Archive of Our Own ^beta

By the time Wai hears the words “why are you smiling at your phone?” for the third time in one afternoon, he’s thinking about jumping out of the window and running away, and the question isn’t even aimed at him.

Pran puts his phone away with a smile that could easily read as sweetly innocent if you didn’t know him. His only problem is that the people he’s having dinner with are his parents and his best friend of ten years.

“It’s nothing, mom,” he replies, busying himself with the dessert. “Just texting a friend.”

Wai almost understands the frustrated sigh Pran’s mom lets out. For a person in a secret relationship, Pran is surprisingly bad at keeping things hidden, and even worse at acting, when one starts to pay attention to him. Every time anyone seems even slightly close to the truth, his eyes start wandering all over the place, and the smile he puts on his lips is so sweet it immediately should strike anyone as fake. Sometimes, Wai thinks it has to be some kind of miracle that no one has found anything out yet.

“Just a friend, huh?” Pran’s mom asks, and Wai’s heart stops.

Of course she figured it out. She’s been asking about who Pran keeps texting for years now, even before Pran moved to Singapore, but it seems she finally put two and two together and realised what Pran’s constant stupid giggling at his phone must mean. Wai would throw his arms in the air if it wasn’t for the fact that he’s still sitting at the table with everyone, and it would betray them even more than Pran's carelessness. Instead, he shoots Pran a look that’s supposed to be something between are you fucking serious? and I told you so, but Pran replies with furrowed eyebrows, so he’s not sure he got the message across.

For a while his monthly dinners at Pran’s parents have been absolute hell. They were great when they went away for the weekend in high school and got to spend two nights in a bed that was actually comfortable. They were even better at uni, when he could not only eat homemade food for once, but also got some leftovers to take back with him. They’ve been less and less fun ever since they graduated, and after Pran came back from Singapore earlier this year, Wai has been pretty much dreading every dinner, but he can’t find it in himself to decline, even when he knows he’s going to get pestered with questions about partners and children, and sometimes he doesn’t even get any leftovers in return anymore.

The worst part, though, is Pran. He’s getting reckless. And Wai knows it’s rich coming from him, but Pran is just being ridiculous sometimes. Apparently, these days he can’t go without texting Pat for the hour or so it takes them to eat dinner, and he’s being so obvious with his facial expressions that Wai sometimes thinks someone in Singapore must have swapped his best friend with a shitty doppelgänger, because surely this can’t be the guy who successfully hid the fact that he even knew Pat from Wai for over a year.

“Are we ever going to meet this friend?” Pran’s mom continues.

Wai is starting to wonder why he ever agreed to help Pran hide his relationship. Which, of course, is a rhetorical question, because he knows damn well why he did. Even if it wasn’t for the guilt that still trails behind him, it’s the simple fact that Pran is his best friend that’s the explanation for everything he’d do for him.

He shoots Pran another look, clearly alarmed, and this time Pran seems to get it, replying with a similar one.

“Wai,” Pran’s mom says, and Wai immediately knows he’s not getting out of this with both his dignity and his life. “Maybe you can tell me more about this friend of Pran’s…” She talks with a joking intonation, simple teasing and some interest, but to Wai it’s like a threat. “Every time he comes back home, he’s just constantly stuck to his phone, but he refuses to tell us anything.”

Wai stumbles upon his words, too busy glaring at Pran to form a coherent sentence. How did he let himself get tangled up in this mess? Which– again, a rhetorical question.

Pran gives him a flat smile in return, as if he doesn’t even care that he’s suddenly being interrogated about his very secret love life, then turns to roll his eyes at his mom. Great.

Pran’s mom points a finger at Wai, looking straight into his eyes, and suddenly, Wai feels trapped. She has this special mom ability to stare someone down and make them spill all their secrets, and it’s gotten even worse since the whole disaster with Pran running away with Pat and coming back sobbing over a breakup. Pran says she’s been… gentler, ever since, and though Wai hasn’t been there to experience what it was like on the daily before, he can sense it too. Pran told him she even stopped mentioning Pat’s family altogether. At first, he thought it was just going to be temporary, while the family’s relationship was still fragile, but the change stuck. Which is great, and Wai is happy for Pran, but it also apparently means that she gets obsessed over any sign of happiness in Pran’s life, and Wai sometimes has to look her in the eye and literally bite his tongue so he doesn’t ruin everything for Pran again.

He smiles wide and blinks slowly, feeling like he’s trying to appease a hungry lion. The only thing he lets escape his throat is a questioning hum. Pran kicks his ankle under the table like he needs any reminders of how dire their situation is.

“Don’t try to act all innocent,” Pran’s mom says, and it’s laced with humour, but it still seems like a threat to Wai. “I know you’re in on it.”

Wai even tries his luck looking over at Pran’s dad, hoping to find some solidarity there, but he’s leaning leisurely against the back of his chair, arms crossed in front of him and an entertained smile on his face. For a second, Wai has this ridiculous idea that he should move his arms because his muscles are about to rip the sleeves of his polo shirt open, before he plummets back to reality where Pran’s mom is still staring him down with the determination to unmask everything he’s hiding and more.

He lets out a strained chuckle, when he forces his eyes back to Pran’s mom. She’s got this look on her face that says she won’t let it go this time, and its strength is so great Wai feels his mouth start opening before he even knows what he wants to say.

“Are you going to introduce your new boyfriend to us before we die, or will I see him for the first time when I’m a ghost at my own funeral?” she sighs heavily, and it shuts Wai’s mouth back up immediately. She slumps in her seat slightly, clearly exaggerating, and looks back at Pran with this exaggerated disappointment.

Wai takes a deep breath. Okay. He’s safe for now.

Wait. No, he’s not safe. This is even worse, actually, because Pran is so bad at acting and lying these days that he might crack under the pressure and tell his mom everything. And Wai can’t allow it to happen. He refuses to watch Pran’s relationship with his parents fall apart again when he can do something about it.

He watches Pran start opening his mouth like in slow motion. A million different scenarios run through his brain, every next one worse than the previous. Pran saying he’s in a relationship, Pran saying he’s dating Pat, Pran screaming “but mom, I love him” and then running away again–

“It’s actually–” Wai hears himself say before he can comprehend that he even opened his mouth. “It’s actually my boyfriend.”

Everyone at the table turns to him with varied levels of confusion. He swallows heavily. There’s no way out of this now other than through.

“Pran’s just always in my business when he’s not supposed to be,” he continues. He looks to Pran, hoping for at least some encouragement, if not help, but he’s now leaning back with this shit-eating grin on his lips like he’s enjoying watching Wai make a fool out of himself, and Wai has to bite back the curse that’s pushing at his lips. “We started dating just recently, but I’ve– liked him since forever.” He pauses to smile briefly, and it’s a part of the act, but it feels oddly comfortable. He keeps watching Pran like he’s still waiting for him to jump in and help. “And I found out that– that Pran knew he liked me back, and– he just watched us dance around each other without saying anything.”

Somewhere in the back of Wai’s mind there’s surprise at how easily this comes to him, but he knows there’s a more obvious explanation to why the words keep leaving his mouth like they’re the truth. Something about the fact that he’s imagined it happening more times than he could ever count– He tries not to think about it right now and focus on what’s more important than his fantasies. Saving Pran. Because that’s what he’s doing by making a fool out of himself. Helping his best friend.

“I wanted to keep it a secret for a little while,” he continues when a second passes and no one interjects, “but Pran just can’t keep himself from texting him about everything I do, and, apparently, he’s been doing it all this time. Like he’s watching a dog for a friend.” He can actually feel frustration rising in his throat, and it’s convenient, but also confusing. Pran is very clearly flirting with his long-term boyfriend, not messaging Wai’s non-existent one. “So, yeah. That’s– yeah. Pran doesn’t have a boyfriend. He just treats his best friend’s relationship like it’s live entertainment just for him.”

Pran’s parents stare at him unmoving, while Pran is clearly trying to hold back laughter. Wai keeps a flat smile on his lips, because otherwise he might just start screaming out of frustration.

Finally, Pran seems to take mercy on him. He leans forwards, laughing freely, and pats Wai’s shoulder twice, making a placating noise. Wai almost scoffs. It’s a bit too late to decide to become a good actor again.

“Sorry, friend. I’ll stop texting your boyfriend now, alright?” he says pointedly.

Wai sighs. Pran will never let him live it down.

***

“Since when do you have a boyfriend?”

It’s barely three minutes into their drive back, when Pran apparently can’t keep the question in anymore. The song that started playing on the radio when Wai started the engine hasn’t even finished yet.

Wai scoffs. “Since about half an hour ago when you couldn’t stop flirting with your stupid boyfriend for five minutes and I had to come up with something so your mom would stop interrogating you.”

Pran sighs loudly. “Don’t get me wrong,” he says, his voice gentler now, laced with less laughter. “I appreciate you trying to help me. But you can’t just put yourself in a position like this because of me.”

If Wai wasn’t driving, he’d look over at Pran with the kind of expression that would say you’re fucking crazy if you think I wouldn’t do it again if given the chance. “Of course I can,” he says instead. “You’ve just seen me do it.”

“Yeah, and how did it turn out for you?”

“Fucking fantastic.”

Pran laughs quietly, then reaches to the radio and changes the station, muttering something about hating that song. “So, what are you going to do about it?”

Here’s the problem: Pran’s parents’ Christmas dinner-slash-party is in exactly two weeks and Wai has managed not only to invent a fake boyfriend, but also promise to bring him over with him. So now he either has to find a boyfriend in two weeks, or someone willing to pretend to be his boyfriend for one evening. The first one is just undoable; he hasn’t even been on a single date in over a year, and he’s too much of a loser to actually go out looking. And the second one– well. Listen. Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable– or whatever. Right?

He sighs. “I’ll figure something out.”

“Sure you will,” Pran laughs. He means it, but what he also means is to make fun of Wai. “I can’t wait to see it.”

“Next time I’ll let them find out about Pat, just you watch.”

“I can’t wait to see that either, you absolute weirdo.”

“In other news,” Wai sighs. “Where do I drop you off?”

It’s a legitimate question, but it’s also an attempt at getting Pran to leave the subject of Wai’s fake boyfriend alone. He’s going to figure it out. Or, to be fair, he already does have it figured out, he just doesn’t really want to tell Pran about his plan immediately. But there is only one person he can see in the role of his boyfriend, fake or not. And Pran is never going to let him live it down once he tells him, so he’d rather do it later than sooner.

“At home. Unless you’ve got somewhere to be,” he adds quickly, his tone so casual Wai almost forgets what they were talking about a second before, “then you can just leave me at Pat’s office.” They pass Pat’s office building on their way to Pran and Pat’s apartment, and Pat’s at work today, so that’s why Pran suggests it.

The only place Wai has to be is home. And he doesn’t really look forward to the conversation he’s going to have when he gets there, so he would gladly drive Pran all the way to Chiang Mai and back, if that’s where Pran wanted to be dropped off.

***

“I’m back,” Wai tries to yell, but he does it as he’s bending down to untie his shoes, so it comes out more like a groan.

“I can hear that.” The voice comes from the living room, a little monotone.

“You don’t know that it’s me, though,” Wai argues back just for the sake of arguing. “It could have been a robber, and you didn’t even get up to check.”

He walks to the living room, but stops in the entrance, leaning against the doorframe.

Korn is sitting on the couch, hunched over his laptop. He’s got his reading glasses on and a frown that tells Wai he’s more busy deeply thinking about whatever is on his screen than the conversation. He doesn’t even look up at Wai.

“I could hear your keys all the way from downstairs.”

It’s something they keep bickering about. Korn says that Wai has too many keychains and keys, that he can leave the keys to the basement or the garbage alcove outside at home; Wai says that he has exactly the right amount of keychains and that he prefers to keep his keys all together. Then, Wai says that Korn is going to lose his keys one day, and Korn says that it’s much more efficient to just carry the two keys he needs to open their front door.

Wai crosses his arms. “What if the robber murdered me and stole my keys?”

“Then I would have bigger things to worry about than going to check who came inside. Anyway, how was it?”

There are two things you have to know about Wai that pretty much define him these days to understand why he’s about to do what he’s about to do. One, he’s fucking stupid. Or more accurately, he’s impulsive and doesn’t think things through, which always manages to land him in situations like this one. And two, he’s desperately and embarrassingly in love with Korn.

That's the way life goes. You always fall in love with a girl you can't have, and you tell yourself it's your bad luck, not a pattern. Finally, you find one that miraculously likes you back, and you spend months convincing yourself that you're nervous, not anxious, when you're kissing her, the pit in your stomach whenever she wants more is desire, and you don't see your future together because you haven't known each other for long, not because you don't want her there. You breathe a sigh of relief when she leaves you for someone else. You only realise you're gay when you're well into your twenties despite all your friends being queer, then you promptly realise that you've been in love with every guy you were ever close to. So, of course you're in love with your rival turned ally turned friend turned roommate turned business partner. And it's not even a problem that you can't do anything about it. You've been running away from love your whole life anyway. What's one more time, right?

“I need a fake boyfriend for the Christmas party.”

“That’s great, Wai,” Korn mutters absent-mindedly, then continues typing on his laptop.

It takes him a moment, but, finally, Korn pauses. His fingers stop moving all over the keyboard, and his frown deepens. Then, his head shoots up. His eyes are now focused, and there’s something in the shape of understanding forming in them. The glasses give him a scholarly look, but the way they slipped down his nose a little reminds Wai more of a teacher in someone’s fantasy than a real school.

Great. Now Wai is thinking about porn. He’s looking into Korn’s eyes and thinking about porn. It doesn’t get much worse than this.

Finally, Korn sighs deeply. “You want me to be your fake boyfriend, don’t you?”

It’s not lost on Wai that Korn doesn’t even ask why he would need a fake boyfriend. The way he says it makes it seem like he’s already accepted the role, no questions, just going along with Wai’s stupid ideas. It doesn’t make Wai all tingly inside or anything.

“Well, since you’re offering…” He playfully rolls his eyes. “How could I say no?”

Korn pulls his glasses off his nose and Wai’s brain shortcuts for a moment, then immediately fills with shame. Really, he’s known the guy for years, they’ve been living together for most of them, and he’s been, embarrassingly, in love with him for almost half of them. He shouldn’t find Korn’s stupid reading glasses so hot he stops thinking in full sentences in the first place, but especially not when he’s had them for months already. He really should figure out a way to get used to it.

He uses the glasses to point towards Wai. “Be so fucking glad I love you enough for this.” It’s a yes, then.

Wai could jump up and scream in joy, but he’s worried that if he lets himself feel it this acutely, he’s going to end up attaching his lips to Korn’s out of happiness, and that wouldn’t end well for either of them.

He smiles. This one he can’t stop anyway.

“We’re gonna have to ask someone to open and close the bar over the weekend,” Korn adds, his voice already slipping back into that absentminded tone like he’s immediately considering his options and ranking them in his head at the same time. Wai can almost see the cogs in his brain turning. “And I need to get a suit…” He looks up at Wai. “Matching ties?”

“A bit too formal?”

“Matching sweaters? What were you going to be wearing?”

There’s laughter pushing for Wai’s throat. It’s not exactly that he finds Korn funny, more like. Endearing. Maybe a bit amusing.

People always assume that Korn is the careless airhead between the two of them. When they’re at the bar, Korn is always excitedly jumping from table to table, chatting with customers long enough to make them feel special but short enough not to bore them to death, while Wai is leaning against the wall somewhere, all but a shadowy creature with his arms crossed and a perpetual frown, watching him silently. What no one realises at first glance is that Korn also was the one who barely avoided a breakdown just a few hours ago because the new beer cases that came in are a different size than the old ones and don’t fit as well on the shelves that were custom-built to the old design, and Wai was the one who had to talk him down from the edge. Korn always tells all his friends how much he loves and appreciates them, giving out hugs hello and goodbye with no hesitation, and he also has to consciously stop himself from raising his voice at Wai when he puts the cereal in the wrong cupboard again.

Wai always finds himself not caring enough. Wrong size beer cases? They can just raise the top shelf and make them fit again. A drunk customer trying to start a fight? He guesses they’ll have another broken table to throw away. Accidentally inventing a fake boyfriend? No biggie, he’ll just ask the guy he’s in love with to pretend to be dating him for one weekend. Nothing can really shake him. He’s left the part of him that was quick to anger and lashing out behind him sometime during his second year of university, a conscious effort to never feel rage so acute he almost loses a friend over it.

But Korn, he feels everything. He cares about everything, he lets every little thing affect him, be it joy or misery. Where Wai can’t bring himself to do anything but sigh and move on, Korn feels what he’s supposed to feel for the both of them. A perfect synergy. When Korn allows himself to be upset over having to stay at the bar late cleaning up because a customer bumped into the container with raspberry syrup so hard it fell and spilled all over the floor, Wai grabs hot water and a mop. When Wai promises to bring a boyfriend he doesn’t have to a party, Korn starts thinking about couple outfits.

“I was thinking about the grey suit I already have, but I’m open to suggestions,” Wai replies.

“That won’t do,” Korn says like it should have been obvious. “We’re going shopping tomorrow. I’m not showing up to a party with a boyfriend who’s wearing an ill-fitting linen suit.”

Wai pretends his breath doesn’t get caught up in his chest, when he hears Korn refer to him as his boyfriend. Instead, he walks over to the couch, lifts Korn’s laptop, then takes its place and puts it back down, now in his lap. He catches a glimpse of a spreadsheet on the screen.

He sighs heavily. “You’re not even going to ask why I need a fake boyfriend?”

Korn reaches out and takes the laptop away from Wai, closes it and puts it on the coffee table. Then, he turns back to Wai. He already was sitting cross-legged so that the laptop would be on the couch, not in his lap, and now it means that he’s looking straight at Wai. Which in turn means Wai has to meet his eyes, not to be suspicious. There’s a playful spark in them, one that should be a warning to Wai.

“You’re going to tell me anyway.”

Wai rolls his eyes at Korn’s shit-eating grin. Sure, he might be in love with him and all, but he’s still allowed to find him annoying when he’s acting like he knows Wai inside out so well that he might as well have cut him open and crawled inside. Wai is not that predictable.

“It’s a long story,” Wai sighs. Then, he shifts in place and lies down so his head is in Korn’s lap. He glances at Korn once, then looks away towards the window. “You’re going to laugh at me.”

Like it’s automatic, Korn’s fingers find themselves in Wai’s hair. He combs through it slowly, breaking up small knots and clumps. Wai relaxes, leaning into the touch. He feels like a cat in a way, so comfortable that he’d start purring if he could. He’s really grateful that he can’t.

“I know,” Korn replies, and Wai can hear the smile in his voice. “Otherwise, you would have already told me everything the second you walked in.”

Damn Korn and his ability to read Wai.

***

“Why are they even throwing a Christmas party?”

They’re walking through the mall. Korn is already holding a bag with a full new outfit, but they’re still looking for something for Wai. The idea is to buy him a suit (becauseyou need a good suit anyway, Wai) and to get a sweater he could wear instead of the suit jacket to the actual Christmas party to make it less formal, but every single thing he tried on had something wrong with it. One would have to be tailored to fit properly, another was too formal, the next one not formal enough, or there was just something else off about every next one, according to Korn. Finally, Wai joked, “Maybe it’s just an issue with my face, not the clothes”, to which Korn looked at him like he had just admitted to torturing small animals for fun.

“Never really asked.” Wai shrugs. “Pran says that every year they talk about celebrating Christmas more than they usually do, so maybe that’s part of it. And considering he just got back from Singapore this year, it could have been the last push they needed. Or they’re just looking for an excuse to have a family reunion, or something.”

“Which is why they’re inviting you?” Korn elbows him in the side, as if Wai wouldn’t gather that he’s joking just from reading his tone.

“Hey, I’m basically family!”

He’s not even exaggerating. Ever since he met Pran back in high school and they became fast friends, he’s been invited to tag along whenever Pran went home for a weekend. If he didn't, Wai would also be invited to join him to visit an aunt who lived close to their high school. He spent half of the break between graduating high school and starting university at their house, and he’s been regularly coming for dinner or staying for a weekend with Pran ever since. One time, Pran’s mom realised that he hasn’t been coming as often as he used to, so she made him promise to visit at least once a month. Hence, the monthly dinners at Pran’s parents.

He’s never been close with his own parents. Being an only child always makes people think he’s been pampered, but for his parents it always only meant having less children to figure out what to do with when they went to work. He’s lived in boarding schools for half of his life, and he thinks his parents must have breathed a sigh of relief when he graduated high school and got into a university far enough from them that he had to move out anyway.

It’s not that he’s complaining. He always had food to eat and enough money to buy pretty much everything he needed. They were there for his school plays in elementary and important rugby games in high school. They called him at the end of every semester to ask about his grades and were proud of him when he kept a scholarship for his entire university run. Now, they call him on his birthday and holidays, asking if he’s coming to visit. Sometimes he does.

What he’s trying to say is, he has an okay relationship with his parents. It’s just that it’s Pran’s parents who asked how his every job interview went and who supported him when he and Korn decided to buy the bar, who make sure he comes over for dinner at least once a month and who call him from time to time just to chat.

Korn just smiles at him in reply, gentle and understanding. “Anyway, I was thinking– don’t look at me like that!”

Wai can’t be sure how he’s looking at Korn, but it’s probably some combination of exasperation and fear. It never ends well when Korn says that he was thinking. Like the skateboarding incident, when Korn was thinking about learning how to skateboard last year and it ended with him and a teenage boy both at a hospital with broken legs and concussions. Or when Korn was thinking about baking something for once in his life and somehow set the oven on fire, then inhaled so much smoke when he was trying to put it out that he was throwing up all night.

“Anyway, I was thinking,” Korn starts again pointedly, “that we should figure out how to act as a couple. I mean, it’s not like someone is going to go around doing detective work to guess if we’re really together, but, you know– it’s better to be prepared. If someone has some questions. Or just so it doesn’t feel awkward.”

“Okay…” Wai says slowly. He hates to admit Korn might have been thinking about something useful for once. “Keep talking.”

They stop in front of the display of the last suit shop at the mall. Wai kind of likes the black suit they have on a mannequin there, black and loose fitting, but Korn doesn’t like either of these things on Wai, and Wai won’t argue back. One, he doesn’t care that much about what he’s wearing, and two, he figures Korn deserves to have some fun ordering him enough just for helping him with it. There’s also the third, which is that Wai kind of likes being ordered around. Not that he’d admit it out loud.

“You know,” Korn continues, staring up at the mannequins with a frown. “We could be mistaken for a couple anyway. Like, we’ve known each other for a long time, we live together, we own a bar together… But, I don’t know, it should be a bit different when you’re a couple, shouldn’t it? It would just feel weird if you went there with a boyfriend you treat like any other friend.”

Wai’s brain might as well spill out of his head with the way it’s not providing any thought but repeating the words we could be mistaken for a couple over and over again. They could be mistaken for a couple. Because they know each other so well. Because they lead their lives together. Because if Wai looked over at Korn right now it would be with so much affection he wouldn’t even need to confess anymore, his feelings obvious to anyone with half a brain cell.

“What do you propose, then?” Wai finds his throat has gone dry, so the question comes out oddly harsh.

Korn pauses. Out of the corner of his eye, Wai can see that he’s not looking at him either.

“We could just pretend to be dating for the next two weeks?” Korn finally proposes, unsure and fleeing.

Wai thinks he might explode right there and then.

Dating. Korn is asking Wai to date him.

Pretend dating, the logical part of his brain unusefully corrects. Korn is asking us out!, the illogical part replies cheerfully.

“We could go out on pretend dates and act like we normally would on a regular date, figure out what works and what doesn’t feel like us, or just try it out at home… I mean, obviously, only if you’re fine with it.”

Wai could laugh if only he wasn’t trying so hard to keep himself together. Korn is asking him out and he thinks Wai would even consider declining.

It’s all going to be just pretend. You’re only going to end up hurting yourself even further, seeing what it would be like to be loved by him like that and then having to live without it, the logical part torments him again. Korn is asking us out!, the illogical part adds.

Thankfully, nothing about the way Wai is utterly and embarrassingly in love with Korn is logical.

“Yeah, that could work,” he replies, trying so hard to be nonchalant it doubles back into awkward excitement.

Korn turns, gleaming at him. Wai can’t stop himself from meeting his gaze.

Then, three things happen in the exact same second: Korn moves a little towards Wai, Wai naively thinks Korn is about to kiss him and Korn touches Wai’s forearm. The touch turns into hooking his arm around Wai’s, but Wai is still stuck on that stupid thought that made blood rush to his head so fast he’s now dizzy, his ears are ringing, and he’s pretty sure he must be starting to blush.

“We can start now, then,” Korn says, still looking at Wai with that giant smile and wide eyes that make Wai feel like he caught a falling star in a bottle for Korn to be able to make a wish on it whenever he wants, or something. “Let’s go finally buy you that outfit, babe.” He pauses. “Babe? Or is baby better?”

This is when Wai realises he’s not about to survive the next two weeks. If a heart attack doesn’t finish him off, he’ll just have to jump out of a window in their tenth floor apartment so he can stop himself from falling to his knees in front of Korn to beg him to really love him like this.

Korn stuffs him into a changing room with four different suits, each a different colour, two shirts and a few sweaters, while he chats with the shop assistant. Wai can hear him talk about their fake relationship with such ease that Wai is starting to wonder if maybe he’s just imagining things here and they really did get together after pining for each other for five months, and they had their first date at that seafood restaurant near the Memorial Bridge. It sounds like Korn has already practised telling a story like this, like he shows his non-existent boyfriend off to anyone who will listen on the daily.

Wai has to pause with the first outfit halfway on to take a second to breathe and remind himself that no, Korn isn’t actually his boyfriend, and that no, this isn’t something Korn thought about before. Not that long ago Korn was still in a serious relationship, they were talking about engagement and marriage, and Korn was acting towards Wai just as he is right now. Nothing changed, and nothing is ever going to change. Wai is doomed to forever be in love with a guy who will never see him as anything other than a friend.

“How is it?” Korn suddenly asks from behind the curtain, and Wai realises that he hasn’t been hearing the conversation for some time now.

He’s still standing with the suit jacket in his hands, suspended halfway in the air, and he’s spaced out, staring at himself in the mirror. “Just a second,” he mumbles back, hastily trying to find the top.

In the mirror he sees Korn peek through the curtain anyway, and like a magic spell has been put on him, he freezes yet again. He watches Korn’s eyes run up and down his whole body, suddenly feeling so exposed he is faced with the urge to move and run away, but he can’t. All he can do is stare as Korn’s gaze pauses somewhere around the pants, so focused on his movements he can see his blinking slow down and his throat bob up and down when he swallows.

It’s too much, it’s too intimate. Heat builds in Wai’s stomach, blood rushes to his head.

And then. Then Korn steps inside.

Wai thinks he might faint and fall down like the wine red curtain behind Korn.

Wordlessly, Korn reaches out towards Wai. His right arm circles Wai, slowly and methodically, not touching him like he’s trying not to on purpose, then takes the jacket out of Wai’s hands. Their fingers brush, sending what feels like a bolt of lightning through Wai’s entire body.

“Let me,” Korn says. His voice is hushed and soft. A silk pillow smothering Wai, not letting him take a breath.

He holds out the jacket for Wai to put on.

This is different. Something about this, about Korn’s slow and deliberate movement, about the way air feels heavy in the enclosed space, about Korn helping Wai get dressed, is different. Like something has shifted, like Wai is in a dream, like he’s imagining the whole damn thing.

Oh. Of course it’s different. This is Korn pretending to be Wai’s boyfriend.

All air leaves Wai’s lungs suddenly, leaving him feeling decompressed, collapsing onto himself. He forces himself to straighten up his spine and put something resembling a smile on his lips. Quickly, he puts on the jacket, and even lets Korn fix the collar for him. He tries his best not to linger on the way the tips of Korn’s fingers brush against his neck.

He still doesn’t turn around, when he says, “So, what do you think?”

Korn meets his eyes through the mirror. When he does, his gaze is somewhat hazy, but in just a second it changes to his regular smile, as he looks away again. Wai doesn’t let it get to him how quickly he manages to switch between the boyfriend act and his regular treatment of Wai, like it doesn’t mean anything to him. Because it doesn’t.

“I think this is the one,” Korn replies, then clears his throat. “Try on the other ones too, just in case, but this one is…” He pauses for the split second it takes him to look right into Wai’s eyes. “Perfect.”

Wai only half-listens when Korn explains why the colour (some kind of dark red. Burgundy? Maroon? He can’t be sure) suits him, and how the sleeves are a perfect length, and the fit of the pants is exactly what Korn envisioned him in. All he can focus on is the way Korn’s breath catches the skin of his cheeks as he leans in to point out some details in the front, not making Wai turn around so he can see them in the mirror too.

***

“I am not going to some fancy restaurant.”

“Come on, it would be fun!”

Korn stares at Wai with big eyes and eyebrows furrowed in that way that makes him look like a kicked puppy, and it becomes really hard for Wai to keep his composure.

It’s past three in the morning and they’re cleaning up after the bar has closed. This is the way they often do it – the employees go home right after closing while Wai and Korn stay to clean up. At first, they were the ones to do it because they only had a single bartender hired and they did most of the work themselves anyway.

It became something of theirs over time, so even when they started earning more money and could hire more people to pay them to clean too, it just stuck. They used to work at the same office right after graduating, so it wasn’t like they lacked time to talk, but then Wai switched jobs, so it was nice to catch up after the whole day. And then Korn quit to focus fully on managing the bar and went back to university part-time to get a management degree, making them start spending even less time together. Some days, all they would get was this hour or so of cleaning up, and they clung to it like their lives depended on it.

Nowadays, it’s better. They both have more free time, and they spend a lot of it at the bar together, even if there isn’t much work for them during the day. Korn likes to talk to customers, and Wai likes to talk to Korn. Even if he doesn’t like the busy atmosphere of the bar every day, he prefers it to their empty apartment and only seeing Korn when he comes back in the middle of the night.

“There is nothing fun about fancy restaurants,” Wai counters, his voice somehow both weak and heated. “Stiff clothes, stiff atmosphere, small portions and high prices.”

Korn has the audacity to smile like Wai is being in any way funny. “Come on,” he whines. “We’re getting older, maybe it’s time to grow up and start living like adults.”

“We’re bar owners, for fuck’s sake, we’re going to be old and wrinkly and still sitting in a bar next to a university campus.”

Every sentence they exchange is light in a way, like they are both trying to find that one argument that will work on the other and ready to step back if the other becomes serious about it. It’s not fighting, and it’s not even bickering. It’s just the way they always talk, as if those few months of being sworn enemies and beating each other up on sight were so deeply ingrained in them that they can’t let go of it even now, years later, when they’re friends. If Wai brings Korn a cup of coffee in the morning, Korn will argue that Wai has purposefully made it too bitter; if Korn wants to go out for dinner to an elegant restaurant, Wai will make up every argument possible to counter the idea. It took Pran and Pat long months to understand that that’s just the way they talk and they aren’t actually fighting every time they hang out together.

Korn looks Wai straight in the eye, suddenly filled with some determination. Wai swears internally. Whatever Korn came up with this time is going to bring Wai to his knees. Only metaphorically, hopefully. Because if Wai finds himself on his knees in front of Korn in the middle of an empty bar at three in the morning after being awake for almost twenty-four hours, he might just lose his mind and do something that will end very awkwardly for both of them.

“The last time I was at a restaurant like this, I got broken up with. I need you to help me make new memories, or I’ll be traumatised by fancy restaurants until the end of the world.”

I need you I need you I need you–

Wai shakes his head like he wants to throw his brain out with the movement. “You can’t play the breakup card…”

“But I just did.” Korn grins so widely that Wai has this ridiculous thought that his cheeks must be hurting.

For someone who was left in the middle of a restaurant by his girlfriend of almost two years who he was planning to spend the rest of his life with, and then barely said anything about it to his closest friends, Korn seems weirdly happy to mention it now. Maybe he’s finally over it, Wai ponders. And then has to squash the next thought that tries to suggest to him that this somehow means he has a chance. As if Korn getting over his ex automatically makes him fall in love with Wai.

Truthfully, Wai has fully given up on the idea of Korn liking him back. For the first few months, maybe even a year, he was hopeful. Maybe Korn would be the same, suddenly realising what he’s been looking for has been sitting right next to him on the couch the whole time, maybe he would find himself falling for Wai as they got to know each other more closely and intimately as roommates and business partners. But at some point he had to level with himself – Korn is never going to be in love with Wai. Korn is going to love Wai, yes, as a close friend does. Probably forever, unless Wai fucks this all up and loses him completely and irreversibly. But Korn isn’t going to be in love with Wai. When Korn holds Wai in his arms, it’s never going to be like he wants to crawl inside his skin and make himself a home there, and when Korn tells Wai he loves him, it’s always going to be light and fleeting, gone the second it’s said, not covering them like tar, unable to wash away.

And Wai is fine with it. Really. Even if one day he will have to watch Korn pack his things to move in with someone else, help him pick out his wedding suit and see him grow old with someone else. It’s enough for him to be someone Korn chooses to have in his life at all.

“Find someone else to go there with, then,” Wai counters again. He then puts the mop he’s been idly holding in place for a while now back into the bucket and sits down on one of the barstools, watching Korn go back to checking every bottle on the shelf behind the bar. “Take someone out on a date, or something. Why does it have to be me?”

Korn doesn’t turn around when he says, “I am taking you out on a date. Already forgot you’re my boyfriend?”

Okay, Wai may be fine with Korn never loving him back, but that doesn’t stop him from getting dizzy when Korn says stuff like this. For a second, his vision goes all blurry except for where Korn is.

“I mean, take someone out on a real date, obviously,” he sighs. “Get on a dating app, or something, and find someone, if you’re so desperate to go out.”

Korn pauses halfway through putting a tequila bottle back on the shelf. Wai watches the way his shoulders move up and down as he sighs heavily. When Korn turns around, the bottle still in his hands, Wai’s eyes shoot up like he’s been caught doing something he isn’t supposed to.

“There are so many things wrong with that idea that I don’t even know where to start.”

“Start with the most obvious,” Wai suggests, as if Korn was actually looking for a solution.

“Well, obviously, I’m asking you because I want to go with you,” Korn replies pointedly, rolling his eyes, as if that really is that obvious.

Wai thinks he must have accidentally gotten drunk with just the smell of alcohol because his head spins and his mouth goes dry, and he has this sudden urge to spill all his secrets to someone.

“Besides,” he continues like he didn’t just send Wai into a spiral, “I can’t be sure that I would have enough of a good time on a first date to cover up the bad memories. What if it was so awful I would never want to step a foot into a restaurant again?”

Of course, it makes sense that Korn would be having a good time with his close friend of many years. It doesn’t stop that close friend’s heart from skipping a beat so long it feels like it stopped beating altogether.

“Even better for me,” Wai mumbles in reply.

Korn rolls his eyes again and finally turns around to put that bottle back in its place, then starts to go through the rest. Wai could probably help him so they could be done faster, but he’s stuck in place, watching Korn’s t-shirt ride up when he lifts his hands, showing a thin stripe of his back, and the muscles in his arms become more prominent for a split second when he grabs another bottle.

Wai can tell this is something actually important to Korn, for whatever reason, because he does not believe that it has anything to do with his ex-girlfriend. He already internally accepted that he’s going to have to suck it up and put on a suit to go to the restaurant with Korn, but he’s going to drag it out as long as he can anyway.

He won’t ever say it out loud, but sometimes he worries that one day he will drag it out for too long. That Korn will finally snap and tell him he’s tired of putting up with Wai’s shit, then walk out of his life as if he was wishing he could do it for years. Wai can’t tell if he’s dragging it out anyway to prove himself wrong or right.

“We’ll see what you’re going to say when my fear of restaurants eventually becomes worse and I won’t even be able to walk into this bar.” He pauses as he sniffs the contents of a bottle. “What will you do when I can’t work here anymore?”

Kill myself, probably, is the first thing that comes to Wai’s mind. It’s not even that far off, because he truly can’t imagine himself going on with life as normal if such a significant thing from it was gone. From there on it would just be a downward spiral of losing more and more of Korn before they–

“Crash and burn,” he replies. It’s the truth, but he coats it in so much irony that it’s unrecognisable from a lie.

Korn snorts like he can read through him anyway.

Maybe Wai is pushing his luck, when he adds, “I’ll agree to that only if we first go on a normal date.” He doesn’t specify that it’s a pretend date. It’s on purpose. If Korn can do that, then why would Wai be stopping himself? “I can’t walk into a restaurant with a waitlist and a dress code while not knowing how to act around you.”

Throwing the rag that he’s had on his shoulder down onto the bar, Korn turns around. He steps closer, then leans over the bar. There’s a smirk on his lips, and he raises an eyebrow, and Wai knows instinctively that he’s trying to be annoying, but all thoughts disappear from his head, leaving just a vision where Wai leans closer too and they–

“You don’t know how to act around me?”

Wai swallows heavily. It’s like he’s been caught red-handed, because yes, he doesn’t know how to act around Korn, and yes, he finds the way Korn smirks while looking him up and down, surely about to laugh at the way his ears must be becoming red, so unbearably hot, and yes, he wants to throw himself at Korn over the bar, damned be bruises and broken bottles. At least he’ll have an excuse as to why his hands are red.

“You know exactly what I mean,” Wai just mumbles, his mind suddenly too blank to find a real retort. Or maybe it’s too full, too full of pictures of Korn, both real and imaginary, that it had to push out every coherent thought out to make more space for yet another scenario that will never happen.

There’s a pause in Korn, like he becomes all stiff for a split second, but then he’s back to laughing at Wai. He leans back again, though, and Wai suddenly feels like he can take a real breath after almost drowning. It, embarrassingly, hitches. He can only hope Korn doesn’t notice.

“Clear your schedule for Friday morning, then,” Korn says, still smiling, but without that teasing edge that was there just a moment ago. “We’re going out for a good old boring coffee.”

If Wai notices Korn doesn’t use the word date this time, he pushes the thought back into his head until it grinds against his skull and all it becomes is dust.

***

Pran laughs so hard he almost spills his drink all over himself.

They went out for dinner after work, just Wai and Pran like the good old days, and of course Pran asked Wai about the fake boyfriend predicament, so Wai couldn’t do anything but tell him about everything. He’s surprised he managed to keep quiet about it for half a week anyway.

“What, he really agreed just like that?” Pran asks between deep breaths, trying to calm himself down.

“I mean, I didn’t even have to ask,” Wai replies while chewing, the words coming out jumbled. “Like it was obvious that if I needed a fake boyfriend for an evening, he would be the one.”

He doesn’t mention that he had the exact same idea. Really, he didn’t even consider another possibility or entertain the thought that Korn would say no. He’s only now realising how utterly fucked he would have been if it wasn’t for Korn.

“Well, it’s more than one evening, isn’t it?” Pran pauses like he’s waiting for Wai to answer, but all he gets is a confused look. “I mean,” he continues then, “it’s not like my mom isn’t going to ask you about him every time you see her or make you invite him over for dinner. How long are you going to drag it out?”

Shit. That is not something Wai has thought about before.

He just imagined they’d go to the party together, show off a little, and forget about it like it didn’t mean anything. Then, Korn suggested they practise dating, which might be driving Wai insane, but it’s going to end in a few days, and Wai prefers the mild depression of unrequited love to being constantly on the verge of losing control anyway. He definitely didn’t think it would have to go on for longer.

Pran tries catching his eyes, but he purposely avoids them, stuffing his mouth with food instead.

“You’re kidding, right?” Pran asks, a little hesitant, mostly amused. Wai can hear the shit-eating grin in his voice. “Please, tell me you actually thought about it.”

Wai finally looks Pran in the face, eyebrows raised in defeat and a silent plea for Pran to be civil about it.

Pran bursts out laughing again.

“Shut up,” Wai mumbles.

“Do you ever actually think about consequences, or do you just go through life making it up as you go?”

And the thing is, Pran is joking. Pran is making fun of him, poking and prodding, amused by his idiocy. But sometimes Pran is too smart and observant for his own good, because he knows exactly where to hit to make Wai’s vision spin.

Wai knows he’s impulsive. He’s quick to anger and the first in line to a fight, he takes insults easily and doesn’t let apologies near him. Or, as he’d like to believe, he was like that. Because Wai tried really hard not to be the person whose anger made him hurt his best friend and whose pride made him almost lose him. He swore to himself back then that he’d never let himself be that person again. Sometimes, it ended with biting his lips until he tasted blood when someone insulted him, sometimes, he pushed the anger so far back he became numb to everything. But it was better; anything would be better than being that person.

Except, Pran says a stupid joke, and Wai is suddenly wondering if it ever was really the case, or if he was such a good liar he convinced himself he changed.

His face must betray something, because Pran’s smile slowly drops, but as Pran opens his mouth to say something, Wai has to interrupt. He wouldn’t be able to listen to whatever sudden concern Pran has for him.

“I mean, it’s not really that big of a problem anyway, is it?” he says. There’s a teasing edge to it, an invitation for Pran to argue, and, fuck, maybe Wai really is a good liar, because he’s pretty sure he can’t take another blow. “I can take him with us for dinner once in a while, he’s well-behaved.”

The corners of Pran’s lips curve up again. “What if he starts dating someone else again?”

He doesn’t mention Wai in the scenario, as if it’s impossible that Wai would find himself in a relationship. Maybe it is.

Wai and Pran don’t keep secrets from each other anymore, but there are some things they don’t talk about. They never mention the third semester of university, not if it’s something that happened before the conversation Pran and Pat had with Wai and Korn about needing help with pretending they broke up. They don’t bring up the one time Pran came to the bar and drank alone in silence so much that Wai had to leave work and drive him home, and that on the way there Pran said, slurring, that he was thinking about breaking up with Pat before leaving for Singapore, not wanting to watch them grow apart slowly. And they don’t talk about the fact that in all the years since Wai came out, he has never dated anyone. Wai has never told Pran about his feelings for Korn, but he’s mostly sure Pran knows anyway.

“Well, then we’ll–” He pauses to put a smile on, the one reserved for teasing and inside jokes. It’s only a little fake. “We’ll make it up as we go.”

***

Korn pauses singing along to the car radio to say, “Also, you’ve got to get something other than black coffee.”

Wai has this sneaking suspicion he just doesn’t know this part of the song and doesn’t want to look stupid if he were to suddenly go silent.

“Why?” he bites anyway.

It’s Friday morning and they’re going on their coffee date, Wai driving and Korn having the time of his life singing in the passenger seat. Wai has a meeting with a client from work that he has to leave for later, so they left pretty early, which means he’s still groggily grumpy and not very talkative.

Wai has also given up on specifying that their dates are just pretend, even in his own head. They both know it anyway, and if Korn doesn’t care enough to say it out loud, then forgive Wai for indulging himself in a little fantasy where it can be called real for a moment.

“Because they have like a million different coffees, and you can’t walk in there and just order a cup of boring black goo.”

“Why not?”

“Because I say so–” He cuts himself off to keep singing.

Wai sighs. He’s not even that hell-bent on getting a black coffee, but Korn’s sudden request makes him want to push back against him. It’s just that the conversation is clearly over, and he doesn’t care to extend it past its natural lifespan.

“I was thinking, though,” he says instead. “How long are we going to be doing this? I mean, Pran’s parents are going to at least ask about you from time to time now.”

He leaves out the part where it took Pran telling him this for him to even figure out there was an issue hidden somewhere there.

Korn stops singing, but he doesn’t say anything for a moment either. Finally, he reaches out, hooking his arm under Wai’s hand that’s resting on the gear shift, and puts it on Wai’s thigh leisurely.

It takes everything Wai has in him not to crash the car.

“I’m down to do this for as long as you need to, if you are,” Korn says, talking over the radio presenter. “Like, it’s not a problem for me if you have to tell them we’re still together sometimes, or if they invite me over for dinner once in a while. I can keep doing this forever, honestly.”

Wai kind of suspected it would be the case. Maybe not the forever part; that one makes him want to scream, but he has to push it all back, because he’s still driving, and he’s still right next to Korn, and it would be a shame if he killed them right after embarrassing himself, but before he properly got the chance to see what it would be like to be dating Korn. But the point is, if he had to guess before, he’d say Korn would be happy to extend this whole fake boyfriend thing for as long as it’s convenient or needed. He’s not sure if the confidence comes from noticing how much fun Korn is having with this, or some deep understanding of Korn as a person who’d do pretty much anything for his friends. Maybe it’s both.

He nods, feeling Korn’s eyes on him. Then, Korn starts singing along to the next song on the radio, and Wai assumes it must mean there’s nothing more to be said about the topic.

Fun. He’s going to have a convenient fake boyfriend in Korn sometimes until the end of times (or until Korn gets into another relationship and decides it’s unfair to his new partner to continue, but Wai would rather not focus on that). It certainly won’t cause him to lose his mind in the process.

Wai ends up getting a lavender latte. It’s slightly purplish, and he wonders if it’s the lavender syrup or food colouring, but it tastes alright, so he doesn’t care either way.

Korn joins him a moment later after he went back to the register to get one more pastry that he’s been eyeing, but didn’t buy at first. He sits down, and immediately reaches for Wai’s coffee to steal a sip. Wai doesn’t even flinch.

“Pretty good,” Korn decides, as he’s putting the cup back in front of Wai. “So, what now?”

“What now?” Wai repeats, as if he doesn’t know exactly what Korn means.

He gets a pointed look and raised eyebrows in reply.

“This is all your doing, figure it out,” he then adds.

And, really, all Wai did was insist on another date before the restaurant one they’ve got on Sunday; the rest is all Korn. Offering to go out for a coffee specifically, finding a café with a garden that’s on the way to Wai’s office, even just going out on dates in general was Korn’s idea. Not to mention the fact that it’s Korn who has all the dating experience; Wai has so far spent most of his twenties too busy being in love with him to date other people, and before he figured that out, dating hasn’t really been his thing either. Probably because it always felt wrong and performative, even when he didn’t know why, but that’s beside the point.

Korn keeps looking at him, but something changes. His eyes grow darker, and there’s a playful spark in them; acceptance of Wai’s challenge. Oh. Wai is fucked.

He leans back slowly, his gaze not leaving Wai. He crosses his arms in front of him and Wai can swear he flexes his muscles on purpose. He's been going to the gym more often lately and, shit, does it show. Then– then he looks Wai up and down, methodically, stopping for a moment on the first two undone buttons of his shirt, and, when he reaches Wai’s eyes again, he, honest-to-god, bites his lower lip.

Wai has no idea what to do with himself. He feels naked, he can't move, like he's a dead body in a coffin who can hear his own funeral happening, but can't do anything to prevent anyone from burying him. Which probably isn't the best comparison. His grip on the coffee cup grows so strong he might end up ripping the handle off of it.

And then, Korn smiles, and though it’s still half flirty, Wai can breathe a little more freely. Sure, he’s in love with Korn and all, but actually having him act like he’s on a date with a guy he’s going to take home for one night and probably forget in the morning is so out of place it borders on being uncomfortable. Don’t get him wrong, he’s still losing his mind, and he’s thankful that the blood rushed to his head instead of somewhere lower; he also just prefers Korn when he’s acting like the one in front of him is Wai, not some imaginary guy he might be into instead.

“You’re blushing.”

“I am not.”

Wai might be. Hell, he most likely is. He just doesn’t know if Korn can actually see it or if he’s only trying to annoy him, so just in case he has to argue.

“All I did was look and you’re blushing.” Korn is starting to laugh, the flirty mask cracking and falling apart, and against himself, Wai softens. “You’re so fun. I should do this more often.”

Oh, no. No, no because this is Korn; the one before was a facade, trying something out and failing to make it genuine. But this? This is real. This is Korn actually finding making Wai embarrassed fun and threatening to act all flirty more often just to see Wai go crazy.

“I’m going to strangle you.”

Korn raises one eyebrow at him. “How do you know I’m not into that?”

This was a mistake. All of it was a mistake; agreeing to going out, making up a fake boyfriend, befriending Korn, everything that got Wai to a place where he’s sitting in a beautiful garden in the middle of the city, and instead of at marvelling at the sheer impossibility of it, he’s imagining having Korn pinned against a wall, a hand around his throat, and Korn smiles, eyes dark, and–

“You look like you’re about to pass out,” Korn laughs, leaning forwards like Wai’s reactions are so funny that he can’t keep himself upright. “I can’t do this at the party, can I?” he adds, sounding actually disappointed. He looks down for a moment, staring at his hands where he’s fidgeting with one of his rings. “Not if I don’t want Pran’s parents to think I’m trying to kill you, I guess. What a shame.”

“Yeah, what a shame you can’t murder me at a Christmas party. You could have baked me into a Christmas casserole.”

“Is there such a thing as a Christmas casserole?”

Wai shrugs. “If you make a casserole on Christmas, then it’s a Christmas casserole.”

Korn smiles at that. A beat, and then–

“How did we meet?”

Huh?

“Did you hit your head on the way here?”

Korn laughs, as if Wai is the one who’s suddenly amnesiac. “I mean, for our relationship. We need a story.”

“We met at uni, became roommates, then bought a bar together, then started dating,” Wai says slowly. “Do you really think Pran’s parents have never heard of you?”

Truthfully, Pran’s parents might have heard too much about him. Wai somehow always finds a way to mention Korn. Korn makes such a good tom yum, I’ll ask him for the recipe for you. Korn still doesn’t have his driving licence, can you believe it? Korn told me this recently, Korn did that yesterday, Korn, Korn, Korn. He has to stop himself sometimes, because Pran ends up laughing at him, and it raises questions.

“Aw, you talk about me with them?” Korn says, half teasing, half in actual disbelief.

“You’re saying this as if most of my life doesn’t revolve around you.”

Korn’s face falls, so abrupt it’s almost comical. He suddenly can’t meet Wai’s eyes. He reaches to the table, and misses the cup somehow when he tries to grab it.

“What?” Wai asks flatly. It’s not like he said something mean or untrue.

Korn takes a very long sip of his coffee, then follows it with a bite of one of his pastries, before chewing very slowly, still avoiding Wai’s eyes. “Have you been secretly going on dates with other people and practising this shit?” he finally mumbles.

Wait. Does Korn think that was flirting?

“Practising what? Telling the truth?”

Finally, Korn looks at him, all serious and expressionless, but the tips of his ears are red and his gaze lingers more vaguely on Wai’s face rather than directly on his eyes. “This whole suave I don’t even realise I’m flirting thing suits you,” he decides.

“I was not flirting,” Wai opposes, but there’s no real edge to it. “That was just pathetic.”

Korn rolls his eyes. “Well, then pathetic works on me, apparently.” He sighs heavily. “You’re unbelievable, do you know that? You tell a guy he’s your whole life and don’t even realise how crazy that is.”

He says it like it’s the end of the topic, and even though Wai is starting to have fun, he lets him. He is his whole life after all, isn’t he? Wai would do anything for him, dropping an argument included, unfortunately.

“So, how long have we been dating for?” Korn says then. “That’s something that might come up.”

Wai raises his eyebrows. “I thought this was supposed to be a date, not a planning meeting.” It’s argumentative just for the sake of pushing back, there’s no real opposition Wai has to Korn’s question.

“Three months, give or take,” Korn replies as if he’s purposefully ignoring what Wai has just said. “Back to the date now, then. Do you see us getting married someday?”

Wai can just look at him quizzically. The way he jumps between subjects may be disorienting at first glance, but Wai is so used to it, he barely blinks most of the time.

Korn returns his gaze like it’s a challenge. “What? That’s what people talk about on dates. You would know if you weren’t so perpetually single.”

The thing is, Wai could see them married, even aside from the fact that he’s hopelessly in love with Korn. They already lead their lives together, they own a bar, they have a joint bank account aside from their personal ones, hell, the car is in both their names when Korn doesn’t even have a licence. They fit each other perfectly, the way that would be hard to replicate with someone they haven’t known for almost a decade. Really, they’re living in a platonic marriage already; maybe that’s why Korn’s relationships never work out.

Oh, no. That’s a dangerous thought. And probably a really unfair one, too, but love is stupid and selfish, and every time Korn comes back from a bad date, Wai feels a little spark of joy, as if that means he’s any closer to falling for Wai. Well. At least he’s not further, right?

“Yeah, I do,” he says, truthfully. He’s got nothing to lose. Korn thinks it’s an idiotic idea? He was trying to flirt. Korn agrees? Well, then maybe– No. He can’t make himself imagine that, for his own good. “I think we’d make a great married couple.”

Korn tilts his head to the side like a curious puppy. “Don’t say things you don’t mean. Or you might end up with me on one knee in front of you.”

A rush of blood to the head, dizzying and disorienting, and Wai isn’t sure if what causes it is what Korn is saying or what he is about to reply. He doesn’t know where it’s all coming from, but, hey!, he won’t have another opportunity to say all the insane shit he keeps thinking about around Korn. Give him some grace, okay?

“I would have thought it was more comfortable on both knees.”

Korn… freezes? For only a second, all he does is stare at Wai all wide-eyed, but like he’s not seeing him at all. Then, he blinks, and he’s back to that normal expression, half teasing, half trying to just be annoying.

“Okay, fun’s over,” he decides. “Back to business, since you can’t behave–”

“Excuse me?” Wai gladly takes the opportunity for some good old bickering. He’s going to have nightmares about what he said for years to come. “Look who’s talking, you were threatening to propose to me just a moment before.”

“Threatening? I was threatening?” Korn gets up from his seat, putting on this angrily disbelieving face that he’s clearly forgotten how to genuinely express, because humour shines in his eyes like it’s not the reflection of the Christmas lights on the bushes behind Wai. “Being proposed to, that’s so scary to you?”

And then he– he gets on one knee in front of Wai.

Wai has to blink a couple of times to make sure he will still be there when he opens his eyes again.

“Scared now?” Korn says, half laughing, but there’s something oddly determined in the way his gaze isn’t leaving Wai even for a second.

“Get up.”

Korn licks his lips through his smile. “Admit you’re scared of me proposing to you first.”

“Propose to me first, then.”

Wai must have developed some magic abilities of keeping his blurry head and treacherous heart away from the outside world, because, somehow, he rolls his eyes, then directs them straight back to Korn, brave and provoking, like he’s not feeling on the verge of imploding. That’s what they always do, don’t they? They push and push, until someone gives in.

He watches Korn take a deep breath, and he could swear it hitches, then swallow it down with a tightened jaw. It takes him a moment to speak up again.

“Wai, you took my breath away when I first saw you, in the middle of that fight back at uni, when you punched me in the face so hard I fell down. And you’ve kept on making me fall even harder ever since then. We’ve known each other for a long time, yet I find something new to love in you every day, and– And I want nothing other than to spend the rest of my life searching for more, if you give me the chance. Waiyakorn… Will you marry me?”

Wai’s throat goes dry, his head is ringing. He has this ridiculous thought that they’re lucky there’s no one else in the garden part of the café so they don’t have an audience, as if that’s the part he should be focusing on now.

“Where’s my ring?” he replies, voice hoarse. It’s supposed to be a joke, it’s supposed to be funny and light-hearted; instead, it hangs between them like storm clouds, heavy and choking. “What kind of proposal is this, if you don’t have a ring?”

But Korn laughs silently, all sunshine, and the skies seem brighter again. He looks down at his hands, then pulls one of his rings off, the simple silver band that he always wears on his ring finger.

“Here.” He presents it to Wai on the palm of his right hand. “What about now? Will you marry me?”

This is all a joke. It’s good fun, it’s Korn trying to push him like he always does, until he can’t bear it any longer. But it feels so– real. And Wai knows he’s crazy for it, but it does feel like it could be serious. In another life maybe, but Korn could have been saying all this and meaning it. Maybe that’s why it feels so heavy; like when jewels are heavy, they seem more real, but they might as well be a pretty river stone. And this is a river stone.

Wai blinks once, trying to put himself back together. He should have known he was only going to get his heart broken over and over in these two weeks. He’s not sure if it’s not all worth it anyway, just for the chance of seeing what it would be like to really have this.

“Yes,” he says. “Yes, a million times yes,” he adds, now sarcastic. But the first one? That was as real as it gets.

Korn takes his hand with the reverence of a lover who’s promising his forever to his beloved, not one who’s joking around, not one who’s going to laugh at this when they next meet up with their friends, and he’ll tell them all about the way Wai blushed and stuttered over his teasing. He puts the ring on Wai’s finger slowly, looking up at him without rest. Then, he raises their joined hands up a little, like he wants to look at them more closely, except his eyes still don’t leave Wai’s, except–

Except he keeps lifting their hands until they reach his lips, and he lays a kiss on top of Wai’s fingers, catching the ring.

Fuck.

See, Wai thought he’d already gotten used to Korn’s light-hearted closeness and meaningless flirting. He’s always doing something that accidentally makes Wai’s heart race, and there’s only so many beats a heart can skip before it becomes bored. He’s been doing this for so many years, this whole hiding his feelings thing, and he can usually push his reactions back until he’s alone and doesn’t have to pretend in front of anyone.

But now his heart is in his throat, and his ears are ringing, and he thinks that if Korn doesn’t sit back on his chair, he might just fall forward and kiss him before he can manage to stop himself, so he sits stiffly, looking forward like his eyes got stuck to Korn.

He thinks he’s justified in this. The guy he’s in love with just proposed to him after all.

“See, I knew that would scare you.”

An embarrassed groan escapes his throat before he can stop it, and he closes his eyes tightly, suddenly unable to keep looking Korn in the face. Right before it, he sees Korn’s soft smile turn bigger.

Wai can hear the shuffle of the gravel that’s below the tables. By the time he opens his eyes again, Korn is on his way back to his chair, turned away from him for the first time in what feels like forever. When he sits down, he looks at Wai shortly, before grabbing his cup, so leisurely like it all didn’t affect him at all.

He doesn’t ask for his ring back. Wai tries not to delude himself that it means something.

***

“He is so in love with you.”

Wai is catching Paa up on the events of the past week or so at Paa and Ink’s place on Friday evening. They’ve got face masks on, Paa one with a panda print, Wai with a pig, and they’re almost finishing a second bottle of wine. There’s a Christmas romcom playing on the TV, and they sometimes comment on it between their actual conversation, but this one is so boring that there’s barely anything to even laugh at in it. Ink has gone out with her friends from work, so they have the entire apartment to themselves, and Wai doesn’t have to worry about someone else hearing about his useless unrequited crush. Though he’s pretty sure Ink knows anyway, even when Paa swears she didn’t tell her; she’s always been smart and she’s always looking for some information on him that she could use as leverage. Wai still isn’t fully sure she doesn’t actually hate him.

After Wai realised he was gay, and subsequently realised he very much did not have a crush on Paa back at uni, they kind of grew closer. Wai needed more queer friends who weren’t his best friend who knows him like the back of his hand or his roommate who he was falling in love with, and Paa was happy to get to know him as someone other than her brother’s boyfriend’s kinda weird friend.

Paa is also the only one Wai has ever told about his feelings for Korn. He doesn’t know why.

“He is not.”

“Wai.” She looks him sternly in the eyes, pointing a finger at him, then subsequently almost dropping the wine bottle she has in that same hand. “He proposed to you. You don’t do that as a joke.”

Wai rolls his eyes. “Well, he apparently does.”

If Wai was to be honest, he needs that outside perspective sometimes to figure out if he’s going crazy. Because, really, he’s been freaking out the whole day, barely able to pay attention to driving or work afterwards. But he also likes that he gets to play the sceptic when he’s talking to Paa about this; it keeps him sane. Relatively.

“Would he propose to Pat as a joke?” she asks, then cringes. “Well, he probably would, they’re not right in the head– but the point is, would it look the same as it did with you?”

Wai imagines it, Korn on one knee in front of Pat. They’re both laughing, everything is overexaggerated, when they kiss after imaginary Korn puts a ring on imaginary Pat’s finger, it’s so fake that they’re a good metre away from each other.

“No,” he sighs. “But it’s different–”

“And why is it different?” she interrupts, like the answer to that question is because he’s in love with Wai.

“Because we’re pretending to be a couple,” he says instead.

She groans, exasperated, then pours some more wine into her glass. “Yeah, for one evening next week. Not when you’re grabbing coffee before work.”

“Well–” Wai is trying to say that they technically were pretending to be a couple while grabbing coffee, but Paa interrupts him again.

“Nuh–uh. That’s just another argument in my favour, because why would he even come up with that unless he wanted to actually date you? Don’t,” she adds sharply when he tries to open his mouth to oppose again. “I don’t buy this figure out how to act like a couple bullshit. You could just go to the party and tell people you’ve been dating for a decade, and everyone would believe you. He keeps flirting with you anyway.”

“He is not flirting with me?” Wai intends it as a simple disagreement, but it comes out more like a question, like he’s actually curious to hear what Paa considers Korn flirting with him.

“He called you kitten the last time we hung out.”

“That was a joke–”

“And he tried to kiss you.”

“He was obviously just pretending–”

“Wai.” She sighs, turning in her spot on the couch so she sits cross-legged facing him. “Do you hear yourself?”

“Unfortunately.” He pauses to down the rest of the wine in his glass. “I know it sounds crazy out of context, but he just is like this.”

“He just proposes to his best friend on a random Friday?”

Wai frowns. “I’m not his best friend.”

This is a given fact of life: Korn’s best friend is Pat, Wai’s best friend is Pran. Wai and Korn might spend more time together in one day than Wai does with Pran in a month, and Korn might know Wai’s day–to–day life so intimately it could as well be his own, but that doesn’t change the facts. Wai would have thought it was obvious.

Now, it’s Paa who frowns. “He’s not–” She pauses, then sighs heavily, closing her eyes for a second. “You know what, whatever. I’m not getting into this. Call him whatever you want, I don’t even care. You two are taking years off my life.”

“We’re going on another date on Sunday,” Wai then says, and gets another groan in reply. He laughs. “There’s this new rooftop restaurant near the Memorial Bridge, and he forgot he still had a reservation as a Christmas gift for her.” Wai doesn’t say her name, a little joke they have with Paa, because she never introduced herself to her, and Paa spent the next year and a half hating her guts for it. It didn’t help that she never said more than two sentences to Paa, even though they all hung out pretty often back then. “And now he’s dragging me there instead.”

Paa stares at him in silence for a long moment, blinking slowly. “You’re unbelievable. Oh, yeah, my not–best friend is taking me out on a date that he was going to bring his stupid girlfriend to,” she mocks him, putting on a lower voice so exaggerated it ends up lower than Wai’s. “But it’s what all friends do, he is not in love with me.”

Wai laughs– or more like exhales loudly, because he’s trying not to make the mask on his face crease. If it was someone else in different circumstances, he’d be absolutely sure that it wasn’t even just flirting, it was courtship. But Korn has always been loud with his feelings and affections, and a hug, a kiss on the cheek, or pretending he’s about to kiss him on the lips barely even phase Wai anymore. And they’re trying to act like a couple now, though it’s not going that well, because both keep breaking character, so whatever Korn is doing can easily be explained by it. Especially since he has never been this flirty around Wai before; it’s always on the borderline between a joke and trying to annoy Wai, never something serious. He calls him kitten when they’re hanging out at their bar with Paa, Ink, Pran and Pat, because he wants to see everyone’s reactions to Wai rolling his eyes at him, and he tries to kiss him, because he knows Wai will push him away before he gets too close.

“Listen,” Paa adds, suddenly more serious, then sighs heavily. “I know you can’t let yourself believe he might like you back, but surely you can see what I see. Wouldn’t it be worth it to take the risk?”

It’s like she hit him right in the face with a brick. Truth is, he’s never really considered confessing; he realised he liked Korn, and decided he could just live with it. It doesn’t bother him on the daily, and, really, he likes being in love with Korn. He likes this warmth he feels when he thinks about Korn, and he likes the blurriness of his head when he does it for too long; he likes the way Korn is special to him, because Korn deserves it, deserves someone who will always put him first and won’t leave when it gets harder, someone who saw him at his worst, his stupid and impulsive, his heartbroken and morose, and loved him all the same, not despite, but because. He likes that no partner that Korn will ever find could get this close, because Wai will always have so many years on them, because Wai is the one who met Korn almost a decade ago, in the middle of a fight, and ended up so close to him that they might as well be stitched together anyway. And it’s not that he wouldn’t want Korn to love him back the same; but he’s comfortable with his unrequited feelings. It’s safer this way, when he’s not risking losing Korn every day with every move.

“No,” he replies. “It really isn’t.”

“Come on… You know him. You trust him. It would be fine even if he isn’t in love with you– which I doubt,” she adds, looking away for a second like she’s talking to an invisible camera, “because he loves you anyway. He wouldn’t want you out of his life just for the crime of falling in love with him.”

“I know he wouldn’t,” Wai says immediately, truthfully. “But it would be weird. He’d be careful not to lead me on, I’d be worried if he thinks I’m trying to make a pass at him… I think I’d rather just keep this to myself, thanks.”

“And what? Love him in secret until you die?”

“Yes.”

The main character of the movie they’re not watching is droning on about having the courage to leave your comfortable life for the chance at true love. Wai thinks it’s much easier when you’re in a romcom and you have a childhood friend with a golden retriever waiting for you in your hometown when you go back for Christmas, still in love with you after ten years that you’ve spent in the big city.

Paa sighs heavily, then lifts the now empty wine bottle towards Wai. “I think we need more wine for this conversation.”

Wai takes the bottle out of her hands. “Definitely,” he agrees, standing up to go get another one from the fridge. If he’s going to let Paa keep trying to convince him to confess, he really is going to need it.

***

Wai looks at himself in the mirror like he doesn’t recognise himself. His hair is pushed back with gel, he’s wearing a shirt that’s ironed to perfection and his new suit. It’s not even that different from what he usually has to wear to work, but it makes him pause anyway, like he’s never seen himself look like this.

Korn seems to have a similar reaction. He walks into Wai’s bedroom unannounced, catches his eyes through the mirror, and freezes halfway through a step. He looks Wai up and down, still through the mirror. When he reaches his face again, his eyes seem darker somehow.

“Satisfied?” Wai asks, a smile pushing for his face not out of humour but embarrassment. Korn’s been doing this whole staring intensely thing a lot lately, and it always leaves Wai feeling like he’s standing naked in front of him.

“More or less,” Korn replies, but the spark in his eyes makes it clear that he’s teasing.

Korn insisted on Wai wearing the suit they got him for the Christmas party tonight. “It’s like a rehearsal,” he said. “What if I spill something on it?” Wai argued back just for the sake of arguing. Korn said that they still had enough time to dry-clean it just in case, and anyway, they needed to dress up to the restaurant and he wouldn’t go out with Wai if he wore one of his old suits. Wai didn’t know whether to argue that his oversized suits are perfectly fine and trendy even, or that he was fine with not going out, so he just rolled his eyes and agreed instead. People say love makes you stupid, but Wai would argue it actually makes you complaisant.

“Is that how you speak to your beloved boyfriend?” Wai says, because he likes pushing his luck, because he’s a masochist and apparently wants to set himself up to get hurt.

“Fiancé,” Korn corrects like it’s automatic.

Wai immediately looks down, not fleeing but searching. The ring is still on his finger. Korn hasn’t asked for it back and he hasn’t offered. He only takes it off when he’s showering or cooking, like it really is an engagement ring, he fidgets with it comfortably like it’s always been there. It’s just a little bit bigger than it should be on him, so it spins freely, but it doesn’t fall off.

When he looks back up, Korn is walking towards him. He stops right behind Wai, in that way where he could put his arms around his waist and snuggle his face into the crook of Wai’s neck without moving any further. Wai can’t even chastise himself for measuring distance like this, because, truly, he’s not sure if Korn isn’t going to do it. This fake boyfriend (fiancé, apparently now) thing has taken Korn to weird places, but Wai won’t be the one to complain.

Korn puts his hands on Wai’s shoulders instead, turning him around so they’re facing each other. Too close. Far too close. So close that Wai would barely have to move if he wanted to kiss Korn– well, maybe wanted is the wrong choice of word, because Wai always wants to kiss Korn. If he was going to kiss Korn; if he was going to implode his life just for the split second of giving in to his desires.

He wonders if he could kiss him as a part of the act, but only for a moment. It feels too close to betrayal, to taking advantage of Korn and his friendship.

Korn looks at him from under eyebrows furrowed in that way that makes him look like a puppy and with a pretend pout on his lips. “I’m sorry, honey,” he says. He’s been testing pet names out lately too, but none of them seem to stick. “You look gorgeous. Absolutely stunning. Jaw-droppingly handsome. Better now?”

 There’s a new playfulness in this flirting game, and Wai thinks that maybe they really did need to act like they’re dating to figure this out, because it’s evidently more comfortable on both of them.

Wai puts his hands in the vicinity of Korn’s collarbones like he’s fixing the collar of his shirt, but Korn hasn’t changed yet, so all Wai is doing is smoothing out the fabric of his worn-out white t-shirt. He looks around like he’s carefully pondering on the answer. When he turns his eyes back to Korn, he finds he does it with a certain amount of bravery. He’s pushing; his luck or Korn, he’s not sure.

“Just a bit,” he says finally.

Then, Korn’s hands are on Wai’s waist, pulling him in a little, just a little, but enough to make his head spin. They look like they’re dancing, Wai thinks, almost hysterically. If someone took a picture of them right now, they’d look like a loving couple halfway through a slow dance, gazing into each other’s eyes softly and comfortably flirting. Wai would only have to put his arms a little further out, until they’re around Korn’s neck, and the image would be uncanny.

“What do I have to do to make it even better, then?” Korn asks. He sticks his chin out a little, but his eyes stay unmoving from Wai, soft and amused.

Wai is apparently feeling like taking his chances, because he stretches his arms out over Korn’s shoulders and crosses them at the wrists on the back of his neck. It puts him a little bit closer to Korn, not much, but his eyes are slowly starting to hurt. Too close for comfort, too close for safety; it’s both stupid and brave, and Wai thinks that the combination is surprisingly common.

He looks at Korn, batting his eyelashes ostentatiously, and for a second he forgets they’re not actually together, and he’s not actually flirting. Or maybe he is actually flirting, and that’s what makes it worse.

“Let me stay home?” he tries, both humorously and teasingly.

Korn laughs shortly, and there’s this loving amusement in it that Wai didn’t think was possible to fake. It’s how you’d look at your childhood dog running after a toy it’s had for as long as you remember, and it’s how you’d smile when your child says something wrong in a way so endearing that you don’t have the heart to correct them, even though you know you should; most of all, it’s the way Wai’s mom would secretly look at his dad when he was working in the garage on his bike, all concentrated and not paying attention to a single thing other than his passion, and it’s the way Pran laughs at Pat when he’s being stupid just to make Pran smile. It’s the combination of sentiment and appreciation, nostalgia and affection. It’s how Wai would imagine Korn with his partner on his wedding day, and it’s not how he should be with Wai. Not if he wants Wai to remain sane.

“No way, sunshine. I can’t let you stay locked up at home when you look this good. Besides, we had a deal.”

Wai groans quietly in response. If it wasn’t for the inevitable disappointment in Korn, he would have set his foot down and refused to go, because a restaurant with a waitlist for months in advance where he has to wear a suit is his worst nightmare. But, unfortunately for him, he loves Korn more than his comfort zone. He doesn’t know if it’s a good thing or not.

“Deals can be broken,” he argues anyway, because that’s what they do. They push. And right now, pushing is flirty and suggestive, so that’s what Wai does, looking Korn in the eyes like he promises much better fun if they stay at home.

There’s a tug on Wai’s waist, not pulling him closer again, because that would put them nose to nose already, but reminding him of where Korn’s hands still are, digging his fingers into his skin through the fabric, decisively enough to be felt at all times, but not strongly enough to leave bruises. Wai catches himself wishing they would.

“No, that’s promises,” Korn more mutters than says. “Deals have to be fulfilled.”

Something possesses Wai. This is the only explanation for his behaviour, because it’s not something he would do consciously and purposefully, but he watches his right hand pull back and cup Korn’s cheek. It feels so natural he’s starting to wonder if he hasn’t done this before, in another life or in a dream so realistic he woke up not sure where he was.

He was going to say something. He knows it, because he remembers thinking about it at the same time as he was moving his hand, but the moment it touches Korn’s face, all words are gone.

It would be so easy. To kiss Korn. To break whatever illusion he constructed for himself where he acts on his feelings while telling both himself and Korn that it’s all just pretend.

To kiss Korn.

Heat builds in Wai’s stomach, blood rushes to his head, and he feels on the verge of fainting. He’s frozen in place, and he knows it, he feels the time passing him by while he’s unable to even move a muscle. Or maybe it’s that he doesn’t allow himself to move, because the only way out of this for him is forward.

Suddenly, he realises that Korn isn’t moving either. There’s no confusion on his face, as to why Wai isn’t saying anything, and there’s no satisfaction of seeing Wai all flustered and blushing probably. He’s returning Wai’s gaze, intense and frozen.

Maybe…

Wai shouldn’t. He shouldn’t let his hope run wild, because even this one word is dangerous. But maybe– but what if–

No–

But what if–

Korn moves. His left hand leaves Wai’s waist, and it’s like it unfreezes Wai too. The blood that rushed to Wai’s head starts flowing again, making his ears ring.

Wai startles. He pulls back, hastily and staggeringly at the same time.

“You probably should–” he mumbles, not entirely sure what he meant to say. You should go get dressed and you should get into my bed would both sound out of place.

While he’s busy not meeting Korn’s eyes, embarrassed and scared, he notices that the hand that left his waist is suspended halfway in the air like it was going up. He wonders, desperate and embarrassed, if Korn was going to touch him in a different place, a different way, pull him closer–

Korn clears his throat. “Yeah, I– I’m gonna–”

Wai doesn’t look towards the door until after Korn is gone.

***

Wai feels like a fish out of water the second they walk inside. Which he thinks is unfortunate, considering it’s a seafood restaurant. He can only hope the chef won’t confuse him with the meal, and he won’t end up in a dish.

They take the elevator to get to the top floor. There, a hostess hands them over to a waitress, both dressed in smart white shirts and dark bottoms, polite and proper smiles on their faces as they greet them. The waitress then leads them to their table, gracefully dancing between tables with such practice that she would seem almost invisible if they were the ones already sitting down.

It’s a two-seater right in the corner, a coniferous tree branch with red and green fairy lights in a glass vase as a centrepiece. There’s a glass fence around the whole floor, both allowing them to look out at the city below them and keeping them safe. Wai takes the spot right in the corner, a glass wall both behind him and to his right; he leaves the other chair, the one facing the rest of the floor, to Korn, both knowing he would want to look at all the other people and not wanting to see them himself.

There are only two menus to choose between, a full set of dishes in each of them that are meant to complement each other perfectly. Without even discussing it, Korn orders for both of them, getting one of the menus for Wai and the other for himself, and then lets the waitress recommend a fitting wine.

There’s a comfortable smile on Korn’s lips as he talks to the waitress, his words come out of his throat steady and knowledgeable. This is the side of Korn that speaks to customers at their bar and negotiates with their suppliers; this is the Korn that goes to every wine tasting he can find, because he both wants to know more about his trade and he enjoys it, and updates his spreadsheets whenever he finds a new combination of food and alcohol that works well together.

At the same time, Wai is starting to get tired of his fish metaphor, but he’s truly feeling like he’s about to end up on a plate himself, filleted and fried, served with pomegranate and nuts. He’s so uncomfortable he can feel himself starting to slouch, which only makes him more self-conscious. He doesn’t fit here; the men behind him are discussing expensive watches like they’re types of ham at the supermarket, and he’s living in a rental apartment with a friend. His suit is from a shop at the mall, while everyone else is surely wearing designer or custom-made clothes. And it’s not even coming from the self-pitying, worried type of discomfort; he just knows this isn’t his place, and he’s fine with it. What he’s not fine with is the fact that he can’t just leap over the fence to escape from here.

The only thing that keeps him grounded is the ring that’s still on his finger. He spins it around under the table, a substitute for actual comfort, but it works fine enough. He doesn’t get up and leave, he doesn’t faint or start screaming from frustration.

The second the waitress leaves, Korn’s eyes meet his. Wai watches the politeness turn into his regular gaze, always on the borderline of humour; not a substitute anymore. The real thing.

He can only think how lucky he is to have this, someone who can pull him from the ledge with just one look. Then, he gets dizzy with the idea of having Korn, any way he can get him.

“You okay there?” Korn asks, and there’s a hint of real worry in it.

Wai shrugs. He can’t bring himself to lie, but he doesn’t want to discuss it all right here and now either.

Korn seems to get it. He nods, then puts his hand on the table, palm up. An invitation.

The thing is, Wai doesn’t know if it’s a part of the act. They’re on a pretend date right now, so this might be Korn being a good boyfriend (fiancé), substituting Wai in his mind for the one he wanted to bring here initially, someone he truly loved and wanted to marry, not just for a joke, not just for two weeks. And that’s what you do when you’re dating someone, isn’t it? You hold hands over the table when you’re at a restaurant.

But they’re still WaiandKorn, KornandWai, and Korn still cares for Wai outside of their not-relationship. And Korn knows Wai didn’t want to come here in the first place, and Korn probably knows Wai feels the collar of his shirt on his neck as a noose and that he’s spinning the not-engagement ring around on his finger under the table like it’s a lifeline. He might be extending his hand not to a ghost that’s possessing Wai at the moment in his head, but out to the sea that Wai is drowning in.

So Wai takes it and lets Korn pull him out. Stupidly, he thinks that maybe being a fish out of water isn’t all that bad sometimes.

Korn puts his thumb over the top of Wai’s hand, and it lands right on the ring. He looks down at it for a second, tapping it twice. “You’re still wearing it,” he says, and it sounds like it was supposed to be a question, but ended up flat with some degree of disbelief.

“Do people usually stop wearing their engagement rings?”

Something in Wai breaks, when he says it. He feels as pathetic as the tissue that flies past his feet and lands flat on the glass fence, fluttering with the wind still, but unable to fly away further. This is all he’s going to get, a fake engagement, a fake fiancé and a fake date; and that’s not even the worst part. It’s the fact that he’s fine with it. It’s that he takes all he’s getting, and he’s so grateful he feels he should be thanking Korn on his knees for even pretending to love him this way. And it’s– well, pathetic is the only word for it. So fucking pathetic.

It’s all worth it, when Korn looks away, flustered. He’s blinking slowly, a flickering smile on his lips. If it wasn’t already dark, Wai could probably see him blushing.

Wai gets drunk on it like it’s the cheap wine they buy on clearance at the convenience store downstairs every year before New Year's Eve.

“Shut up,” Korn mumbles. “I wasn’t ready.”

Of course, it’s not the kind of flustered Wai would dream about, the kind that comes from love so embarrassing it leads you to compare yourself to a dirty tissue. It’s surprise and confusion, but they seem to look the same on the outside.

“Ready for what, my dear fiancé?” Wai leans forward a little. He puts an overexaggerated pout on, eyebrows furrowed. “Did you already forget all those things you said? Do you not want to marry me anymore?”

Korn glances back at him with a combination of I told you to shut up and please, just stop talking, which seem the same on paper, but while the first carries annoyance, the other is more begging. It ends up looking like Korn is about to shut Wai up himself, and he’s just not sure if by suffocating him or kissing him. Wai thinks he’d be fine with either, really.

“Sweetheart…” he sighs, shaking his head theatrically. “Of course I want to marry you. It’s all I’ve dreamed about ever since I met you.”

Wai isn’t very good at this whole acting thing in the end, because he thinks about their real first meeting immediately. First year of university, even before the argument over football at the bar that started the avalanche of retribution from both sides, ending in a destroyed bus stop and all of them on the verge of expulsion. Louis was arguing with some engineering student over a parking spot, and threw the first punch at the other student whose name Wai never learned. Then, Korn butted in, showing up out of nowhere to punch Louis in response, and Wai, who was just passing by, saw a fellow architecture student being ganged up on, and ran in with a punch to Korn’s face. This started a years-long friendship with Louis and a little shorter than that rivalry with Korn.

“Those must have been some pretty awful nightmares back then,” he says before he can think about it.

It breaks whatever illusion they constructed. Wai can’t stop a smile with the image of first year Korn dreaming about marrying his worst enemy, whatever enemy had meant back then, on his mind. After a second, Korn breaks into silent laughter, one that has him shaking his head and squeezing Wai’s hand a little tighter.

This is when Wai forgets where he is. There’s no giant Christmas tree in the middle of the floor, adorned with just tiny fairy lights, and there are no businessmen on an evening off near them, talking about stocks and the taste profile of the wine they ordered. There isn’t even the beautiful view of Bangkok at night next to them, or the soft, slow classical music on the speakers. It’s just them. WaiandKorn, KornandWai.

“I did dream about marrying you once, though.” Korn takes a deeper breath, like he’s steadying himself. “It wasn’t that long ago. Sometime after Earn broke up with me.”

Wai can feel his smile drop. As if he wasn’t feeling like her substitute already.

Korn smiles wider, though, like he doesn’t notice. “You had a veil, and it was so long it dragged, like, three metres behind you, and I got tangled in it. I remember being worried that you’d be mad at me for ruining our wedding, but you just took the veil off your head and carried me down the aisle still tied up in it.”

“Sounds like a nightmare,” Wai just says.

“I don’t know, I woke up pretty happy. For a moment, I was wondering why you weren’t next to me in bed, since we were married.”

Wai feels like screaming. Because what else can a guy do when his crush tells him he dreamed about them getting married and waking up happy about it?

The only thing that stops him might be their waitress appearing with their bottle of wine and appetisers. Korn looks away from him to thank her like a proper gentleman and all, but it lingers longer than it should, like he’s still checking, like he’s not done staring.

It’s going to be a long night.

***

They walk back into their apartment around midnight, tipsy after all the wine they had throughout the evening, and drunk on sitting at a fancy restaurant while feeling like it’s just the two of them in the world. Or at least that’s how Wai feels.

They wash their hands together, wordlessly fighting over the soap, slapping each other’s hands away until Wai finally gives in. Korn already gets out while Wai is still washing the soap off, stretching in the door frame to touch the top of it with both hands. Wai takes that moment he has alone to splash his face with water too, then look at himself in the mirror, while the water is dripping down right onto his shirt.

His cheeks are red, but at least this time he has alcohol as an excuse. His hair’s a mess from the way Korn tousled it when they were riding home in the back of a taxi, swearing he was fixing it, but laughing like he was lying. There’s a glassy sheen in his eyes, but behind it there’s a sea of satisfaction and some kind of pleasure. When he parts his lips, taking a deep breath, they stick a little together in that way that spit used instead of lip balm makes them.

He squints at himself. There’s something about the way he looks that seems out of place, he just doesn’t know why.

He loosens his tie. It somehow makes it worse.

When he finally walks out of the bathroom, he finds Korn lying down on the couch. He threw his tie onto the armchair and unbuttoned his shirt so far down that half of his chest is showing. His one arm is hanging off to the side of the couch, the other is folded over his eyes and forehead like he’s blocking the light.

Wai’s stomach flips. He has to forcefully tear his eyes away, afraid of what the combination of alcohol in his blood and the high of the evening can make him do.

Instead, he walks over to the lamp that’s standing in the corner and turns it on, and then turns back to switch off the ceiling light. The second he does it, he hears a heavy sigh from the couch, and despite the knot in his stomach, he smiles. When he looks that way, he can see that Korn has already shifted his arm to be more on his forehead and is looking at Wai.

There’s something… intense about the gaze. Something out of place. It’s like there’s heat in it, and not the kind that you feel from a fireplace in cold weather. It’s anger without anger, it’s fire behind stained glass, it’s running your finger too close to a candle flame. It makes Wai pause in his tracks, at its complete mercy.

Korn is far enough that Wai can’t tell where exactly he’s looking, but it’s not his face. His eyes are wandering, up and down, left and right, and Wai feels the same as he would if he just stood naked in the middle of their living room.

The second Korn closes his eyes, Wai makes a run for it, fearing that if their eyes meet again, he won’t be able to move until he dies of hunger in his spot.

He sits down on the floor next to the couch, his back to Korn, and leans his head back enough to rest it on Korn’s thigh. Which is a mistake, because he immediately feels Korn’s fingers dig into his hair again, and against himself, he leans into the touch, sighing deeply.

“That was fun,” Korn says, voice quiet.

Wai closes his eyes. “Made enough good memories to forget about the bad ones?”

He regrets his words the second they leave his mouth.

For the past half a year, Earn has been a ghost haunting their house. She’s in the silence after Korn comes back from that disastrous dinner and in her perfume that Wai still smells on Korn’s laundry for days afterwards. Her hair ties are still on one of the shelves behind the bathroom mirror and her scarf is still in a drawer of the dresser in the entryway. They don’t talk about her directly, but she’s everywhere anyway, between stilted words of comfort and half-lies. Tonight might be the first time Korn has even mentioned her name in all those months.

Korn huffs something that sounds like it could become laughter. “Definitely.”

His fingers move somewhere lower, slowly but purposefully. They brush against Wai’s scalp, fingernails scratching softly back and forth, until they’re on the back of Wai’s neck, right above the hairline. Then, they slide forwards, following the line of Wai’s jawbone, only stopping at his chin. There’s a slight pressure in the touch, and that’s all it takes for Wai to let himself be angled just the way Korn wants him, turning his head sideways until Korn is satisfied and lets him go. His hand doesn’t go away far, though, it only drops a little, tugging at Wai’s collar.

Wai’s eyes snap open.

“What about you?” Korn says leisurely. “Had fun?”

The collar of Wai’s shirt is tight enough to comfortably fit a finger in the space between it and his neck. Wai knows it, because that’s how Korn told him to measure it before they went shopping for suits – wrap the tape measure around your neck, then put your index finger underneath, and tell me the measurement. Wai also knows it, because Korn slides a cold finger under the collar and pinches the fabric between his index and his thumb. They move in tandem to the front of Wai’s shirt.

Korn makes a questioning noise, like he’s rushing him to answer, but he’s not looking at him with any expectation. His eyes are following the movement of his fingers, fascinated and dark.

Wai’s breath hitches. He knows Korn can feel it under his finger almost as intimately as if it was his own. The awareness would spread through his body like a blush, if he wasn’t already burning all over.

“It was alright,” he finally answers. It comes out like he just ran a marathon, out of breath and exhausted. When he swallows, he’s acutely aware that Korn can feel his throat bob up and down. “If you say you told me so, I’m never going out with you anywhere else.”

Korn’s fingers move again. They leave his shirt alone, but only for the split second it takes them to align themselves with the buttons, those two smaller ones that are usually hidden right underneath the tie.

He still doesn’t meet Wai’s eyes. “I’m not saying anything,” he huffs a little humorously. He smiles, soft but confident. Drunk. “I’m just glad you went with me.”

He unhooks the first button on Wai’s shirt, then moves to the second one. Methodological and collected.

All Wai can do is look. His nerve endings are on fire, sending mixed signals to his brain; pain or pleasure, the need to run away or lean into the touch. It’s none of them, it’s all of them, it’s panic and it’s serenity, it’s Korn undressing him, it’s the dim light and heavy air, it’s Korn moving onto the third one, then pausing with the tips of his fingers still stuck to Wai, it’s Korn licking his lips, it’s Korn and Korn and–

“You wanna know why she broke up with me?”

And Earn.

If before Wai has turned into a statue, or even just still a slab of marble that’s about to be carved into something beautiful, then now he’s the too big of a piece that was chiselled off, lying helplessly on the ground, the artist looking down on him disappointedly, as if it’s Wai’s fault he was careless. The artist’s furrowed eyebrows look suspiciously familiar.

Wai blinks slowly. “Sure.”

Be a friend, he tells himself. Swallow this down like you always do. He's good at this, isn’t he? Pushing everything away from his heart until it becomes just another layer of his skin. Being his friend before being in love with him, before being his fake boyfriend for two weeks, before being a rebound date for an evening.

The fingers that are still lingering on the fabric of his shirt feel like chisels.

“You went out for lunch with Pran,” Korn starts.

Wai, shamefully, feels something like satisfaction. Maybe Earn has been haunting their house, but Wai has haunted their relationship for its entire duration. They met through him, Earn being his own ex-girlfriend's friend, and he set them up for a date. He helped Korn pick out an outfit for their first date and the restaurant they’d go to on their second. If they hung out at Korn’s, Wai was always in the background, since he lived there too, and if he offered to leave, Korn would tell him to sit down with them. If they went out, Wai would let Korn use his cologne, since he never bought one for himself (my aftershave is enough, Wai, why would I want to smell like tuberose and salt, or whatever, he’d whine, reading scent notes from the bottle, and then spray it on himself before every date anyway), and he’d go out smelling like Wai. And now, apparently, even Korn’s breakup story starts with Wai, like he’s been in the relationship too from the beginning to its end.

“I don’t know if you remember,” Korn adds, like a side note. “We missed each other that day, I went out before you got back, so I texted you to let me know when you'd get home.” He looks away from Wai to the ceiling, sighing deeply, but his fingers stay in place. “But you weren’t texting me back for the whole evening, so by the time we got to the restaurant, I was starting to get worried. And she–” He scoffs. “She asked me if everything was okay. And I, like an idiot, thought she was genuinely asking and not letting me know I was looking at my phone more than at her, so I told her all of that. Thought she’d be worried too, you know, since you two were friends. But instead, she exploded at me. Something about us being codependent, something about me always putting you above her… And then she told me not to call her, and left me there.”

Wai watches Korn closely. He’s not sure what he’s expecting to see. A single tear travelling down his temple? A sarcastic smile filled with contempt? That heat that was there when Wai walked into the room? He doesn’t get any of them anyway. All there is is the way Korn’s throat moves when he swallows and a blank stare directed at the ceiling.

“And the worst part? She was right,” Korn says. “I did put you above her. I mean, I loved her, I wanted to marry her, for fuck’s sake– but you’re Wai, of course you’d come first. I thought it was a given.” The way he still doesn’t look at Wai is starting to feel like a conscious effort. “I think that was the thing that fucked me up the most about that whole situation– maybe this is the worst part, actually.”

Wai’s head is spinning. Korn wanted to marry Earn, but Wai was still more important than her. Wai comes first. Wai comes first. Because he’s Wai.

It feels like a love confession somewhere in Wai’s sick head.

Korn continues, “That I realised no matter what you’d come first. Or that I didn’t know it before, I don’t know which one is worse. I think I was just happy she was smarter than me and saw it before we went any further. Imagine, a few years down the line, and we're suddenly getting divorced because I’m–” He shuts his eyes tightly and shakes his head once. He doesn’t finish the sentence.

The way Wai’s mind fills in the gap scares even him.

“So, what now?” Wai asks. He’s surprised by how normal his voice sounds, somewhere between humour and comfort. All those years of hiding his feelings are really paying off. “Trying to stop putting me first?”

Korn scoffs like the idea itself is ridiculous. It makes him look at Wai again, though, so it’s not all that useless.

“Does it look like I’m doing that?”

“Kinda looks like you’re doing the opposite.”

The way Korn stares at him feels pointed, like Wai is missing something or is supposed to gather something from what he just said. But his thoughts are scattered, and his blood is running hot in his veins, bringing that heat to every nook of his body, and Korn’s fingers move from his shirt to the skin on his chest, sliding up until they rest on his collarbones, and Wai can’t focus on anything other than Korn’s eyes like two black holes pulling him in.

“You’ve got work in the morning,” Korn says instead of explaining his look. “You should go to sleep.”

He takes his hand back, but it feels like he’s forcefully peeling it away. Wai doesn’t know if the one that doesn’t want to let go is his skin or Korn.

Obediently, he stands up, and he suddenly remembers that he’s still drunk, because his head spins, and retains a fuzziness even after he stays in place for a moment. Perhaps it’s the alcohol that makes him do it, but he reaches out towards Korn’s face, and only realises that he’s doing it halfway through the motion.

It’s too late to pull away anyway.

He cups Korn’s cheek, stroking it with his thumb twice. It’s hot, like he’s blushing, but in the dim light Wai can’t say for sure. He watches the way Korn’s eyelids flutter. It’s probably surprise, but he lets himself believe it’s something else.

“Sweet dreams,” he says.

Then, he walks away fast enough he might as well be running.

***

Korn says, “We should get a Christmas tree this year,” and they find themselves at a Christmas fair the next day.

There’s a German Christmas market near the city centre, so they head there, hoping to find a live Christmas tree, but Wai is already planning the route to the mall where they can get a plastic one. It’s not a given that there will be any Christmas trees there at all, much less in the evening after Wai’s back from work.

They’ve never celebrated Christmas. Wai grew up not religious, considering he spent most of his childhood away from his parents, and all he knows about Christmas is what he’s seen on TV and on the internet these past few years when it’s been getting more popular. Korn mentioned doing something for Christmas when he was younger, since his dad’s side of the family is Catholic, but ever since his parents got divorced and Korn lived with just his mom, they never celebrated Christmas again.

Wai isn’t exactly surprised by the idea. Korn has a station with Christmas songs set up on the radio at home for half of December, he comes up with a Christmas-themes menu at the bar every year, and he always insists on inviting their friends there for a Christmas drink. With the upcoming Christmas party, Korn must just be upping his excitement. Next thing Wai knows, he’ll be dragged to a midnight mass or kissed under a mistletoe, or whatever it is that people do for Christmas.

There aren’t any trees left. It doesn’t seem to dampen Korn’s mood. He hangs off Wai’s arm, pointing to a booth with mulled wine. When Wai looks at him, and sees the lights reflected in his eyes like a starry sky, he thinks he’d let himself be run over by a tank, if it was a Christmas tradition, just to see this expression again.

“They’ve even got an alcohol-free version, so you can have one too,” Korn says once they get close enough to read the signs on the booth, written on a chalkboard. There’s nothing in him that suggests he even considers Wai declining. “And then let’s go look at the lights, okay?”

They end up on a bench next to a giant Christmas tree covered in lights on the edge of the market, both a cup in their hands. They’re sitting close enough that their thighs are stuck together, but Wai thinks that nothing like that can phase him anymore. Not after Sunday night.

Except then Korn leans his head against Wai’s shoulder, and Wai’s stupid heart skips a beat anyway, like he’s a teenager sitting after school with his first crush.

“How was your day?” Korn asks. It’s casual and affectionate, it makes Wai wonder if it’s Korn being a fake boyfriend for practice again.

Wai questions almost everything Korn does these days like this.

“Boring,” Wai says anyway, because fake boyfriend Wai and real Wai aren’t too different from each other. “I got two designs approved by clients, though, so at least there’s that.”

“Which ones?”

“The green kitchen house and that American-looking one,” Wai replies, because Korn knows about every project he makes down to the roof angles, both because Wai keeps complaining and because Korn keeps asking about them.

Korn hums an acknowledgement. “I liked that green kitchen. If we ever make enough money to build a house, you’ll have to design us a house with a kitchen like that.”

That’s– huh?

Wai feels his own smile slipping. This is– different. This isn’t fake boyfriend behaviour, nor is it joking. Which means it has to be real. Korn talking about their future together, about building a house fit just for them – that’s real. That’s real.

His grip on the paper cup with mulled wine becomes stronger, and he has to hold himself back before he crumples it and spills the drink over himself.

“But I think a single-story house would be better,” Korn continues, casually, as if he didn’t just send Wai into a spiral. “Once we’re old, it’ll be difficult to climb upstairs just to go to sleep, you know? You have to think about this stuff beforehand–”

“Korn,” Wai interrupts. He doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know what he wants to say. All he knows is that he can’t listen to this anymore.

They’re fake-engaged. But Korn telling him that he’d be more important than Korn’s hypothetical spouse, that was real. Korn wants to build a forever house with him, where they can grow old together. But when Korn tells him he wants to marry him, he’s joking.

It’s too much. It’s not enough. It’s everything at once, and it’s making his head spin.

Korn makes a questioning noise, not raising his head from Wai’s shoulder.

Wai’s phone ringing in his pocket saves him. He takes it out hastily, thanking every deity he’s ever even heard of for this call, whoever it is.

“Pran’s mom is calling,” he tells Korn, then picks up the call immediately. “Hello?”

“Wai, hi, do you have a moment?” she says.

It sounds like she’s in a rush, and Wai curses internally. The shorter the call is, the less believable it will be when he says he forgot what he was going to say before his phone rang. Because that’s his plan for getting out of that. He never called himself creative, and he’s not really that good of a liar, okay? Don’t look at him like that.

“Yeah, of course. Is something wrong?”

“No, no, of course not…” She sighs exaggeratedly. “ I just wanted to ask, are you still coming on Friday?”

The party is on Saturday evening, Christmas Eve, so they can have a Christmas breakfast with fewer people already and head back home at a reasonable time. He and Pran originally planned to take Friday off to go earlier and help Pran’s parents, since family members would be arriving that day too, and they’d have to be escorted to the hotel, because the house is too small to fit everyone with just one guest bedroom and a living room couch, taken out for something to eat or just entertained for a while. But then it turned out that Pran had an important meeting at work on Friday, so he’d come in the evening or on Saturday already.

Wai was going to just wait until Pran was ready to go, but now that he’s being asked… Does it mean he’s still invited early? Will it be weird, since he’s not actually a part of the family? Or is Pran’s mom covertly trying to let him know not to come before Pran? Wai has never been good at reading between the lines.

“Whenever you want me to,” he finally says. “I was going to just go with Pran, but I still have Friday off if you need me there.”

“Oh, that’s amazing!” she exclaims with relief. “See, my sister said she’d come early too, and now I’m going to have a full house before anyone else gets here, so I could use any help I can get. From that mysterious boyfriend of yours too,” she adds. Wai can almost hear the raised eyebrows and searching gaze in her voice. “ I hope he’s still coming, I can’t wait to meet him, whatever his name even is, since you never told us–”

“It’s just Korn,” Wai interrupts. Damn him and his big mouth.

On his shoulder, Korn stirs, then sits up straight. He looks at him with a question in his eyes, and Wai answers with a flat smile.

“It just came out of nowhere last time and I forgot to mention,” he continues. Maybe he’s not that bad of a liar after all. Or maybe his skills end where lying to Korn starts. “But it’s Korn. You’ll love him.”

She makes a surprised noise. “Oh. Oh, of course it is! I should have known, it was so obvious the way you’d talk about him… Well, anyway, I still have a lot of cleaning to do,” she adds like she didn’t just call Wai down bad, basically. “I’ll see you two on Friday, then. Can’t wait to finally meet him. And text me when you leave. Bye-bye!”

The second the call disconnects, Wai groans. He forgot about the whole ordeal of introducing Korn to Pran’s parents and how awkward it would be. Not to mention that now Pran’s mom will probably bring up every time Wai has ever mentioned Korn as if to prove she’s known all along how embarrassingly in love with him Wai was, and the worst part is she won’t even be that wrong. Well. At least Pran won’t be there to see the worst of it.

Next to him, Korn, amused, asks, “What?”

“Never told her who my boyfriend was,” Wai replies, guessing that Korn is asking about why he was mentioned in the conversation.

“Fiancé,” Korn corrects him. Again.

Wai turns to look at him. “We are not telling them that.”

“Why not?” Korn asks. Eyebrows raised, eyes widened, in that way that’s supposed to purposefully make him look like a dog begging for a bone, but makes him look like an asshole instead, because a shit-eating smile pushes for his lips anyway. “Shouldn’t they know that their second son is getting married?”

“See, the thing is, we’re not getting married,” Wai replies. Too harsh.

He’s getting angry. He doesn’t know why, he doesn’t know when it started. But the feeling is all too familiar. Hands that want to become fists, a wave of heat coursing through his body. Shortened breath. The next step is making one move that will make him lose a friend. This one is too familiar too.

Maybe it’s the flippant way with which Korn refers to their fake engagement, as if that’s not the way it should be for the both of them. Maybe it’s just the weight of it all, of trying to tell what’s fake and what isn’t, of trying not to lose his mind between his feelings and the act– maybe it’s just the love that he always keeps two steps behind him that’s trying to come out in a different way than it should.

Wai isn’t good at feelings. He’s not good at being genuine, he’s not good at being a friend. He’s not good at being good. But swallowing everything down until it dissolves in the acid of his stomach? He’s a master at that.

He takes a deep breath, though his jaw trembles. He loosens the grip on his cup, and looks Korn in the eye, trying his hardest to soften his gaze.

The hurt confusion in Korn’s returned look is enough of a reason to make him feel like he’s doing the right thing here.

“I mean,” he continues, “it’s fun and all, but I don’t want to lie to them more than I already am. They don’t need to get their hopes up for nothing.”

Something is wrong, because the look Korn gives him just intensifies. Or maybe Wai is imagining it. A few blinks later, it’s gone, replaced by neutrality, before Korn looks away to drink the rest of his mulled wine. He doesn’t spare Wai another glance.

“Should we go get that Christmas tree?” Wai tries. There’s a desperate feeling that spreads to his fingertips, saying that he fucked something up and telling him to fix it. “We couldn’t get a live one, but I think they should have some fake ones at IKEA.”

Korn stands up, throws his cup away into the nearest bin, and turns halfway to Wai. “Let’s go, then.” It lacks excitement, but at least it’s something.

When Wai joins him, he gets this urge to reach out and grab his hand. He doesn’t follow it.

***

On late Thursday evening, Wai is baking a cake to bring over to Pran’s parents’.

Usually, he doesn’t feel he’s a guest enough to bring a gift every time he comes over, and Pran would curse him out if he tried that anyway. This time, though, it’s not just a gift because he’s going to someone else’s house. It’s also something to give to all the family members who arrive at the house and stay for long enough to have coffee before going to the hotel, so Pran’s parents have one more dessert on stand-by.

It also is stress relief.

Wai doesn’t know which part stresses him out the most; the fact that he’s going to a family reunion for a family that isn’t really his, bringing a guy over just to introduce him as his boyfriend to everyone, or just the part where his boyfriend isn’t really his boyfriend, even though Wai is really in love with him. Or maybe it’s that ever since the restaurant date his fake boyfriend hasn’t brought up another fake date, and with every passing day Wai is starting to feel more like he messed something up.

Which doesn’t really even make sense. Korn isn’t mad at him. He’s on the couch in the living room, humming along to yet another Christmas song on the radio, and working on one of his million spreadsheets for the bar’s finances or work schedules. From time to time, he says something to Wai, and Wai answers, and it’s normal.

Maybe that’s the part that’s bothering Wai. Because something feels like it shouldn’t be normal.

Pull yourself together, he tells himself. A guy told you you’re his priority, as if that’s so surprising after you’ve known each other for almost a decade. What’s the big deal?

Probably the part where Wai is going crazy trying to figure out which parts of Korn’s behaviour are a part of the fake boyfriend acting and which are real, like the answer isn’t obvious. If it seems like Korn likes him, then it’s fake, and if it feels like something a close friend would say, then it’s real. Easy.

In theory.

He hears Korn before he sees him, a familiar rhythm of footsteps combined with the squeaking of his non-slip fuzzy socks. He turns around, having just put the bowl back down on the counter after pouring its contents into a pan.

Korn isn’t coming to him. Which is an oddly disappointing realisation.

Instead, he slides over to the radio, which Wai brought from its usual spot on the bottom shelf of the TV stand and put on the island counter. He started cooking before Korn came out of his bedroom too, so he didn’t think much of it, but now he’s starting to wonder if it’s difficult to hear it on the other side of the wall in the living room.

“I think I’ve had enough of these jingling bells, whatever they are,” Korn mutters, searching for something on the radio. Finally, he puts his finger on a button without pressing it, and looks up at Wai with a question in his eyes. “If you don’t mind?”

Wai shrugs. Leaning against the counter behind him, arms crossed, he watches Korn go through stations, pausing on each one to listen to a bit of what’s playing before moving on, still dissatisfied, until he finally finds one that makes the wrinkle between his eyebrows smooth out. It seems to be one of those oldies stations that now are already playing songs that Wai grew up on, as if that doesn’t make him feel like a dinosaur, because the song that fills the air is at least as old as Wai and Korn.

“How’s it going?” Korn then asks, pointing to the bowls behind Wai with his gaze.

“Fine? I hope.”

He’s still waiting for the oven to finish preheating, since he didn’t time it well and turned it on too late. The batter tastes good, at least, and he’s going to make the filling while the cake is baking. He doesn’t mention it, though. He’s not exactly sure why.

“Fine?” Korn smiles crookedly. “Just fine? I don’t believe you.”

He walks around the island counter to look into the bowls next to Wai. He’s standing close enough that his shoulder bumps into Wai’s elbow when he leans down. Next, he takes the now empty bowl that held batter just a moment ago, and straightens up, sticking a hand into it and sliding his finger along the side, collecting some leftover batter.

Staring straight into Wai’s eyes, he licks his finger clean.

It’s– obscene is the only word for it. He sticks his tongue out, drags it along the entire length of his finger, then, once he reaches the tip, takes it into his mouth fully. Cheeks hollowed out, half-lidded eyes. When the finger leaves his mouth, it’s with a quiet pop.

Wai can’t look. He can’t look away either.

“That’s gross,” he says, somehow.

Korn shrugs, leisurely, like he didn’t just– well, whatever it was that he did. “I’d say it’s pretty good actually.”

Wai holds back a groan. He stares wordlessly at Korn, whose neutral facade is starting to crack, showing a grin instead. Suddenly, he’s overcome with this wave of a feeling that he’s only ever felt for Korn, so he’s not exactly sure what it is: it’s exasperation, but the kind that he doesn’t mind, and it’s affection, but in the way that irritates him. It’s loving anger and angry love, except much less grandiose and much more quietly ordinary.

“You’re annoying.”

Korn’s smile grows even bigger, showing his teeth for a second. He puts the bowl down, and takes a step closer to Wai. One hand leans against the counter behind Wai, and it slides towards him until it rests right next to him, fingertips touching his hip.

Korn says, “And you love me for it.”

And the thing is, he’s right. Because while Korn changed over the years that Wai has known him for, at his core he stayed the same. And that person has at first evoked only hate, whatever hate had meant when you were fresh out of high school, rash and impulsive, but over time, once it started fading, that same personality started to become what made Wai smile on a bad day and what he ultimately fell in love with; not with the guy who took his girlfriends out to fancy restaurants and tried to impress them with owning a business, but with the one who got grumpy when he used the wrong coffee beans to make his morning latte and who threw a dirty rag he used to clean the bar with at him.

He usually doesn’t really think about it. Loving Korn is just a fact of life, be it as a friend or a lover (and he doesn’t know where to draw the line between them; he doesn’t know if it’s even possible). But sometimes, Korn does something specific, and a wave of warmth washes over Wai; he puts those moments into a list in his head, so he can remember what exactly he loves about Korn.

Wai is trying out a family recipe that Pran’s dad gave him, and Korn is peering over his shoulder, ready to try it first, not even worried if it’s going to be awful. When Wai comes back home almost deliriously drunk after hanging out with friends from university, Korn guides him to his bed, changes him into his pyjamas, even though Wai is yelling at him to get off of him, and turns his lights off; as Korn is leaving, Wai mumbles an I love you to him for the first time ever, and he could swear the smile Korn gives him lights up the room again. Wai walks into the living room, saying that he needs a fake boyfriend for an evening, and Korn is starting to plan what they’re going to wear almost immediately.

That’s the way it goes. Korn does anything, and Wai loves him for it, and he loves, and loves, and loves. He loves Korn so much the word love stops being scary, something he never thought would happen when he realised what it was.

He frowns exaggeratedly, while he looks away. He can’t say what he’s about to if he looks at Korn. “I do,” he groans, like the words leaving his throat are a form of torture. “I know I don’t, like, say it… but you know I do.” Only then does he let his eyes wander back in Korn’s general direction.

Korn’s I’m being annoying on purpose grin turns into something softer. He moves even closer to Wai, not as close as he does these days, but enough to be significant. He ducks his head, searching for Wai’s gaze, and doesn’t speak until Wai is looking at him.

“I know you do,” he says then, suddenly all soft and somehow nostalgic. Then, out of nowhere, his eyes light up. “Dance with me.”

“Huh?”

“I like this song,” Korn explains. “So dance with me.”

Wai frowns. “I don’t dance.”

“What do you mean you don't dance?” Korn then replies, half amused, half confused. “Everyone dances.”

“Have you ever seen me dance,” Wai tries to ask, but it comes out more like a flat statement.

It’s Korn’s turn to frown. “I thought you just, like, didn’t get the chance to– Are you not going to dance at the party too?”

Really, Wai doesn’t even know if there’s going to be music at the Christmas party, but what he does know is if there was going to be music playing, he wouldn’t be planning to dance anyway. He doesn’t even know how to; the extent of his abilities is half-hopping in place or shifting his weight from one foot to the other on beat.

“No? It’s more a dinner than a party anyway–”

“You’re being ridiculous. You can’t bring a boyfriend to a party and not even dance with him once.”

At once, Korn puts himself in front of Wai and grabs him by the wrists, dragging him to the middle of the kitchen. Then, he places Wai’s hands on his own waist, and reaches out to circle Wai’s neck.

The worst part is, maybe, that it barely phases Wai anymore. He looks into Korn’s eyes, and puts a grimace on his face, because, really, he doesn’t dance, but it doesn’t even feel like he’s doing much. He feels conditioned; he feels that maybe the whole going on fake dates for two weeks thing both broke him and healed something in him, because he doesn’t panic when Korn gets too close, but he’s going to miss it like a man stranded on a desert misses water once it’s all over.

“You owe your boyfriend at least one slow dance, if you bring him to a party,” Korn says, starting to sway from side to side, and Wai intuitively follows him. “I know you’re perpetually single and lonely, so you might not know these things, but that’s why you have me.”

You have me you have me you have me–

“What I have is a cake to bake,” Wai replies flatly. The swaying brought them to a place where the oven is directly behind Korn, and Wai can see that it hasn’t finished preheating yet, but he doesn’t know what else to say. “And you’re in my way.”

Korn’s fingers sneak up, and he starts playing with the hair on the base of Wai’s neck, tugging on a strand and twirling it around his finger. Wai’s hair has grown a little longer lately, and he doesn’t know how he wants to cut it, so he’s putting off going to a barber. He’s starting to think Korn likes it this way, anyway, with how often he plays with it.

“A–ha. Then why are your hands still on me?”

Korn raises an eyebrow at him. He knows he’s won this round anyway. And really, he wins pretty much all the time, yet Wai finds he doesn’t mind. If someone told twenty-year-old Wai that there would come a time when he’d still treat every conversation with Korn like a fight, but wouldn’t care about losing it, he might have had a stroke. Hysterically, Wai thinks he’s glad that time travel doesn’t exist.

“Someone glued me in place,” Wai says. “Now I’m stuck like this.”

Korn smiles brightly. “And how does it feel?”

The question feels loaded, somehow. It’s not the way Korn is looking him right in the eyes, teasing and amused, and it’s not the way he smiles comfortably. It’s not even how close they are, Korn’s arms bent at the elbows and Wai’s hands slowly sneaking to his back where they’re more comfortable. But it still feels like Korn is asking him if he’s happy where he is in life, in one apartment with Korn, dancing with him in their kitchen at night and baking a cake they can bring to Wai’s almost-parents; if he wants something more, something else, something less. Someone whose hands on the back of his neck don’t feel like electric wires and someone whose body doesn’t stick to Wai like honey. Someone who isn’t Korn; a life that isn’t led with him.

Wai knows that’s not what Korn is asking, because Korn doesn’t love him like this, possessively and without a way out. But that’s what it feels like to Wai, because this is how he loves Korn.

Wai shrugs lightly, careful not to push Korn’s arms off his shoulders. “Could have been worse.”

“I’ll take that,” Korn says, on the verge of laughter.

Silence, as they just smile at each other. Not long, but long enough to make Wai feel out of place.

“What do you even do when you’re dancing like this?” he asks, feeling the need to say something down to his fingertips.

Korn looks at him with a combination of disbelief and humour, like Wai is a puppy who’s trying to jump up high enough to steal food from the table.

“Just– what we’re doing right now. Talk. Flirt.” He cocks an eyebrow at that. “If you want to, you can just look at each other in silence. Or, if it’s too awkward…”

He shuffles forward, and for a moment Wai has this ridiculous idea that Korn is about to kiss him. Instead, Korn puts his head on Wai’s shoulder, his arms hugging Wai more closely. Wai’s heart still beats so fast it’s about to jump out of his chest, breaking a few ribs on its way out, though.

“You can just do this,” Korn finishes.

Wai swallows heavily. He finds his hands already on Korn’s back, as if they moved there automatically, without any of the shame that possesses his head as it snuggles into Korn’s neck.

There are only a few things that Wai knows about himself for certain, that are also applicable to this situation he finds himself in.

One, he’s gay. It’s the first on the list, because it came with a struggle, because it felt like he had to rip that realisation out of life’s grubby arms and mould it into something of his own with his own hands, because for a long time he didn’t think it was something that could be his. It’s the first, because of the months of shame and denial that he had to endure before it could finally settle comfortably in his life.

Second, he’s bad at feelings. It’s something that made him popular among students at the girls’ high school next to his, a bad boy who gets into a fight at least once a week and who surely will end up hurting you in the end, and it’s something that sounds embarrassing when he’s well into his twenties, but he hasn’t learned how to deal with them anywhere along the way. Sometimes, he doesn’t know what he’s feeling; hurt and sadness and jealousy and anger intertwine somewhere in his abdomen and spread to his fingertips, so, scared, he pushes it back and away, just in case it’s something dangerous. Sometimes, his feelings are so acute they manifest on the outside before he can put them back on their shelf, and sometimes, they don’t show at all, even when they fill him up so fully that his organs must be drowning in them.

Finally, he’s not a good person. He’s selfish and immature one moment, then he’s standoffish and cold the next. He hurts his friends because of his fragile feelings and makes everything they do about himself. He never tells them that he loves them, even though he feels like he’d wither and die if any of them left him. There is never any thought behind his actions, he’s always halfway through before he realises that he’s even doing something, and he always assumes everything will work out for him anyway. If it doesn’t, he makes it someone else’s problem, lashing out or keeping it bottled both managing to be the wrong move. When he sees something he wants, he takes it without any consideration, and he takes, and takes, and takes until there is nothing left.

So whatever Korn is going to give, Wai is going to take. Selfishly, thoughtlessly, greedily.

He breathes in slowly and closes his eyes. Korn smells like soap and aftershave. In Wai’s sick head, it somehow feels like something that belongs to him, this smell, this closeness, the sound of Korn’s deep breathing and the air that leaves his lungs grazing the back of Wai’s neck.

His fingers on Korn’s back are stiff like they know they don’t really belong there, though.

“I still have a cake to bake,” he says, voice quieter now.

“It can wait until the end of this song.”

The radio presenter must hate Korn, because he starts speaking almost immediately after Korn stops. The song keeps playing in the background quietly while he goes on about Christmas traditions in Hungary, but it’s barely loud enough to hear and definitely not loud enough to dance to.

Korn takes a step back, then another. His hands linger on Wai’s shoulders as he looks at him curiously. Every spot where his body was pressed up against Wai’s is now a gaping hole.

Wai thinks that the radio presenter must hate him too, actually.

“See, you do dance,” Korn then says, a cheeky smile lighting up his face. “No excuses now.”

Then, he moves even farther away from Wai. He cocks an eyebrow, before turning around and walking out of the kitchen with a slight skip in his step.

The light on the oven switches off, telling Wai it’s finally preheated to the right temperature. Wai ponders about putting his head inside instead of the cake.

***

“Okay, ground rules,” Wai says as they pull into Pran’s parents’ driveway. “Behave. Don’t try to mess with me in front of them. Don’t start exchanging embarrassing stories about me. And, for fuck’s sake, stop fidgeting, you’re making me nervous too.”

Korn sighs heavily. “How can I not be nervous? I’m meeting my future in-laws for the first time.”

It sounds so genuine Wai almost thinks Korn actually believes that. He turns just to search for any semblance of a smile, and he finds it in the one raised corner of Korn’s mouth and a spark in his eyes.

“One more rule. Do not fucking say that in front of them.”

Halfway through a stretch, Korn groans, “Yeah, I got that the last time.” He extends his arm until he pushes against Wai’s head. When Wai swats it away, he smiles innocently and blinks slowly at him. “Should we go inside?”

It’s more or less a blur.

There’s a lot of I can’t believe we haven’t met before (which Wai has purposefully avoided both because Dissaya’s observant mom eyes would notice the unrequited love within half an hour, and because Pat’s parents have met Korn before, and Wai would rather not deal with them seeing Korn on their neighbours’ property), some not-exactly-covertly whispered he’s so handsome (which, okay, Wai does agree with, but still doesn’t like it being said out loud, because Korn is never going to let him live it down), and a one notable at least one of my sons isn’t single anymore (which makes Wai cringe and tear up at the same time, because he’s being referred to as their son, but also because it’s their actual son who’s the not-single one between the two of them), before Wai is being whisked away to the kitchen by Pran’s mom while Pran’s dad shows Korn around and brings their stuff to the guest bedroom upstairs.

There, after complaining about Wai bringing the cake he’s spent half of the night on assembling, because he shouldn’t have, he gets updated on everything important. Pran’s maternal grandparents and aunt with her family are going to get there the soonest, then it should be Pran’s uncle on dad’s side, paternal grandparents and great-grandmother, and then an uncle on mom’s side that’s probably actually some cousin a-lot-of-times removed. The rest of the family that’s arriving today is going straight to the hotel.

“So,” Pran’s mom finally says like she’s been waiting for it the whole time. She’s got a cup of coffee in her hand, and she sits down at the kitchen table, motioning for Wai to follow her. “How did that happen?”

Wai grimaces in a way that is almost begging, but she just looks at him expectantly. All he can do is sigh and thank the universe that Pran isn’t present to hear this.

“It’s been three months,” he says, thinking back to the coffee date the week before, when they had discussed this. His eyes dart to the ring that’s still on his finger. They haven’t actually talked about any other part of the fake relationship, their time taken up by a fake engagement. “I don’t know what else to say. I think it was just a matter of time.” He sighs heavily. He wishes it was that way. “I mean, we’ve known each other since university, we live together, we spend so much time together that we pretty much know each other inside out… It’s– I don’t know, it’s hard to find something better. To fall in love with anyone else when you have this as a comparison.”

Wai can’t even force himself to make eye contact. He’s not sure if it’s the guilt of lying to the person who’s cared for him more than his actual parents almost half of his life, his mediocre acting skills that make him scared she’d be able to read through him with a single glance into his eyes, or the wave of sadness that washes over him when he says it, because it’s true, in a way, and not just for him. Korn told him that he’d end up putting Wai over a spouse, and Wai hasn’t even tried to move on from Korn ever since he realised he was in love with him. In a way, he’s right. In a way, it still feels like betrayal.

Pran’s mom puts a hand over Wai’s. It’s still warm from where it was holding the coffee cup. Wai’s eyes get stuck on the engagement ring she has on her finger, a simple gold band with a red stone.

He thinks, unfairly, that it was cruel of Korn to give him a fake proposal and a fake engagement ring. He figures it’s the best he’s ever going to deserve anyway.

“I’m happy for you, kid,” she says, softly. When Wai glances up at her, there’s a matching smile on her lips. “The way he looks at you, like you hung the moon and the stars… You deserve that.” Then, she looks up, somewhere behind Wai, and her smile grows bigger. “Come on in, sit down. Did he show you around?”

Korn walks in from behind Wai, touching his shoulder in passing, and sits down at the table. He shoots Wai a fond smile before looking back at Pran’s mom. Wai doesn’t know if it’s real. He doesn’t know if it matters.

Something in Wai breaks underneath all this weight. The show still goes on.

***

Pran arrives late at night in a taxi he took from the train station. The second he’s done greeting his parents and leaving his bags, Wai drags him back outside.

There’s a gazebo in the far corner of the backyard, dark wood covered in ivy in a way that makes it almost impossible to see inside from any place other than the entrance. Usually, there’s a big rectangular table and two benches on its longer sides inside, but the table has been taken to the carpenter to fix a wobbly leg, and hasn’t gotten back yet, as Wai learned earlier in the day between telling Pran’s maternal grandmother everything about his bar and driving her and her husband to the hotel. The benches are still there, though, so Wai sits on one with a heavy sigh, and watches Pran take a seat at the one opposite.

“You left your boyfriend alone inside?” Pran asks, a teasing grin on his face that doesn’t match the dark circles under his eyes. “Aren’t you scared mom’s going to prod him for the details of your relationship?”

Wai stares as blankly as he can. “Very funny.” He then sighs, leaning back in his spot. “He’s taking a shower, I think we’re safe.”

Pran laughs shortly. “How did it go, anyway?”

“Well, aunt Dao was very excited about me being gay, for one. Like, pulling Korn aside and telling him she supports us kind of excited. I think all of the grandparents just thought he was a friend, or that your parents accidentally acquired another son somewhere along the way, though. They all arrived at pretty much the same time, so I spent half of the afternoon with the coffee machine, making coffee for everyone, and they were so damn loud I thought my head would explode. Everyone’s at the hotel now, except for uncle Pichai, he’s going to get there just in time for the party, and–”

“You know damn well that’s not what I’m asking about,” Pran interrupts.

Wai purses his lips. Of course he knows. He just doesn’t want to think about it, much less talk about it.

He sighs heavily. “It was fine. Like, your mom told me she was happy for me and your dad showed Korn his best bottles of whiskey the second he remembered we own a bar. You know. Fine.”

Pran raises an eyebrow at him, humming questioningly. “Why do you sound like you’ve been tortured the whole day, then?”

“It was fine as far as torture goes, I guess.”

Wai has barely even spent any time with Korn for the whole afternoon besides comforting smiles over yet another cup of coffee that Wai handed off to Korn to bring to the dining room table. It was just all noise, conversation about the same thing over and over, and then driving back and forth to the hotel.

He’s met most of the family members before, so at least it wasn’t awkward in the way it must have been for Korn, but there are certain expectations that come with being closer to a host than a guest. Wai had to manoeuvre between conversations with an ease that he doesn’t have, so that every guest would feel included, and he didn’t have Korn to fall back on if he was lacking words to say next. He had to introduce Korn to everyone, then explain the family relation to Korn in passing, before continuing on with entertaining. He had to catch up with people he hasn’t seen for years and has barely any reason to act this close to, and then introduce himself to the kids and spouses he hasn’t met yet, bracing for the inevitable who the fuck even are you? look.

He’s exhausted. And that doesn’t even scratch the surface of the whole Korn problem. Because having to assume that everything Korn does when they’re in the same room as any family member is fake is kind of wearing Wai out.

There’s a comfort that Korn brings to Wai’s life that Wai barely notices until it’s gone, and suddenly he has Korn’s hand on his back, sturdy and supportive, but he can’t bring himself to fully lean on it, because it’s all fake now. Whatever they do, it’s an exaggerated version of who they usually are, played up and acted out. And Wai fucking hates it.

The reason why he dragged Pran out to have this conversation is because he’s half-scared of facing Korn now. In their shared guest room, with Korn fresh out of the shower and Wai almost delirious from exhaustion, he won’t know where to draw the line between reality and fiction. He’s not sure what he’ll end up doing, running away or throwing himself at Korn.

“How’d Korn do?” Pran then asks, so clearly amused by Wai’s situation that even the tiredness of a full day at work and subsequent travel can’t hide it.

“You know him. He’s great with old ladies and parties, he fitted right in.”

There’s a smirk on Pran’s face, when he says, “And how is he with Wais?”

Wai pauses for a moment, swallowing heavily. “Perfect,” he answers. There’s something miserable about the word, but he hopes it can come across as another sign of his exhaustion. “He was– everything you’d expect from a guy you bring home to meet your parents, you know? I don’t know where he learned that.”

Pran frowns. “Earn never…?”

Ah. The ghost follows Wai everywhere, it seems.

“Never,” he just says.

She’s from the north, and it’s a big commitment to drive up there, so maybe they never got around to it. Maybe she never thought about Korn seriously enough to introduce him to her parents. Wai doesn’t know, and honestly, he doesn’t care either.

There’s a sudden shadow on Pran’s face that looks close to fatigue, but Wai knows him enough to be able to instinctively guess what brings it about. It’s the same expression Pran had for the first few months of Wai knowing him, it’s what he wore when he came to ask for Wai’s help hiding his relationship with Pat, it’s the one that follows every question about hypothetical boyfriends from his parents.

It makes Wai want to hate someone for putting it on Pran’s face, but he doesn’t know where to direct the anger. He can’t hate Pat for it, even though he’s the most direct cause, because it’s not really his fault in the end. He can’t hate Dissaya for it either, because he doesn’t feel he deserves to. She’s not his mother, and he already feels indebted enough to her anyway. Especially, he can’t hate her for it, when Pran himself doesn’t seem to. Who would he be if he hated his friend’s mom, the one who calls him for gossip on the weekends and who offered him a home when he had to move out of his dorm after graduating, the one who did so much for him over the years and never asked for anything in return? So he keeps all the anger inside, and it festers like a wound that’s not even his, foreign yet painful.

“What do you think they’d say if I brought Pat over?” Pran then asks, quiet.

There it is, the unspeakable.

The thing is, Wai doesn’t know. Pran’s mom has been more careful around him and the issues with Pat’s family ever since he came back home from that doomed attempt at running away, but that doesn’t have to mean she’d be fine with Pran introducing Pat as his boyfriend again. She might be keeping quiet just to keep the peace, the way Pran is doing, or she might have really changed enough to accept it this time around. And it would be no use to try to look for an ally in Pran’s dad. He’s the type to stay impartial even when it makes him someone’s accomplice, he washes his hands and leaves it for his wife to handle. Pacifist to the extremes, no one’s ally but someone’s enemy anyway.

Besides, even if Pran could bring Pat to his family home without starting a war, it wouldn’t be the same as with Korn anyway. Korn gets all the excitement and adoration, the compliments and acceptance; Pat would at best get cold politeness and no open antagonism.

And that’s the point, isn’t it? That’s where the tragedy of it all lies. They’ll never get that warm family welcome, all because of some old grudges.

Pran shakes his head. “Forget about it,” he mumbles, probably thinking the same thing as Wai. Knowing how similar they are at their core, it might be down to the exact same words. “I might end up just sending them an invitation to our wedding with the way it’s going.”

Against everything, Wai smiles. “You two got engaged without telling me, or something?” He waits for that inevitable are you fucking serious? look in reply before wiggling his eyebrows. “Fine, fine. Go eat something, you’re probably hungry.”

Pran stays silent for a moment, eyeing Wai carefully. They know each other well enough that Wai just lets himself be read. Finally, Pran nods, apparently satisfied with what he finds, and stands up slowly.

“Anything good to eat?” he asks half-humorously.

Wai smiles. “So much that something might fall on your head when you open the fridge.”

***

When Wai drags his feet upstairs and walks into the guest bedroom, Korn is already out of the shower. He’s sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed, his hair still wet, while he’s typing something on his phone. Most notably, though, he’s shirtless, wearing just his pyjama bottoms.

Wai swallows heavily. Honestly, it’s almost embarrassing how hot his face gets just from looking. He’s been seeing the guy shirtless since before they even became friends, back when they played rugby at uni. He shouldn’t be having a reaction like this, mouth dry, a wave of heat rippling through his body. His fingers don’t know what to do with themselves other than attach to Korn, and Wai can’t let them do it, so he freezes in place, overcompensating.

Korn looks up at him. Wai watches as a neutral gaze turns into a spark in his eyes, and his stomach flips.

“Heard Pran finally got here?”

Wai hums an agreement. Finally, he trusts himself enough to move, and he sits in the armchair in the corner of the room. He doesn’t want to get his dirty clothes on the bed anyway, so the fact that he doesn’t have to sit next to half-naked Korn is just a bonus.

Korn keeps on doing something on his phone. Wai pulls his legs up into the chair, and rests his head on his knees. He just lets himself watch Korn.

It’s normal. It’s casual. It’s driving Wai insane.

Korn’s pyjamas have been bought specifically for this occasion, dark blue with tiny gingerbread men printed all over them. They’re loose enough that they bunch up in his crotch, even though he sits cross-legged. The band digs into the soft skin of his stomach, making it fold a little over it. Wai, turning hysterical from how tired he is, catches himself wanting to bite it.

He looks up from his phone. Wai doesn’t avert his eyes. They look at each other in silence for a moment.

Wai’s heart picks up the pace. While Korn is looking at him with increasing curiosity and fondness, Wai can almost feel the heat in his own eyes. The exhaustion makes them half-lidded and hazy. He must look crazy; he must look crazy for Korn.

Korn smiles softly. “Tired?”

Wai is grateful for it. He nods.

Korn stretches, then slides off the bed and walks to their suitcase. He rummages in it, but it’s on the floor on the other side of the bed, so Wai can’t see what exactly he’s doing in there. Finally, though, he turns to walk towards Wai. There’s a towel, some clothes and Wai’s travel toilet bag in his arms.

“Go take a shower,” Korn says, handing everything off to Wai. “I’ll get the room ready.”

There is no part of Wai that has enough energy to argue, so he takes his stuff from Korn, pulls himself up, and shuffles to the en-suite bathroom. It still smells like the combination of Korn’s soap and shampoo.

When he finally walks out of the bathroom, somehow both more alert and more tired, he finds the lights in the room turned off, save for the nightlight on the right side of the bed, the one that’s already occupied by Korn. He’s half-sitting up, leaning against the headboard with a pillow underneath his back, and he looks at Wai with bright eyes and a smile. He also has a shirt on now.

He pats the spot next to him. “Come on.”

Wai just throws his stuff into the open suitcase, planning to sort it out in the morning. For now, though, sleep.

He slithers into the bed with a sigh. The bedding is softer than he remembers, and he doesn’t know if it’s because it’s new or because he’s just so tired.

Only then, does he notice the details. His phone is plugged in and laying on the night stand on his side of the bed. His clothes for tomorrow are on a hanger on the dresser’s doors. The window is slightly open, not enough for it to get cold during the night, but enough to have fresh air.

Wai gets all warm and fuzzy from the way he feels taken care of, from the way he feels… loved.

“Pran was here when you were in the shower,” Korn says, his voice hushed. “He said you didn’t boast about how well you did with the guests. I had to tell him myself, you know.”

Wai groans. “You’re making it sound like I’m a child.”

Korn shifts closer to Wai, turning until he faces him. “I’m making it sound like I’m proud of you,” he corrects, but Wai feels there’s something teasing about it. Wai is proven right when Korn reaches out to ruffle his hair, leaning almost over him, and says, voice sickeningly sweet, “Nong Wai…”

Wai swats his hand away. Korn laughs.

Against himself, Wai smiles a little too.

“Do you ever get tired of being so damn stupid?” he mumbles anyway, putting a frown back on his face.

Korn grins wider. “The only stupid I am is stupid for you.”

Wai thinks he’s about to kill someone. Himself or Korn, that’s unclear, but it will end in blood. There’s a tingling in his fingertips that says he wants to punch something, and there’s a tug in his gut that makes him want to run away. Or maybe it’s the need to throw himself at Korn in the other way, he’s not sure.

“Pran also said,” Korn continues, completely ignoring Wai’s exasperated groaning, “that this is your room.”

Pause.

“It’s not.” Wai sighs, then turns to the side to face Korn. “I mean, it kind of is, but… It is a guest room, first and foremost. It just so happens that I’m the most frequent guest here.”

It lacks the personal touches necessary to make it someone’s room. The dresser is consistently empty, because even if Wai ends up staying the night after one of their monthly dinners, he doesn’t care enough to unpack. The bedsheets are a guest room white, and the curtains are a plain beige against a plain beige wall. There’s one picture on the wall, and it’s a painting made by some friend of a friend that no one in the house liked enough to put in their own bedroom. No clutter, empty shelves, everything dusted and vacuumed to perfection.

Korn moves again, fixes his pillow and lies down, facing Wai.

They’ve shared a bed before. Whenever they go out of the city for a few days, they just book one room, because it’s both cheaper and easier, and the double beds are usually more comfortable than if they got a room with two singles. At home, they watch a movie in one of their beds together some nights, and they just fall asleep there, the laptop still between them. Sometimes, Korn just opens the door to Wai’s bedroom in the evening and finds himself a spot next to Wai without a word; sometimes, Wai comes back from work straight into Korn’s bedroom, needing to complain about his day to someone immediately, then ends up falling asleep, and when he wakes up, he finds Korn asleep right next to him.

The point is, this is something they do enough not to even blink at the thought of it. The point is, too, that this is different.

Maybe it’s the dim warm light, maybe it’s the exhaustion. Maybe it’s the fact that there’s something intensely desperate in Korn’s gaze that surely is reflected in Wai’s too. Maybe Wai is just imagining things after a whole day of pretending to be loved by Korn.

“Thought you weren’t really a guest here,” Korn says. His voice is on that borderline between being quiet and whispering, husky yet clear. There’s an unwavering soft smile on his lips like it’s permanently etched there.

“Not enough of a family member not to be a guest, not enough of a guest not to be a family member, I guess.”

Wai and the Siridechawat family is a complicated matter. He’s not their adopted son by any means, but he’s more than just a friend Pran brings over sometimes. He still has his own parents, who are very much alive and well, and they don’t live far enough for him to justify seeing them once a year, but neither of them asked him to come over for Christmas, or even just without any occasion. He talks to both Pran’s mom and dad on the phone sometimes, and most of the time it’s just because they want to talk and ask about his day, meanwhile his real parents call him a few times a year at most.

He’s still a guest here. Even when he’s invited to come before Pran can, he still has to be invited. Even when he’s welcome at a family function, he’s still more of a background prop or an additional pair of hands whenever needed, not a full participant. Even when he has a room in the house that he comes back to every time he’s there, it’s still a guest room.

And he’s grateful, he is. He has two families, in a way, the one he was born into, that never really wanted him but had him anyway, and the one he actually grew close to. But existing in that gray space between labels is still exhausting. He’ll never fit in, he’ll never know how to act instinctively, he’ll never feel like nothing can deny him his place.

He doesn’t belong anywhere. He belongs everywhere. It’s all confusing and unstable, and he doesn’t like to think about it, because it’s too much to comprehend for his dumb brain.

Korn nods once, more like he’s acknowledging what he’s saying than understanding it.

Well. Wai guesses he has a third family. Him and Korn in their bar, at their apartment, at the shopping mall or a Christmas market– that’s the one he knows he belongs in. He built it himself, through unintended meetings with a rival and sticking it out during that stage when they knew they wanted to be friends but weren’t close enough to be comfortable with each other yet; through getting yelled at for putting the cereal away onto the wrong shelf and having his cologne stolen, through finding the kitchen sink always full and having to send Korn off to another failed date. He let the walls he built around himself crumble, and he let go of his pride, and he clung onto Korn like a lifeline. And it’s all his, all this comfort and safety, each cracked joke and wide smile, every late night at the bar and early morning over coffee; it belongs to him, and he belongs to it.

Maybe this is why people want to get married.

“We probably should go to sleep,” Wai says, words mumbled and quiet.

He watches Korn give him one last glance before laying on his back, then stare at the ceiling with a sigh as he reaches out to turn the lights off without looking. In a bout of courage, Wai scoots closer to Korn, who must immediately understand his intentions, because he extends his arm like an invitation. Wai settles somewhere between Korn’s shoulder and chest, and he feels Korn’s arms wrap around him. They fold into each other like two puzzle pieces. Through a sleepy haze, Wai thinks it’s almost impossible how well they fit together.

“Sweet dreams,” Korn whispers.

Wai’s that combination of loose, relaxed and tired that makes him unfurl and crumble, a soft smile spreading through his face that he didn’t put there and a satisfied sigh leaving his throat that he didn’t even realise was forming. He’s letting go, he’s losing control of himself, but he doesn’t mind. It’s trust, it’s comfort; it’s love.

He thinks he wouldn’t mind doing this every night for the rest of his life. He lets himself dream about it.

***

Wai can already hear the family gathering downstairs while waiting for Korn to finish getting ready. He finds it a little odd, to be honest. Pran’s family home has always been a quiet place. No talking at the dinner table, the conversation to be had in the living room afterwards. The TV was barely ever on, unless it was on the news channel and muted, and the only sound was classical music on the speakers. Pran is an only child, so there was never any sibling-typical bickering or running around, and they never had any pets either. Except tonight, Wai is in a closed room upstairs, and he can already hear all the noise and conversation. It’s nice. It’s homely and lively.

They spent the entire day cooking and baking from what felt like a million recipes that Pran’s mom found on the internet for what are supposed to be traditional Christmas dishes. Wai was delegated to making a potato salad between frying a carp and baking a gingerbread, meanwhile Korn was keeping his eye on the baked ham while also preparing the cranberry sauce and vastly overcomplicated mashed potatoes they’re supposed to have with it. Pran’s mom was watching over them, while also cooking a beetroot soup and setting the table with a thousand side dishes she had already prepared beforehand. Pran and his dad were sent to fix the Christmas tree, because it started tilting, then to clean up the dining room once again, vacuum everywhere, fix the Christmas tree again, but this time because the ornaments weren’t hung up evenly, and finally to prepare eggnog and mulled wine, which all made Wai really glad he could just stand in the kitchen and gossip with Korn and Pran’s mom about the neighbours (notably, excluding Pat’s family) and the family (which mostly consisted just of Pran’s mom sharing stories about them with Korn, who has never heard any of them before). They’ve barely finished cooking when Pran’s paternal grandparents have already arrived, hoping to help, so Wai and Korn excused themselves to go get ready, leaving Pran to handle it this time.

Wai is sitting on the bed, running a hand up and down the sleeve of his sweater. It’s that material that’s so soft and lightweight it almost feels like he’s not wearing anything, black with one of those Christmas patterns that’s just crosses, triangles and tiny reindeer. Korn made him pair it with a white shirt, which still only reminds him of university uniforms to the point where he hasn't owned even one since then up until Korn took him shopping two weeks ago. He feels oddly comfortable, even despite the fact that the pants Korn made him buy are fitted, not loose like he usually wears.

Korn emerges from the bathroom all of a sudden, and he’s still not changed. “Help,” he just says, then walks back inside.

Wai frowns, but follows him, more out of curiosity than obedience. He finds Korn already sitting down on the edge of the bathtub, looking up at him.

 “I can’t get my hair to work,” he sighs, exasperated. “Do your magic or I’ll go insane.”

“Let me see.”

Automatically, Wai reaches out to guide Korn’s head up by the chin, assessing what’s going wrong there. Korn always swears Wai has some magical abilities to force his hair where it should go, Wai guesses it’s just a matter of not doing it on yourself, but he smiles every time Korn asks him to help like it really requires some expertise. It’s usually a date night activity, which generally leaves a bittersweet taste in Wai’s mouth, because while Korn leaves to be with someone else, he’s doing it after being touched all over and styled by Wai, like he’s going there with a part of Wai nonetheless.

Up close now, he can see that Korn has also shaved, which makes the amount of time he spent in the bathroom make a little more sense. He nicked himself on the jawline, and there’s a tiny drop of blood there, so Wai wipes it off with his thumb while trying to decide what to do with Korn’s hair, not really thinking about it much. Then, he lets Korn go and takes a step back, giving him a once-over, before intending to grab the hair gel from the shelf. Except–

Except, there’s something wrong with Korn. His head is still stuck in the position Wai has left it in, slightly tilted up, and he’s blinking slower than normal, his gaze absent, and he’s– blushing?

Huh.

Wai frowns. Is he embarrassed about something? There’s nothing unusual about this situation, so it doesn’t make sense. Maybe he’s just tired after spending the whole day in the kitchen, and he’s letting himself zone out while Wai takes care of his hair. Yeah, that sounds more like it. And his cheeks are only red because he’s feeling hot. Now that Wai thinks about it, it really is pretty warm in this bathroom.

He washes his hands briefly before putting a little bit more gel on them, and gets to styling until he’s satisfied with what he sees, Korn’s hair pushed back, a little messily but purposefully nonetheless. He lets Korn stay in his zoned out state, so the bathroom only fills with their joint breathing and the hum of the conversation from the floor below. Unintentionally, his lungs decide to synchronise with Korn’s. There’s something intimate in it, and it makes his stomach twist.

He steps back, admiring his work. Or Korn. He’s not entirely sure. “Done,” he says, quiet. “Get dressed now.”

Not waiting for Korn’s reaction to his hairstyle, he gets out of the bathroom, and closes the door behind him. It feels like he’s running away. He can’t say why.

It doesn’t take Korn long to finish getting ready now. He walks out of the bathroom again soon enough, this time dressed up the way he was supposed to. Sighing, he pauses halfway through the room, and asks Wai if they’re going downstairs now. Wai replies with a nod. Any longer and Pran will be wondering what’s taking them this long.

Not that he’s all that keen on going. In this bedroom, soulless and empty, at least he knows that whatever they do is whatever they are, but down there, everything will be an act, and he still can’t tell if he’s ready for it.

Korn holds out a hand for him to grab. “Let’s go, then, babe,” he says, and Wai’s head spins.

He’s probably too dramatic about it all. The awareness doesn’t stop his feelings anyway.

They walk downstairs hand in hand.

At first glance, everyone is already there, sitting in the living room, children running around. A second later Wai notices that they’re chasing a small dog, which means that uncle Pichai must have already gotten there too, because that white ball of fur is his new puppy that Wai saw in photos on Pran’s dad’s phone yesterday.

Wai searches the room for Pran. He finds him leaning against one of the arches leading into the dining room, waving them down towards himself.

“Took you long enough,” Pran mutters, fiddling with the collar of his shirt. “Mom’s saying we should be starting in a moment, since everyone is already here.”

“Anything more to help with?” Korn asks. He’s still holding onto Wai’s hand, which Wai feels is important to mention.

Pran shakes his head. “I think we’re good for now.” Then, he sighs heavily. “It’s so freaking loud in here. I can’t believe this really is my house.”

Behind Wai, there’s a conversation about the weather, another one about one of the kids’ accomplishments in chess tournaments, and the younger kids laughing at the dog running away from them, all overlapping. It reminds Wai of meal times at the boarding school, everyone packed into one room at the same time and talking over each other. He would guess Pran thinks about it too.

Suddenly, there’s a hand on Wai’s shoulder. He turns around, a little startled, and meets aunt Dao’s eyes.

“What are you boys whispering about?” she says.

She’s probably the member of Pran’s family who Wai knows the best besides his parents. She’s Pran’s mom’s younger sister, and at the time when they were in high school she just moved in with her new husband near their boarding school, so Wai used to spend a lot of weekends at their house once he and Pran became closer. Their birthdays are only a few days apart and they have a similar sense of humour, which was apparently enough for her to decide he’s her ten years younger twin.

Turns out she doesn’t even care about the answer to her first question, because she immediately follows it with, “You know, Wai, I can’t believe no one told me you have a boyfriend before.” She looks between the two of them with this far too excited expression that says she’s waiting for someone to tell her more. “I only heard when I was talking to Dissaya this week and she said you’re bringing someone with you.”

Pran tries to mask his laughter so ineffectively it comes out both as a cough and actual laughter. Wai shoots him a glare, but it only makes him smile even wider.

“It’s because no one knew until recently,” Pran replies, all amused and annoying. “He only told my parents two weeks ago.”

“Oh?” She looks at Wai curiously. “How long has this been going on, then?”

There it is, the part that they’ve been preparing themselves for for the past two weeks. Not that Wai feels particularly prepared. They haven’t actually discussed that much or planned any details, but he guesses they won’t be questioned enough for it to matter.

“Depends on what you mean by this,” he replies, matching his smile to aunt Dao’s cheeky one. If he has to do this, he’s at least going to have some fun with it. “We’ve been dating just for around three months, but it goes way back.” And by fun he of course means doing shit that will haunt him for years to come.

Pran interrupts him with a groan. “I can’t listen to this again, actually,” he says, and Wai doesn’t know if he’s anticipating how stupid Wai is about to make himself look or if he’s playing his part as the best friend who’s had to hear about Wai’s crush on Korn for years, but both work fine as far as he’s concerned. “I’ll be in the kitchen heating up the soup, if anyone needs me.”

And with it, he’s gone. On his way to the kitchen he takes his phone out, and Wai thinks there might be the third option of Pran just wanting to escape to talk to Pat.

“How back?” aunt Dao asks, completely unbothered by Pran’s exit.

Korn squeezes Wai’s hand suddenly. Wai can’t tell if it’s a warning or a show of support, so he looks over at him, but all he finds is a fond smile, and he’s reminded that it’s probably what he’s going to see on his face this whole evening. No nuance, just this same in love expression, so the act is believable.

“Oh, you know,” Wai mumbles as a reply, waving his hand dismissively. “We met at uni, so it’s been a while. And when you live together, then work together, buy a business together… How can you not fall for each other? It just took us a long time to pull ourselves together and say it out loud. And I have to be honest, I’ve liked him for years,” he adds conspiratorially, leaning in closer, “but I’ve always been scared of ruining our friendship, so I just loved him from afar. But turns out he was doing the same, so it all worked out.”

He can swear he hears Korn’s breath hitch despite the noise that surrounds them.

Aunt Dao coos. “See, this is a love story,” she sighs. “Every time I ask my friends how they got together with their partners it’s always a dating app or something that makes you think they’ve just settled for the first person that wanted them.”

Wai thinks he could use some more settling in his life, because at this point he’s definitely going to end up dying alone, but it’s only half-hearted. He remembers Korn telling him he’d end up putting him above a hypothetical spouse, and he guesses it would have been the same for him. Except, instead of just prioritising Korn over a partner, he’d just keep being in love with him until he’s dead and buried.

“How did you and uncle Chai meet, then?” Korn interjects, like he suddenly remembers he too is in this conversation. Wai feels something close to pride that Korn remembers the family relations and names enough to confidently ask that after only one day.

“We’ve known each other since we were kids,” she replies enthusiastically. “We were in the same class all through school, but we didn’t become friends until after we graduated. Actually, we didn’t really like each other back in school. We were the two best students in class, so we were always competing with each other.” She looks over her shoulder like she’s searching for something, then stops at once. Wai realises she’s looking at her husband. “But we finally got around to talking to each other when he went to university and I was in trade school, we started studying together, and it kind of happened, you know? He asked me out at my graduation ceremony and later told me that it was because if I had said no, we could have just easily never seen each other again after that.”

Wai sighs heavily. If he imagines Korn showing up at his graduation ceremony with a bouquet of flowers and a question like that, it’s no one’s business but his own.

“Well.” She claps her hands, ending the conversation like it’s a slat at the end of a scene. “Come on, boys. Let’s go talk to other people too. I heard my dad really wants to talk to you about your bar,” she adds with a conspicuous smile, pushing them with barely any force towards the room.

By the time Pran’s parents call everyone to the dining room, Wai has already been through a conversation about the best tequila brands (with Pran’s maternal grandfather, like aunt Dao suggested), marriage (with both grandmothers, who tell him to never marry a man who won’t help him in the kitchen, to which Korn interjects, saying that he’s not scared of cooking, making them both giggle), the weather (with an assortment of aunts and uncles, because yes, it has been warmer lately than usually in December) and his work (with Pran’s dad, who then ends up pulling half of his side of the family into it, because there’s an unusually high number of architects between them). All this time, Korn’s hand is always on him, even if it’s just a fingertip on his thigh or a brush of shoulders. It’s both grounding and confusing, like Wai’s body’s natural reaction to it is to feel comforted and relaxed, but then his brain reminds it that Korn isn’t doing it out of a genuine desire to touch him, but out of the obligation of a fake boyfriend.

He stands behind his chair, Pran on one side and Korn on the other, and he listens to Pran’s dad’s wishes to everyone, and he takes in everything. The holiday atmosphere, Korn’s hand on his back, the family that surrounds him, and he tries to pretend it’s all real, it’s all his.

It partially works.

***

“Wait, so uncle Pichai is Pran’s grandma’s sister’s son, aunt View is his second wife, and all of these kids are theirs?”

Wai and Korn are sitting on the living room couch, squeezed together into one corner. Their thighs are stuck together, Korn has one arm on the back of the couch behind Wai, and Wai’s one hand is leisurely resting on Korn’s leg. A perfect image of a real couple.

It’s just after Christmas dinner, and most of the guests are still at the dining room table, busy catching up with each other or questioning Pran about his work or dating life, so Wai took Korn, and they sneaked away to the next room over. They can still see and hear them, since the rooms are only separated by a set of three arches in place of a proper wall or a set of doors, yet it feels like they’re away from everything. Now, Korn is trying to remember all the family relations, while Wai laughs at him a little stupidly after downing a full glass of wine at once at the end of the meal. It will get diluted in his blood soon enough, and he’ll calm down a little, but for a moment he’s happily letting himself look as dumb in love as he really is.

“Almost all,” Wai supplies. “Prim, the one in the yellow dress, is uncle Leo’s daughter.”

“And who the hell was uncle Leo again?”

Wai, honest-to-god, hears himself giggle. “Pran’s dad’s friend. The one who owns a restaurant–”

“In Phuket, right,” Korn interrupts to finish the sentence himself. “That we definitely have to visit if we’re ever there,” he adds, because it’s something that’s been repeated to them at least five times this afternoon.

The TV in the living room is on, but it’s on a channel with a Christmas concert, so instead of making everything more noisy, it just adds to the atmosphere. There’s a giant Christmas tree in the corner, decorations hung up on the stair railings, over the arches between the living and dining rooms, and put up in any spare space on the shelves. Usually, the house is kind of cold and emotionless, the day-to-day decorations meticulously curated and a quiet conversation to be heard at most. But with the Christmas decorations and the constant chatter, it almost feels like a completely different place.

Korn’s fingers are tapping a rhythm on Wai’s shoulder. “Told you there would be music here,” he then says.

“Not the kind you can really dance to, though.”

“You can dance to anything if you’re in love with each other enough.”

Wai both smiles and rolls his eyes at the same time, because alcohol always makes him feel everything more acutely and overpowers his abilities to hide it. He sometimes gets why people become alcoholics, when he’s like this. Everything seems so easy. He leans in closer to Korn because he wants to, and he lets his eyes stay wide and fond when he looks at Korn because he loves him, and the part of him that says it’s dangerous gets shut down quickly. Korn always laughs at how affectionate he becomes when he’s drunk, but that’s only because it’s something he has to hold back when he’s with Korn.

Except now, Wai is allowed to love him, openly and publicly. That’s who they are for the next few hours, and he’s going to take everything that gives him; he’s going to act like the looks Korn gives him aren’t exaggerated and the constant touching is something they do, and he’s going to revel in it like it’s real, like it belongs to him. He’s going to give all he has in return, because it’s safe tonight, because he might not be able to do it again, even if the memory of this evening will kill him one day. He’s pretty sure there are worse ways to die, anyway.

“So that’s why people dance?” Wai counters, half an argument, half a joke. “Because they’re stupid in love with each other?”

Korn looks at him like he doesn’t really believe it, but nods anyway. “Exactly. Which is why you don’t get it, you’ve never been in love with anyone.”

Any other day, it would have been like a cut deep enough to reach the bone. Tonight, Wai grins, teasing and open, and basks in the warmth his own words bring him.

“Wrong,” he says. “I’m in love with you.”

Korn… freezes, but it’s not the flustered kind Wai was hoping for. There’s something both sharp and dull behind it, pointed yet flat to the touch. He looks like he’s both swallowing his words and wanting desperately to say something. Wai doesn’t know what it means. He doesn’t know if he should.

Something moves behind Korn, and Wai’s eyes automatically dart there. It’s just aunt Dao coming out of the dining room, so he immediately wants to look back at Korn, but he notices there’s something in her hands. She then lifts them up to the top of one of the arches and fiddles with the red tinsel garland that’s above it. When she puts her arms back down, she’s still holding something in them, but there’s also something hanging down the decoration.

Wai’s stomach drops before he can even consciously comprehend why.

It’s mistletoe.

It’s just mistletoe. No one is forcing him to go and stand under it. He can still use one of the two other arches leading into the dining room. It’s nothing, it means nothing.

Except then aunt Dao starts walking towards the couch instead of back inside the dining room, and Wai has this sinking feeling he’s absolutely fucked.

Korn seems to notice what Wai is looking at at the exact last moment before there’s a mistletoe dangling over their heads like a guillotine.

“Did you boys know my sister had all this mistletoe just lying around her dining room and didn’t hang any up?” aunt Dao says, as if she doesn’t notice the way both Wai and Korn are looking up at her like she’s an executioner. She leans leisurely over the back of the couch, resting on her elbows and holding the bunch of mistletoe up with one hand. It’s not over them anymore, but it’s close enough to still be a threat. “You think you two could help me? I could barely get it up there over the arches. I was thinking there’s still enough to put above the kitchen door and on the ceiling light here, but you can do whatever you want with it, really.”

Wai could swear he’s never taken a breath that tasted like this much relief. “Yeah– yes, of course, we’ll–”

“Great!” She then hands the mistletoe over to Wai, and takes out a length of red ribbon from her pocket that she puts into Korn’s lap. “You’re the best. You know, Pran just said that we didn’t need it when I asked him for help, that little brat– well, I’ll leave you to it.”

There’s a certain apprehension when Wai finally turns to look at Korn again, like he’s scared of what he’s going to find in his expression. Disappointment? Relief? Both feel wrong to be happy about.

Instead, there’s a smile, the kind that’s both humorous and covert in a way. It reminds Wai more of if they were just almost caught making out when they were hiding that they were together rather than the opposite. Well, maybe the opposite to that isn’t being scared that you’re going to have to kiss the guy you’re in unrequited love with under a mistletoe– but you get the point.

“Light or kitchen?” Korn asks. He puts something in Wai’s lap, and only now does Wai notice that there were actually two pieces of ribbon that aunt Dao gave him. “It’ll be done faster if we split up.”

“Kitchen.” Wai fumbles while separating the bunch of mistletoe into two, then hands Korn one of them at a bit of an awkward angle. Their fingers overlap when Korn takes it from him. “I was going to get a drink anyway.”

He wasn’t, but he might as well at this point. He doesn’t want to go back to the table yet, both because he’s trying to give the family their space and because his hands are still shaking. There’s an image in his head that doesn’t want to leave, where aunt Dao held up the mistletoe up over their heads to make them kiss, and Korn leaned in without hesitation, and he–

Fucking hell.

Instead of focusing on doing his job, Wai stares unceremoniously at Korn. He watches Korn tie a bow around the mistletoe and then use the leftover loose pieces to hang it up on the metal part of the ceiling light that’s right between the coffee table and one of the couches. His shirt rides up a little when he reaches up, not enough to show skin, but enough to need to be fixed, so he pushes it down just around the waistband of his pants.

It’s such a normal and domestic view, yet it catches somewhere in Wai’s throat. There’s a tingling in his fingertips, like he’s seeing something he can’t have, but can’t bring himself to stop wanting it. And it makes his head spin, because it’s ridiculous; this yearning shouldn’t be here. He has this.

Korn turns to him with a smile, the kind that just rests on his face at all times. And he has this. It’s his.

Maybe it’s not yearning; maybe it’s possessiveness. Maybe Wai is letting himself want more than he usually does, and it comes out crooked and ugly, because he wants to dig his fingers into the creased part of Korn’s shirt that he didn’t properly put back into his pants, and he wants it to leave marks in the shape of his fingerprints on the skin underneath it, so that everyone knows it was him who put them there. He wants to take that smile into his mouth and feel it dissolve like a sugar cube, and he wants it to never return the same, so that he’d forever be reminded that he tasted and changed it.

He wants. He’s in his best friend’s family house, surrounded by people he barely knows, and he wants like he’s never let himself want before.

Korn walks towards him and stands in the door frame too, then wordlessly takes the mistletoe from his hands. He unties whatever came from Wai’s attempt at doing what he was supposed to while staring, and ties it again properly. Wai follows the movement of his fingers, from where he keeps them right between the two of them, to where he puts them up to reach the garland that’s above the doorway. Maybe that’s why he notices too late.

It’s a trap.

He doesn’t know who set it. Pran’s mom, when she bought the mistletoe and forgot what she wanted to do with it, so she just put it into a decoration for the side table in the dining room? Aunt Dao, when she discovered it and brought it over to Wai and Korn to distribute around the house? Korn, when he let Wai choose to take care of this part himself, or when he decided to come over and help anyway? Or maybe it was Wai himself, somewhere between lying about having a boyfriend and staying in place as Korn hung up the mistletoe for him?

It doesn’t matter anyway. He’s caught. They’re both caught, and he sees it in Korn’s eyes when he looks down from the death sentence that hangs above them.

What do you do under a mistletoe? You kiss. You kiss, especially if you’re dating and still in the honeymoon phase. You only exchange a quick peck, because you’re surrounded by family, but you exchange it anyway, because you’re madly in love with each other and can’t keep yourselves off of each other. Or at least that’s what Wai has gathered from Christmas romcoms.

The thing is, if either of them hadn't noticed it, it would have been so easy to pretend they were never trapped. But now it’s now or never, act quick or laugh it off and hope no one furrows their brows at them acting weird, because any second wasted is a lifetime, and yet all Wai can do is look at Korn, his brain working overtime to figure out what he’s going to do, but only sinking further the more it thrashes around trying to find a coherent thought, never getting to a conclusion. It’s all a blur, it’s a heavy weight keeping him in place, it’s–

It’s Korn putting his hand on Wai’s waist, light and non-committal. Wai wants to yell at him to touch him like he means it, except he knows Korn doesn’t. Korn quirks an eyebrow, a question, and before he can think about it, Wai nods once, an answer.

They meet somewhere in the middle.

It’s short and appropriate, it’s barely a touch. It’s still a kiss. It makes Wai feel like he’s sinking, slowly but surely. Like he’s headed for his death and all he can do is make peace with it.

He leans back, and it’s automatic, like his body knows that’s what he’s supposed to do, but he barely registers it. His eyes open, and he only now realises that he closed them somewhere along the way. He studies Korn’s face, searching for a sign, but he doesn’t know of what.

The smile is gone. Through a haze, Wai thinks that maybe he got what he wanted.

Then, the panic sets in.

He kissed Korn, and– fuck, and Korn kissed back, and it was so quick it could have never even happened, except it was enough to wreck him, because that’s all he’s ever going to be able to think about when he looks at Korn, because all he’s going to ever imagine is the softness of Korn’s lips and the slight push that comes with kissing, and he’s– and he–

“I’m going to– kitchen, uh, drink–” he mumbles. “I’ll be back.”

And he runs.

***

It takes Korn longer to follow him than he would have thought.

He went out the side door in the kitchen and ended up in the gazebo in the backyard, hoping that no one would accidentally see him there as he’s losing his mind, even if anyone else went outside. It could have been a few minutes at most, but he’s already paced up and down the length of the gazebo, sat down, got up, sat down on the other bench, got up again, and now he’s leaning against the part of the fence that’s directly opposite the entrance.

That’s how he sees Korn approaching probably earlier than Korn can even notice him hidden in the shadows.

He doesn’t know what to think. Or, more accurately, he doesn’t know what he’s thinking. It’s all a combination of cut off words and jumbled sentences, but the gist of it is: he kissed Korn, and now he can never be normal again. He’s going to have to move out of the country or get into an accident serious enough to get amnesia, because he cannot live like this.

Korn is almost at the foot of the stairs leading up to the gazebo when he finally locks eyes with Wai.

Wai swallows heavily. For a moment, he wishes that Korn just acts like normal and pretends nothing ever happened, but all that image does is make him angry. Because everything has changed. It’s like every molecule in Wai’s body has been altered, and all they can focus on is Korn.

The ever-present smile is still gone from Korn’s face. Wai wonders if maybe– if he also–

And that’s the problem, isn’t it? Because to Wai, that split second of tasting Korn’s lips was enough to make his whole life shake and crumble, and he still can’t bring himself to spell his hopes out even in his own head; because to Korn, this is at most the issue of whether this situation will make their friendship weird. Because everything they were doing here was supposed to be fake, but Wai poured his very real feelings into it, naively thinking it wouldn’t do any lasting damage, and now he’s all damage.

Korn walks inside, but stops just a step away from the entry. To be able to run away easily, to make Wai unable to escape, or to stay as far away from him as possible? Wai doesn’t know. Suddenly, he can’t read through Korn the way he usually does.

It’s probably the combination of everything: Korn’s unreadable face, the kiss, all the feelings that Wai’s learned how to live with coming to the surface these past two weeks, the way he always pushes everything down until it’s just an aftertaste on his tongue or another layer of his skin– but it’s suddenly coming back, like bile up his throat, like his skin peeling away and showing the ugliness that it’s hiding, and it’s coming back like it always does, in a wave of all-consuming anger.

That’s what Wai is, at his core, no matter how much he tries to hide. He’s all anger, covered up by some of the nicer things to deceive everyone around him.

Sometimes it’s loyalty, it’s that devotion to his friends that led him into fights he knew he couldn’t win back in university just to defend them, but when you look underneath the surface, it’s possessiveness to the extremes, it’s rage when the friends he devoted himself to don’t return it with the same ferocity. It’s what he calls love, it’s wanting Korn to himself, but still helping him find a good place for a first date with someone else, because he tells himself that he cares about his happiness more than his own, yet under it all it’s the same anger again when he closes the door behind Korn, it’s the hope that the date will go wrong and Korn will end up disappointed, falling asleep in Wai’s bed again. It’s a polite smile that’s hiding the wish to curse someone out, and it’s a hug that covers up the fact that he wants much more. It’s layers upon layers, it’s love that covers desire that covers anger, it’s humour that hides hurt that hides rage.

Except now it’s all coming out, and Korn is about to see through the cracks and realise Wai hasn’t actually changed, hasn’t become a better person than he was in university, because Wai can’t swallow this down anymore, and he can’t push it away, and it’s all about to come tumbling down right on top of Korn.

“Listen, Wai, I–”

Wai interrupts him by just putting his hand up. He can’t– can’t deal with this. Not right now. Not like this.

“Don’t.” That's all he can say. Unless he wants everything else to follow.

“No, no, we’ve got to– figure this out,” Korn continues, persistent as fucking ever, and he takes a step closer to Wai. “I’m sorry if– no, not if, just. I’m sorry, no matter… We can, uh, pretend it never happened, if you want, just–”

The dam breaks.

Well. It’s all over anyway, one way or another. Might as well ruin it himself, right? At least this way he’ll know exactly why it ended. One more time for old times’ sake, one more friendship broken because Wai couldn’t keep the anger away, because he couldn’t hold it back like he’s supposed to, because he couldn’t stop himself from feeling–

“Exactly! You can just pretend it never happened,” he says. It’s not loud enough to be a yell, but it’s not quiet either. He doesn’t know where the words are coming or what the next one is going to be, and they don’t stop falling from his mouth– “But I– But I’m ruined! Because I can’t! I can’t forget, and I can’t pretend anymore, and I– And every time I look at you, I’ll see it in my mind, and I can’t– I just can’t…”

Korn takes another step closer to Wai. Wai retreats farther into the fence, so much that it digs uncomfortably into his back.

“Why?” Korn just answers, quiet and still unreadable.

Wai lets out a sharp breath that in another lifetime could have been laughter. He can’t bring himself to meet Korn’s eyes, but he’s too scared to look away either, so his gaze flicks between Korn and the ivy, his face and one of the columns around the gazebo. His voice breaks when he speaks up again anyway.

“Don’t make me say it, don’t– don’t be cruel. You know. You have to know why by now.”

“Do you really think I can forget about it?” Korn’s face flickers, this neutral unreadable expression turning into something in the shape of a smile for a split second. “Don’t you think I just said it because I thought that was what you wanted?”

He can’t be– No. No.

Wai’s head spins. He must be going crazy, because it sounds like– it sounds like Korn is saying that he–

“Did you?” Wai asks, voice quiet and shaking.

Korn’s face lights up, eyebrows raised, his eyes soft like Wai hasn’t seen them before.

Oh.

Oh.

“You know,” Korn says. “You have to know by now.”

Wai’s stomach flips. Because he– he thinks he knows. He can’t say for sure, not with how he’s pushed his hope down enough that it doesn’t dare to rise up even now, but–

He takes a step towards Korn at the same time as Korn does towards him. It’s like they’re synchronised, or like Korn knows exactly when the realisation will kick in, and both options are making his head spin. Or maybe it’s the confidence with which Korn grabs his waist, like he means it. Because he does.

It’s the last thought Wai ever has. Then, their lips meet again, and there’s nothing in his head except for the overwhelming presence of Korn.

 Wai’s hands cradle Korn’s face, fingers spreading wide to his hairline and neck, like he wants to touch, grab, have as much of him as he can all at once, and it makes his head spin, because he can touch and grab and have. There’s a wave of heat rippling through his body, and it’s good, it’s so good that he cannot believe a person like him can feel like this. Korn sinks his teeth into Wai’s bottom lip, and Wai gasps, mouth falling open, and Korn smiles, and Wai follows, and all of a sudden they’re smiling too big to continue.

He doesn’t know who lets go first. Honestly, he doesn’t know anything – when his eyes open again, when he stops pulling back, when his arms let go of Korn’s face to hook around his neck, crossed at the wrists behind it.

Korn smiles at him, all wide and soft and satisfied, and Wai realises it’s him who put it there. It’s all his, in a way. Fuck.

“Hey,” Korn mutters.

Wai raises his eyebrows, half questioning, half humorous. “Hey?”

The thought hits him again, making his stomach flip so fast he feels nauseous. They kissed. Korn kissed him, met him halfway there and kissed him– and likes him. Like this. Likes him like pulling him closer by the waist and looking him in the eye like he’s the only thing left in the world. He feels so giddy it’s almost embarrassing, and he doesn’t even care.

He feels Korn’s hands sneaking in underneath his unbuttoned sweater to rest on his back with one less layer between them and his skin, and it sends a wave of heat through his body. The breath he lets out is sharp and definitely humiliating, but Korn just smiles like normal. Then, and he doesn’t know how it starts, they’re suddenly swaying from side to side.

Dancing. They’re dancing.

“What are you doing?” Wai asks, and in it there’s audible the combination of confusion, laughter and adoration.

Korn quirks an eyebrow. “What does it look like I’m doing? You owe me this dance, remember?”

Wai can’t recall ever actually promising Korn a dance, but he’s willing to go with it. There’s something about this, about swaying in place with no music on in the background, and just looking at Korn the way he always wished he could openly, that makes him softer around the edges. He feels himself folding into Korn and the movement, his arms relaxing and feet following the dance with ease.

“There’s not even any music,” he argues, voice quiet, just for the sake of arguing.

Korn opens his mouth to say something, but then closes it back again, shaking his head. When he looks back at Wai, there’s a new shade of sparkle in his eyes, and Wai’s fingers tremble at the thought that it’s reflecting the one in his own.

“I was going to say something stupid like we can dance to the beat of our hearts, or something, but you know what? We’ve already had this conversation today. You can dance to anything if you’re in love with each other enough, and that includes silence.”

Wai’s stomach flips so fast it might as well be becoming a blade in a blender, mashing up everything on Wai’s inside into one unrecognisable mass. Which is a really bad comparison, but he barely even cares, when he remembers why he’s feeling this way. He can’t resist leaning in to leave a quick peck on Korn’s lips. When he pulls back, Korn’s face is frozen in a state between surprise and satisfaction.

“We should probably go back inside,” Wai then says, enjoying the way Korn has to blink a few times to bring himself back to his body to process what he’s saying.

Korn frowns momentarily. “Are we not… going to, I don’t know, talk about this?”

To Wai, there’s not that much to talk about. It’s not like a lot is going to change between them after (and his body runs hotter at the thought) kissing and all that. But this is Korn, and Korn needs to have everything thought out three steps ahead, even if one of them is stupid, the next one ridiculous, and the third straight-up dangerous. Though Wai hopes none of them are applicable here.

“Tomorrow,” Wai replies, almost begging in a way. “Or at least after the party’s over.”

There’s a pause before Korn finally nods. “Alright. Okay, that’s fine, yeah,” he mumbles. He peels his hands away from Wai, and takes a small step backwards, pulling Wai’s arms off of him with it. “But you’re not, like, going to change your mind until then, right?”

Wai needs what feels like a whole minute to understand what Korn is saying and realise that he’s serious. He laughs shortly, disbelieving. He’s been in love with Korn for fucking years, and this idiot thinks he’s going to stop liking him over the next couple of hours. He must have done something awful in a past life to deserve to fall for someone like this.

(There’s a part of him that says it may as well be retribution for his bad deeds in this life, but for once he’s too happy to let it speak to him in a way any more open than in parentheses.)

“I am if you keep being this stupid.” He doesn’t wait for Korn to examine if he’s being serious. He just grabs Korn’s hand and starts dragging him back inside. “Come on, they’re probably already starting to wonder where we ran off to.”

Korn lets himself be taken along without any resistance up until Wai has his hand on the door handle. Only then, does he suddenly call out Wai’s name, making them both pause. There’s an edge of impatience to it, or maybe even something more. Desperation, in a way.

Wai turns around. He lets silence fall between them and just watches Korn, and the way he blinks irregularly like he does when he’s thinking deeply about something.

“I love you,” Korn says.

Wai exhales sharply with a smile like the sentence doesn’t make him dizzy. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah, I love you too.”

These words don’t usually come to him easily, but tonight they leave his lungs like breathing.

“Like, I’m in love with you,” Korn somehow continues. “Romantically, I mean. Not that I don’t love you as a friend anymore, or something, but–”

“Korn.” It’s an interruption, it’s a plea, it’s a declaration. “I know. I’m in love with you too. Can we please just go back inside now?”

Korn opens his mouth like wants to say something, but he decides against it and nods instead.

The second they walk into the living room, Wai locks eyes with Pran who’s sitting on the couch alone. He then watches as Pran looks down on their joined hands and back up with a shit-eating grin like he immediately knows what has just happened.

He's never going to let Wai live it down, will he?

***

Wai wakes up like he startles. One second he’s sound asleep, the other he’s wide awake, eyes open and alert. He feels himself all tangled up in both Korn and their blanket. He’s half lying on Korn, his one leg and arm draped over him. The blanket is looped somewhere between his other leg and Korn, tight like it’s been tied there.

He lifts his head to look at Korn and finds him awake already, blinking lazily as he looks at nothing in particular. The movement must bring his attention to Wai, though, because he immediately meets his eyes.

“Morning,” Wai mumbles, straightening his spine to stretch as much as he can without actually letting go of Korn. He then snuggles back into his spot somewhere between his own arm and Korn’s shoulder, still looking up at Korn. “What time is it?”

“Don’t know.” Korn sounds all groggy and not well rested, and his voice is raspy, but he blinks at Wai with softness in his eyes. “But it’s still before our alarm.”

The Christmas breakfast is officially planned to start at ten so that the few of the family members who don’t have to spend the whole day driving back home can still get some sleep before having to get there. Uncle Pichai, who lives in the next town over, ended up falling asleep on the couch instead of going home last night, and refused to take up the offer of Wai and Korn’s guest room bed the same way he refused to be booked a hotel room before. Pran’s maternal grandparents live close enough that they can stay for breakfast too, same as aunt Dao with her family. Pran’s dad isn’t from Bangkok, so his side of the family can’t join them, because they all have to leave early to get back home at a reasonable time. The breakfast is going to be a relatively small affair, then, but they still set their alarm for eight to help get everything ready.

Which is a long-winded way to say that it’s still before eight in the morning.

Wai attempts a smile, but with the way he’s still all loose and relaxed from sleep it might be coming out a little half-hearted. He stretches out the arm that’s over Korn lazily, then hugs Korn tighter than before. “We have some time to waste, then,” he mutters. “What are we going to do with it?”

There’s an implication behind his words that he’s not going to follow up on, because while he definitely wants to, Pran’s parents’ house on Christmas morning is maybe not the best time and place for it.

Korn looks away all flustered anyway, eyes closed tight and a groan leaving his throat through pursed lips, and Wai thinks he could get addicted to the way it makes him feel that he can make Korn react like this.

“Since when are you like this?”

“Like what?” It’s both curious and teasing.

“Like…” Korn turns his eyes back to Wai, and he’s still frowning, but there’s something not matching that shining through his eyes. “I don’t know, clingy?”

Wai snorts. “Since always.”

“Always my ass,” Korn replies so fast he’s almost interrupting. “It took me years to get you to let me hug you, and you’re suddenly a freaking koala.”

“Do you want me to stop?” Wai asks more like a provocation than a genuine question.

He starts pulling his limbs back like he’s going to roll off of Korn, but he’s stopped by Korn’s hand grabbing his thigh, keeping it in place with a certain amount of strength. He replies with his eyebrows raised, then laughs at Korn’s offended expression.

“That is not what I said,” Korn mumbles. He then sighs, putting away the theatrics, and smiles softly at Wai instead. “I mean– well, you know what I mean, you asshole, don’t you?”

There’s something to be said about kissing the guy you’ve been in love with for the first time in the evening and him calling you an asshole in bed the next morning. There’s probably even more to be said about it making you smile. They’re both beside the point.

The point is, Wai knows exactly what Korn is talking about. But, to be fair to him, he’s also not lying when he says he’s always been affectionate like this with his friends. Pran could testify that he’s been kissed on the cheeks as a thank you more times than he’d like to admit and that they used to cuddle sleeping back in high school. It’s just that it’s not how Wai was with Korn.

“You’re just special,” he tries, teasing, hoping he won’t have to get into reminiscing and psychoanalysing himself. He gets a disbelieving eyebrow raise in reply. A sigh. “You know… At first, you were just doing it to be annoying– don’t look at me like this, you were so fucking annoying–”

“I was flirting,” Korn interrupts, all offended like he’s not spewing nonsense just for the sake of being annoying again.

“No, you were not–”

“I mean, I don’t think I was fully aware of it at the time, but I was.”

Wai stares blankly. That Korn who chased him around cafeteria tables and bought him sodas just to shake the can before giving it to him – that Korn was flirting with him? Ha. Very funny.

“I definitely thought you were hot back then,” Korn continues, completely unfazed. “I just don’t think I knew how to deal with it, so I…”

“Annoyed me?” Wai supplies, still disbelieving.

Korn grins sheepishly. “I guess so– well, anyway. Go on. I’m actually curious about why the fuck you think you’re all touchy-feely when all I got were rolled eyes–”

“I’m telling you, you’re just getting the special treatment,” Wai interrupts. He sighs. “I mean, after you got, like, ten percent less annoying, it all just came down to– keeping up my image, I guess. I was a certain person with you, so… You pretended you were going to kiss me as a joke, I pushed you away, it was both expected, because that’s who we were.” He pauses, looking for understanding in Korn’s eyes. He’s not sure if he finds it. “And then I realised I liked you, and it would have felt even weirder to suddenly stop– what is wrong with you?”

It comes because Korn is suddenly acting all flustered like Wai is some flirting master who’s using all his powers on him. Wai is pretty sure that if he got up to look at Korn face to face he’d see him blushing.

“What is wrong with you, actually?” Korn groans in reply. “How are you so… normal about this?”

“Probably because I’ve already imagined this so many times that I have a thousand different scripts for what you can say and what I can answer ready in my head.” It’s only half a joke, but he smiles wide nonetheless. “Besides, I feel like we’ve already gone past the awkward stage over the last two weeks, you know?”

That’s true too, Wai guesses. Apparently figuring out how to act as if you’re dating also means figuring out how to act when you’re actually dating. Well, Wai assumes they’re dating now. He’s not sure what else this could be.

Suddenly, Korn’s face drops. Wai has a bad feeling. It’s probably more unfounded anxiety than anything with tangible proof, but it makes him sick anyway.

“Speaking of, I think I have to tell you something,” Korn then says, all serious and avoiding eye contact.

Wai mutters a curse under his breath and starts moving off of Korn, ready to hear whatever variation of actually, it was a mistake and I don’t want you like this he’s about to get, but Korn grabs onto his thigh even stronger and looks at him pleadingly.

“Don’t– just, let me…” He cuts himself off with a sigh. “It’s not– bad, I don’t think, I hope. It’s just… Okay, so when you told me about the fake boyfriend thing and I proposed that we could pretend to be dating for the whole two weeks?” He pauses again. “I might have done that hoping that you’d fall in love with me?”

Wai’s expression must be as blank as his head, because Korn immediately starts elaborating.

“I mean, I figured out that I liked you after Earn broke up with me and said all these things, so I thought that maybe you could also just… I don’t know, need a kick to realise that you felt the same? Like, if you acted like you were dating me, you’d realise it was what you really wanted. And– stop looking at me like that, I mean, it worked–”

“It worked?” Wai interrupts. “It drove me fucking insane is what it did.”

Korn grins stupidly. “But it still worked–”

“It did not work,” Wai groans, putting a stop after every word. He gets a half confused, half panicked look in reply. “You fucking idiot, I’ve liked you for– wait, you mean to tell me you’ve felt the same for almost half a year and you just did nothing? We could have been together for months already?”

“Huh?” Korn stares dumbly at him, blinking slowly. “I don’t think I’m picking up what you’re putting down.”

Wai sighs. He decides this has to be a conversation to have while sitting up, so he untangles himself from Korn and gets up, then waits for Korn to follow, confused.

“What I’m putting down is that I’ve been in love with you for years,” he says. The way he keeps looking into Korn’s eyes when he’s talking should probably feel brave, but it’s self-indulgent, because he gets to see the spark appear in them when Korn finally processes what he’s saying. “You’ve liked me for half a year–”

“To be fair,” Korn interrupts, “I think I’ve liked you for way longer. I think it was always you. I just only realised it recently.”

Korn reaches out and puts his hand on Wai’s knee. Wai puts his own hand over it. It’s casual and steady, it makes his heart skip a beat like he’s a teenager with his first crush.

“Okay, well, the point is, you should have told me,” Wai finishes.

“Maybe you should have told me, eh, Mr I’ve-been-in-love-with-you-for-literal-years?” Korn’s teasing smirk dies down the second he says it. “It really sinks in when I say it like that, doesn’t it?”

He turns his hand around, but instead of interlacing his fingers with Wai the way Wai assumes he’s about to, he tugs at Wai’s hand to get it closer to himself. He holds it lightly, thumb reaching out until it rests on the fake-engagement ring.

“We should get married,” Korn blurts out.

Huh.

He doesn’t look Wai in the eyes as he continues, “I mean, we’ve been basically dating all these years anyway. What else is there to do?”

Wai takes a deep breath, and it’s shaky. “Are you proposing to me again?”

Korn smiles sheepishly, but at least he lifts his head to look at Wai. There’s a playful spark in his eyes.

“No. You’ll get a proper proposal this time, I’m just… trying to see if you’d want one.”

Wai must be going insane, because he’s pretty sure he’s hearing Korn say that he wants to marry him. Like, really marry him. Like, go to a courthouse and swear themselves to each other until death do them part kind of marry him.

Though, just the part where they’ve kissed so many times that he’s lost count last night is enough to make him feel like he’s gone off the rails. Because what else is a guy supposed to think when the one he’s been comfortably secretly in love with is suddenly doing all this I’m in love with you too shit.

“You’re so greedy,” he mumbles finally, rolling his eyes. “Leave some proposals for the rest of us, will you?”

Wai can tell when the realisation kicks in, because Korn’s slight frown smoothes out as his eyes and smile all get wider.

Then, Korn tugs at his hand even more until he can’t keep his balance and falls right into Korn’s arms. He lets himself give in to the movement too, and they both sink into the bed, Wai all on top of Korn, Korn wrapping his arms around his waist tightly.

“Nope,” Korn whispers into Wai’s ear. His breath tickles the skin on Wai’s neck. “Don’t even think you can beat me to it, either. I’ll say no, just watch me.”

Wai pulls himself up enough to be able to look at Korn’s face. He lets himself stare for a moment, taking it all in as if either of them is about to disappear any second. The width of Korn’s forehead, the curve of his eyebrows; the spark in his eyes, his cheeks pushed up into them from how wide he’s smiling; a mole here and there, some fine lines more from not being hydrated enough rather than age; the smile that gets wide enough to show a sliver of his teeth and that starts to fade when Wai looks at it, turning slightly puckered and anticipating.

“You won’t,” Wai says.

The alarm rings. It’s eight.

Wai lets himself ignore it for a beat, still lost in between everything Korn. Then, he leans down, leaves a quick kiss on the corner of Korn’s lips, and gets up slowly. He turns the alarm off, and turns back around to look at Korn.

He’s all splayed on the bed, his arms that fell away from where they were holding Wai spread to the sides, one leg bent at the knee, the other stretching out. He’s staring at the ceiling with an absent gaze, sighing deeply. It gives Wai all sorts of ideas that he has to push back for now.

“Get up,” he says instead. “We’ve got a Christmas breakfast to prepare.”

At breakfast, Korn keeps his thigh pressed closely against Wai’s. When they exchange gifts with the rest of the family, Korn’s hand is on Wai’s back, acting like they’re a unit, and when Wai unpacks his presents, Korn peers over his shoulder, attached to him in a hug at the waist. Wai ignores Pran’s curious looks and his parents’ teasing ones; he’ll have to deal with questions from both later anyway, Pran in the car as they’re driving back home together, his parents’ when they inevitably call during the week to ask more about Korn. Now, he lets himself have all of this – a family celebration, a partner at his side and a loving atmosphere in the air. For once, they all are real.