looked at him with the same wicked eyes that Kaew looked upon him with.

What if this were but a dream?

What if he was in a feverish state of delirium and imagining this all?

Either way, he stops short of the room with the bed and calls, “P’Jom?”

“Ouch, gonna ignore you calling me by another guy’s name since you’re not feeling well—” P’Jom responds, “—what’s up?”

“We are still in Ayutthaya, correct?”

“Ayutthaya? We’re in Bangkok, but we can visit Ayutthaya if you want to, once you’re feeling better.”

Bangkok? He has no familiarity with such a place.

Kaew sighs, “The farangi, how do they refer to you?”

“Farangi?”

“Never you bother, I will be along shortly,” Kaew says and then stops short yet again, “Is there a servant available to attend to my needs?”

“What?” Now P’Jom’s brows are clear in his hairline, raised high in his confusion of the question.

Another sigh and Kaew waves it off, “I’ll—attend to my own needs.”

He walks into the room and closes the barrier door between them and then looks around unsure of what to do. Some things were starting to connect in his mind. Rather this be a dream or not, he had a feeling he was experiencing things through the eyes of his next life. If by some strange magic he has found himself in the body of his next life, would that mean his actions would not affect the life he knows? There were many unknown factors. What he was sure of is that this was no longer than land he knew. Well, perhaps the land was the same, but it had been shaped into something he knew not. Be this dream or hallucination, he was locked within this world for an indeterminate amount of time.

He must live as his next life would; this Pun, as P’Jom had addressed him. Pun who garnered the gaze Kaew had so long desired from P’Jom. Would it be wrong to take advantage of such affection? After all, he had no inkling on how to dress in this world, nor would he know where to even begin to look for clothes amongst Pun’s strange trappings.

“P’Jom?”

There’s a moment of silence before he hears the sound of feet and the barrier between them creeks open slightly, “Thee.”

“Excuse me?”

“It really bruises an ego—my ego—to have you call me by another guy’s name. I don’t know if you’re just messing with me at this point, but my name is Thee.”

Kaew rolls the name around for a moment and then nods, “P’Thee, then.”

P’Thee’s face lights up, and he steps a bit further in the room, “Did you need me?”

“Would you help me dress?”

The smile immediately drops, “What?”

“I need assistance to robe myself for the day, would you assist me?”

P’Thee sucks in a breath, his face turning upwards, and his eyes close as he numbers incoherently under his breath, almost as if chanting a prayer. He does this for a moment before deciding, “Yeah, I’m not pure enough for this,” and then, more directly to Kaew he says, “Look—um—you’re absolutely the most gorgeous person I’ve ever seen, and I know I tell you that daily but I mean it, I really do—”

Kaew feels his cheeks and his ears pink with heat hearing those words in P’Jom’s voice.

“—but my attraction to Pun isn't skin deep, and I feel like I know Pun pretty well. Even in my wildest and filthiest dreams I can’t imagine Pun asking me to help him pick out his clothes or helping him get dressed. So—and this sounds so weird to ask—who are you?”

Kaew hums for a moment and contemplates how to answer that. It is nice to know that this version of P’Jom is honorable. He could have easily had his way with Kaew. Instead, he was questioning his behavior that was so unlike the man, Pun, that he knows, “To speak in honest, I know not that this is but a dream,” he confesses.

“Okay,” P’Thee says and rapidly reaches forward to pinch the skin of Kaew’s forearm between his nails, hard enough to bite.

The gesture stings, badly, and Kaew snaps, “That hurt, you brute!” As he attempts to soothe the spot that blooms red in color.

“You can’t feel pain in dreams.”

“Oh,” Kaew intones as he looks at his arm to P’Thee.

He was quite right. Pain did not exist in the realm of dreams, and he could certainly feel the fading ache in his arm. Which left the more illogical answer of being in the place of his next life. That revelation is enough to send him reeling, swaying on the spot as to require P’Thee’s assistance to sit back upon the bed. Kaew draws his legs beneath him and ponders how to pose his own inquiry.

“Do you believe in past lives?”

“Past lives?” P’Thee asks as he takes a seat next to him, ensuring there’s a respectable distance between them.

Kaew nods, “I believe, if this is be not a dream, then I am Pun or rather, Pun is who I will become in the next life—” he raises his hand to look at it front and back, the nails shapely, like his own, “—we share the same soul—” he sighs and shakes his head again, “—no—I suppose we are the same soul. Once I pass from this life, I will be reborn as your Pun.”

“Wait, are you trying to say you’re Pun’s past life?”

“If this is the future, then yes, this is the only conclusion that I can form.”

“Wait, if you’re here, then, where is Pun? Does that mean he’s in your place back in the past?”

Kaew shakes his head, “That I can not speak to.”

P’Thee is silent for a moment, a finger coming to his lips, his eyes moving in a way that reminds Kaew of P’Jom trying to riddle out an ailment based on symptoms. A look he’d regularly sport when trying to diagnose P’Klao when the purge had proved ineffective in correcting his manner.

“How would this happen?”

“The last thing I remember was holding this stone that P’Klao had gifted to me. He bid I make a wish, and I had wished—“ Kaew begins to explain and then stops.

“You wished?”

He turns his face so as not to see the visage of P’Jom looking upon him when he admits, “I wished, for one day, to live a life where P’Jom loves me in the way I love him.”

“Whoa! Wait—what?!” P’Thee exclaims as he jumps up from the bed; he looks particularly irate. Kaew closes his eyes, ready to be scolded. Instead, P’Thee exclaims, “That P’Jom rejected you?! Has he seen you? Is he blind?” As if it was the most egregious crime he has ever heard.

Kaew looks at him in disbelief and before he knows it, the tears are flowing unbidden. They come heavy, and fast, and again he feels how much P’Jom’s rejection hurt in comparison to how P’Thee talks to him; like he truly is the most beautiful person he has ever seen. Apparently, his reaction worries P’Thee as he immediately kneels in front of him, and grabs his hands.

“Hey, sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“It feels like my wish has come true,” he says with a sniffle, and P’Thee reaches up to wipe away his tears; his touch feels nearly identical to P’Jom’s. The main difference is that his hands are free of the physician’s calluses. Regardless, Kaew finds himself leaning in to the touch, eyes closing, “P’Jom fears, so much, the eyes and thoughts of the many. Any fondness for me is behind walls. For when I pressed he told me he never held affection for me.”

“What an asshole,” P’Thee curses and Kaew coughs out a laugh through his tears.

“You are kind to me,” he whispers, “But I fear that my curse has come to pass as well.”

“Curse?”

“When P’Jom rejected me, I bid that in the next life he would love me as I love him, and that I would look upon him with the same indifference that he has bestowed upon me.”

“Hold on,” P’Thee says and squeezes his hands, “Pun gives me such a hard time because you placed a curse on this P’Jom, who is my past life, so that I would love you and you wouldn’t love me back?”

Kaew nods, “But the truth be, in every lifetime, I fear I will always fall in love with P’Jom.”

“You think Pun loves me!?” P’Thee asks a little too excitedly. “Wait, sorry, wrong thing to focus on right now. Let’s keep on track, okay?” He says and when Kaew nods, he continues, “Okay, so, clearly this rejection, it happened recently?”

“At Songkran—“

“Uh—okay—that unfortunately doesn’t tell me much, because Songkran hasn’t happened yet so—” P’Thee says and his thumb begins to stroke the hand he’s holding and Kaew realizes his hand has not moved from his cheek. The thumb of his right hand, where it rests on his cheeks, strokes back and forth beneath his eye. Again, he can not help but nuzzle into that touch, desperately craving it. “—Let's say, for you, this happened really recently, and you were upset, so you made a wish for this P’Jom to love you for a day, and now you’re here where I am because I’m the next life of P’Jom and I’m obsessed with Pun.”

“Obsessed?”

P’Thee nods proudly, “I’m going to marry him one day! I won’t rest until he’s my wife, or husband, or any title he wants to be! As long as he’s mine.”

Kaew feels another sob take his body and he brings his hand up to cover his mouth as he cries, only amplified by P’Thee who does not budge despite everything. He knows the behavior is improper but he launches himself forward to throw his arms around P’Thee, and cling to him. If P’Thee is startled he shows no indication as he adjusts his hold to keep Kaew close, and allows him to cry against his shoulder. He knows not how long he cries, but he knows it must be a long cry as he feels his legs begin to numb from how they bent under him when he threw himself forward. P’Thee can not be in a comfortable position either but he holds him still until his tears begin to dry and his sobs begin to quiet.

“Feel better?”

“I do not think I will ever feel better,” Kaew admits, “There is no cure for what ails me.”

“Well, the past me could get his head out of his ass and love you.”

Kaew gives a half chuckle and shakes his head, “P’Jom has made his stance on this matter clear.”

“Jom is stupid.”

Kaew laughs again, and wipes at his eyes, “Thank you, again, for your kindness.”

“You don’t have to thank me, but—uh—since you’re not Pun, what can I call you?”

“Kaew. My name is Kaew.”

“Kaew,” P’Thee repeats, “It’s nice to meet you, Kaew.”

“Likewise, and you,” he replies with a hesitant smile.

“Okay, so, lets get you a shirt, because I know you’re not Pun, but you’re in Pun’s body, and like I said, I’m a weak weak man—“ he says, and rises from where he’s kneeling, gently untangling Kaew’s hold, “—we’ll just get you a shirt, so Pun doesn’t flay me for going through his stuff,” he tells him, and goes to a part of the wall that he opens easily and reaches inside to procure a top that is blue patterned. He brings it back and holds it open for Kaew to slide his arms into.

“Are your thoughts indecent?”

“When I have a shirtless Pun hugging me, how can they not be,” he admits as the soft fabric rests over Kaew’s shoulders. P’Thee is quick to start sliding the buttons through the allotted holes, effectively covering his bare chest. “Which, if your Jom has never had indecent thoughts about you, then, he really is blind.”

Kaew thanks him for his assistance and accepts his hand to rise to his feet, “I have thought, before, that he has had indecent wicked thoughts particularly when he exposed himself to me.”

“He flashed you?!”

“I do not know what that means,” Kaew says and blinks at P’Thee as he leads him back out to the room they were in before. Carefully he guides them to some kind of chair like furniture, only longer, and not as rigid when he is seated upon it. In fact, the cushion beneath him gives way quite easily and makes it very comfortable to sit upon. P’Thee leaves him for another moment to fetch the green elixir again and hold it out to him and Kaew takes it hesitantly, giving it a sniff that makes P’Thee smile.

“Flashing means he showed you—” P’Thee motions up and down his own body, “—everything.”

Kaew chuckles and nods, “Yes, I have seen all of P’Jom’s body. He jests this is teasing between brothers.”

“I don’t flash my friends,” P’Thee says, “So that leaves me two questions. First, how is his body? Because I have been going to the gym everyday since I met Pun to make sure my body is perfect when he sees me naked the first time—”

“P’Jom’s body is—“ Kaew begins as his mind is filled with the image of P’Jom’s tanned skin, his sculpted body indicative of a physician who labored as well as diagnosed, and his other impressive parts that make Kaew shifts in his seat.

“Damn, good to know,” P’Thee says with a smirk and he sits ever a bit taller, “I hope Pun reacts the same way when he sees me naked.”

If he and Pun are anything alike, Kaew is sure he, too, will appreciate P’Thee’s naked form.

“You held a second quandary?”

“What?”

“You said you had two such inquiries, what was the second?”

“Oh!” P’Thee exclaims and begins to scratch his head, eyes shifting as if ashamed, “I was curious how his—” he makes a gesture with his index finger, raising it to a pointing gesture, “—bamboo shoot? Didn’t react to you looking at him.”

Kaew can not help but laugh, “Bamboo shoot?”

“You know what I mean!”

“Bamboo shoots are notoriously hard and rigid.”

“My point exactly!”

Kaew felt his face flush again as he answered, “He did—have a reaction, I mean—to me looking.”

“Then what’s the deal? If you want him and he wants you, why not ravish you right then and there?”

Kaew’s face grows even hotter, and he can’t help but cover it with his hands as he reacts to the thought of him, and P’Jom. He would happily lay beneath the physician as a wife does for a husband and allow him free access to his body if only he’d accept.

“P’Jom cares greatly about the eyes and words of others. He says he must remain trusted in the eyes of the people.”

“That’s such bullshit,” P’Thee curses, and then stands up, “I’m gonna grab us some take-out, and maybe something stronger than matcha, and then you can talk all you want and I’ll listen.”

Kaew blinks at the man as he pats his body before nodding to himself, “I do not understand most of what you just said.”

P’Thee gives a smile and says, “Yeah, probably not, but I’ll be back—uh—you can chill there if you’d like—TV would probably confuse you—uh—Pun draws sometimes, do you draw?”

“I make potpourri.”

”Okay—so—maybe just sit there and I’ll be back in twenty?” He says and then heads for the entrance. P’Thee checks back over his shoulder as if Kaew has disappeared. When he’s sure he hasn’t, he heads out and the barrier is closed between them.

Truth be told, Kaew isn’t going anywhere. He does not feel comfortable enough in his next life’s—Pun’s—home to freely look among his things. P’Thee seemed to share very little in common with P’Jom, so he’s not entirely sure how much he shares in common with Pun, but he would like to think neither of them enjoys people going through their things. So, he sits there, and looks at his own reflection in the large black box across from him. His hair is a mess, dangling around his face, and in his eyes, but fiddling with it does not yield the usual results. Then, his fingers move to the shirt he wears and runs through the fabric, soft and pliable, and the buttons that are smooth and round.

After that, he takes note of the plants and flowers around Pun’s space that Kaew finds favor in. They have a common interest in the floral, it would appear. Then he notices a drawing, propped against one of the pots, and he gets up to examine it. Upon picking it up, it becomes clear the drawing is of the golden bowl that had held the scented water he had cursed P’Jom with. Next to it is the flower he often wore in his hair. A soft plumeria drawn in gentle colors that make the petals look as delicate as if they were real. Kaew can only draw the conclusion that Pun remembers something of his past life; of Kaew’s life.

“Okay!” P’Thee’s voice booms as the man returns. He stumbles in, his arms are laden with bags, flowers under the right arm, as he attempts to close the barrier behind him with his foot. Kaew places the portrait drawn by Pun down to assist P’Thee with his burden. He takes the items and follows the promptings to place them down on the table top, “I’m not sure what you eat, but I grabbed a bit of everything, some Thai, Korean, and there’s this awesome Chinese place on the corner that Pun goes to so grabbed a couple things there too and these are for you,” he adds and holds the flowers out to Kaew.

Kaew, slowly, accepts the arrangement that crinkles with the covering around it, “For me?”

“I don’t know anything about potpourri making, but I figured if you make potpourri you might like flowers so—”

”Thank you,” Kaew says and brings them to his nose to inhale the fragrance. He can’t help the way his heart flutters like how it so often does with P’Jom. He sits back down as P’Thee opens the odd holdings to release steam and a number of aromas into the air. P’Thee prepares food for him like he so often does for P’Jom and he will admit that he likes having the other man do this act for him.

”Do you use chopsticks or forks?”

Kaew must be looking at P’Thee with a blank stare because the man shrugs and hands him the utensil that he calls a fork and bids, “Poke this into anything you want to try while I grab a plate.”

The pronged utensil looks more akin to a weapon than a device for eating, but P’Thee had told him to “poke” it into the food of his choice. So, warily, he pokes it into the nearest meat that he believes to be chicken and finds awe by how easily it picks it up. Briefly, he worries it will stab his tongue as he takes the bite, but instead, it slides easily onto his tongue, and just as easily out without harming it.

P’Thee’s laughter draws his attention as the man comes back with the “plates” and takes a seat next to him, “Never seen someone so amazed by a fork,” he says and begins to pile a number of foods—both familiar and unfamiliar—onto the plate, arranging them in a way that must compliment the choices. He loads it generously before he passes it to Kaew, who accepts it gratefully. “You look so happy. Does your Jom never make you food?”

“Mh, no, I usually serve him,” Kaew answers as he uses the fork to examine the food. He notices that P’Thee has stopped moving and peers at him with a look akin to horror, “Ah, make no mistake, he does not ask this of me, I do so willingly. I like to make P’Jom foods, his favorites, and serve them as a proper wife would. I had hoped, in doing this, he would see me as his spouse one day.”

“So, you make past me his favorite foods, you look like that, and he is still rejecting you? I don’t think I like my past life very much.”

Kaew gives him a small smile and takes a bite of rice with the meat provided, chewing thoroughly before swallowing. The flavors are rich in spice, far more flavorful than the foods he knows, with something that makes his tongue light up like fire. Whatever that is has him reaching for the green elixir which tastes of earth on his tongue, but helps to soothe the burn.

“Ah, shit, you probably don’t have the spices we have now, huh?”

Kaew shakes his head, “—it was alarming, but not unpleasant.”

“Good,” P’Thee nods, “Go ahead and tell me about Jom, and why I shouldn’t find a way back to the past to kick his ass myself?”

Kaew hesitates, but then he reasons, if this is the next life, nothing he could say would be detrimental to his life in the past as he was still actively living it, “He was my first friend, and my only friend for the longest time. You see, I am the son of a Lord, and the youngest at that. I have four elder brothers who are decades older than myself. By the time of my birth, my eldest brother had been wed and bore kin of his own. My mother pray a daughter to dote upon, and instead I was born, same as my brothers, male. Whispers always spoke that my mother raised me to like a female, which is why I am not suited to be a proper man.”

P’Thee raises an eyebrow around the sticks in his mouth, slowly removing them, “What the hell makes a proper man?”

“One who works in service to the throne or as a government official, with a wife, and kin of his own. A strong man will own land, and a home of servants at his beckon. That is an honorable life of a man of prestige.”

“Sounds boring.”

Kaew chuckles, “That is the way of life as we know it. P’Jom never seemed to heed the way I was raised. We played as any children would, despite P’Jom being three years older. When I was barely to my mother’s knee I would cry for P’Jom, afraid he would leave me. He promised he lived close and would come back to play with me every day.”

“Did he?”

“He did,” Kaew confirms, “And brought along friends of his own, P’Klao and P’Phop who also played with me.”

P’Thee chokes and begins to cough hard and Kaew looks at him with concern, “Did you say Phop?” He asks as he reaches for his own liquid to take several large gulps.

Kaew nods.

“Damn, life really repeats itself—”

“Do you know P’Phop?”

“I know a “Phop”, yes, he’s my cousin.”

“P’Phop is the ideal of a proper man. He works in the service, and carries his blade with honor. His parents have also arranged a proper marriage for him to a Lady Varna, which would work in the favor of both his Lord father and hers. Yet, I have seen the way his eyes linger on P’Klao. In turn, I have seen how P’Klao looks upon him. Neither hold the same reservations that ail P’Jom,” he shares, continuing his meal, alternating between the types of foods to savor each bite. The bao placed on his plate are rather different then ones served at the tea house at the market. Similar they are in shape and filling, but like with everything there is a flavor he just doesn’t know how to describe, “You see, people talk. They call me deranged, ill, possessed, even mad. As a child of twelve, to declare a marriage to another man is but a child’s folly. As a man of twenty, it is behavior befitting concern.”

“You know the very first thing I said to Pun was asking him to marry me, and he said, “Maybe in the next lifetime,” then, he walked away from me.”

Oh no.

Kaew feels tears start to well up again, threatening to fall, “You asked me to marry you?” He shakes his head, “My next life, I mean, Pun—you asked him to marry you.”

“I can’t even explain it,” P’Thee says, “It was love at first sight, and the minute I saw him it was like my world shifted. I guess now I know why. Because you cursed me,” he says, but there’s no malice in it. Instead, he gives him a wink as he picks up another bite between his sticks and slides it into his mouth. “I didn’t mean to make you cry again.”

“It is okay,” Kaew says honestly as he wipes his cheeks, “You see when I told P’Jom I would marry him, he began to try to dissuade my affection by courting a young woman, the daughter of another province’s lord. I remember hating her despite never made her acquaintance. She was not right to have P’Jom. It was not fair should P’Jom marry her and not me. From then, I dedicated myself to being a proper wife and yet—he flirts with me, seems to return my affection and I have never once seen his eyes upon a woman as they are on me—so why does he hurt me so?”

“Because he’s an idiot,” P’Thee says bluntly, “Rampant homophobia probably means that it’s easy to hide in the closest then accept his own feelings because he’s an idiot. Probably thinks he’s protecting you too, because no one will talk shit, if there’s nothing to talk shit about.”

“You say so many strange words.”

“Homophobia means people that don’t like—no, they hate—people of the same gender being together, whether they’re two men or two women. It’s gotten better as years go on, but still plenty of hate out there still. Plenty of people fear those harsh words so they just pretend to be straight to avoid it. I bet that’s what you’re Jom is doing. Hiding who he is because it’s easier than facing hateful words and looks.”

“Their words mean nothing to me as they are nothing to me, so why should they preoccupy P’Jom’s mind so?”

P’Thee shrugs, “Some people aren’t as brave as others. Maybe give your Jom a bit more time to figure it out, but, if he can’t get his head out of his ass then—maybe there’s another guy out there that will treasure you. Even if I want to be that guy, if he can’t figure it out then—” he says with a certain amount of conviction. Kaew smiles before P’Thee adds, “I don’t know if it’ll make you feel better or not, but I’ve never cared what anyone thinks about me. If I flirt with men or women, at the end of the day, I’m me, who gives a shit who I marry? The only opinions I care about is my own—and Pun’s—I care about Pun’s because he’s gonna be my spouse one day. I’m gonna wear him down!”

“And your Pun, does the words of others pre-occupy him?”

“Pun? Never. People always have something to say about his looks or the way he dresses, but he’s never cared. He is who he is in the truest sense and it’s one of the things I love about him. He’s so authentically himself. He’s smart, and beautiful, and quick witted, but also so kind. He’s just gorgeous inside and out and I’ll be his wife if he wants me to be.”

Kaew can not help but close his eyes. This is everything that he wanted; to know P’Jom’s love. The only problem was, in the end, it was not P’Jom saying these things to him. It would take, however many years, to get to this point, and he would have to wait until his next lifetime to have what he wants. He realizes then that his wish was selfish only because it offers him a bandage over a wound that needs more than time to heal.

They lapse into silence and eat until they are full, and can not eat anymore. Then P’Thee clears everything away, clearing the table and items to store them in what he calls a “fridge” which will cool the food for reheating. “So, I’m not sure how much time you have before you and Pun switch back, but—and you can say no—but want to cuddle and I can find something to read to you? I think TV might be a bit overwhelming for you, but books? Books are cool right?”

“What is cuddling?”

“I can show you!” He beams, “And I promise, it wouldn’t be cheating on Pun or your Jom to cuddle, partly because cuddling can be completely platonic, but also because—well—past life, next life, thing—“

“What is cheating?”

P’Thee shakes his head, “Never mind! Basically, cuddling means you can lay on me, or hug me. I can lay down and you can lay on me, or we can sit together and I can hold you?”

“Oh, like when I rest my head on P’Jom’s arm?

“—I would say I wasn’t there to know, but I guess I technically was, huh?”

Kaew laughs and nods, “I would like to lay upon your shoulder, if you are amenable to this request.”

“I’m amenable,” he says, drops back down, and pats the spot next to him. Kaew takes the spot and brings his legs up under himself before he leans into P’Thee. He lays his head on P’Thee’s shoulder and nestles into his neck. P’Thee’s arm comes around him, and brings him closer. If this is cuddling, then Kaew likes it very much.

After only a moment Kaew asks, “Can I hug you?”

“Yep,” P’Thee answers without hesitation, and Kaew’s arms go around him which ultimately brings them closer. He’s craved this affection, this closeness, not only from P’Jom but from anyone, for so long. His mother, despite her love for him, was not the most affectionate of women, and it was not often she held him in this manner even as a child. “What kind of stories do you like?”

“Any you wish to share,” Kaew answers, and allows his eyes to close, desperately trying not to allow himself to smell at P’Thee as he so often did with P’Jom.

“How about the tale of Mae Nak Phra Khanong? It's one of my mom’s favorite stories.”

“Okay,” Kaew says, and allows himself to be lulled by the sound of P’Thee’s voice telling him the story of a devoted wife who died while her husband was at war. Through the strength of her love, her spirit and that of the child she lost during birth stayed on the earthly plain. Kaew wonders if that would be him. That he would love P’Jom so much that even if he were to die, he would remain to inhabit his abode still praying for the love he had been denied. Only, the husband of the story loved his wife, loved his child, and lived with the spirits of them despite what the villagers told him. It is a sad, tragic story, but a story of heart, loyalty, and a literal, undying devotion that Kaew felt could be his reality, “I love you, P’Jom,” he hears himself say as he feels the waves of sleep begin to pull him away.

There is a moment of silence and then he hears, faintly, “I love you too, Kaew,” and he wonders if he imagined it in his haze of sleep.

“—ster Kaew,” a voice says, and there comes a knocking that begins to rouse him back to consciousness, “Master Kaew?” He hears more clearly, and he just knows that he will be told he should eat again but he feels as if he has already partaken of a feast. In result, he ignores the call, and relaxes further into the warmth beneath him, that rises and falls with a breath.

“P’Jom,” he says, and moves closer with a smile, the arm around him tightening.

“I’m here, Kaew.”

“Mhm,” he nods before his mind returns to him, and rouses him immediately from slumber. He sits upright in his bed and takes a look at his surroundings to find his bed, and his sheet, and his lanterns lit for the lack of sun. Most surprising, however, is P’Jom sitting in his bed, absent a shirt, and looking at him with concern in his eyes. Kaew realizes then he is in his bed, in his night clothing, with P’Jom minus a covering and he immediately reaches for his sheet to preserve his modesty. The gossip of the servants would be unceasing were they to find them in such a state.

“You’re back.”

“What are you doing here?” Kaew demands.

“You were absent of mind this day, your servants were concerned.”

“I was absent of mind?” He questions and tries to recall what he had done that day. There are flashes of an unfamiliar world, and food with too much spice, and a man with P’Jom’s face that showed him unimaginable kindness and love; but everything is scattered into fragments. When he tries to grasp onto any one specific memory, it seems to drift out of his reach. “You cared for me?”

“You insisted.”

Kaew does not believe him, but he also does not argue as he rises from his bed. Despite the late hour, he feels as if he is in need of a bath, “You may take your leave, I plan to bathe before I retire.”

P’Jom rises to his own feet, coming to his side, “I will accompany you for the hour is late.”

“I do not require an attendant.”

P’Jom reaches for his hand, and Kaew moves to take it back but P’Jom holds firm, “There are things I wish to say to you, if you will hear them.”

Kaew takes a breath and thinks of kind words and soft expressions somewhere in his mind. He feels, in his heart of hearts, he is willing to give P’Jom a second chance but not quite yet, “Perhaps I will hear them, one day, but tonight, I bid you take leave.”

P’Jom seems to want to argue, but instead he nods, and releases Kaew’s hands slowly, “I wait for the day you will hear them but I ask you not depart for Pak Nam Pho, for I have something of great importance to share, and a question to ask.”

Kaew tries to not let his heart beat out of control with his hope, but he nods before he escorts P’Jom to the entry of his room. Once the other man is out, he pulls the doors closed and rests against them before his eyes flicker to the wishing stone on his side table, right where he left it.

Maybe something had changed in P’Jom’s resolve, or perhaps it had not, but Kaew would grant him an ear. Yes. He’d give P’Jom a second chance, and he prayed to any of the Gods that may hear that he would not waste it for there would not be a third.