It had been a few days since Arthit officially withdrew from university. Since then, his world had shrunk to the four walls of his studio—dimly lit, cluttered with wires and instruments, yet pulsing with life from the music he was creating. He spent nearly every waking moment there, hunched over his equipment, refining melodies, reworking verses, and adjusting the tiniest details until they felt right.
Daotok stood at the doorway, balancing a plate of freshly made ham sandwiches and a glass of chilled juice in his hands. He walked in quietly, not wanting to break Arthit's focus, and set the plate gently on the small table beside the studio monitors. Just as he turned to leave, a familiar voice stopped him.
"Hey," Arthit said, not looking up. "Can you listen to this real quick?"
Daotok blinked, surprised. "What? Is it done already?"
"I think so," Arthit replied, leaning back in his chair and stretching his arms above his head with a satisfied sigh. "It's the best I can do. Give it a try."
He handed Daotok the headphones. Daotok slid them on, and almost immediately, the room was filled with a melody he knew well—he'd listened to countless drafts of this track, giving feedback, helping Arthit tweak and polish it over the past few weeks. But this version was different.
The sound was fuller, the transitions smoother. There were subtle new elements that brought out the emotion of the piece in ways the earlier versions hadn't managed.
Daotok nodded, a soft smile forming. "Hmm. I like it. A lot."
"You think?" Arthit leaned forward, a trace of nervousness in his eyes despite his usual confidence. "I've edited it so much I can't even tell if it's good anymore."
"It is. If this is your final version, then it's ready."
"Alright," Arthit said, spinning back toward his computer. "I'll upload it now."
"Okay."
As Arthit clicked away at his keyboard, his eyes drifted toward the plate Daotok had brought in. "What kind of sandwich is this?"
"Ham," Daotok answered simply.
"Thanks," Arthit said, grabbing one and taking a bite.
"No problem. I'm heading back to study."
"Cool. I'll come find you after the upload's done."
Daotok gave a small wave before stepping out of the studio. He returned to his desk, where his textbooks waited—reminders that finals season was in full swing. While most students were buried in notes and past papers, Daotok had to push aside his own personal projects to focus on studying.
The stress was constant, and he remembered how overwhelmed Arthit used to be when he was still in school.
Back then, Arthit would vent every day—about professors, deadlines, and the soul-crushing pressure of med school. Daotok had listened patiently, never once tired of hearing it. He had been worried, though. So had Direk.
Arthit's father had opposed his decision to go to medical school from the start. He knew his son's heart wasn't in it. But when Arthit insisted—stubborn as always—Direk let him go, perhaps out of guilt, or maybe out of hope that Arthit would eventually figure things out on his own. And he had.
The shift in Arthit's mood since leaving school was like night and day. Direk had supported his new path wholeheartedly. Every instrument, every upgrade to the studio, even talks of starting an independent record label—it was all because he believed in Arthit.
He knew this was what his son was meant to do. Not everyone had that kind of support, Daotok thought. Arthit was lucky. Lucky to know what he wanted, and even luckier to have the resources and encouragement to go after it.
Daotok's phone buzzed with a notification. It was a new video from Arthit's YouTube channel—the final version of the song. He clicked on it immediately, only to find that hundreds of others had already beaten him to it. The views were climbing fast, comments flooding in, full of praise. His heart swelled with pride.
The first song Arthit released had already racked up nearly thirty million views. And now this one was off to a strong start too. Maybe Direk was right—maybe a private label was the safest way forward. He worried that a big company might try to take advantage of Arthit's talent, might stifle him or use him up without care. But with his father backing him, Arthit wouldn't be alone in this.
Daotok looked up just as Arthit came into the room, plopping down in the chair beside him. He rested his chin in his hand and watched Daotok with a lazy smile.
"How's the studying going?"
"Almost done."
"Nice, nice," Arthit said, stretching again. "Anyway, I'm hungry."
"What about the sandwich earlier?"
"Please, who's going to be full from that? I want spaghetti," he pouted.
Daotok chuckled. "Alright, give me a minute."
As he turned back to his book, the familiar ringtone of a video call echoed in the room. His phone lit up with his mother's name. Without hesitation, he answered.
"Hi, Mom."
Her warm smile filled the screen, the soft glow of her office lights behind her. Though they didn't see each other in person often, she always made time to check in.
"What are you up to? Am I bothering you?"
"I'm studying," he said.
"Oh, then I'll call later—"
"No, it's fine. Really."
"Just wanted to check in. Finals must be stressful. How's Arthit?"
Before he could answer, Arthit leaned into the frame, flashing a proud grin.
"Your mom listens to my songs. She knows I'm a genius."
"I listened to the new one. It's fantastic," his mom said, laughing.
"Of course it is," Arthit replied with mock arrogance, raising an eyebrow.
He and Daotok's mother had grown close over time. Their bond was casual and easy, full of playful banter. It made Daotok happy—his family adored Arthit for who he was, not just for his talent.
"Since you dropped out, you look way happier," his mom teased. "Anyway, Dao, I found a great chocolate chip cookie recipe. I'll send it over. If you like it, I'll teach you how to bake them."
"Sounds good. Thanks."
"You're heading to San Francisco for New Year's, right?"
"Yeah."
"When are you leaving?"
"Tomorrow."
"Have fun and be safe, alright?"
They chatted for a while longer until the call ended. Once his studying was done, Daotok made his way to the kitchen to start cooking Arthit's spaghetti.
"How's the weather in San Francisco?" he asked, standing by the stove as the noodles boiled.
"It's kind of cold," Arthit replied from the table.
"Will there be snow?"
"Doubt it. It's rare. Something about the Pacific Ocean keeps it from snowing."
"Hmm. That's a little disappointing."
"I'm glad there's no snow," Arthit shrugged.
Daotok didn't say anything, but he felt a quiet excitement bubbling inside. This trip wasn't just a vacation—it was something more. Arthit had chosen to spend New Year's with his family, like he did every year. But this time, he had invited Daotok along. That meant something.
Direk had welcomed the idea, going as far as to say that it felt right for Daotok to join them. It made him feel seen. Accepted. Like he belonged—not just as Arthit's friend, but as someone special, someone meant to be there, woven into the fabric of their memories and traditions.
For someone like Daotok, who'd always felt a bit like an outsider in most places, it meant everything.
☆☆☆☆☆
Arthit guided the car through the quiet roads toward the airport, the early morning sky tinted with soft hues of pink and blue. In the passenger seat, Daotok leaned against the window, watching the world blur by, his expression calm but thoughtful. Their trip back to San Francisco marked more than just a physical journey—it was the closing chapter of a year filled with transformation, emotional reckoning, and hard choices.
So much had changed.
Arthit's relationship with Daotok had deepened, tender and real in ways he never imagined possible. Meeting Daotok's family had cracked something open inside him—something warm, something terrifying. And then there was the life-altering decision to drop out of med school, a choice that had once felt unthinkable. But now, it felt right. And for the first time in years, he didn't dread going home.
This year was different because Daotok would be with them. With him. With Direk. With his mother's memory. The end-of-year gathering in San Francisco had always been sacred to Arthit—a time carved out to revisit fleeting memories of his mother, Emma.
A tradition untouched by time, solemn and private. No one had ever been allowed into that part of his world. But this year, he and Direk had agreed—it was time to let someone in. Daotok wasn't just someone. He was important. He was family now.
At the airport, the couple moved through the motions with practiced ease: check-in, quick meal, waiting at the gate. Arthit scrolled through Instagram absently, seeing their friends scattered across the globe—Tokyo, Seoul, Paris—all ready to ring in the New Year with parties and fireworks.
"Do you ever want to go somewhere else?" Arthit asked suddenly, breaking the silence.
Daotok turned to him, blinking. "Hmm? What do you mean?"
"You've been to San Francisco before," Arthit said, eyes still on his phone.
"Don't you ever get bored of going back? We're not even doing anything exciting—just staying at home."
Daotok smiled softly. "No, I don't get bored. We can travel somewhere else next year."
Arthit looked up at him, catching the glint of warmth in his eyes. "Next year's only a few days away. Got any ideas?"
"Not yet," Daotok admitted, shrugging.
"Maybe you should drop out like me," Arthit teased, nudging his arm.
"Then we'd have more time to travel together."
Daotok snorted, shaking his head. "Not happening. It's just a little while longer, and I actually enjoy what I'm studying."
Arthit pouted but said nothing more. He knew Daotok wouldn't change his mind—and truthfully, he didn't want him to. Daotok had a passion for his art that Arthit had come to admire deeply. Still, selfishly, he wanted more time.
More of these quiet moments. More of him . Without thinking, he picked up his camera and snapped a candid photo of Daotok sipping his coffee, eyes far away. Daotok didn't flinch—he'd long since grown used to Arthit capturing him at random moments. Arthit smiled at the picture. It was perfect.
They missed the holiday spirit this year—Christmas had come and gone while Daotok was buried in exams—but there was always next year. Always more time to make memories.
When it came time to board, the couple settled into their first-class seats, the hum of the plane blending with the excitement and quiet nerves bubbling beneath Arthit's skin. Hours later, they touched down in San Francisco. The sky was a dull gray, and cold rain greeted them the moment they stepped outside. Typical. Winters in the Bay Area rarely brought snow, only endless drizzle.
Arthit muttered under his breath about hating the cold—not because it was unbearable, but because he'd always preferred warmth. In the distance, leaning casually against a sleek black car, Direk waited for them. His presence was a comfort, like an anchor Arthit didn't know he needed until now.
They approached him quickly.
"Been waiting long?" Arthit asked, slipping into the passenger seat.
"Not too long," Direk replied. He glanced at the back seat. "How were finals, Dao?"
"They went well, thank you," Daotok answered politely.
"Of course they did. My boyfriend's going to graduate with honors," Arthit said proudly, flashing a grin.
"Don't jinx it," Daotok murmured, brushing off the compliment with a shy smile.
Back at the house, everything was familiar. The creak of the floorboards, the warmth of the lighting, the comforting scent that lingered like home.
Arthit called out instinctively, "Mom, I'm home," the phrase catching slightly in his throat. He said it every time, even now. Especially now.
As they unpacked and settled in, Arthit wandered into the living room. On the wall, above the fireplace, hung a framed painting—one Daotok had colored. A tribute to his mother.
"What do you think?" Direk asked, joining him. "Does it look good there?"
Arthit squinted. "Looks a little crooked."
"It's not. Your eyesight's just bad," Direk shot back.
"Dao, come settle this. Is it crooked or not?" Arthit called.
Daotok examined it for a second. "It's fine."
"See? Told you," Direk smirked.
"Maybe the house is crooked," Arthit muttered, earning a shake of the head from Direk.
Suddenly, Arthit turned serious. "I want to see Mom."
"Now?" Direk asked.
He nodded. "Yeah. I want her to meet Dao."
Without hesitation, Direk agreed. They bundled up, grabbed umbrellas, and drove through the misty streets toward the cemetery. Rain fell gently,,tapping against their jackets as they walked toward Emma Castillo's grave.
Standing before the headstone, Arthit's heart clenched. The engraved letters blurred slightly behind a sheen of tears.
"Mom," he whispered. "I brought someone I want you to meet."
He paused, trying to steady his voice against the emotions threatening to spill over.
"I never thought I'd fall in love again. Not after losing you. I was stuck in the past, in pain, and I think you'd have scolded me for it. You always told me to follow my heart. So... I did. I left med school. I'm making music again. I'm happy."
Arthit smiled through the tears. "Millions of people listen to my songs now. Direk's even starting a record label—for me. You'd be proud, right?" His voice cracked. "I just wish you were here to see it. To hear it. To hug me and tell me it's okay."
Daotok reached out, holding his hand tightly. Direk stood behind him, warm and quiet, a steady presence.
"I miss you so much," Arthit said, voice trembling.
A beat passed, and then Daotok softly asked, "Can I say something to her?"
Arthit handed him the umbrella.
"Hello," Daotok began with a small smile. "I'm Dao, like he said. Your son's a little... intense. But he's also kind. Loyal. Honest. He changed my life."
He glanced at Arthit with affection. "I love him. I'll stand by him. Always."
Arthit wiped his tears, laughing softly. "Say it louder for Mom to hear."
Daotok chuckled. "That's enough."
"You said she's not here."
"And yet you talked to her too," Daotok replied simply.
Arthit fell quiet, then nodded.
That night, back home, they had dinner—Daotok cooked, and Direk, ever the polite partner, ate despite his skeptical expression. Arthit sent Daotok upstairs to the music room, needing a private moment with Direk.
They sat by the fireplace, the flames casting flickering shadows on the walls.
"Direk," Arthit began.
"What?"
"What did you say to Mom when you came here before us?"
"I told her you'd finally found your path. That you were happy again."
"That's it?"
"What else do you want me to say?"
Arthit hesitated. "Do you think she'd be proud of me?"
Direk stared into the fire. "If I had to answer as someone who loved Emma for decades... then yes. She'd be proud. Just like I am."
Arthit turned to him, eyes wide.
"You're proud of me?"
"I've always been proud of you. Every damn day."
Arthit could barely keep his voice steady. "Damn, Direk... I'm going to cry,"
he said with a shaky laugh, blinking rapidly as tears welled up in his eyes.
"I'm so emotional right now."
Direk's voice remained calm but firm, a quiet anchor to Arthit's rising tide of emotion. "I'm just telling you the truth," he said. "Without you, none of this—everything I've built, everything I do—it wouldn't mean a damn thing. Why would I work this hard? Earn all this money? It's all for you. You are everything to me."
The sincerity hit Arthit like a punch to the chest. His laugh came out wet with tears. "Direk... damn. Now I'm actually crying."
"Shit," Direk muttered, half amused, half frustrated. "Can't even say something heartfelt without you bawling like a baby. But like I said, all I've ever wanted is for you to be happy. That's why I was so glad when you finally quit—that job, that damn promise from your childhood. You're not stuck anymore. You're free."
Arthit stayed quiet, emotions caught in his throat.
"You want something? I'll get it for you. You love making music, so I built you a studio. You want to be a singer? I'm building you a record label. Arthit, there is nothing—nothing—in this world I wouldn't give you."
A dry laugh broke from Arthit's throat. "Shit... the love of a father. I'm crying nonstop now. Why is this so damn emotional all of a sudden?"
Direk leaned back and shook his head. "That's why I don't get why you'd keep putting yourself through so much suffering. You've got me. I love you this much. Sometimes I wonder if I'm talking to my son or a goddamn buffalo."
Arthit laughed through his tears. "Emma wasn't that foolish. So how the hell did I turn out like this?" he joked.
Direk gave him a long-suffering look. "Exactly. Must've been some kind of divine prank."
The warmth in the room was palpable. Arthit wiped his eyes and turned to Direk with a crooked smile. "Hey, have I ever told you I love you?"
Direk looked instantly suspicious. "I don't know. And don't you dare."
"I love you, Direk."
"Damn it, I told you not to! That's creepy."
"Maybe I need to say it cuter—like other people's kids. Daddy, I love you so much!"
Direk groaned and rubbed his face. "Idiot. You're so cute I want to kick you."
Arthit doubled over in laughter at the response.
"You're really not mad about me dropping out?" he asked once he calmed down.
"Nope," Direk said casually, taking a sip of wine. "Want some?"
"Sure, pour me a glass."
Direk did, and Arthit took a slow sip, letting the moment settle around them.
"Making music suits you," Direk said. "And with the label I'm building, your talent's going to draw people in—artists, producers, the whole damn industry. I've got connections. So don't worry about a thing."
Arthit smiled, the corners of his eyes still damp. "That's amazing, Direk. Cheers to that."
Their glasses clinked together with a soft chime.
After a while, Arthit got up and went looking for Daotok. The house was quiet. He checked the living room—empty. So he headed upstairs to the music room, and there he was—Daotok, hunched over the drum set, awkwardly trying to match the rhythm of a track.
Arthit leaned against the doorway, smiling as he watched.
"I messed up," Daotok admitted when he noticed him.
"Yeah, it's not quite right."
"I can't get it to sound like the clip."
"Come here," Arthit said, walking over. "I'll teach you."
"Okay."
☆☆☆☆☆
New Year's Eve came faster than expected. That evening, the three of them gathered in the warm glow of the fireplace, after cooking dinner together.
Arthit sat in his late mother's rocking chair, a glass of wine in hand, watching Direk and Daotok chat with ease.
After a moment, he got up and sat beside Daotok, pulling him gently onto his lap. Wrapping his arms around his waist, he rested his chin on Daotok's shoulder. Daotok squirmed a little, clearly embarrassed, and cast a nervous glance at Direk.
"Don't worry about it," Arthit said, kissing Daotok's shoulder. "You don't have to be shy."
"Yeah, no need to be embarrassed," Direk added with a chuckle. Daotok relaxed, turning his gaze toward the TV.
"What are we watching?" Direk asked.
"A love story," Arthit replied with a smirk.
"You? Watching a love story?"
"Of course. I'm in love."
Arthit had hooked up his computer to the TV, cueing up the movie for all of them. Partway through, he hit pause and turned to Direk.
"Tell us how you met Mom again."
Direk rolled his eyes. "The movie's already playing, you know."
"We can pause it. Come on."
With a small sigh and a nostalgic smile, Direk began. "I came here for school. My dad—Dilok—had enough of my shit, so he sent me to high school in the States, thinking it'd straighten me out. I joined the football team. Emma was a cheerleader. One day, she got locked in a storage room as a prank. I just happened to walk by and let her out. After that, she started secretly liking me."
Arthit raised an eyebrow. "Still can't believe she liked you first."
"It's true! I was hot back then. A real heartthrob. Didn't even know it. One time, after a bad game, I was beating myself up. Emma brought me snacks to cheer me up. That's when I thought she was an angel. We started dating soon after. The rest is history."
Daotok perked up. "What happened to the people who pranked her?"
"Oh, she got her revenge," Direk said proudly. "Cockroaches in their lockers. Frogs in their shoes. Slipped a few into their uniforms too. No one dared mess with her after that."
"Sounds like Dao," Arthit chimed in, grinning. "Remember when you threatened to set those assholes on fire?"
Daotok flushed. "I didn't mean it."
"Still badass," Direk laughed.
"Hey, watch it. That's my husband," Arthit teased.
"When did I get dreamy-eyed?" Direk snorted.
They resumed the movie until it was time to count down. Arthit pulled out his phone, watching the seconds tick down.
3... 2... 1.
"Happy New Year, guys! Direk too. Thanks for last year. Let's make this one even better."
"Yeah, may it be a great year for you," Direk said warmly. "And for Dao too."
"Thank you, Uncle," Daotok replied politely.
"You don't need to wish Arthit anything," Direk added, smirking.
"Why not?" Arthit asked, feigning offense.
"Because I'm going to make every year of your life a good one," Daotok said softly.
Arthit beamed and kissed Daotok's cheek. Daotok flinched slightly, still self-conscious under Direk's gaze, but Arthit didn't care.
"I'm going to make every day of your life a good one," Arthit whispered.
"Hmm."
"Love you."
"Hmm."
"Say it back."
"Love you too."
"Now give me a kiss," Arthit grinned.
Daotok hesitated, then looked to Direk, who gave an amused shrug of approval. Daotok leaned in and kissed Arthit's cheek. Arthit turned smugly to Direk.
"Jealous, huh?"
Direk groaned. "I'm going to bed. Had enough of your damn love parade."
Later that night, Arthit carried Daotok—who had dozed off mid-movie—to bed. It was well past 1 A.M. now, the first morning of the new year. He sat on the edge of the bed, gazing at Daotok's peaceful face.
He looked so content, so at ease. Arthit smiled. He felt lucky. So, so lucky. Lucky to have Direk. Lucky to have Daotok. Lucky to have friends who stood by him through thick and thin. Leaning down, he kissed Daotok's cheek.
Daotok stirred slightly, blinking up at him. "Why aren't you asleep yet?"
"I will be soon," Arthit murmured. "Just thinking."
"About what?"
"How lucky I am," he said. "Lucky to have you. Lucky to have those idiots—Fah, Hill, Joe. They insult me constantly, but they've always been there."
Daotok was quiet.
"And you," Arthit continued, his voice soft. "You're the luckiest thing of all. With you by my side, I feel like I can do anything. No matter how hard life gets."
Daotok's voice was barely a whisper. "I feel the same. I can go anywhere...be anything... as long as you're with me."
"I'm the lucky one," Arthit said.
"No, I am."
"Then we're both lucky."
Daotok smiled. "We're lucky to have each other."
"Yeah," Arthit murmured, kissing his forehead. "I'm going to make you the luckiest person in the world."
"I already am. Since the day you walked into my life."
"And I've been lucky since the day you were born as my soulmate."
"I've been lucky since our past life... the one where we were together."
"Our past life, huh?" Arthit chuckled. "Were we really together?"
"I don't know. But I'd like to think so."
"Then I've been lucky since all my past lives. Since the Stone Age. When you walked past my cave... and I hit you on the head and dragged you inside."
Daotok gasped. "That's so mean! You could've just said hi."
"Patience wasn't my strong suit," Arthit said, smirking. "You shouldn't have walked by looking so cute."
"You're so unfair."
"Unfair?" he repeated, feigning offense. "Being my boyfriend would've been amazing. I would've made you the most fabulous outfit out of saber toothed tiger hide. No one in the village would've looked as stylish as you. And hunting? Forget it—I'd have done all the dirty work. You'd just sit pretty by the fire, looking gorgeous."
Daotok laughed softly, tilting his head as he nudged Arthit playfully. "So you've been taking care of me since the Stone Age, huh?"
"Exactly," Arthit said proudly. "Impressive, right?"
"Very impressive. You're amazing."
A boyish grin lit up Arthit's face. "Wanna hear about us in ancient Egypt?"
Daotok rolled onto his side, resting his chin on his palm. "I do! Tell me everything."
"Alright," Arthit said, shifting to face him, voice dropping into a dramatic storyteller's tone. "Get comfy. I'm going to ramble all night."
Daotok chuckled, pulling the blanket higher. "Okay, I'm ready."
"In ancient Egypt, I was a powerful pharaoh. And you?" Arthit paused, building suspense. "You were a slave, toiling away building my pyramid."
Daotok gasped, eyes narrowing in mock offense. "A slave? Why wasn't I a pharaoh too?"
"Fine," Arthit conceded with a smirk. "You were a young pharaoh—beautiful, wise, beloved. But jealous nobles overthrew you when you turned sixteen. You tragically died after hitting your head on a pillar."
"What?! I only lived to sixteen?"
"Yeah," Arthit said with a solemn nod. "That's how things were back then. Power made you a target. After your untimely death, they mummified you in the grandest ceremony."
Daotok's expression softened. "And you? What were you?"
"A tomb raider," Arthit replied, puffing out his chest with pride. "I was poor, desperate for treasure. I broke into your tomb, ready to steal your riches—but then I saw you. Even wrapped in bandages, I fell in love."
Daotok snorted. "You fell in love with a mummy?"
"You were a cute mummy," Arthit insisted. "Don't tell me mummies can't be cute."
Daotok raised an eyebrow, amused. "Okay, fine. Then what? Did you steal my treasure?"
"Of course," Arthit said matter-of-factly. "I stole everything—including you. I sold the treasure, became filthy rich, and hired a shady sorcerer to resurrect you."
Daotok's eyes widened. "And did it work?"
"Well... not exactly," Arthit admitted, scratching his cheek. "The resurrection didn't go as planned. You came back—but without your soul."
Daotok blinked. "Then who was I?"
"A zombie," Arthit declared. "The very first zombie in history. Your body came back, but your soul stayed in the afterlife. You started biting townsfolk, and that—tragically—was the start of the zombie outbreak that ended ancient Egyptian civilization."
Daotok gaped. "So I destroyed an entire civilization because you brought me back to life?!"
"Hey, don't blame me. Blame the sorcerer," Arthit said quickly. "His name was North."
Daotok's laughter bubbled up. "North? That fool's been messing things up since the beginning of time?"
"Exactly. Couldn't cast a single spell right. Scammed half the village with fake potions, kept chanting the wrong incantations... total disaster."
Daotok shook his head, still laughing. "Poor North."
"But wait, it doesn't end there," Arthit continued. "I couldn't let you go, even as a zombie. So I forced the sorcerer to send me to the afterlife. I had to battle Anubis himself to retrieve your soul."
Daotok gasped. "You fought Anubis?"
"And won," Arthit said with a cocky grin. "Then I brought your soul back, but... we couldn't return to the living world. Your body was still undead.
And by then, Zombie Dao had caused so much chaos, there was no going back."
Daotok buried his face in the blanket, laughing. "All of that just because you loved me?"
"I'd do it all again," Arthit said with mock solemnity. "Eventually, we stayed in the underworld. I was granted the title of God of Death, and you—my king. That's how the Egyptian era ended."
Daotok peeked at him. "And how did I fall in love with you again?"
Arthit clutched his heart. "I went to the afterlife to find you. Isn't that romantic enough?"
"Okay, okay. Love, love," Daotok replied, trying not to smile.
Arthit pouted dramatically. "What's with that half-hearted response? Don't tell me you didn't really love me! Are you saying you just used me to fight Anubis for you? I'm heartbroken!"
Daotok giggled. "From what you've told me, I didn't deceive you at all."
"That's what makes it worse," Arthit groaned, clutching his chest. "I suffered so much, and you didn't even appreciate it. A tragic love story."
"Aw, don't be like that," Daotok cooed. "You're seriously holding a grudge over a past life?"
"Yes," Arthit said firmly. "Make it up to me. Kiss my cheek."
Daotok rolled his eyes but leaned in, pressing an exaggeratedly loud smooch to Arthit's cheek. "Happy now?"
"Hmm. Getting there," Arthit teased. "Wanna hear about us during the Greek era next?"
Daotok chuckled, snuggling closer. "Sure, go ahead."
And so Arthit continued spinning ridiculous tales of their love through the ages, his voice soft and animated. Eventually, Daotok's breathing slowed, his eyes fluttering shut as he drifted into sleep.
Arthit smiled, gazing at him fondly. He tightened his arms around Daotok and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead.
"Goodnight, Dao," he whispered. "Sweet dreams. I love you more than anything."
Daotok murmured something unintelligible, a soft smile playing on his lips even in sleep, as he instinctively snuggled closer.
Arthit closed his eyes too, heart full and warm. "I love you more than anything, you know that?" he whispered again, and let the peace of the night lull him to sleep, holding his love close.
[THE END]