Work Text:
𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧
There is no memory in Kasidet Plookphol’s life that does not feature Jiratchaphong Srisang. To map out Book’s past is to map out Force, and vice versa. Their mothers, two office workers who bonded over a mutual disdain for a micromanaging boss named Khun Chai, became each other's rocks long before either boy was born, sharing everything from terrible instant coffee to late-night venting sessions about unhelpful husbands.
In 1996, Mr. and Mrs. Plookphol welcomed their angelic baby boy, naming him Kasidet. With fair skin, a face that looked like it belonged on a Renaissance canvas, and eyes that could disarm a bank robber, little Book was a darling from day one, always smelling faintly of baby powder and clean linen. But his quiet, orderly life changed forever just a year later.
In 1997, Jiratchaphong Srisang came into the world with a literal bang. His father panicked so intensely during the drive to the hospital that he almost delivered the baby in the parking lot, screaming every time his wife experienced a contraction and nearly forgetting to actually admit his wife into the emergency ward. By the time chubby, loud baby Force arrived, his father looked more exhausted than his mother, sporting sweat-soaked clothes and wide, terrified eyes.
From kindergarten onwards, the two boys were joined at the hip. They shared crayon boxes, traded juice cartons, rode the same neighborhood school bus until the tenth grade, and attended the same senior high school where they walked the familiar corridors together. Yet, despite their unbreakable bond, they were polar opposites in almost every conceivable way. Force grew into the classic high school prince. Handsome, athletic, charming, and surrounded by a sprawling circle of friends who hung onto his every word.
Book was the brilliant intellectual, top of his class, student body president, and equally handsome, though students rarely dared to confess their feelings to him. Not only was Book hyper-focused on his studies and student council duties, but anyone wanting to approach him first had to pass the invisible, highly protective gaze of Force Srisang, who possessed a subtle talent for clearing a radius of ten feet around his best friend whenever an unwanted suitor approached.
"You're scaring them off again," Book would whisper over their shared lunchbox in high school, watching a trembling sophomore retreat down the hallway with flushed cheeks.
"I'm just standing here," Force would reply innocently, tossing an apple in the air and catching it. "Not my fault my face looks aggressive when I'm hungry."
To break a routine established since they were five, the boys made a joint, terrifying decision when university applications rolled around: they would attend different colleges. Book headed to King Mongkut’s University of Technology Thonburi to study multimedia art, while Force went to Rangsit University for engineering. It took careful, tearful explanation sessions with their mothers over Sunday tea, but they needed to experience life on their own two feet.
They stayed in touch through endless late-night phone calls and messaging apps, though they were no longer attached at the hip. College helped them grow into their own skin, sharpening their individual identities, though their Sunday dinners remained firmly anchored by their families, where they would catch up on each other's week over home-cooked dishes. During those college years, Book also made a quiet, unexpected discovery: he could read a person's future simply by tracing their palm. It ran deep in the bloodline; his paternal grandmother was a gifted tarotist and fortune reader up in Chiang Mai, and the innate sensitivity had quietly skipped a generation to land right in Book's sensitive fingers.
A year after graduation, Force was working as a junior civil engineer at a bustling firm, managing site inspections and blueprints, while Book was thriving as a freelance digital artist, designing sleek interfaces from his cozy, plant-filled apartment. Their collective circle of friends had expanded to include two couples—both brought together by Book’s uncanny palm-reading abilities.
First came Jimmy and Sea, Force’s college dorm-mates. During a random Friday night hangout in their cramped apartment, Book had playfully asked Jimmy for his palm, describing a life partner eerily identical to Sea, who was sitting across the room choking on his soda. That accidental nudge, combined with Force's heavy-handed maneuvering to get the two stubborn medical students into the same study rooms, sealed their fate.
Then came Junior and Mark. Junior, Book's university classmate, was pulling a late-night design session at a campus cafe when Book read his palm, promising a destined mate would appear soon because the universe owed him a break. Three days later, Mark literally fell out of a low-hanging tree onto Junior's lap while trying to rescue a terrified stray cat, crushing Junior's laptop and stealing his heart simultaneously in a flurry of scratches and apologies.
The six of them became an inseparable unit, spending weekends at cafes, celebrating birthdays, and crowding around restaurant booths. Only Force and Book remained stubbornly single, though they bickered over menu choices and cared for one another with the practiced, effortless ease of an old married couple. Their friends noticed the heavy subtext every single day, keeping their observations wisely to themselves so as not to disrupt the delicate ecosystem of their friendship.
In all the years Force knew about Book's gift, he had never once asked to have his palm read.
"I want to meet my destined mate organically," Force had told him once over iced coffee, flashing his trademark grin. "Falling in love without spoilers is half the fun, Book. Where's the romance in knowing the ending before the book even opens?"
Yet, seeing Jimmy and Sea, and Junior and Mark, a strange, persistent restlessness began to claw at Force's chest. One quiet evening, staring into the amber depths of his drink at a neighborhood bar, he admitted to Book that he wanted a partner too, voicing a sudden fatigue while sleeping in an empty bed.
Across the table, Book felt a sharp, suffocating squeeze in his chest. For twenty-five years, the entirety of his conscious life spent knowing the other person, Book had harbored a secret, burning love for his best friend that had long since conflagrated into deep, abiding romance. He chose to keep his feelings hidden away like a locked box because he was entirely convinced that Force was someone who could never look at him romantically. Force, the life of the party and everyone's favorite sunshine boy, could never possibly fall for a quiet, predictable man like him, the one who preferred routine, herbal tea, and the safety of everything familiar. So now, hearing Force say that he wanted to date seriously and eventually settle down with a partner was something that felt like it was tearing him apart from the inside out.
On a random Thursday afternoon, Book had a client meeting near Force's office, so they decided to grab a quick lunch at a sunlit cafe tucked away from the main road. Out of nowhere, as they waited for their iced lattes, Force placed his hand flat on the wooden table, palm facing upward. "Read my palm."
Book froze, his fork hovering midway to his mouth, the clatter of the cafe fading into background white noise. "You're joking. What happened to your organic encounter?"
"I'm tired of waiting," Force said, his dark eyes unusually intense, stripped of their usual teasing light. "Just tell me if someone's out there for me, Book."
With hands that felt like lead, Book reluctantly agreed and reached across the table to take Force's hand. The skin-to-skin contact sent a familiar warmth rushing up his arms, a jolt of electricity that always came with touching him, yet tonight it felt entirely different. Book ran the tip of his index finger along the deep lines in Force's palm, causing the fine hairs on Force's arms to rise instantly. A strange, tingling sensation crept up from Force's palm, spreading up his arms and settling deep into his chest, making his heart beat a frantic, erratic rhythm against his ribs. Force tried hard to appear cool and unaffected, biting the inside of his cheek, but his hand was slightly warm and damp.
Book, on the other hand, felt like he was about to throw up his lunch. Because what did he see when he traced those lines? It was as clear as a cloudless summer day: the person destined for Force was sitting right across from him, holding his hand. It was him. Book. Panic surged. What could he possibly say when Force was clearly expecting a different face, a stranger from a coffee shop or a party? Swallowing the lump of glass in his throat, Book forced his hand away and lied.
"It's... a bit unclear," Book murmured, staring down at his lap. "There is someone intended for you, but... whoever it is, they're close. That's all I can make out right now."
Force gave him a long, unreadable expression, the silence stretching uncomfortably between them before he softly thanked Book for agreeing to his whims. Their lunch finished in a quiet, fragile air, feeling like a heavy stone had been dropped into a still pond, sending ripples that neither of them knew how to smooth over.
Months drifted by like broken glass, the tension lingering underneath every casual text message and shared dinner. Then came Force’s parents' twenty-eighth wedding anniversary party at a grand hotel ballroom downtown, an event the families had been planning for months.At a family dinner weeks prior, Force had stunned the entire table into dead silence by casually announcing he was bringing a date, a sweet, slender junior engineer from his firm who had joined four months ago, got along with the team, and went out with him on a few nice dates. Book had clutched his cloth napkin like a lifeline, his eyes stinging as he forced a tight, polite nod. On the night of the gala, looking breathtaking in a custom three-piece suit his mother prepared, Book stared at his reflection and practiced box breathing just to keep his composure intact. The person in front of him looked like a model straight out of a magazine, but his eyes betrayed a profound, hollow sadness.
When Force arrived with his date, a truly stunning, elegant woman—the room buzzed with approval. Force's father beamed, casting knowing glances that made Book want to dissolve into the marble floor. The pair over to their table to greet his parents and introduce his date, Book felt like he was suffocating. Why did Force have to bring her right to their table? Couldn't he see that Book was one second away from shattering?
"Why are you looking at me like that, Force?" Book joked lightly, his voice barely shaking as he plastered on a bright smile. "Are you only used to seeing me look homeless in my oversized hoodies?"
Force stared at him for a beat too long, a strange shadow crossing his features before he formally introduced his date. Book shook her hand gracefully, offered pleasantries, and then pleaded a sudden, blinding migraine to escape to the quiet poolside area outside. The cool night air felt good against his burning skin, but it couldn't clear the fog in his brain. Footsteps crunched softly on the gravel, and the familiar scent of sandalwood announced Force's arrival before a word was spoken.
"You okay?" Force asked, sitting on the lounge chair next to him, his voice laced with genuine, unfiltered worry. "You've been avoiding me for weeks, Book. Talk to me."
"I'm fine, Force. Go back inside to your date. It's rude to leave her alone for long," Book said tightly, keeping his face turned toward the dark water of the pool.
"Stop telling me what to do," Force muttered, shifting closer. "Why do you feel so distant? Are you really okay with me dating her?"
"Why wouldn't I be? You're a grown adult and can make your own choices."
"Because none of this makes sense!" Force snapped, frustration bleeding into his voice.
"Just follow your heart, Force, not some silly magic," Book whispered sharply, standing up and taking a step backward to put distance between them.
It was a severe miscalculation of his footing. Book’s heel caught the slippery edge of the polished stone coping, and with a sharp intake of breath, he pitched backward straight into the deep water of the pool.
Force reacted instantly, diving in after him without a second thought. But when Force surfaced, catching Book by the waist and pulling him toward the edge, Book violently shoved him away, sputtering and wiping water from his eyes.
"Leave me alone!" Book choked out, tears mixing freely with the pool water streaming down his face. "Just let me be! Why won't you ever just leave me alone?!"
"What is wrong with you?!" Force shouted back, treading water with a look of utter bewilderment and hurt slashing across his face. "You're lashing out at everyone, and I'm sick of guessing what I did wrong!"
Book hauled himself out of the pool on the opposite side, shivering violently, and ran straight into the arms of his panicked parents, who had come looking for him. They packed up immediately, offering hurried apologies to the hosts before rushing home through the midnight streets.
𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧
For a few more weeks, the cold war between the two best friends hung over their group chat like a thundercloud. Every time Book opened Instagram, he saw posts of Force and his supposed girlfriend, the visual proof of a life moving forward without him, not that he was counting the days, of course. Their friends were visibly torn, caught in the crossfire of the silent feud. It was Junior who jokingly broke the ice during a late-night video call, saying that if Book was lonely now that Force had a girlfriend and no time for him, Book should start dating too. Junior claimed his handsome cousin was visiting Bangkok and offered to set them up, brushing off Mark’s skeptical glares. So, Junior sent a photo of a striking, tall guy to their group chat and tagged Book.
"My co-worker is really interested in you after I showed him your art portfolio and your picture," Junior typed. "Can I give him your number?"
To everyone's absolute shock, Book replied instantly: Go ahead. Give him my number. If he asks me out on a date, tell him yes.
Force had seen the messages on read within seconds, but surprisingly kept completely mum. Junior spammed the chat with laughing-crying gifs out of pure victory, while Jimmy and Sea chimed in to support Book's sudden spontaneity. The coworker's name was Win. Tall, with a disarming smile and impeccable manners, he looked like he walked out of a romance novel. Book enjoyed talking to him over text, and soon they were grabbing lunch dates and sharing lighthearted multimedia art theories. Junior teased Book non-stop in their group chat, while Force remained a ghost in the chatroom, keeping them on read, never typing a single syllable.
When Win finally asked Book out on a proper, formal date to one of the most upscale steakhouses in Bangkok, Book accepted. The evening of the date arrived, and Book dressed meticulously in a pretty cream blazer, black trousers, and a light dusting of powder and lip gloss, looking like an absolute vision. Win was already waiting for him with a breathtaking bouquet of red roses.
Midway through their meal, as Win smiled warmly and spoke about his future plans, including finding a good partner and eventually settling down. The atmosphere at the table shifted violently. A tall figure strode purposefully across the dimly lit restaurant floor. Force himself appeared out of nowhere, his face carved from stone, his eyes blazing with an intensity that made the surrounding diners turn their heads. Before either Book or Win could react, Force reached down, took Book firmly by the wrist, and hauled him straight up out of his chair.
"Hey, excuse me, what are you doing?" Win protested, standing up halfway.
Force didn't even look at Win, his gaze locked entirely on Book's terrified face. "Save your dreams for someone else, because this one is mine."
Before Book could process the words echoing in his ears, Force dragged him straight out of the restaurant doors, down the steps, and toward the valet where his car was idling. He shoved Book unceremoniously into the passenger seat, slammed the door shut, sprinted around to the driver's side, and peeled out into traffic like demons were hot on their heels.
"What are you doing?! Where are we going?!" Book yelled over the roaring engine as they rocketed out of the city limits.
Force didn't answer, his knuckles stark white against the steering wheel, jaw locked tight as he merged onto the highway heading southeast. Book had no energy left to argue against the sheer madness of the situation, so he simply crossed his arms, leaned his head back against the seat, and stared out the window as the Bangkok skyline faded into dark highway lights.
It was almost midnight when the car finally slowed down, turning off the main road and pulling up the gravel driveway of Force’s family rest house in Rayong province. Book woke up with a start from a light, anxious sleep when he felt a warm hand gently caressing his cheek.
Blinking away the grogginess, Book batted the hand away and shoved the passenger door open, marching straight toward the metal gate.
"I'm going home!"
Force scrambled out after him, jogging around the hood of the car. "You're crazy! Have you lost your mind?!"
"That's rich coming from you!" Book screamed back, whirling around in the dark night air.
"You're the one who abducts people from dates like a lunatic! What gives you the right to ruin things for me?!"
"Because you were going to let another man touch you!" Force roared back, his voice cracking with a raw, desperate vulnerability that stopped Book in his tracks.
Silence swallowed the yard, broken only by the hum of the distant ocean waves.Force took a deep, shuddering breath, his shoulders dropping as he looked at Book under the pale porch light.
"I'm jealous," he said softly, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "So freaking jealous that the moment I saw you sitting across from another man, all I saw was red. I couldn't breathe, Book."
Book stared at him, his chest heaving. "You have a girlfriend, Force. Why are you lying to me like this?"
"Selene isn't my girlfriend!" Force shouted, stepping closer until Book had nowhere else to retreat. "She had a stalker at the firm, and she begged me to pretend to be her boyfriend so he'd back off. I never dated her, Book! I've never dated anyone else because my head and my heart have been entirely full of one person since we were kids!"
Book's breath hitched. "What..."
"And you lied to me," Force continued, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "You looked at my palm that day at the cafe, and you saw our future, didn't you? You saw that we were meant to be, and you were too coward to tell me because you thought I didn't want you."
"How could I know?!" Book cried out, tears finally breaking free. "You're everyone's favorite, you're the campus star, and I'm just... me! I thought you only ever saw me as your boring best friend!"
"I went to your grandmother in Chiang Mai behind your back," Force confessed, his voice thick with emotion. "I drove all the way up there on a weekend because I wanted to make sure what I felt was real. I wanted to know if you were my destiny. And your grandmother laughed at me, poured me tea, and told me that my entire life had already been written beside yours since the day we were born."
Book stood frozen under the moonlight, his mind reeling.
"I've been in love with you since we were eight years old," Force whispered, stepping close enough that Book could feel the heat radiating off his body. "When I broke my shoulder on the monkey bars and cried in the school clinic like the biggest baby alive, you sat beside me. You were smaller than me, but you held my hand so tight your knuckles turned white, and you refused to let go until my parents arrived. From that exact second onward, my eyes have only ever looked for you, Book. Every suitor you ever had in high school and college? I was the one subtly steering them away because I staked my claim on you a long time ago."
Tears streamed down Book's face, but for the first time in months, they weren't tears of heartbreak. They were tears of pure, overwhelming release.
"You're an absolute idiot, Jiratchaphong," Book choked out, a watery laugh breaking through his sobs.
"I know," Force murmured, a soft, relieved smile touching his lips. "But I'm your idiot. Right?"
"Always," Book whispered.
Force didn't wait another second. He closed the remaining space between them, his hands cupping Book's face gently before capturing his lips in a deep, desperate, utterly consuming kiss. It tasted like salty tears, midnight air, and twenty-five years of unspoken prayers finally being answered. It was everything Book had dreamed of in the quiet dark of his room, real and warm and entirely present.
They ended up staying at the Rayong rest house for an entire week, turning off their phones and losing track of days as they finally bridged the gap between best friends and lovers. When they returned to Bangkok and broke the news to their mothers over Sunday brunch, Mrs. Plookphol and Mrs. Srisang dropped their forks and burst into loud, theatrical happy tears, hugging each other like they had just won the lottery they always knew they were destined to win. Their friends weren't surprised in the slightest. Junior proudly claimed credit for orchestrating the chaos, while assuring them Win had taken it well, having already matched with someone else on a dating app anyway.
𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧
Life resumed its comfortable rhythm, but everything was fundamentally, beautifully transformed. Four years later, on the exact day marking thirty years since Book first met Force, they celebrated Book's thirtieth birthday in the quiet comfort of their shared home. Over a quiet dinner under the warm glow of string lights, Force slid a manila envelope across the table alongside a shiny metal house key attached to a custom keyring. Book opened it with trembling fingers to find the legal deed to a stunning, sunlit house they had toured together months prior, attached on the keyring is a diamond ring sized precisely to his finger.
"Thirty years of knowing you still doesn't feel like enough, Kasidet," Force said softly, his eyes shining with absolute devotion in the candlelight. "Will you spend the rest of them with me, as my husband?"
Book laughed, a happy tear slipping down his cheek as he nodded eagerly and slid the ring onto his finger. "Yes. Obviously yes, you fool."
As they held each other close in the quiet of the night, their real life together was finally, perfectly beginning.
EPILOGUE
The year leading up to their first wedding anniversary proved that marriage between Force and Book was less of a dramatic romance novel and more of a sitcom starring two grown men who still argued passionately over who forgot to buy oat milk. Their home, the very sunlit house Force had handed the keys to on Book’s thirtieth birthday was a sanctuary of art supplies, engineering blueprints, half-empty coffee mugs, and an overwhelming amount of domestic comfort. They had settled into the rhythms of an old married couple long before they exchanged vows, but wearing matching gold bands on their left ring fingers added a sweet, permanent weight to everything they did.
As their one-year anniversary approached in late August, Force was determined to pull off a grand, cinematic surprise. He had been planning it for months. His master plan involved renting out a private rooftop garden overlooking the Chao Phraya River, complete with fairy lights, a string quartet playing acoustic versions of their favorite songs, and a custom-made menu featuring Book’s favorite comfort foods. The only obstacle was Book’s uncanny, borderline supernatural intuition. Two days before the anniversary, Force was in the kitchen trying to secretly hide a velvet box behind the spice racks when Book walked in, looking utterly exhausted from a marathon digital web design session.
"What are you doing with our spice cabinet?" Book asked lazily, leaning against the doorframe.
Force froze, his shoulders hitching up to his ears. "Nothing! I'm just... organizing the spices. You know how much I love a well-organized cupboard."
Book stared at him for a long, deadpan moment, his lips twitching with amusement.
"Force, you haven't touched a cooking spice since 2012. Also, your phone has been buzzing with notifications from a high-end floral arrangement service for three days straight, and you left your browser tab open on your laptop with a search result for 'rooftop restaurant around Central Bangkok'"
Force’s shoulders slumped instantly, a groan slipping past his lips. "You ruined it. You completely ruined it. I wanted it to be a surprise!"
"Babe, you have the stealth of a clumsy golden retriever," Book laughed softly, walking over to wrap his arms around Force’s waist, resting his chin against his husband's chest.
"You're terrible at keeping secrets from me. You literally vibrate whenever you're planning something."
"I just wanted it to be special," Force grumbled, though his arms instinctively wrapped around Book's back, pulling him close. "You deserve the world, and all I managed to do was leak my own itinerary to the man of honor."
"It is already special," Book murmured, looking up into Force's warm, devoted eyes. "I love that you tried. I love that you're a romantic idiot. We don't need a string quartet on a rooftop to celebrate us, Force. I love you just as much standing right here in our messy kitchen."
Force’s heart swelled, all lingering disappointment melting away under the genuine affection shining in Book's eyes. He pressed a tender, lingering kiss to Book's forehead.
"Yeah? Well, we're still going to the rooftop restaurant tomorrow night anyway because I already paid for them and the damn string quartet."
Book chuckled, shaking his head. "Fine. But I get to pick what we have for desserts afterwards."
As Book pulled back with a soft smile, he reached behind his oversized cardigan, from his jeans pocket, out a small, white plastic stick with a protective cap. He didn't say a word. He simply placed it quietly on the kitchen island right next to a rogue paprika container. Force looked down at it, blinking once, twice. Two distinct, unmistakable pink lines stared back at them. The kitchen went dead silent. The hum of the refrigerator felt deafening.
Force’s breath hitched in his throat. He looked from the plastic stick up to Book, his eyes wide, pupils blown wide with shock. "Book... is this…what is…"
"We're going to have a baby," Book whispered, a watery, radiant smile breaking across his face as tears finally spilled over his lashes. "I took three tests this morning just to make sure I wasn't losing my mind. But... yeah. We're going to be dads."
For a full five seconds, Force looked like his brain had completely short-circuited. Then, a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob escaped his chest. He grabbed Book by the waist, lifting him off the floor and spinning him around in a frantic, joyous circle while Book shrieked and laughed, clinging to Force's shoulders. When Force finally set him back down, he dropped to his knees right there on the kitchen tiles, pressing his face gently against Book’s flat stomach. His hands trembled as they rested softly on Book’s hips.
"A baby," Force whispered against the fabric of Book's shirt, his voice thick with overwhelming emotion. "Our baby. Oh god, Book... I love you so much. I love you both so much."
Book’s fingers tangled gently in Force’s hair, his heart overflowing with a love so deep and expansive it felt like it might burst from his chest. He looked down at his husband, entirely endeared, falling more and more in love with him with every passing second.
The following evening, the rooftop garden overlooking the river was every bit as breathtaking as Force had dreamed. The fairy lights flickered warmly against the night sky, and the string quartet played softly in the corner. Gathered around a long, beautifully decorated table were their families and closest friends. Their mothers, who had been best friends since time immemorial; Jimmy and Sea; and Junior and Mark. Everyone was laughing, sipping champagne, and enjoying the anniversary celebration. Midway through dinner, Force stood up, lightly tapping his glass with a silver spoon to get everyone's attention. He reached out and pulled Book up to stand beside him, keeping one arm securely wrapped around his husband's waist.
"Thank you all for being here tonight," Force began, his voice ringing with clear, proud joy as he looked around the table. "As most of you know, celebrating one year of marriage to Book has been the greatest adventure of my life. He is my best friend, my soulmate, and the person who keeps me grounded."
Book smiled, leaning his head affectionately against Force's shoulder. "But," Force continued, a wicked, triumphant grin spreading across his face as he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, laminated ultrasound photo, holding it up for the entire table to see, "we figured one anniversary present wasn't quite enough. So we decided to add a new roommate to the house."
For three seconds, the table was entirely frozen.
Then, Mrs. Srisang dropped her water glass, which thankfully landed on a cloth napkin and shrieked at a frequency only dolphins could appreciate. Mrs. Plookphol burst into immediate, tears, clapping her hands over her mouth. Jimmy choked on his wine, Sea slammed his hands down on the table in sheer disbelief, and Junior nearly fell backward out of his chair, yelling out an ecstatic "I KNEW IT!"
The table erupted into instant, chaotic pandemonium. Everyone was talking, laughing, crying, and rushing over to pull the two husbands into a massive, overlapping group hug. As arms wrapped around them from every direction, Force pulled Book in close, kissing the top of his head while Book laughed into his chest. Looking out at the tear-filled, glowing faces of their mothers and best friends, surrounded by the warmth of a life they had built together brick by brick, Book knew with absolute certainty that whatever the future held, their story was only just beginning.
₊˚✿𑁍.ೃ࿔*:･
The transition into parenthood for Force and Book was a dizzying, beautiful rollercoaster that constantly swung between boundless elation and quiet, lingering panic. As the months ticked by, the reality of their growing family settled over their home. They were going to be parents. Yet, behind Force’s wide, excited grin and his endless enthusiasm for buying baby clothes shaped like tiny animals, a nervous shadow sometimes crept in.
One evening, while Book was resting his feet on the couch, rubbing a gently rounding belly, he caught Force staring blankly at a complex instruction manual for a high-tech baby crib, looking entirely pale.
"Hey," Book murmured softly, patting the cushion next to him. "What's going on in that big head of yours?"
Force sighed, setting the manual down and burying his face in his hands. "I'm terrified, Book. What if I mess this up? What if I'm too loud, or too clumsy, or what if I don't know how to calm him down? My dad was great, but I'm just... I only know how to build bridges. How am I supposed to build a whole human being and not break him?"
Book’s heart ached at the genuine self-doubt etched into his husband's face. He shifted, crawling over to wrap his arms around Force’s broad shoulders, pressing a soft kiss to his temple.
"Look at me, Force," Book said gently, waiting until those dark eyes met his. "You are going to be the most incredible dad. Do you want to know how I know?"
Force shook his head slightly. "How?"
"Because for thirty years, you have shown me what love is," Book whispered, a tender smile touching his lips. "You've shown me how a man treats the person he loves, with patience, protection, unyielding support, and fierce devotion. If you love our son even half as well as you love me, he is going to be the luckiest boy in the world. You already know how to be a father, Force. You've been practicing on me your whole life."
A thick, emotional silence filled the room. Force’s eyes welled up, and he pulled Book into a desperate, crushing embrace, burying his face in the crook of Book's neck.
"I love you so much," Force choked out, his voice thick. "Thank you."
"I love you too. Now go finish putting that crib together before I have to do it myself," Book teased lightly, though the warmth in his eyes gave away just how deeply touched he was.
₊˚✿𑁍.ೃ࿔*:･
If emotional meltdowns were manageable, midnight food cravings were an entirely different kind of battlefield. One that tested the absolute limits of a husband at 2:00 AM. It was a random Tuesday when Book got upright in bed, eyes wide open with sudden, absolute urgency. He shook Force awake with a frantic grip.
"Force. Wake up. Wake up right now."
Force scrambled up, knocking his knee against the nightstand in a blind panic. "What?! Is it time? Are we having the baby? Water broke?!"
"No," Book said, his bottom lip trembling with dramatic, pregnancy-induced despair. "I need somtum with fermented fish. Right now. But it has to be made by Mark. Only Mark’s version will do."
Force stared at him, blinking sleepily through the dark. "Mark? It's two in the morning, baby. Mark is definitely asleep. Everyone in Bangkok is asleep."
"I don't care! My son is demanding crushed papaya and fermented crab juice, Force! Are you going to deny your own flesh and blood?!" Book clutched his belly, looking like a tragic opera character ready to burst into tears.
Realizing there was zero room for negotiation, Force scrambled out of bed, threw on a hoodie over his pajama pants, and decided to take matters into his own hands first. If he could find the ingredients, he wouldn't have to bother his friends.
Thus began Force’s frantic, half-crazed midnight expedition across Bangkok. He bolted down to his car and drove like a madman to the nearest 24-hour convenience stores and night markets, searching desperately for fresh green papaya, pungent fermented fish sauce, bird's eye chilies, and palm sugar. By 2:15 AM, he was running through brightly lit convenience store aisles looking like a sleep-deprived ghost, panic-searching local wet market that could be miraculously open. Standing in the middle of a deserted convenience store parking lot with a bag containing a very questionable lime and a bottle of standard fish sauce, completely lacking the specific fermented crab juice his husband always used, Force realized he was entirely defeated. His DIY attempt would be a disaster, and Book would look at him with heartbreaking betrayal.
Thank goodness Junior and Mark lived literally right across the street in the adjacent condo building. Desperate times called for desperate neighborly intrusion. Force sprinted back to his building, whipped out his phone, and dialed Junior’s number at 3:30 AM. It rang three times before a very groggy, irritated Junior answered, voice dripping with sheer exhaustion.
"Force, if this isn't an absolute national emergency, I am blocking your number, your IP address, and your entire bloodline," Junior mumbled into the phone.
"Junior, my life is literally on the line," Force whispered frantically down his phone, pacing the lobby of his building. "Book is having a craving. He needs somtum. With fermented fish. But specifically made by Mark. I tried to buy the stuff myself, I drove all over the city like a lunatic. Please, I am begging you. You guys are right across the street. Wake Mark up, I'll pay for everything, I'll clean your apartment for a month!"
A heavy sigh echoed through the receiver, followed by a muffled voice in the background asking what was going on. Ten minutes later, a sleepy knock sounded at Force and Book's front door. Junior and Mark stood in the entryway wearing matching oversized cartoon pajamas, looking like two sleep-walking ghosts. Mark, still half-asleep and clutching a wooden mortar and pestle like a medieval weapon, immediately went to work. Junior, yawning so wide his jaw popped, dragged a chair over to the kitchen counter and began expertly peeling and chopping the fresh green papaya Force had miraculously managed to scavenge.
Force helped book sit in their living room couch and proceed to help his two best friends slave away over a papaya salad at 3:45 AM. He marvels at the sheer convenience of having them live in the building right across the street. When Mark finally plated the spicy masterpiece and slid it across the kitchen island, Book descended upon it like a starving angel. He took one bite, and a genuine, blissful tear slipped down his cheek. "Oh my god. It's perfection. Mark, you’re a culinary genius."
"I know. I know. Now, I'm going back to bed to die," Junior groaned, leaning his head heavily against Mark’s shoulder as the couple zombie-walked straight back out the front door, heading right back across the street to their own bed.
Force watched Book happily devour the pungent, fiery concoction with a look of pure adoration. He didn't care that he had to race around half of Bangkok at midnight and beg his neighbors for rescue; seeing that radiant, contented smile on Book's face made the madness entirely worth it.
By the time Book reached his final trimester, the chaos of midnight cravings gave way to a quiet, nesting peace. Both Book and Force had taken their extended parental leaves from work, turning their home into a hub of nursery-preparation projects. They were having a baby boy, a fact they had joyfully confirmed at their anatomy scan and they had already decided to name him Thomas. Book had to concede and let Force and call it Fox, as a nickname because Force is a big fan on Nick the fox from Zootopia.
On a warm afternoon in late August, the nursery was finally coming together. The walls were painted a soft, calming sage green, lined with floating wooden shelves filled with children's books and stuffed animals brought over by eager uncles. Jimmy and Sea had dropped off an absurdly large rocking chair, while Junior and Mark had contributed a hand-painted canvas of a little fox, in honor of the baby’s nickname.
Book stood in the center of the room, wearing a loose linen shirt that draped over his prominent baby bump, watching intently as Force carefully secured the last floating shelf to the wall with a power drill.
"How is that? Level?" Force asked, lowering the drill and wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead, looking every bit the capable, handsome father he had once doubted he could be.
"It's perfect," Book smiled softly, resting a hand against his belly as a familiar little kick fluttered against his palm. "Just like you."
Force set the tools aside, walking over and wrapping his arms gently around Book from behind. He pressed his face into the crook of Book's neck, breathing in the scent of lavender and clean cotton, resting his warm palms over Book's stomach.
"He's kicking again," Force murmured, a soft, breathless laugh escaping his lips as he felt the tiny movement beneath his hands.
"He knows his papa is talking," Book whispered, leaning back against Force’s chest, feeling completely secure in the strong, steady embrace that had anchored him his entire life.
Outside their window, the afternoon sun cast a golden glow over the quiet neighborhood. Their mothers were downstairs baking pastries for their weekly family dinner, their friends were just a building away, and their little fox was getting ready to join a world built entirely on deep-rooted, enduring love. They were ready.
The waiting game of the final trimester finally culminated on a humid Thursday evening in early September. The nursery was entirely finished, the hospital bag had been packed and repacked four times by an overly meticulous Force, and Book had reached a point where putting on his own shoes felt like an extreme Olympic sport.
It started innocently enough. Book was sitting on the living room rug, mindlessly organizing a basket of tiny cotton socks, when a sudden, sharp wave of discomfort made him freeze. Force, who was busy trying to program the smart nursery monitor for the hundredth time, looked up from his tablet. "Babe? You good?"
Book slowly looked up, his eyes wide. "Force. I think the baby monitor will have to wait."
Panic, pure and immediate, flared in Force’s eyes. He dropped the tablet, scrambled across the room, and grabbed his car keys faster than humanly possible. "Is it time? Do we need to call the doctor? Should I get the bag? Why are you so calm?!"
"Because if one of us is going to hyperventilate, it might as well be you," Book chuckled, though his breath hitched as another contraction rolled through. "Let's go have a baby."
The drive to the hospital was a blur of flashing taillights and Force murmuring frantic, continuous words of encouragement that sounded suspiciously like a man trying to negotiate with a deity. But once they arrived, surrounded by sterile white walls and a team of remarkably calm, reassuring nurses, the chaotic energy in the room settled into a steady, sacred rhythm.
Hours melted away in a haze of dim lights, quiet encouragement, and the firm, unyielding pressure of Force’s hand locked tightly with Book's. Force never left his side, whispering praises, wiping sweat from Book's forehead, and kissing his knuckles over and over again, his own eyes bright with unshed tears.
And then, amid the intense push and pull of bringing a brand-new soul into the world, the room shifted. A sharp, lusty cry pierced the air, bright and undeniably strong.
"He's here," the obstetrician announced, a beaming smile breaking across her face as she lifted a tiny, squirming bundle wrapped in a warm blanket. "Welcome to the world, little guy."
The moment the baby was placed gently against Book’s chest, the exhaustion of the past four hours evaporated into thin air. Book let out a ragged, sob of pure, unadulterated relief, staring down at the tiny, perfect face with its shock of dark hair and button nose. Force was right beside him, completely undone. He buried his face in Book’s shoulder, his entire body shaking as he wept openly, pressing frantic, reverent kisses to Book’s cheek, then to the crown of their newborn son's head.
"Look at him, Book," Force choked out, his voice thick with a love so overwhelming it felt physical. "He's... he's beautiful."
"He has your nose," Book whispered, a radiant, tear-streaked smile breaking across his face as he reached down to stroke their son’s impossibly soft cheek. When they finally transferred to the recovery room, the outside world seemed to fade away. They decided to name him Thomas Plookphol-Srisang. Little Fox, exactly as their friends had affectionately dubbed him for months.
Within hours, the waiting room dam broke. Jimmy, Sea, Junior, Mark, and both sets of glowing grandmothers flooded the room with balloons, flowers, and an entirely unnecessary amount of baby gear. Junior immediately demanded to hold the baby, declaring himself the coolest uncle alive, while Mark nervously hovered nearby ready to catch him just in case. Their mothers stood side by side at the bedside, openly weeping tears of absolute joy as they gazed at the newest generation of an unbreakable bond that had started decades ago in a corporate office.
Later that night, after the visitors had finally gone home and the hospital room fell into a quiet, peaceful hush, the lights were dimmed. Force sat in the armchair beside the hospital bed, refusing to sleep, simply staring at the clear plastic bassinet where Fox was resting soundly, swaddled tightly like a tiny burrito.
Book watched him from the bed, his heart full to the absolute brim. "Hey. Come here." His husband immediately stood up, walking over and gently sitting on the edge of the mattress, leaning down to press his forehead against Book's.
"Thank you," Book whispered, his fingers tangling softly in Force's hair. "For everything."
"There's no one else I'd rather do this with," Force replied softly, his dark eyes shining with unwavering devotion. "Look at what we made, Book. Our whole world, right here."
Book smiled, leaning up to press a soft, lingering kiss to Force's lips. Outside, the city of Bangkok hummed beneath the midnight sky, but inside that room, everything was safe, warm, and complete. Their story had taken a lifetime to write, but as they looked down at their sleeping son, they knew the best chapters were only just beginning.