Romeo, Save Me

In the blazing heat of a faraway fanfiction kingdom, the sun cast golden rays over the cobbled village streets as Khaotung stretched out beside Mix, his best friend, the two of them lounging beneath the shade of a big oak tree outside the shop, near the wooden fence. They had just completed the day’s final delivery for Khun Earth, the Royal Tailor, and now waited for the heat to settle before walking back to their modest quarters behind the tailor’s shop.

Khaotung had come a long way to reach this sliver of peace.

Born in the outskirts of the village, deep within the forest where only the desperate and forgotten lived, Khaotung's earliest memories were not of lullabies or laughter—but of harsh words, cold nights, and the echo of slammed doors. His home was no more than a leaning shed, patched with old straw and rotting wood, barely enough to shield him from the monsoon storms or the biting winter chill. His parents, hardened by disappointment and embittered by poverty, treated him not as a son, but a burden.

He was the only child of a couple who once hoped for a strong son who’d bring pride to the family—a soldier, a worker, a man of status. Instead, they got Khaotung. He was quiet, delicate in demeanor, with soft eyes that observed more than he spoke. His father would often sneer that Khaotung was “too soft to be a man,” and his mother always told him he was “too plain or ugly to even catch the eye of a royal seamstress, let alone a noble lady.”

Their words became knives that shaped him, carving silence into his personality and teaching him early how to carry pain quietly. He learned not to cry, because tears only earned him more ridicule. He learned to work with his head down, because defiance meant another night without supper.

Then came Mix.

They met during their school days—when Khaotung was the quiet boy in ragged clothes who often sat alone, and Mix, with his curious gaze and warm grin, decided one day to sit beside him. 

Mix was everything Khaotung wasn’t: lively, confident, and from a family that had just enough comfort to never go hungry. But none of that mattered to Mix. He saw Khaotung not as a charity case, but as a friend. Perhaps his only true one.

Over time, Mix became Khaotung’s lifeline. When Khaotung would show up with bruises—emotional or physical—Mix would always be the one to cheer him up and bring a smile to his face. 

Mix would share food from his own lunch, pass him secondhand clothes, or stood up to bullies twice their size. He never asked for anything in return. And so, Khaotung clung to Mix—not out of dependence, but out of deep, loyal gratitude. In a life where he always knew love was always conditional, Mix was the first proof that kindness didn’t need a reason.

So when Mix decided to take a bold step and apply to become an apprentice at the Royal Tailor’s store, Khaotung followed without hesitation. 

Mix had insisted they both apply—even if Khaotung didn’t believe he had the hands or heart for fine work. 

He had failed countless other jobs. He was too scrawny for the guard corps, too awkward for merchant shops, and rejected as a clerk for being neither manly enough for labor nor graceful enough for front-facing duties.

But here, with Khun Earth, it was different. The work was quieter, more delicate—something Khaotung had a surprising knack for. For the first time, he wasn’t being yelled at, belittled, or made to feel like he was broken.

He was simply… enough.

So without much thought, he packed his bags, left his home and never looked back. His parents would have been happier without him anyway. 

~~~

As the sun dipped low on the horizon, painting the sky in shades of fire and gold, Khaotung smiled faintly beside Mix—grateful that fate, cruel as it had been, at least gave him one true friend and a place where he could finally breathe.

It was no secret to Khaotung—nor to anyone with working eyes—that Mix had a certain reason for insisting to work under the tailor even if he really did not need it entirely. He just had to. Because he had been utterly smitten with Khun Earth from the very first moment they saw the Royal Tailor. As the supporting friend that he is, and the thought of starting his own life away from the old environment he grew up in, this was a huge encouragement for him to leap with his friend. 

Khun Earth was the epitome of grace in the kingdom’s bustling capital. Known as the Royal Tailor, he dressed queens and dukes, ministers and nobles, but never once acted as though he were above anyone. He carried himself with effortless elegance, his tall frame always draped in finely tailored garments of his own making, with eyes the color of rich coffee and a quiet confidence that made people lean in without realizing. He was older than Mix and Khaotung— by at least a few years—but he never made them feel small or insignificant. In fact, Khun Earth had been the first person to tell Khaotung he had ‘gentle hands, fit for delicate work,’ and meant it as a compliment.

But it was Mix who had truly fallen under Khun Earth’s spell. 

Mix, unlike Khaotung, had always had a bold heart and a fire in his chest that refused to be snuffed out. He could be impulsive, loud, and dramatic—traits that sometimes drove Khaotung crazy but also made life more colorful. 

Born into a modest but comfortable household where he never lacked love, Mix had grown up with the confidence of someone who believed he was worthy of being adored. And so, when he saw Khun Earth for the first time—bending over a royal gown in hand in the morning light, the sun catching the fine strands of gray at his temples—Mix declared (loudly) that he would “make that man fall in love with me or die trying.”

True to his word, Mix poured himself into every task. He stayed late, volunteered for the dullest chores, and always made sure Khun Earth’s tea never went cold. He complimented his designs with a poet’s flair and flirted shamelessly, even when Khun Earth pretended not to notice. But behind the antics was a sincerity Khaotung knew well. Mix loved deeply—and when Khun Earth finally admitted, with a soft smile and the faintest flush on his cheeks, that he had grown fond of Mix too, it felt like watching a storybook unfold in real life.

They became official not long after. No grand announcements, no dramatic confessions. Just a quiet, shared look between them, followed by Mix leaning against Khun Earth’s arm like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Khaotung had been nothing but happy for them. Truly.

Still, sometimes, in the quiet hours when the shop was dim and the laughter between Mix and Khun Earth filled the corners like warm candlelight, Khaotung would find himself pausing—his needle suspended mid-stitch—as a strange hollowness nestled in his chest.

What did it feel like to be looked at like that?

To be someone’s first thought in the morning, causing their softest smile?

He tried to remember if he’d ever felt that way about anyone before. And if anyone had ever looked at him—not with pity or kindness—but with that kind of longing. That kind of tenderness.

But there were no memories to draw from.

Just the echo of his mother’s voice calling him ‘plainor ugly’ his father’s disgusted glare whenever he flinched at shouting. He had learned to shrink himself so often, for so long, that he couldn’t even imagine someone stepping closer instead of away.

He knew he wasn’t much to look at—scrawny frame, skin as pale as unbaked dough, eyes too small and squinted for his face, and hands rough with callouses from the hard labor he was lucky to find, the kind of work others often avoided. He certainly didn’t look like someone who belonged in a story where love ever bloomed.

So, he told himself it was enough—to be beside Mix and Khun Earth, to be their assistant, their friend, the quiet shadow that kept things running smoothly behind the scenes. Their constant support for everything. 

As long as they let him stay, he would.

Even if no one ever chose him the way Mix chose Khun Earth, and Khun chose Mix. 

Even if his own heart would always remain the kind that stitched clothes for others, but never dared to ask for anything in return. He would be just fine.

~~~

Lately, Mix had been spending most of his days accompanying Khun Earth to the palace for work. Khaotung wasn’t exactly sure what they did behind those towering golden gates—something to do with royal fittings, ceremonial garments, and things far beyond his ordinary world—but every time Mix returned, there was a glimmer in his eyes, like he’d stepped out of a dream. He’d casually recount his visits as if he hadn’t just walked through marble halls or stood mere feet from actual royalty, pretending it was all normal while barely hiding the giddy awe in his voice.

The process, according to Mix, was exactly the same. He’d said so one evening while casually pulling pins out of a half-finished cloak.

“You take measurements, listen to what they want, sketch a few drafts... only difference is, the person you’re dressing might be the Queen. Or the Prince himself.”

Among his stories, Mix often mentioned how kind the Prince was—not just to him, but to everyone. There was no arrogance, no boastful pride, just the same warmth Mix always spoke of when referring to the Queen and King. Despite his youth—around their age, in fact—the Prince held a quiet influence in the palace, beloved by his parents and respected by those around him.

Mix, of course, couldn’t resist teasing. “He might just be your type,” he’d added with a playful wink.

Khaotung had only shaken his head and laughed it off, masking the strange flutter that rose in his chest. As always, he tucked the feeling away and smiled, pretending it didn’t leave a faint echo of distance between their two worlds.

He told himself it didn’t matter. That he was content here, arranging silks and steaming sleeves, surrounded by the hiss of irons and the scent of fabric softener. He didn’t mind being left behind while Mix drifted closer to chandeliers and marble floors.

This was his life—quiet, predictable, safe.

And that, he told himself, was enough.

Or at least, it should have been.

Still, there was some kind of want or ache that lingered. A whisper he tried hard to silence. What would it feel like to stand before royalty? To see the palace for himself—not in Mix’s stories, but through his own eyes? 

Was the Prince truly as kind as Mix described?

And—ridiculously—what did he even look like?

Mix had said he might be Khaotung’s type.

But curiosity was all it could be. That was the limit.

He could wonder. He could dream.
But nothing more.

Because in truth, deep down, Khaotung didn’t believe he deserved more.

Not when he came from nothing. Not when his childhood had been stitched together with hardship—blistered hands from carrying firewood, hunger that settled into his bones, and words sharper than knives in place of love.

Palaces were for those born into silk sheets and silver spoons. Not for someone like him, who once patched holes in his shirt with leaves and slept on packed dirt.

It was easier to stay grounded than to dream of belonging somewhere so far above him.

Mix, at least, had known comfort. His family wasn’t royal, but they were well off, stable—also very warm and generous in ways that mattered. He moved with ease through rooms of power, his smile never faltering, his posture never shrinking. Mix knew how to walk on marble floors without feeling like an imposter.

But Khaotung?

He wasn’t just poor. He was the kind of poor that clung to you like smoke. That stayed in your skin, no matter how hard you scrubbed.

The kind that taught you, early, not to dream too loudly.

So as Mix spoke about the palace, his voice light, his stories glittering, Khaotung only nodded and kept stitching. He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t press.

Because some dreams, he believed, weren’t meant for people like him.

But that dream will soon come to life.

~~~

One breezy afternoon.

Khaotung had just returned from the market, dust still clinging to his hem as he stitched a loose thread into a seafoam green fabric— meant for a local baroness. The afternoon light filtered gently through the window, bathing the tailor’s corner in warmth, when a sudden voice broke the silence.

“Khao! Come on out!”

Startled, Khaotung looked up. That was Mix. Loud as always. But there was something more in his voice—an excitement that bounced through the walls.

“Coming!” Khaotung called back, carefully placing the fabric on the table and setting his needle and thread aside.

He padded to the door and reached for the knob, but before he could even twist it fully, the door flung open with a dramatic creak.

Mix burst through the frame like a summer storm, eyes wide and gleaming, his cheeks flushed from running. He nearly knocked Khaotung off his feet as he grabbed him by the arms.

“Khao! We’re going to the ball!”

Khaotung blinked. “Huh?”

“The ball, Khao!” Mix spun him in place as if they were already dancing. “At the palace! We’re invited!”

“What do you mean ‘we’?” Khaotung looking at Mix. 

Mix grinned. “Khun Earth got the official invitation earlier. All royal staff, including their tailors and their assistants, are invited. That means Earth, me… and you, Khao!”

The palace? A royal ball? 

Honestly Khaotung doesn’t know how to react. But he admitted to himself that he got a little excited. 

It was subtle, but Mix saw the glint in his friend's eye. And he will feed on that to make his friend's first ball experience unforgettable. He had always wanted to make Khao believe that he was a handsome young man and build his confidence. And this is the perfect time to do that. 

“I don’t know Mix. Maybe you and Khun Earth can go. I don't mind staying behind.” He said with so much hesitation.

“No! No one’s staying behind.” Mix retorted strongly.

“I—I don’t even have anything to wear,” Khaotung said with a half-laugh, the kind that tried to be sarcastic but came out more pitiful than intended. 

Mix smirked, eyes gleaming with excitement. “Please. We literally work in a tailor shop. We’re going to make you the most dazzling outfit anyone’s ever seen. Khun Earth said we should all dress to impress. I told him you’re going to turn heads.”

Khaotung scoffed, waving a hand like he always did. “Don’t be ridiculous. I can wear anything, don't bother making one for me.”

“It’s certainly not a bother! I’ve been waiting for a moment like this,” Mix said, stepping closer with that familiar stubborn sparkle in his eyes. He cupped Khaotung’s cheeks, gently but dramatically. “This is your moment, Khao, just like from the story books we read before! And I’m your overly dramatic fabulous fairy god… best friend!”

Khaotung just laughed, he thought his friend was being hilarious again. “You are too optimistic about this. I’m fine really, with anything I can whip here.” 

“No! I'm telling you, just leave it to me, okay?” Mix, never backing down.

“Okay, fine. But I’m also telling you, it won’t change anything, I’m too… plain no matter what I wore. So I hope you don’t get disappointed for wasting your time.” Still adamant, but agreed to whatever Mix wanted.

“No Khao, you are beautiful and handsome. Believe me when I say you will definitely capture everyone’s eyes!” He spoke it closing his eyes like a revelation has come to him or something. 

“You’re exaggerating again!” Khaotung exclaimed, used to his dramatic friend.

“Because it’s true,” Mix replied firmly. “I’ve said it a thousand times—you’re beautiful. And not just in the way you look, but in the way you are. But you never believe me. You think I only say it because we’re friends.”

“Because you are my friend,” Khaotung mumbled, lowering his gaze. “You’re supposed to say nice things.” His voice is quieter.

Mix let out a breath, tugging Khaotung closer until their foreheads nearly touched. “No, Khao. I say them because I mean them. And one day, I’m going to make you see yourself the way I do. This ball? Consider it the first step. And you know what, you don’t have to capture anyone’s attention, I just want you to enjoy and feel handsome, okay? Because you are.”

The palace. The nobles. The glittering chandeliers. It all certainly is a world built for people born with silver spoons and polished shoes—not someone like him, who knew more about patches than pearls.

But as he looked into Mix’s eyes—so full of determination, so full of him—he wondered, maybe just this once... maybe he could believe, and give in to his friend's whim. Whatever he planned to do. 

Khaotung swallowed. “Alright,” he whispered, voice trembling but real. “Let’s go to the ball.”

~~~

Mix was excited—tooexcited—for Khaotung’s sake.

It showed in the way he hummed more than usual, how he kept glancing over his shoulder with a secretive grin whenever Khaotung passed by. The way he’d pull Khun Earth aside between appointments to whisper, scribble sketches, and vanish behind closed doors, clutching swatches of fabric too luxurious to be left lying around.

Khaotung had caught only a glimpse once—just a silhouette on paper—but it looked simple enough. A top and bottom set, neat and modest. The kind of thing someone like him could wear without attracting too much attention. He told himself that was for the best. He didn’t want to stand out. Didn’t deserve to. And even if hoped about it, he could not in his wildest dream ever stand out. 

The fabric and final design, however, remained a mystery. Everything was kept locked away in Khun Earth’s room—the one space Khaotung would never enter, even with permission. He wasn’t nosy, and certainly not bold enough to invade someone else’s space. Mix knew this, which made it the perfect hiding spot.

~~~

The day of the ball had arrived. 

Mix practically dragged Khaotung to the back of the shop with barely contained excitement, Khaotung expected maybe a soft linen or silk blend in neutral tones. Nothing more.

“Close your eyes,” Mix ordered, grinning from ear to ear, when in front of Khun Earth’s room. 

“Mix, seriously—”

“Nope. Eyes shut. This is a moment, Khao! Come on! Please, for me!”

With a sigh, Khaotung obliged. He stood there, fingers fidgeting, expecting nothing special. Just fabric and thread. That’s all he was ever meant to wear.

Mix held his wrist and slowly guided him when they entered the room. Then was left standing in his spot.

“Okay,” Mix said, voice softening. “Now open.”

When Khaotung opened his eyes, he stopped breathing.

Mix stood in front of him, holding the finished outfit delicately—a cardigan-styled top, open in the front, and matching tailored trousers, both crafted from midnight-black fabric woven with sparkling threads and dusted with crystals. The material shimmered as if lit from within, each movement catching glints of silver and gold hue. It wasn’t loud—it was breathtaking. Regal. Magical.

The outfit was a stunning blend of elegance and quiet opulence. The top was a cropped jacket that stopped cleanly at the waist, its cut structured yet fluid. Beneath it, an inner layer made of whisper-soft fabric was designed to hug the body gently, its texture smooth and luminous. It was crafted to subtly peek out from beneath the jacket, softening the overall silhouette while preserving a distinct sense of masculinity.

The trousers were tailored with graceful precision—wide-legged but not overwhelming, flowing just enough to create elegant movement. The cut elongated the legs and emphasized proportion, while the waistband, deliberately fitted, was small enough to cinch tightly around a slender waist. Scattered across the fabric were delicate, glimmering embellishments—gems sewn like constellations, catching the light with every shift, evoking the image of stardust strewn across a twilight sky.

Khaotung stared in awe.

“It’s for me?” he asked, his voice soft and low.

Mix nodded, smile glowing. “Made for you. With my own hands. Every stitch.”

Khaotung swallowed. “Mix, it’s… too beautiful.”

“It’s exactly right,” Mix said, stepping closer with a look of reverence in his eyes. “I told you—you’re going to make heads turn tonight. That your face could make statues weep. That your eyes look like dusk and daydreams and stars caught in midnight. Just like that outfit.” He gestured toward the dress, shimmering quietly in the golden light.

“You’re only saying that because we’re best friends,” Khaotung murmured, gaze dropping. “If anything turns heads tonight, it’s definitely that outfit—not the one wearing it.”

“No,” Mix replied, his voice low and steady. “I’m saying it because it’s true. I’ve always wanted you to believe in your own skin. In your quiet strength. In the softness you try to hide, even though it’s the most beautiful part of you.”

Khaotung didn’t know how to respond. The words—so direct, so tender—hit like ripples over the fragile glass surface of his heart. All his life, he’d stood in the background, tucked away in corners, comfortably invisible. He had never dared to imagine himself in the light—let alone being a part of something radiant, something royal.

His throat tightened as the sting of unshed tears filled his eyes. “Do you really think I can wear something like this?” he whispered. “And not look... out of place?”

Mix’s smile softened into something almost solemn. “Khao… you don’t just belong in that outfit. You are the perfect person worthy of it.”

And in that moment—just for a breath, a heartbeat, or maybe just for tonight—Khaotung let himself believe that it might be true.

Despite his lingering self-doubt, he found himself slowly walking toward the outfit Mix and Khun Earth had poured their hearts into. The fabric shimmered like starlight. Every gem sewn with care, every fold tailored with precision, not just for form—but for him. It wasn’t loud or boastful. It was soft, dignified, and quietly magnificent.

He had told himself again and again that something so beautiful wasn’t meant for someone like him. That he would disappear inside it. But now, as he stood before it, he realized—maybe that wasn’t true at all.

Maybe this wasn’t about being worthy of the outfit.

Maybe it was about realizing he always had been.

And so, with a breath shaky but resolute, Khaotung reached forward, fingertips grazing the fabric. He didn’t need to be royalty. He just needed to be himself—and trust that was enough.

~~~

Khaotung helped Khun Earth and Mix prepare first, trying his best to stay out of the way while still offering a hand where needed. It was clear how much both of them were invested in the evening, with Mix’s usual energy turned into an almost feverish excitement. As the final preparations were underway, Khaotung went to his room to dress, hoping to have just a few quiet minutes to himself.

But, of course, Mix wasn’t going to let that happen.

“Ai Mix, what are you doing?” Khaotung asked, his voice filled with surprise as he turned around to find his friend trailing behind him.

With a mischievous grin, Mix kicked the door shut behind him, holding a small cosmetic bag in his hand. “What does it look like I’m doing?” he teased, his eyes gleaming with playful mischief. “I’m making sure you’re ready.”

Khaotung raised a brow, confused. “I’ll be ready in a second,” he said, already reaching for his clothes.

“That’s the point,” Mix replied, placing the bag on the bed with theatrical importance. “You’ll be dressed, but not ready. Because I know you—you’d forget the most important part.”

“The important part?” Khaotung echoed, confused.

“Yes, your hair and a little bit of make-up!” 

(Author note: does make up even exist before? I don't know, but this is fanfic world, so whatever 🤪) 

“Me? Wear makeup?” Khaotung nearly choked on the words. “No way.”

“Oh, yes way,” Mix said, his grin turning wicked. “What I say goes tonight, Khao. No arguing.”

Khaotung opened his mouth to protest, but a sharp glare from Mix silenced him. He was already too deep into this mission of his friend—there was no turning back now. The makeup, the hair, the outfit—he would do it all. For his friends. 

For himself. Just for tonight.

After a few minutes of gentle coaxing, Mix worked his magic. Khaotung’s hair was slicked back, some soft fringes falling over his forehead, framing his face perfectly. The makeup, subtle yet transformative, highlighted his soft features—his eyes, his cheekbones. It was like a different version of himself, one that Khaotung could barely recognize but also felt oddly at home in.

When Mix finally stood back to admire his work, Khaotung took a deep breath and met his own reflection. He looked… stunning. He was no longer just the quiet, unassuming Khaotung who hid behind the shop counter. Tonight, he looked like someone else.

Mix’s eyes sparkled with uncontainable excitement. “Khao, you look amazing!” he exclaimed, practically vibrating with joy. “I told you, you’d definitely turn heads tonight!”

Khaotung couldn’t help but feel his chest tighten. He was scared—terrified even—but a small, hopeful part of him dared to believe Mix. 

At least even in a short lived dream, he would be seen. He would not be invisible. Even just for tonight.

When they descended the stairs together, Khun Earth, who had been busy with preparations, stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Khaotung. His mouth dropped open in complete awe. His eyes moved from Khaotung’s head to his feet, taking in every detail of the outfit. For a moment, he looked speechless.

Mix, never one to let a moment go by without teasing, smirked and raised a hand. “Close your mouth,” he said with playful sass. “That’s my best friend you’re looking at, Khun Earth. Don’t even think about cheating on me now.”

Khun Earth blinked rapidly, shaking his head as if trying to clear the sudden fog. “Ai’Mix, I wasn’t—well, I was, but I’m not anymore.” He cleared his throat, regaining his composure. “Ai’Khao, you look… incredible.”

Khaotung’s heart thudded in his chest at the compliment, but he quickly tried to downplay it, his cheeks flushing. “I’m just—just wearing what you made,” he said softly, unsure of how to handle the attention.

The carriage outside was already waiting, and with a nervous gulp, Khaotung followed Mix and Khun Earth outside. His palms were clammy, his heart racing. 

As the carriage wheels began to roll, the palace came into view, sparkling in the distance like a dream he had no right to enter.

With every jolt of the carriage, Khaotung’s nerves heightened. His thoughts were a swirl of doubt and self-consciousness. How would he ever fit in? He didn’t know what to expect from a ball—he had never been to one, never even dreamed of it. And now, surrounded by people who might be royalty or nobility, he felt like he might vanish into the crowd.

He pushed the thought aside. He would just enjoy the night, he told himself. It was an experience, a gift that he would cherish forever. He didn’t need to fit in. He didn’t need to be someone else. He would take this moment and let it be his.

And maybe—just maybe—he would believe, for one night, that he belonged in that kind of world, too.

~~~

The carriage came to a halt in front of the palace gates with a muffled thud. Khaotung’s heart jumped as he looked up, the towering gates before him gleaming in the moonlight. They were adorned in gold and white, an intricate display of wealth and elegance, every detail seeming to speak of opulence he could barely comprehend. He was out of his element.

Khun Earth and Mix were already stepping out of the carriage, and Khaotung, momentarily frozen by the sight of the gates, was slow to follow. His feet felt like they were made of lead, his mind racing with thoughts that didn’t belong in this place. But then, a quiet voice of reason told him he couldn’t stay behind, so he hurriedly stepped down, the cool night air greeting him like a reminder that this wasn’t a dream.

As soon as he stepped onto the soft, manicured grounds, his eyes were caught by the stretch of lawn that seemed to go on forever, the grass a lush, dark green under the delicate glow of the palace lights. The vastness of it overwhelmed him, the perfectly landscaped garden bordered by hedges that shimmered faintly in the distance.

But it was the fountain that truly captured his attention. At the far end of the lawn, the massive structure stood tall, water spilling gracefully from carved stone into the basin below. Lights danced in the water, shifting hues of blue, purple, and pink, as if the fountain itself was alive. The sight was so enchanting, that Khaotung found himself standing still, mesmerized by the water twisting and turning in colors, a display he had never seen before.

He blinked, lost in the moment. It felt like a fairy tale, but he wasn’t sure he was the prince in this story.

Seconds passed before he realized that he had stopped walking entirely, and when he looked up, he noticed that Khun Earth and Mix had disappeared into the grand hall, their figures already a blur inside the opulent doors. His heart skipped a beat.

“Oh no,” he muttered under his breath, panic creeping in as he rushed to catch up. He had promised himself he wouldn’t stray far from their sides—he wasn’t ready for this—and now they were inside without him. The thought of wandering alone in such a vast, unfamiliar place made his stomach twist. He didn’t belong here, and yet here he was, out of place and unsure of how to even begin blending in.

His legs moved faster, almost too fast, his palms clammy with sweat as he tried to calm himself. "Get it together, Khao," he whispered to himself, trying to steady his breath. His heart pounded loudly in his chest as he reached the entrance doors. 

“It’s gonna be okay.” 

The guards by the door caught a glimpse of a glimmering figure along the long, dimly lit path. For a moment, neither of them moved, their eyes transfixed by the captivating sparkles that danced with each step. The figure approaching them—slow, deliberate—came into full view. It was a young man, an ethereal vision. Elegant. Beautiful. Every inch of him seemed to radiate grace, as though the very air around him was enchanted.

The first guard’s eyes widened, his breath caught in his throat. His jaw tightened, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away. He barely blinked, entranced by the vision of the young man walking toward him, unaware of the effect he was having. He was utterly captivated.

The second guard, sensing his companion’s shift in attention, followed his stare. He too froze, his eyes widening as the beauty of the young gentleman hit him. He had never seen anyone like him. The figure before them exuded an otherworldly aura, as though a mere mortal couldn’t possess such elegance.

Khaotung, feeling the weight of their stares, became self-conscious. He shifted uncomfortably, glancing nervously between the two men. Why are they looking at me like that? he thought, his heart hammering in his chest with unease. He forced a timid smile when he reached the guards, hoping they wouldn’t notice his nervousness.

Finally, one of the guards snapped out of his trance, his shock fading into a dazed professionalism. Without a word, he stepped forward and swung the grand door open, his hands trembling slightly as he held it wide, allowing the young man to pass.

Khaotung, still glancing back with a mixture of gratitude and confusion, was so caught up in his own thoughts that he forgot to look where he was going. His steps carried him further into the grand hall, but his focus remained behind him, lost somewhere in the past few seconds.

And then—bam!

He collided with something—or someone—solid. The impact jolted him, and his feet slid out from under him like a cartoon character on a banana peel. For a single breathless moment, time paused. His heart skipped a beat.

In that suspended second, his eyes widened, a tiny gasp escaping his lips as gravity decided to take over. He closed his eyes, bracing for what was surely going to be a very undignified landing on the polished floor.

But instead of falling… he was caught.

A warm arm wrapped firmly around his waist, steadying him. A second hand cradled the back of his neck with surprising gentleness, keeping him from tilting too far back. His breath caught in his throat as his body instinctively leaned into the unexpected embrace.

Khaotung’s eyelashes fluttered open.

No pain. No embarrassment. Just… warmth.

And eyes.

Big, beautiful, glimmering boba eyes that stared right into his. They were wide with surprise and concern, framed by long lashes, shining like the lights above had chosen to reflect only in them. The stranger’s face was close—too close—and Khaotung’s breath hitched again.

The world around them softened, blurred. It felt like a scene out of a drama, complete with a faint, imaginary background music swell.

He didn’t speak. He couldn’t. His lips parted slightly, but no sound came out.

What... just happened?

And why did this stranger’s arms feel like the safest place in the world?

~~~

Prince Kanaphan Puitrakul, or First as he was known to his family, stood in the heart of the grand palace hall, bathed in the glow of golden candlelight. The air was thick with the sweet scent of opulent perfumes, and the room hummed with the soft sounds of excited guests arriving. 

Tonight was more than just a celebration of his 25th birthday—it was a night carefully designed to mark the beginning of a new chapter in his life. His parents, the king and queen, had arranged this grand ball not only to celebrate the prince’s birthday but to give him the opportunity to meet potential brides who could stand by his side as he prepared to take on the mantle of the throne.

The event was a spectacle in every sense.

The finest of royalty from neighboring kingdoms had been invited, along with the kingdom’s nobility and distinguished families. But what many didn’t realize, and what set this occasion apart from any other royal gathering, was the special invitation that had been extended to the staff and their families. It was not just a ball for the elite—it was an opportunity for First to meet people from all walks of life, to see the full scope of the kingdom he was destined to rule.

First’s parents had initially been cautious about opening the ball to everyone in the palace, even the commoners who worked behind the scenes. They had long believed in maintaining a certain level of tradition and formality, and they feared that the mix of nobility and commoners might cause complications. But First, always thoughtful and aware of his future role, had gently but firmly insisted.

"One day, I will be king of all the people," he had reasoned. "I want to know them—not just those who sit at the royal tables, but the ones who serve the tables, too. If I am to be their king, I must understand them all."  

His parents, after much consideration, came to agree with him. 

They realized that while tradition was important, so was the future of the kingdom, and ensuring that the prince remained connected to the lives of all his people would only make him a better ruler. The compromise was made: the ball would still maintain its elegance and formality, but it would also include the diverse and hardworking people of the palace. It would be a night where every guest—no matter their title—would have the chance to witness the prince as he truly was, and to present themselves to him without barriers.

First understood the weight of this decision. It wasn’t just a night to find a potential match—it was a rare opportunity to truly witness the heart of his kingdom, to meet the people whose lives and stories rarely reached palace walls. It was a chance to bridge the distance between crown and commoner, between power and the pulse of the streets.

Still, even as he stood by his choice, he couldn’t quite explain—even to himself—why he had been so insistent. So relentless. Why he had fought harder for this than anything else in recent memory.

There was no grand logic behind it. No strategy. Just a fierce, unshakable pull in his gut. Like something inside him knew this mattered more than anyone realized. That it had to happen. That he had to make it happen.

And strangely, that certainty thrilled him.

It made him feel alive—like he was on the brink of something important. Something he didn’t yet understand, but would one day look back on and realize: thiswas the beginning.

He stood in the center of the ballroom, dressed in the finest royal attire—his tunic of deep velvet and gold thread, the intricate designs symbolizing his family’s lineage. But despite the beauty of the setting, the glittering chandeliers, and the well-dressed guests, First found himself reflecting on the significance of the evening. 

His parents had hoped this would be a celebration of his future, of his transition into adulthood and responsibility. But to First, it was more than that. This was about connection. This was about truly understanding the people he would one day lead, not through the eyes of royalty, but through the eyes of someone who genuinely wanted to know them.

As the guests arrived, excitement buzzed through the air. Nobles and commoners alike mingled under the same roof, their worlds colliding in ways that had never been allowed before. Some looked on in awe, others in curiosity, but no matter who they were or where they came from, they were all gathered in this moment for the same reason: to see the future of the kingdom take shape.

As for the second purpose of this ball, the chance to find someone who will be a future queen— but what he truly wants is to find a person who might make him rethink the path he had been set on for so long. Someone who could offer him not just a match of convenience, but a true connection that might lead to something deeper.

The night held endless possibilities. He could only hope that within the crowd, amidst the dances and the laughter, he would find the one who could see him as more than just a prince. Someone who might change the direction of his life forever.

And as the night unfolded, and the guests filtered in, there was one particular moment that stood out—a moment he could never have expected, nor would he have ever imagined could alter the direction of everything he thought he knew about himself and his future.

~~~

First clenched his jaw subtly, forcing a gracious smile to stay in place as he nodded to King Aldric of Valtoria. The man had been droning on about his daughter’s accomplishments—how she spoke four languages, how she once tamed a wild horse, how she had been groomed since birth to be a queen. And yet, all First could think about was how the princess, whose name was if he remembered correctly, was Princess Liora had just snapped her fingers at one of the palace attendants for her drink to be stirred.

The queen, standing beside her husband, hadn’t offered a single word of greeting to the other guests nor even looked at anyone directly unless they bore a title she recognized. Nobles from his own land had passed them with respectful bows only to be met with indifferent glances or complete dismissal.

The princess herself was undeniably beautiful. Her dress was elegant and clearly expensive, her hair immaculately styled. But no amount of external grace could hide the petulance in her behavior. She fluttered her lashes so aggressively at First it almost made him squint, each blink like a strobe light in his peripheral vision. She giggled unnecessarily, leaned closer than protocol allowed, and kept finding excuses to brush her fingers near his sleeve.

It was suffocating.

He was just about to excuse himself with the pretense of checking on the ball’s progress when—

Thud.

A sharp bump against his back made him instinctively turn.

And that’s when time slowed.

He easily remember faces, and he couldn’t recall seeing it before.

It wasn’t a royal.

It wasn’t a noble.

But to First, it may as well have been an angel casted from the stars.

Was I seeing a falling angel? He thought to himself. 

There, tumbling backward with eyes wide in panic, was a young man clad in a glittering garment that shimmered beneath the chandeliers like the night sky—subtle sparkles catching the light with every movement. The man’s hair was slicked back with a few rebellious strands falling across his forehead. His cheeks were slightly blushed, lips slightly parted in shock. And for the first time tonight, First felt the world narrow into just this moment.

Without thinking, First’s arm shot out, wrapping securely around the young man’s waist while his other hand cradled the back of his head to protect him from impact. The man’s hands instinctively grabbed onto the fabric of First’s chest, clutching as though he had been plucked from the sky only to land here.

Everything else vanished—the voices of the royals, the music from the quartet, the chandeliers, the flickering lashes of the insufferable princess. All First saw… was him.

Their eyes met.

The man's expression—soft, warm, and obviously, startled. His own—widened in awe, heart thundering against his ribs.

He’d spent weeks dreading this night—dreading the pressure, the expectations, the weight of what it all represented.

The source of his unease had been elusive. It was a strange blend of restlessness and anticipation that clung to him every time the ball was mentioned.

And now, in this single, breathless moment—it all made sense.

The confusion, the insistence, the gut-deep need to open the gates to everyone... it wasn’t just diplomacy. It wasn’t about being fair or progressive or making some political statement.

It was this.

Him.

The fog lifted.

It wasn’t only the man's beauty that stunned him—though he had never seen anything so striking. It was the way he breathed, as if his lungs were still catching up with his heartbeat. The subtle tremble in his lashes, the hesitant blink. The way his smaller frame folded so effortlessly into First’s arms, as if he belonged there.

A jolt of electricity rushed through First’s body at the contact, as if the universe had whispered: There you are.

He swallowed hard.

His mind screamed in awe—beautiful, beautiful, he’s beautiful.

More beautiful than anything First had ever imagined. Like the stars had bent to place this one soul before him. Like the sky itself had parted just for this moment.

Out of all the people he had seen tonight—graceful women, dashing men—none came close to the beauty held now in his arms.

Was this why he had pushed so insistently? 

Why he had adamantly fought for the gates to be opened, despite not knowing why?

Not for politics.

Not for peace.

Not even for…

a potential match.

But for this.

For him.

For destiny.

“A-Are you alright?” First finally asked, his voice barely above a whisper—soft, reverent, like a prayer he didn’t know he was saying. As if speaking too loudly might break the moment. As if this stranger was made of starlight and the fragile silence between them was the only thing keeping him from fading away.

~~~

Khaotung woke up from his dazed state feeling all warm—like someone had wrapped him in the gentlest blanket made of starlight and comfort. 

The voice that reached his ears, low and soothing, felt like a melody plucked from the softest strings of a harp. It wasn’t just the words, it was in the way they were spoken—like he was something fragile and precious.

His heart was thumping so wildly in his chest, it could’ve rivaled the royal drums announcing something he couldn’t comprehend at the moment. And then, reality hit him: he was still being held. Not just by anyone, but by him. The most handsome stranger. 

The man with the softest gaze he’d ever seen, a scent that was all warmth and spice, and a presence that made the entire grand hall blur around the edges.

“I-I… okay. Thank you.” His voice trembled, a whisper more than a sentence.

His cheeks, already dusted pink with Mix’s skilled hand, deepened into a full-blown crimson. His skin burned with the heat of embarrassment, nerves, and… something he couldn’t name. His breath hitched slightly, still not daring to pull away.

He was frozen in place. It was like his whole body had decided it didn’t want to move. Not yet. Not while being held like this. Not when everything in him screamed that this moment—this exact moment—was special.

He wasn’t falling anymore.

But he sure wasn’t standing either.

And when his crescent eyes slowly drifted up to meet the stranger’s—no, not stranger, his savior—he felt his breath halted.

“…You’re beautiful,” the man whispered—so quietly, as if the words had slipped out before he could stop them.

Khao blinked. His eyes went comically wide, his lips parting in the tiniest gasp.

What.

Did he just—?

His brain immediately short-circuited.

Gone. No thoughts. Just static and butterflies.

And then—thump.

His heart beat once, twice, and then just… gave up.

It fell. Hard.

Was this—was this what they called love at first sight?

Because if it was, well… it hit like a truck made of glitter and fireworks.

It was a magical moment for both of them.

But it was short-lived and every fairy tale or magical moment had an end, as the young princess who was obviously forgotten aside, was yanking the man out of the prince’s hold, who also eventually returned to reality. 

Khaotung’s breathing was still erratic against his chest, when he felt a sudden force yanking him backward, tearing him out of the man’s embrace. 

A sharp, shrill voice followed—the kind that felt like daggers in the ears.

“You are disrespecting the prince! How dare you try to hurt him!” Princess Liora shrieked, her grip on Khao’s arm tight, as if she was claiming territory.

The words registered slowly in his dazed mind—the prince? THE PRINCE!

His eyes flew wide in horror, the color draining from his already flushed cheeks. In a blink, he stumbled out of First’s hold, bowed deeply, and all but folded into himself in apology.

“I’m so sorry—I-I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry, Your Highness!” Khaotung’s voice trembled with genuine panic. His hands clenched into fists as he kept his head low, unable to look up. 

Out of all people, the prince. He stumbled against the PRINCE himself! 

He couldn’t even hear the music anymore—only the loud ringing of mortification in his ears.

He could feel the burning shame washing over him. 

Great. Fantastic. 

Not only had he embarrassed himself, he’d embarrassed Khun Earth—who had so graciously brought him here—and Mix, who poured his love into making him look beautiful. He had hoped to quietly enjoy the night. Not… become the highlight of embarrassment and gossip, and most likely punishment!

However, his panic immediately stopped when he heard the prince speak again. 

“It’s okay,” came the same voice so gently, it sliced through the tension like a warm knife through frozen air. “Would you be so kind and tell me your name?”

With so much fear in his features, he tried to look up and just peek. 

The prince. He was still looking at him—with eyes full of softness, not scorn. Khao’s heart felt like it could burst out of his chest.

Oh, please. Please don’t smile like that, Your Highness, I might just melt into the marble floor, he thought frantically as the butterflies in his stomach went wild, each one flapping their wings against the walls of his ribcage.

Khaotung, pull yourself together! Focus!

Realizing he had to respond, which would be viewed rude for sure. “I… I’m Khaotung,” he mumbled, barely managing to speak clearly. “Sir—uh—I mean—Your Highness…”

“Tch! I don’t remember seeing his face from any nobility,” the princess’s father scoffed, his voice filled with disdain. His eyes scanned Khao like he was dirt on polished glass. “He must be a commoner.”

The princess snickered beside him, her laugh sharp and mocking. “Oh, how quaint,” she said with a smirk, clearly enjoying the moment.

Khao was feeling so small and just froze in fear and embarrassment.

The look in the prince's eyes changed—subtle, but sharp. A prince again, now cloaked in dignity and something protective that hadn’t been there just moments before. 

First turned gracefully to the trio who were still basking in their own self-importance, their eyes scanning the man in front as if the person and all others present were insects crawling beneath their boots. Their sneers and jabs echoed like venomous perfume in the air—disdainful, entitled, and utterly graceless.

With the poised elegance only a true royal could command, First offered them a smile—cold, polite, and razor-sharp. His tone was soft, but every word was laced with authority that brooked no argument.

“I believe this exchange has reached its natural end. I appreciate your attendance, but I must say, it seems our values... differ too greatly for us to enjoy each other's company any further.” He gave the smallest bow of his head—respectful enough to be polite, yet final enough to end any pretense of civility. “If you’ll excuse me.”

The princess gasped, as if slapped, but First had already turned his back to them.

He didn’t look again.

Instead, he turned toward the man whose name is ‘Khaotung’, a name he will never forget—who still looked on the verge of tears.

He hadn’t moved. Still rooted to the spot, frozen like a deer caught in the harsh glow of judgmental stares. His glassy eyes darted, overwhelmed, and his body trembled just enough for First to notice.

First’ chest tightened.

That strange, aching flutter.

It pulsed like a heartbeat just beneath his ribs.

A rush of protectiveness bloomed—sudden, fierce.

How dare they make him feel this small.

This fragile angel.

How dare they try to dim something so quietly beautiful.

From the moment First laid eyes on him, something unfamiliar had settled in his heart—this soft, persistent flutter he still didn’t quite understand, but couldn’t ignore.

He wanted to keep him safe.

Sheltered.

He stepped forward—slow, careful, like approaching a wounded bird that might fly away if startled. And when he reached him, standing close enough to see every micro-expression flicker across his face… he saw the vulnerability behind Khaotung’s lashes.

They fluttered—not with flirtation, but from barely-held emotion. Real. Raw.

First’s lips curved—not into the polished, princely smile he gave the world… but into a gentler one. Just for him.

Who are you? And why do I feel like I want to shield you from the world?

A feeling so strong, but unknown—yet—but he wanted to find out. Desperately. And he’d really really like to know more about this person. So bad, he wanted to get out and be somewhere just the two of them. 

Before he could speak, a royal attendant hurried toward them and bowed quickly. “Your Highness, the Queen has summoned you. You’re to return to your quarters and prepare.”

First’s smile faltered for half a second before he turned toward the attendant with a nod. “Understood,” he said calmly.

Then his gaze flicked back to Khaotung, and the look in his eyes was different—yearning, reluctant, like he was being pulled away from something so so precious.

“I… I’d like to talk to you again,” First said, stepping a little closer, voice just above a whisper. “If you could… wait for me?” And then he smiled.

Bright, warm, and so breathtakingly sincere it nearly knocked the wind out of Khaotung. If that is how royals smile. A smile so genuine and so real, he can’t believe it if he has not seen it.

He simply nodded—too stunned to speak.

First smiled softly under his breath, then leaned in to whisper something to the royal guard.

And then, with the quiet confidence of a man who had just found something far more precious than any crown, he turned and walked away—graceful, purposeful.

The guard, now standing tall at Khaotung’s side, didn’t say a word. He simply remained there—like a silent shield.

Khaotung, once again, was too stunned to move. Too confused to understand what exactly had just happened.

He stood frozen, heart pounding like a drum, cheeks warm with color, unsure whether he was still caught in a dream or finally waking up from one.

But one thing was certain—

he would wait.

No matter how long it took.

And he can’t help the shy smile and the heat in his cheeks. 

~~~

Everything that happened—well, most of it—was witnessed by Mix and Khun Earth.

By the time Mix caught sight of Khaotung, the prince was already holding him—one arm securely wrapped around Khao’s waist, the other bracing behind his neck. Khaotung’s back was arched, his delicate frame leaning backward in such a dramatic pose it made Mix’s imagination run absolutely wild.

They looked like they were about to kiss. Right there. In the middle of the ballroom. Under the chandeliers. With soft orchestral music playing in the background.

It’s happening, Mix gasped inwardly. Oh my god, this is just like in those romance story books they used to read…

He stared, mouth slightly open, his hands slowly rising to his cheeks. Is this what fate looks like?! Is Khao going to be whisked away to the palace tower?! Should I be throwing flower petals or something?!

Meanwhile, Earth—who had a more grounded understanding of reality—saw Khaotung stumble, the awkward apology, and then the flash of panic when someone screamed at him. He narrowed his eyes and was already stepping forward to intervene.

But just as Earth made his move, Mix reached out and yanked his sleeve. “Wait!” he hissed under his breath.

Earth looked at him incredulously. “What?”

“Let them have their moment,” Mix whispered dramatically, eyes still glued to the scene unfolding like it was a historical drama. “Can’t you feel it? The tension?”

“Ai’Khao looks like he’s about to cry,” Earth deadpanned.

“Yeah, but like… in a beautiful way,” Mix sighed, clasping his hands together. “Also, did you see that smile the prince gave him? That man is not just being polite—he’s enchanted. That’s royal-grade heart-eyes right there.” He said it with full confidence nodding his head like he just had a great discovery.

Earth groaned, gently shaking his head. “If the prince hadn’t stepped in, Khao would’ve butt-planted into the floor.”

“But he did step in. And now we might be witnessing the beginning of a love story that’ll make history!”

“You’re delusional.” Khun Earth shaking his head in disbelief.

“You’re boring.” Mix retorted, scrunching his nose and pouting his lips towards Earth.

They turned their attention back toward the pair, just in time to hear the prince ask softly, “I’d like to talk to you again… if you could wait for me?”

Khaotung nodded, still blushing so hard that Mix could see the pink from across the room. And he was already vibrating. “Khun. KHUN.Did you see that! Did you hear that!” Mix looks like he was about to collapse. 

Earth crossed his arms, eyes narrowing slightly. “Only if the prince’s intentions are genuine.” 

Mix raised a brow, glancing sideways. “You sound like a royal guard.”

But even Earth had to admit… the look in the prince’s eyes wasn’t one he could fake. It wasn’t rehearsed. It was… real. And he has known the prince for a while now. He has the purest heart out of all the people in the palace. 

As First walked away, glancing back one last time, Earth let out a long sigh. “Fine. I won’t interrupt.”

Mix lit up. “So you do see it too!”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Earth muttered. 

Mix grinned. “Too late. I’m already planning their wedding theme.”

The murmurs began the moment Prince First turned away, his royal cape brushing lightly against Khaotung’s sleeve as he made his reluctant exit. 

Whispers like silk threads wove through the hall—

“Who is he?” 

“Was that the prince holding him?” 

“He must be someone important.” 

Or worse—“He’s just a commoner.” 

“How inappropriate.”

Khaotung felt his knees wobble again. He was standing alone under a thousand eyes, his cheeks still crimson from the Prince’s dazzling smile and gentle words. His heart was fluttering violently against his ribs, but the humiliation of being the center of attention was starting to creep in.

Then—

“There you are!” Mix's voice cut through the noise like a lifeline, dramatic and loud as ever. He grabbed Khaotung by the arm and practically yanked him to his side, immediately wrapping a protective arm around his back.

“I leave you for two minutes, and you start a royal scandal?” he whispered into Khao’s ear, clearly trying (and failing) not to grin.

Behind him, Khun Earth followed with calm precision, standing just slightly in front of Khao as if shielding him from the crowd with his entire presence. His brows were slightly furrowed, but his voice remained calm as he leaned in.

“Are you alright?” he asked quietly, eyes scanning Khao’s expression for any sign of distress.

“I—I’m okay…” Khaotung stammered, flustered beyond repair. “I didn’t mean to—he was just—then I— I’m sorry Khun Earth.” He was about to cry again.

“It’s fine,” Earth said reassuringly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Except seduce a literal prince,” Mix chimed in, his eyes wide with unfiltered excitement. “Ai’Khao, what kind of forbidden royal romance is this?! Are we in a fantasy story book? Did you enchant him??”

“Ai’Mix—!” Khao gasped, slapping his friend’s arm with zero strength.

“Shhh, don’t slap your stylist in public. You’ll ruin your image,” Mix teased, grinning wider. 

“But really, that was chef’s kiss. Did you see the way he looked at you? Like you were made of stardust and sin.”

Khun Earth sighed, but the corner of his mouth twitched in amusement. “Let’s take him somewhere quieter,” he suggested. “Before Mix explodes or someone else comes asking questions.”

Mix nodded, and together, the three of them started walking—Khun Earth on one side, Mix on the other, flanking Khao like royal guards who also happened to gossip on the job.

And as they disappeared into one of the side hallways, Khao peeked back—just once—at the grand ballroom behind him.

And just like that, his eyes met the prince’s again at the top of the long winding stairs.

He hadn’t realized that the prince had paused at the edge of the stairs, looking back at him, too.

And he smiled.

Khao’s heart might’ve stopped.

~~~

The royal chamber doors closed with a soft thud behind him.

Prince Kanaphan—First—let out a slow breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. The golden light from the chandelier bathed the room in warm hues, but nothing seemed to compare to the warmth that still lingered on his fingertips… from where he had touched him.

Him.

He sat at the edge of his intricately carved bed, elbows resting on his knees, staring at the space between his palms like they held a secret. And maybe they did.

Khaotung.

He whispered the name in his mind like a sacred verse. It echoed quietly in his chest, stirring something far deeper than he thought possible to feel from such a brief encounter.

The knock on the door was soft and familiar.

“Come in,” he said, his voice still gentle.

The Queen stepped in with her usual grace—her presence always composed, regal, and comforting. She studied her son for a moment before making her way to the chaise near the fireplace, motioning for him to sit with her.

“You’re unusually quiet for someone who just survived a ball filled with princesses,” she teased, her tone affectionate.

First chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wasn’t the one who needed surviving,” he muttered, then paused. “Actually, that’s not true. I think I almost died... but in a good way?”

The Queen raised an elegant brow. “Do I even want to ask?”

He smiled, just a little. “There was someone.”

Now her interest was piqued. “A princess? Or your future bride?”

“No,” First answered immediately, then softened. “He seemed like he wasn’t royal. He… didn’t even know who I was, I think. He just… fell into me. Literally. And I caught him.”

“He? She paused before pressing again, “And then?” she asked gently, like a mother encouraging her son to finally speak about a secret he’d kept too long.

“I don’t know, Mother. It was strange. The world was spinning around me the whole evening, but the moment I looked at him, it just—stopped.” First’s voice lowered. "His eyes were like a crescent moon. They were magnificent. And when our eyes first met, he was just as surprised to be there as I was. And… he blushed when I touched him. And I… I felt my heart flutter so much." First gently placed his palm against his chest, feeling the strong and steady thrum of his heartbeat.

The Queen, ever patient, didn’t interrupt. She simply smiled, her eyes filled with warmth.

"I’ve met countless people tonight," First continued, his palms absentmindedly clutching the fabric against his heart. "Most of them, carefully rehearsed, polished. Saying all the right words. But he—Khaotung—he wasn’t trying to impress. He just… existed. And that somehow made everything feel more regal. I don’t know, it’s… I feel like our meeting was… meant to be."

A gentle silence enveloped the room, broken only by the soft crackle of the fire beside them.

"And?" The Queen’s voice was gentle, curious.

"I want to see him again," First admitted, his tone soft and shy. "I want to know what makes him smile. What he’s passionate about. What stories he holds behind those eyes. I want to know everything about him." He hesitated, his gaze flickering toward his mother. "Is that silly?"

The Queen’s hand reached out, cupping her son’s cheek with a tenderness that only a mother could offer. Her smile was serene, filled with a quiet understanding.

"No," she said softly, her voice filled with affection. "That sounds exactly like the beginning of something beautiful. And terrifying. But mostly beautiful."

First leaned into her touch for a moment, letting the comfort of her warmth sink in before nodding slowly.

“I want to know. I want to understand my heart. I—I’ll find a way,” he murmured, his voice low but fierce, the flicker of determination clear in his eyes.

“I don’t know what it means yet… or why my heart reacted like this. But I have to see him again. I need to see him again.”

First, sat in silence for a while. The crackling of the fire filled the chamber with a gentle warmth, though not as much as the warmth in his heart. He fidgeted with the edge of his sleeve, eyes downcast. There was uncertainty in his frame.

The Queen watched him patiently, her hands folded neatly on her lap. But at this moment, she wasn’t just the Queen. She was his mother.

“Mother…” First finally said, his voice quieter than usual.

She turned her full attention to him, sensing the hesitation.

“…Am I weird,” he continued slowly, “if I feel something—like this—for someone who isn’t a princess, and moreso, a man?” He didn’t look at her right away, too afraid of what he might see in her face. “He’s a man but-,” he added, barely above a whisper. “And I… I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything like this before. It wasn’t just an attraction. It was… something that made me stop thinking altogether.”

For a fleeting moment, there was only the quiet pop of the firewood.

Then, the Queen smiled. Not the smile she wore in court or at banquets. But the kind only a mother reserves for her child when their heart is trembling in their hands.

“Darling,” she said, her voice both tender and unshakable as she reached across the space to gently grasp his hand, her touch a steady anchor. “Listen to me. There is nothing wrong with the way you feel. Love—true love—never asks for permission. It never seeks approval. It simply exists, and it has no regard for rules, expectations, or the narrow judgments of others. It is what it is. Your heart, my dear, has always been honest. It has always been pure. Even when the world around you tried to tell you otherwise. Even when it tried to force you into molds that never quite fit. You’ve always stayed true to what you feel. And that—that—is the greatest strength you could ever have.”

First finally looked up at her, and the relief in his eyes was unmistakable.

“Thank you, Mother,” he breathed, the tension in his shoulders softening.

The Queen gave his hand a final squeeze before standing, brushing the folds of her gown with practiced ease—but her tone remained motherly, affectionate, almost teasing.

“Then you should get yourself ready quick,” she said with a gentle smile. “Your suit for the next part of the celebration is in your dresser. Go on, Kanaphan. If you take too long, someone else might steal his attention away.” She teased as she smiled playfully.

First blinked, his mouth opened in shock, a faint blush on his cheeks. “…Mother!”

She only laughed softly, already heading for the door. But before she left, she turned back, her expression thoughtful and full of quiet wisdom.

“And if you truly want to know what makes a person special… let them talk. Listen not with your crown—but with your heart.”

And with that, she stepped out, leaving the prince alone—staring into the fireplace, the faintest smile now tugging at his lips.

And in his mind, that name whispered once again with a strange tenderness that made his chest ache in the best way.

Khaotung.

~~~

Khaotung didn’t know if it was the residual adrenaline from stumbling into the prince or if it was Mix practically bouncing in front of him, but his entire body felt like it was overheating.

“Okay, but Khao!” Mix gasped dramatically, fanning himself with both hands. “The way he held your waist like that? And the look on his face?! I’m pretty sure the prince forgot what breathing was!”

Khao’s face was already as red as the royal drapes, and Mix’s words weren’t helping. He turned away, pulling Earth between them like a human shield.

“Mix, please,” he mumbled, voice muffled behind Khun Earth’s shoulder. “You’re not helping!”

Earth gave a light chuckle, patting Khao on the back. “To be fair, it was kind of endearing to watch,” he said calmly, “If you ignore the part where you nearly fell in front of royalty and may or may not have accidentally clung to him like a fainting maiden.”

“Khun Earth!” Khao wailed, his hands flying up to cover his face.

He couldn’t take it anymore. The constant teasing, the way Mix’s fascination with his so-called “fantasy” just wouldn’t quit.

“Don’t worry, darling,” Mix chimed in, dramatically looping his arm through Khao’s. “You were the main character. Like, if this were a palace drama from the story books we read from youth, the title would be ‘Accidentally Yours: The Prince and the Commoner.’”

He was done. Yet, deep down, Khaotung couldn't help but enjoy it. But he wouldn’t admit it.

“I swear, I’m never coming to a royal event again with you,” Khao muttered, trying to disappear into the marble floor.

“Are you kidding?” Mix said, his eyes practically sparkling, his grin wide and teasing. “You’re basically the talk of the ball, my friend! Everyone saw what happened! The prince—the prince—saved you! And then he smiled at you. Not his polite royal smile, no, but a real one. A genuine smile! With teeth! He never does that, you know. Only when he’s truly happy. And he did that—at you!”

Mix leaned in a little closer, practically bouncing on his heels, as if the very idea of it made his heart race. “I’ve seen him smile plenty of times, sure, whether he’s being polite or just going through the motions. But that? That was the brightest, most authentic smile I’ve ever seen him wear. And it was all for you!”

Khao shook his head, feeling his ears turn red. “He was probably just being kind because I almost made him trip.”

“Sure,” Mix nodded, clearly not agreeing. “And I just accidentally manifested that tension you two had. Puh-lease!”

Earth sighed but smiled. “Alright, alright. Let’s get some air. Khao looks like he’s going to combust.”

Khao exhaled a breath he didn’t know he was holding, nodding. “Yes. Air. That sounds good.”

“And while we’re out there,” Mix said, not missing a beat, “you can rehearse what you’ll say when he comes back to find you later. Because if he doesn’t? I’ll start writing him love letters under your name.”

“AI’MIX!”

~~~

First had changed into another suit, a pure white, reflecting the color of pure elegance of royalty and the gravity of his position. And honestly, a perfect contrast with Khaotung’s starry black outfit. His steps were measured as he re-entered the ballroom, the hum of laughter and conversation filling the air, but his mind remained focused on one thing—where was Khaotung?

As he stepped in full view for everyone again, all of the guests stared in awe as he descended down the long staircase.

The music had picked up in tempo for the soft orchestral tones blending with the murmurs of guests preparing for the next part of the evening. The princesses were expected to be asked for a dance from the prince, but First’s thoughts were already set on something—rather someone—else. 

He didn’t want to dance with anybody. No, his eyes sought only one figure, a face that had been occupying his mind.

But he can’t find the man.

First got nervous. He tried to calm the unease that had started to creep in. 

He’s probably just somewhere, he told himself. 

Still, he couldn’t shake the fear of not seeing him. The prince took a deep breath, steeling himself, determined to find him. I need to find him.

He moved through the crowd, scanning faces and forms as he walked with purpose. His eyes flicked past princesses and courtiers, none of whom drew his attention like the man he sought.

And then, just as the anticipation began to build and the spotlight shifted toward the princesses preparing their requests for a dance, First grew even more uneasy.

Where is he? he thought, his pulse quickening.

Has he left?

His eyes scanned the room, but there was still no sign of Khaotung. A mix of disappointment and frustration started to settle into his mind. Just as he was about to lose hope, a flicker sparkle caught his eye.

And then, as if drawn by some invisible pull, his gaze landed on Khaotung, who was walking with Khun Earth and Mix—who he met before and learned was Earth’s apprentice, and romantic partner—re-entering the grand hall.

In the midst of the crowd, Khaotung stood out effortlessly. The light seemed to shimmer just for him, highlighting his figure like a star in the darkness. Time had once again seemed to slow. Khaotung, despite his awkwardness and the way he shifted from foot to foot, was the most magnificent thing in the room.

It seems so easy to spot him in the midst of the crowd. 

He stood with Mix and Khun Earth who were both elegantly dressed, but even then, Khaotung was an undeniable presence, a person who seemed so out of place in such a grand setting, yet in that way, made him even more captivating to First.

A slow smile spread across First’s face—he couldn’t stop it. 

His heart began to race again, emotions bubbling inside him that had nothing to do with the event and everything to do with this man. He didn’t hesitate—his feet moved toward Khaotung, purpose in his stride. People turned in awe as he passed, the princesses lining his path hoping their hands might be taken, only to be disappointed as he walked right past them, their gazes trailing after him. The noise of the ballroom seemed to fade, the world narrowing to a single focus: one person, one moment.

Khaotung, sensing someone watching him, looked up. His eyes widened as they locked with the prince’s gaze. 

Regardless of the distance, the air between them felt thick, charged with tension, and full of anticipation.

First didn't even have to think before he spoke when he’s finally in front of  him, his voice low and warm. “Khun Khaotung... Would you honor me with a dance?”

The words were simple, yet so sincere in them, something more than just a request. 

As First's hand extended toward Khaotung, the surrounding noise of the ballroom felt like it was drifting further and further away. This moment, it was just the two of them in a world of their own. Khaotung blinked, caught off guard by the attention and the sincerity in the prince’ eyes. He had never imagined something like this happening to him—even wild, never thought that a prince would choose him, him, out of all the people in this grand hall.

His heart pounded in his chest, disbelief and nervousness swirling inside him. He glanced at Mix and Khun Earth, who stood frozen, both watching in awe. Khaotung felt like the room was spinning. His fingers twitched at his sides, and for a split second, he thought about running. 

What am I even doing here? he thought, feeling out of place, but then he remembered the kindness in the prince’ gaze, the warmth in his voice when he asked him to dance.

"Khaotung..." First's voice was still soft, yet with a quiet strength that made it impossible to ignore.

Khaotung swallowed, the anxiety still bubbling inside him, but there was something else—something deep in his weak heart that made him smile despite himself. First was standing there, offering him something so simple, yet so grand: a dance. It was more than just the event, more than the grand ballroom or the princesses with their expectant eyes. It felt like an invitation to something bigger, to something real.

"I…" he began, but his voice faltered as his breath caught in his throat.

The moment began to press on him. He didn’t know how long it took but he could hear the whispers—soft, sharp, swirling all around like a breeze full of judgment and curiosity. The murmurs of the maidens, the stiff silence of those watching too closely.

"What is he doing?"

"Is the prince truly asking him?"

"Who is he, really, to be standing there?"

And then came the crushing wave of self-doubt.

What the hell am I doing stealing the prince’s attention from these deserving, beautiful women?

I don’t even belong here.

His heart thudded painfully in his chest. I’m not royalty. I’m not anyone. Just a guest, pulled into a fairy tale that wasn’t written for someone like him.

Why was the prince—standing in front of him, looking at me like that? With such warmth in his eyes. With sincerity. With kindness, not courtesy.

It didn’t make sense. Khaotung never thought of ever standing out, he was always invisible, shrinking when the world felt too big, too sharp. And yet, here he was, under the brightest spotlight of them all, being asked to dance by the one person everyone else had been dreaming of.

And, somehow, he couldn’t help but feel small again. Like the boy who didn’t quite fit. Who spoke too softly. Who was always standing just slightly outside the circle.

His eyes lowered for a moment, lashes trembling as he searched within himself for an answer—or maybe an escape. But when he lifted his gaze again, the prince was still there.

Still smiling.

Still waiting.

And in that gaze… there was no pity, no pressure. Just quiet encouragement. Like he was saying: You can choose. And if you choose me, I’ll be here. Right here.

Khaotung felt his throat dry. His fingers curled and uncurled at his sides. He didn’t know if he could take the step forward, if he even deserved to.

But gods, he wanted to.

So he did. 

Khaotung clung to the only reason that felt justifiable—not to upset or embarrass the prince, nor to become another object of ridicule in the eyes of the crowd, but for the sanctity of his own heart, and the faint, fragile hope it held. 

For once in his life, he wanted to be seen the way the prince was looking at him now. He wanted to matter, to be the center of someone’s world, even if just for a fleeting moment.

And if this was a fairytale, then maybe—just maybe—he deserved a page in it, too.

Finally, Khaotung let out a soft sigh, gathering himself as he stood tall with a quiet but growing confidence. His voice, though small, carried a steady determination, as if he were finding his footing amidst the storm inside.

"I... would be honored."

His words were soft, barely above a whisper, that carried a quiet resolve—a silent wish finally spoken. But it didn’t matter. Because as soon as he said them, the prince smiled in a way that made the world tilt just a little, and Khaotung knew—he had chosen right.

First couldn’t contain himself. His lips automatically curled into toothy-grin, a smile brighter than the chandeliers, He was smiling from ear to ear.

And Khaotung felt the butterflies flutter wildly in his stomach, the fear and uncertainty beginning to melt away under that gentle smile.

First’s hand, still extended, trembling ever so slightly, though the beautiful man hesitated a little, but he finally took it. The contact was electric, sending a thrill through him, and for the first time that evening, he felt like he was exactly where he needed to be.

The prince led them onto the middle of the dance floor, everyone else making a wide space for them and as they moved together, then the world around them vanished. 

With every step they took, the distance between the two of them seemed to close, their connection becoming more real, more tangible. Khaotung found himself forgetting everything else—he was no longer a simple commoner in a palace full of royalty. For this moment, he was just him, dancing with the prince.

First, noticing Khaotung’s relaxed posture and the way his eyes softened in the light of the chandeliers, felt his heart soften even more. He felt like this was exactly what he had wanted, exactly where he needed to be. The evening was his, yes, but somehow, in this moment, it was theirs.

"Thank you," Khaotung said quietly, his voice almost lost in the music. He didn’t know what he was thanking the prince for exactly—maybe for the dance, or for the way he had made him feel like he belonged, or maybe just for being here. But it was the truth, plain and simple.

First turned his gaze to the man, his smile widening, and there was something in his eyes—a spark that made Khaotung's heart beat even faster.

"No," First replied softly. "Thank you for being here. You’ve made tonight worth remembering."

And in that exact moment, surrounded by music, by elegance, and by the soft whispers of the ballroom, Khaotung realized that maybe—he had found something that was worth more than all the glittering gold in the palace.

Something surreal.

Khun Earth and Mix watched fondly from the other end of the ballroom as the Prince and Khaotung seemed to drift into a world all their own, swaying gently to the soft strains of the music. There was something enchanting about the way the prince and his chosen partner moved together—hesitatnt yet in sync, as if the rest of the world had melted away.

Earth turned slightly, eyes glistening with emotion as he looked at Mix beside him. Without a word, he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to Mix’s cheek, startling the latter out of his reverie.

“What was that for?” Mix blinked, confused but smiling.

Earth’s voice was soft but full of warmth. “You are… just amazing. I know you meant well by helping create this experience for Khun Khaotung. But just look at them. You may have done more than make it unforgettable—you may have made it magical. That’s why I love you so much.”

Before Mix could react, Earth wrapped his arms around his waist and pulled him into a kiss—slow, sweet, and full of affection.

When they finally parted, Earth smiled and extended a hand with a playful glint in his eyes. “Would you care for a dance?”

Still dazed from the kiss and the emotion of it all, Mix grinned wide and nodded. “Oh, definitely!”

They stood next to Prince First and Khaotung and held each other. all four gently swayed in place as the soft melody floated through the grand ballroom. Around them, more guests joined in, moving gracefully to the rhythm, the room bathed in a warm, golden glow from the chandelier above. For a few minutes, it felt like the whole world was slowing down, wrapped in elegance and quiet joy.

Then, the tempo changed.

The orchestra struck up a livelier tune, strings and drums bursting into a playful, celebratory rhythm. Laughter began to bubble through the hall as couples around bounced lightly with the beat, letting loose and twirling with delight.

The energy charged—and so did the room.

Khaotung caught sight of Mix tugging Khun Earth into the rhythm, swaying his hips with exaggerated playfulness that made Earth burst into fits of giggles. They danced with a love that was both effortless and loud in the most beautiful way. Khaotung's lips curled into a soft smile. It was always blissful to see them like this—two people so in tune with each other that even their laughter sounded like a duet.

Then, he felt a gentle squeeze.

Khaotung blinked and looked down at the hand still wrapped in his. When he looked up, the prince was staring at him again.

Not just looking—staring. As if Khaotung was the only thing in the room worth seeing. His gaze was filled with so much tenderness, it made Khaotung blush and instinctively lower his eyes… but he didn’t let go of his hand.

“You seem very fond of Khun Earth and Khun Mix,” the prince said softly, his voice warm and low, barely audible over the music.

It wasn’t just a casual glance—it was soft, searching, as if First were trying to understand the secret behind Khaotung’s smile. Not with suspicion, but with wonder. Like he was asking, What makes your heart light up like that? And he genuinely wanted to know.

Khaotung nodded, a quiet warmth in his voice. “Seeing them makes me happy. Really happy. They’re the kind of love that… makes you want to believe in it. Even if you thought it wasn’t something meant for you.”

First tilted his head, thoughtful. “Do you believe it now?”

Khaotung looked down at their hands—still clasped, still warm—and realized they were still gently swaying, even as the music around them rose and fell like waves.

“I don’t know…,” he said, voice low with honesty. Then he looked up, straight into the prince’ eyes, his own softness with hope. “But… I think I’m starting to.”

That made the prince smile—not the polished smile reserved for royal duties, but the one that was just his. The real one. The kind that was shy at the edges, like a secret shared only between them. 

And in that moment, First knew—the ballroom wasn’t where he wanted them to be anymore.

“Would you… like to get some air?” First asked, his voice nearly lost in the music. But the look in his eyes made sure Khaotung understood everything he meant.

Khaotung’s nod came without hesitation.

And just like that, still holding hands, they began to move—not in a rush, not dramatically—but slipping through the edge of the dancing crowd, past the fluttering skirts and polished shoes, toward the grand archway that led to the palace’s open-air balcony, and the quiet that waited beyond the celebration.

A place where the music would fade, and maybe… something else could begin. 

The music behind them was still lively, laughter echoing through the grand ballroom. But neither of the two were truly listening anymore.

The cool air greeted them as they stepped onto the grand balcony. It curved outward in elegant white marble, framed by vines and soft lanterns that glowed like fireflies. And just beyond, the centerpiece of the palace grounds—the dancing fountain—bloomed into view. Tall streams of water arched and twirled with colored lights beneath, shimmering in rhythm with the faraway music.

Khaotung exhaled in awe. “It’s even more beautiful from up here…”

“It is,” First said softly, but he wasn’t looking at the fountain.

Khaotung turned his head slowly, meeting the prince’s gaze. There it was again—that warm, earnest look that made his stomach flutter and his heart stumble in its rhythm. He’d seen admiration before, kindness even… but this? This felt different. Unfamiliar. And yet, somehow… familiar too.

He’d seen that same light before—in the way Khun Earth looked at Mix when he wasn’t watching, in the way Mix smiled back like the world stopped for just them. Was this the same? Or was it just wishful thinking, a fragile hope blooming quietly in his chest? Either way… he wanted to believe it. Just for now.

“You looked so… pretty when you smiled,” First murmured, his voice barely audible over the wind. “Like the whole world was glowing in your eyes. And when you’re happy, it’s… breathtaking.”

Khaotung blinked, caught off guard, the faintest blush rising to his cheeks. His gaze dropping to the ground as if unsure what to do with the sudden warmth flooding his chest. A small, nervous breath escaped him—more a sigh than a laugh—as he hugged himself tighter against the evening chill.

“Your Highness…” he began, voice trembling slightly, “I… I don’t know what to say.” He glanced up briefly, then down again, struggling to find footing in the overwhelming gentleness of the prince’ words. ““No one’s ever said something like that to me before.”

First smiled—softly, knowingly—but didn’t press, letting the silence between them say everything he didn’t need to.

Khaotung took a breath and glanced back at the fountain as he reminisced. “It reminded me of stories I used to read,” he said more softly. “The kind where fountains danced and princes fell in love at grand balls. I never thought I’d be standing next to one so grand and beautiful as in the books.”

“Well,” First whispered, stepping just a little closer, “you’re not just standing next to the fountain, Khaotung.”

“I don’t know what kind of magic brought you here tonight,” First continued, his voice as soft as the breeze that curled around them, “but I’ve never felt like this before. Not at any other ball. Not with anyone else.”

Khaotung glanced at the person now standing close to him,he inhaled sharply, overwhelmed by how close the prince was, he tried to blink back the tears that threatened to fall. 

“Why me?” he asked quietly. “There are so many others—princesses, people who belong in a place like this. I… I don’t.”

First stepped even closer, no air could pass between them. “You belong exactly where you are. Right here. With me.”

The silence that followed was filled only by the soft murmur of the fountain. Then First slowly, gently place both hands to the smaller man’s clothed arms.

“I’ve never met anyone like you, Khaotung,” First said softly, a small, fond smile tugging at his lips. “You’re so pure, so innocent, so gentle. It’s like the whole world slows down when you’re near, and everything feels... softer. I don’t even know how you do it, but you make the tiniest moments feel so important. At least, that’s how I feel.” He paused, looking at Khaotung with such sincerity in his eyes. “And, well... I’m just really glad I met you. I’ve never met anyone I’ve wanted to protect so much from the cruelty of the world.”

Khaotung bit his lip, feeling a lump form in his throat, his heart swelling with emotion. He didn’t know what to say, so he just stayed there, letting the moment fill him.

“If I could… if you’d let me,” First began, his voice barely a whisper, like he was offering something delicate and close to his heart, “I’d want this moment to never end.”

He let his hand slip from Khaotung’s arm, glanced down, and gently took Khaotung’s hands on his own. Then he looked back up, offering a soft smile.

“But if forever’s too much to ask… then I won’t ask for it.” He took a small breath, steadying the hope that trembled in his voice. “Just… let me have this. Just for now. Let me hold on to this moment. Let me hold you.”

“Maybe forever sounds like a fairytale,” he added, eyes sparkling with something tender, “but how can I not hope and wish for it… when I already see it so clearly? You, right there beside me.”

Without another word, First gently took Khaotung’s hand, guiding it to his chest, right over his heart. It was beating fast, wild and honest. 

Khaotung’s breath caught in his chest as he felt the steady, fervent rhythm beneath his fingertips, his heart racing along with it.

Khaotung met his eyes, trembling slightly, overwhelmed by the prince's heartfelt confession. Could he really dream of such a reality? Was he allowed to? 

But just for tonight, he longed for it to last. “Then… just for tonight,” he whispered, his voice barely a breath. “Let’s pretend this story is ours.”

Under the starlight and the gentle dance of the fountain, Prince First and Khaotung stood close, wrapped in a moment that felt like a dream. 

Khaotung didn’t know when their hands had intertwined again, but the prince's warmth was steady, grounding. He looked up to find the prince already looking at him, eyes filled with that same inexplicable wonder.

"Are you cold?" First asked, voice soft, as he felt the tremble in the smaller’s hands.

Khaotung shook his head slowly, his lips parting as if to say something—but no words came out.

Then First moved his arms gently wrapping around Khaotung the same way they had during their dance, pulling him into a warm embrace.

“Would you believe it if I told you that earlier… when I saw you in the crowd,” First began softly, “I didn’t see anyone else. Just you. And I realized, if I had to choose someone to dance with, to laugh with, stand beside me or even just sit in comfortable silence with… I’d choose you.”

Khaotung’s chest fluttered, his heart racing in his chest. “Your Highness…”

First smiled and gently shook his head. “First. Just call me First.”

Khaotung’s eyes widened, his cheeks flushing slightly as he hesitated. “F-First?” he said, as if speaking the name was a forbidden treasure.

The prince’s smile grew even softer, his gaze flickering between Khaotung’s eyes and his soft cherry red lips. “May I?”

Khaotung's heart was beating so fast and loud and his mind was putty, nodding ever so gently.

And then—

First leaned in slowly, like a wish drifting on the wind—careful, almost hesitant, as if the moment were made of glass and might shatter if he moved too fast. Khaotung's heart stuttered as he tilted his face up, eyes fluttering closed just before their noses brushed.

Then—finally—First’s lips met his.

It was the gentlest thing, like a whisper against his mouth, a kiss so soft it felt like a secret blooming between them. Khaotung’s fingers curled slightly, his shoulders relaxing as the warmth of it sank in—like sunlight after rain. The world around them vanished completely, as though even the stars had paused to watch.

The kiss lingered, deepening only a little, sweet and slow. It wasn’t rushed or perfect—it was shy and tender and full of everything they hadn’t yet found the words for. A quiet promise. A beginning.

When they finally pulled away, barely an inch between them, Khaotung’s eyes stayed closed a moment longer, as though he wanted to carry the feeling a little longer.

And First… First was still smiling—that soft, real smile Khaotung had already started to fall for.

Butterflies danced wildly inside Khaotung, and he couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes, afraid that all of this was just a dream. A soft smile spread across his face as he whispered, “That felt like….” He trailed off, unsure how to describe it. It was his first kiss, and it felt like he was floating in a world of intoxication.

“It is,” First whispered, as if he understood the indescribable feeling perfectly. “It absolutely is.”

Khaotung blinked up at First, his heart still racing wildly. The kiss had left a soft, warm glow inside him, like something divine had touched him. First’s hand cupped his cheek, his thumb brushing over the skin ever so gently, as though he, too, was amazed that this was real.

Neither of them spoke.

They didn’t need to.

In the quiet of that starlit night, their eyes said everything. And then, slowly, as if pulled by an invisible force, they leaned in again.

This time the kiss came easier—softer, surer. Khaotung sighed into it, his hands curling gently around the lapel of First’s suit as their lips met once more. Everything else around them just was just a haze at this point.

Just First and Khaotung.

Kissing under the moonlight.

First smiled against his lips, and Khaotung couldn’t help but giggle softly, his nose bumping against First’s. “What?” he whispered.

“Nothing,” First said, eyes twinkling. “You just… you taste like magic.”

Khaotung flushed so so hard he had to hide his face in First’s chest—but First only held him closer, placing another kiss on his forehead, then his hair, then the corner of his lips again—each kiss softer than the last, like he was committing every inch of Khaotung to memory.

“I could kiss you forever,” First murmured.

“Then maybe don’t stop just yet,” Khaotung gains courage and whispers back shyly.

And so they did.

First kissed him again—and again—slow and sweet, like dancing without music. Khaotung felt as if every part of him had found comfort in the arms of this man.

They were so wrapped up in each other that neither noticed the faint creak of the curtains behind them.

Nor the stunned pair of eyes peeking through the glass doors.

Because some fairytales? They get even more interesting when someone’s watching.

Just as First was about to lean in for another kiss—one that felt even slower, even sweeter than the last—

CRASH.

"OH MY GOD!" a voice screeched from behind the curtain, followed by the unmistakable sound of someone tripping over their own feet and toppling into a potted plant.

First and Khaotung sprang apart like guilty teenagers caught sneaking snacks in the royal kitchen.

The curtain whipped open, and there stood Mix, hair slightly mussed, holding the curtain rod in one hand and a palm leaf in the other—like he’d just fought the entire jungle to get there.

He blinked at them. Then grinned. Wide. Too wide.

“Don’t mind me! Just doing my royal duties!” he chirped. “Inspecting the… curtains. And the... foliage.” He lifted the palm leaf for emphasis.

“Mix…” Khaotung groaned, covering his face with both hands, his cheeks now a shade of rose pink rarely seen in nature.

“OH, don’t stop on my account! Please! Go on, you can you know… kiss again! I promise I won’t blink or even  breathe this time!” Mix teased, dramatically fanning himself with the fallen fan like a swooning noblewoman.

“Khun Mix, leave,” First said with a half-laugh, half-sigh, clearly trying not to smile and failing miserably.

“Too late,” Mix continued. “I have already mentally recorded this moment for eternity. The moonlight, the balcony, the sparkle in Khaotung’s eyes—ugh, I’m unwell! This is giving ‘final act of a forbidden romance opera’ and I am LIVING.” He was like a fanatic watching a love story in a theatrical drama.

Earth appeared beside him with a look that screamed, I told you not to follow them. He grabbed Mix’s arm gently and started dragging him away. “Let the prince and Khun Khaotung breathe, Mix.”

Mix pouted, dramatically clutching Earth’s arm like he was being exiled. “But I’m the fairy god-bestie of this whole love story!” 

Ever the menace that he’s being at the moment, Mix blew them a kiss as he was pulled backward through the doorway. “I just want to be thanked and rewarded in your wedding speeches!!”

“You’re the chaos gremlin,” Earth muttered under his breath, dragging him back inside.

As Mix disappeared behind the curtain, he turned around one last time and hissed loudly, “KISS HIM AGAIN, DAMN IT!”

Khaotung, now entirely crimson, standing close to First again, buried his face in First’s chest, mortified and laughing all at once. “I can’t with him.”

First smiled down at him, soft and fond, then leaned close enough to whisper, “Well… where were we?”

Khaotung laughed through his flustered face and replied, “Somewhere between a kiss and a lifetime, I think. Before my friends' antics.”

First nodded. “Then let’s make it worth his chaos.”

And with that, their lips met again—gentle, slow, full of warmth. The fountain sparkled below, the music still drifting faintly in the air.

Just as their lips brushed again—tender, soft, the kind of kiss that belonged to stories passed down for generations— a sharp gasp shattered the night air.

"What in the queen’s name is the meaning of this?!"

The curtain slammed open again, but this time, it wasn’t Mix being his usual chaotic self. No. This time it was Princess Calista of Vantille, another princess with a vision of sharp beauty and even sharper attitude, her gown glittering with enough jewels to fund a small kingdom—but her eyes? Venom.

What angered her more upon seeing the scene was because the prince had just passed by her and didn’t even acknowledge her which certainly tainted her pride.

Her hand clutched at her pearl necklace in exaggerated horror, and behind her stood a handful of shocked maidens and nobles, mouths agape, expressions painted with judgment and scandal.

Khaotung flinched like he’d been struck. Instinctively, he stepped back from First, the warmth of the shared intimate moment evaporating under the gaze of dozens of staring eyes and Princess Calista’s shrill, accusing tone.

“A man?!” she barked, pointing a trembling, manicured finger. “You—you’re kissing a man?!At your own ball?! Where your future princess is meant to be chosen?! And you refused to dance with anyone just because of a man! What a disgrace!”

There was a ripple of gasps, like dominos falling.

Khaotung’s face burned. He could feel the familiar wave of shame rising—this was too much, this was too public, he didn’t belong here.

He turned, almost stumbling in his haste to leave.

But First caught his wrist.

The prince turned toward the crowd, his face calm—but his voice? Firm. Commanding. Royal.

“Enough.”

The room silenced.

First stepped forward, still holding Khaotung’s hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. His posture was regal, but his gaze was burning with clarity.

“This ball was meant for me to choose a bride,” he said. “But it never said I couldn’t choose someone who truly makes my heart beat.”

He looked at Khaotung then—soft, yet fierce, like he was anchoring him in the storm. “And I have made my choice.”

A hush fell over the crowd.

“I choose Khaotung. Not as a whim. But as the one who makes my world brighter.” He turned back to face the shocked princess. “So yes, princess—a man. And I’m proud of it.”

The nobles were frozen, stunned into silence. Calista opened her mouth, flustered, clearly not expecting that declaration.

Meanwhile, Khaotung stood there, trembling—not from fear now, but from disbelief, awe, and the overwhelming emotion in his chest threatening to burst.

He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. But his heart—his heart was soaring.

As the crowd processed the Prince's stunning declaration, a new wave of chaos surged.

Princess Calista wasn’t done. She squared her shoulders, a venomous smile creeping onto her face. “So this is what the future of this kingdom looks like? A prince who throws away centuries of tradition for a fleeting moment of lust?”

Khaotung’s eyes widened. 

The blood drained from his face. All at once, the warmth he’d just felt was completely gone now, replaced by a cold spotlight on him. Like he was something vile. Unwanted. Shameful.

“I—” he stammered, trying to shrink into himself. Eyes were everywhere—watching, whispering, judging. A few nobles clutched their pearls dramatically. One noble lady even fainted into her grandson’s arms.

“This is outrageous!” someone yelled from the council members’ box. “This ball is sacred! It’s for the unity of nations—not for some... public display of indecency!”

Another voice chimed in from a minister dressed in gold robes: “What message do you send to the kingdoms relying on our alliances, Your Highness? That our prince selects a man of unknown lineage over royal bloodlines? Over years of diplomacy?!”

“Are you truly so selfish?” barked an elder duke, his cane slamming against the floor. “You disgrace the royal house with this... this circus.”

Khaotung froze.

His chest is tightening like a vice. The world around him felt distant, muffled, like he was underwater—but the sting of every word, every stare, cut through the silence like glass.

He felt so small. So exposed.

Like the ground had opened beneath him and dropped him into the cold. Like he was being stepped on again and again—every cruel insult, every look of disgust grinding him deeper into the dirt. His cheeks burned, searing hot with shame and helplessness, but his body wouldn’t move. Couldn’t.

His eyes stung.

And then he saw First—the prince standing there, by his side. Taking the heat. The judgment. For him.

For him.

The tears came before he could stop them, welling up, spilling over. He tried to bite them back, to blink them away, but they slipped down anyway—silent, trembling trails down his cheeks.

“I didn’t want this,” he whispered, voice cracking, barely audible. “I didn’t want anyone to get hurt. Not you. Not anyone, because of me.”

He looked down, ashamed, his shoulders trembling as he clutched his arms around himself like he could somehow hold all the broken pieces in.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I’m so, so sorry.”

He tried to pull away, shame rising like a tide. “I—I shouldn’t have… this was a mistake—”

But First didn’t let go.

His fingers only tightened around him.

And then it happened. The moment that would be whispered about in halls and echoed in gasps for years to come.

The prince stepped forward—not as a lover, but as someone far greater. His eyes, once gentle, now burned with fury. Not wild, but controlled. Dangerous. Like fire held inside a crystal.

“How dare you,” he said.

The words were softly said yet… deadly. A whisper laced with steel.

The room fell still. Like the world itself had paused.

His gaze swept across them—those who had sneered, who had whispered behind fans and masks, who had spat their judgment like poison.

“You sit behind titles and silk,” he continued, voice rising only a breath, “and yet you cower when you see something real. Something honest.”

He stepped in front of Khaotung then, like a shield. A wall of fire.

“You insult him,” he said, “and you insult me. My choice. My heart.”

Khaotung stared at his broad back, tears still clinging to his lashes. He’d never imagined seeing, or rather being at the center of something so surreal like this. A prince not asking for permission to love… but daring the world to try and stop him.

“You speak of disgrace? Of tradition? And yet you stand here, spewing hate and poison at someone you don’t know. At someone so pure and innocent, who came with no intention of harming anyone, who did nothing but smile and exist.”

He turned to the ministers, the nobles, the royalty—his tone growing louder, colder. “If the legacy of this kingdom is so weak it cannot survive the love I hold in my heart, then perhaps it was never strong to begin with.”

Gasps. Actual gasps.

Calista stepped forward, snarling. “You would throw away your crown for—him? Some man who doesn’t even belong in these halls?”

First’s reply was swift, and sharper than any sword.

“I would rather wear no crown than rule a kingdom so quick to tear a kind soul apart.”

The silence in the room was deafening.

It stretched, long and taut, across the grand hall. 

No one dared to move. 

The echo of First’s words lingered like a blade suspended midair, ready to fall.

Calista’s lips curled in disbelief, but even she seemed to falter under the weight of the prince’s conviction. The gathered nobles shifted uncomfortably, the cold marble beneath their feet suddenly feeling a little too fragile.

And then—

First turned to him. His anger was still there, but his eyes softened as he approached him, a tenderness in them that made Khaotung’s heart flutter despite everything.

“You don’t have to run, my love,” First said softly, his voice now a quiet, resolute comfort amidst the chaos. “Not from them. Not from this. And certainly not from me.”

Khaotung’s heart pounded, each beat resonating like a drum in his chest. He felt torn, caught between the overwhelming emotions crashing over him and the steady presence of First standing in front of him—strong, unwavering, and so very real. 

He looked at First—truly looked—and realized…

How could someone like him—with no title, no riches, no shield to offer—be the center of such unshakable protection?

First was not asking for him to be brave.

He was being brave for him. Him. 

A person of no status. A commoner. A nobody. 

It was almost too much to take in.

This was the Prince—the man who stood above the rest with quiet dignity, the embodiment of poise, elegance, and restraint. A symbol of untouchable grace, admired by all.

And yet, here he was, not above Khaotung but with him. Offering his heart without armor, without hesitation. Stripped of pretense. Unafraid.

Tears spilled freely now—not from shame or fear, but from an inevitable growing feeling. Brighter. They shimmered with a feeling Khaotung had never let himself believe he could truly have:

Hope.

And love.

All eyes are on them.

As First turns around, his gaze finds only Khaotung’s—filled with tenderness, devotion, and a protectiveness no crown could grant, only love could awaken.

He took a step forward. Then another.

Unhurried. Yet certain.

And when he reached him, there was no royal gesture. No command. Just a hand—open, waiting.

Not to possess.

But to invite.

And Khaotung… took it.

Without thinking. Without fear.

Their fingers met, trembling—yes—but solid. Like a vow. 

And the prince spoke resolutely.

“I choose him,” First said, not just to those watching, but to the world.

“I choose us.”

Then softer, only for Khaotung—

“He is my choice. My future.”

The words hung in the air in a solid declaration, sealing the moment in time.

Khaotung gasped as realization hit him with the words spoken. It wasn’t just about the prince's status or his role in the kingdom. It was about First’s choice—his choice to stand beside Khaotung, to protect him, to love him.

In that moment, Khaotung realized something he had never dared to admit before: maybe, just maybe, he deserved this kind of love.

Around them are murmurs they couldn’t barely hear as they were too wrapped up in each other again. 

The moment the prince made his declaration, gasps rippled through the halls.

They stared—not at the grandeur, not at the chandeliers or silks or gold—but at them. At the Prince, standing firm, fingers laced with someone who wasn’t a noble, wasn’t a princess, wasn’t anyone they’d ever expected.

Mouths parted. Fans dropped. Nobles exchanged panicked glances, as if unsure whether to speak or stay silent. Some clung to their titles, their pride, their expectations. Others—just stared, eyes wide with a flicker of something else: Disdain, awe, wonder. It doesn’t really matter.

Murmurs began to rise—first whispers, then sharp hisses of disbelief.

“He’s serious.”

“He chose him?”

“This can’t be—”

But none dared step forward. None dared interrupt.

Then came the sharp sound of a trumpet’s call.

The crowd stilled. Heads turned as one.

At the top of the grand staircase—draped in velvet robes, their crowns catching the light like fire—stood the King and Queen.

Their arrival stole the breath from the room.

Silence fell like a curtain.

All eyes shifted—from First and Khaotung… to the sovereigns.

Judgment loomed in the air.

Khaotung inhaled sharply, head snapping forward, like a deer caught in headlight.

.

But still—he didn’t let go.

And neither did First.

The king and queen descended the steps, their presence commanding the entire ballroom. It was as though the very air shifted around them, a hush rippling through the space, as if the kingdom itself paused to watch.

The king, tall and commanding, stood like a monument. His eyes, fierce, scanned the crowd—not with malice, but with power. A protector. A ruler. A father who had never flinched in the face of duty.

Beside him, the queen moved with grace sharpened by strength. Her gaze, cool and piercing, swept over the room like a blade. She was elegance and steel, a woman who had weathered storms and walked through fire, and emerged untouchable.

Together, they were not just royalty—they were unity. Power. Love forged in battle, standing tall at the edge of every storm that tries to shatter their family.

The princess who had dared to challenge First’s love for Khaotung faltered as the king’s gaze fell upon her—sharp, unwavering. She instinctively stepped back, as if the sheer weight of his stare could strike her down.

The room, once buzzing with whispers and judgment, fell into absolute silence. No one dared to breathe. The presence of the monarchs was enough to silence even the boldest tongues.

Then, the king spoke.

The king’s voice, low but commanding, broke the stillness like thunder rolling through the skies. “You dare speak of shame?” His voice reverberated with power, cutting through the tension in the room. “Shame does not lie in my son’s love—nor in the one he chooses to love. Shame is born in hearts that twist purity into poison… in those who seek to belittle what is brave, what is honest.”

He turned then, not to the crowd, but to his son—standing tall, unshaken, his arm protectively wrapped around Khaotung. “Kanaphan,” the king said, voice steady with pride and conviction. “You are my son, and I have raised you to make your own choices. And today, you have made a choice that fills my heart with nothing but pride. No one—no one—will shame you for following your heart.”

The queen’s voice, soft yet commanding, joined in, echoing the strength of her husband. “And you,” she said, her gaze sweeping over the room, “will not shame this kingdom by questioning the love and choices of its future king. If anyone dares challenge the foundation of what we stand for, they will find themselves in direct opposition with us—both as rulers, and as parents.”

Her eyes locked onto the princess, her words dripping with disdain. “You have been warned. There will be no more of this. The kingdom we have built together is one of respect, unity, and love. If you choose to divide it, you will do so without our support.”

The weight of their words hung in the air with finality. There was no room for argument. The princess, once so sure of her words, found herself shrinking under the force of the king and queen’s gaze. Her confidence waning. 

The ballroom stood still, every eye on the royal family. No one dared breathe too loudly as the king and queen locked eyes, a silent understanding between them.

Then, once again, the King looks toward his son and the prince’s chosen one. His expression softened ever so slightly. “My son, you have our blessing. As long as you stand by each other, as long as you protect one another, nothing and no one will break you. You are the future of this kingdom, and you will lead it with love. Remember that.”

The queen added gazing tenderly at Khaotung, “And to you, my dear, we welcome you into our family. You are no longer an outsider. You are ours, as much as anyone else in this kingdom. No one will make you feel less than.”

Khaotung looked at First, and First looked at him, both of them smiling through the tears that had once threatened to break them.

And just like that, the chaos that had threatened to tear them apart vanished. The room was now silent with awe. Everyone who had doubted, who had whispered and sneered, found themselves in the presence of a kingdom united, of a family who would stop at nothing to protect its own. 

The moment was grand, magnificent—a victory not just for First and Khaotung, but for the kingdom itself.

As the king and queen stepped back, the floor seemed to shift, the very foundation of the palace echoing with the strength of their words. The royal family had spoken. And from that moment on, no one would dare stand in their way. No one would dare challenge the future of the kingdom, the love between its prince and his chosen.

It was done. It was final. And nothing would ever be the same again for Khaotung.

The festivities had continued without any more trouble. 

As First and Khaotung remained in the balcony, wrapped up against each other, enveloped in the warmth of their love’s victory, The glass door creaked. They turned just in time to see Mix and Khun Earth walking toward them, their faces alight with smiles.

Mix, ever the playful spirit, was the first to speak, his voice full of excitement. "Well, well, well," he said, glancing between First and Khaotung with a teasing grin. "Look at the two of you, all royal and adorable. Who knew our little Khaotung would be stealing hearts at a royal ball?"

Khun Earth, always the more grounded of the two, gave a soft laugh, his eyes glancing at First with a knowing look. 

"You are admirable, Your Highness. You both make a beautiful pair," he said warmly, though his voice carried an edge of admiration. "I'm glad to see Khun Khaotung glowing like this. It is a rare sight.” 

Khaotung's cheeks flushed slightly at the attention, but the teasing tone in Mix’s voice made him laugh, his nerves slowly settling. He glanced at First, who was still holding his hand, and found the prince smiling at him gently, a calm assurance in his gaze.

Their moment of solitude after the chaos was their chance to talk more about themselves. First became aware of the Royal Tailor’s kindness and Mix’s solid support toward Khaotung, and he felt compelled to express his gratitude.

"Thank you, Khun Earth, Khun Mix," First said, his voice steady yet full of affection. "It means a lot to have both of you here. You’ve been there for Khaotung when no one else was, and I truly appreciate that."

Mix waved it off with a casual shrug, though his smile didn’t waver. "Your Highness, we're family. There's no need to thank us. We’re just glad to see him finally get the happiness he deserves."

Khun Earth, who had been observing Khaotung closely, added, "I can tell there's something real between the two of you. And I’m happy to see Khaotung finally finding someone who sees him for who he truly is."

Mix, ever the mischievous one, leaned in toward Khaotung with a wink. "So, when’s the wedding?" he teased, his voice light, but his eyes gleaming with playful mischief. "I’ll be sure to start creating the perfect outfit for you!"

Khaotung laughed, his embarrassment quickly fading as he nudged Mix lightly. "Ai’Mix, you’re impossible," he said with a grin, but the warmth in his voice spoke volumes about how much he appreciated his friend’s support.

First, who was closely watching with a soft smile, turned to Khaotung, his gaze gentle. "As much as I’d love to plan that right now," he said with a wink, "let’s take it one step at a time. But I think I can safely say that, no matter what happens, I’m glad you’re in my life, Khaotung."

Khaotung met First’s eyes, the same warmth he’d seen in them earlier now enveloping him completely. "Me too," he whispered, shyly biting his lower lip. "I never thought I’d be standing here, but I’m glad I am."

Mix and Khun Earth shared a knowing look, the bond between them as strong as ever. Earth placed a hand on Mix’s shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze. "I think we’ll leave the two of you to enjoy the night," Earth said with a smile. "After all, it’s your night, Khaotung."

With that, the two of them turned, leaving First and Khaotung alone once more. 

First stood tall behind Khaotung, his arms wrapping around him like a soft embrace, gently circling his slender waist. Khaotung’s heart fluttered as he felt the warmth of First’s presence radiate through him, like a comforting blanket on that chilly night.

The music from inside the hall trickled out onto the balcony, its delicate melody floating on the night air, weaving through the space around them. They swayed together, ever so softly, as if the rhythm of the song was nothing compared to the perfect harmony they shared.

First slowly turned Khaotung in his arms, pulling him closer until their bodies were pressed together, chest to chest. The world seemed to fade away, leaving only the feeling of First’s heart beating against his.

First gazed into Khaotung’s eyes with the same adoration that had stolen his breath away from the very first moment he laid his eyes on his so called ‘fallen angel’. His voice was a whisper, so gentle and full of tenderness, it felt like a soft caress against Khaotung's skin. "You know," he murmured, his words a promise, "I never thought I’d find someone who makes me feel like this."

Khaotung’s lips curled into a smile that was sweeter than the honeyed sweetness of a warm summer day, the kind of smile that made First’s heart skip a beat.

"I never imagined it either," Khaotung whispered back, his voice soft, almost as if he was afraid to disturb the perfect moment they were sharing.

Without another word, First leaned in slowly, his eyes never leaving Khaotung’s. Every movement was delicate—like a slow dance under moonlight where time dared not rush them. 

His hands gently framed Khaotung’s face, thumbs brushing lightly against his cheeks, as if memorizing the softness beneath them. Khaotung breathed heavily, his lashes fluttering as anticipation sparkled in his love-struck eyes.

Then it happened—First’s lips brushed against his in the faintest whisper of a kiss. A feather-light touch, but it sent a rush of warmth through Khaotung’s entire being. It wasn’t hurried, or desperate—it was tender, reverent, like a confession sealed without words. The kiss deepened with care, a slow exploration of something sacred built from unspoken feelings finally finding their voice in this moment.

Khaotung felt as if his heart was melting right into First’s. He sighed softly into the kiss, his arms rising on instinct to wrap around First’s neck, pulling him impossibly closer. His fingers tangled in the soft strands of First’s hair, holding on as if the world itself might vanish if he let go. First responded with a soft hum, pressing their foreheads together between kisses, smiling so gently it made Khaotung's chest ache in the most beautiful way.

The night air wrapped around them, cool and crisp, but all Khaotung felt was warmth—warmth in First’s touch, in his kiss, in the safe space of his embrace. It was a moment suspended in starlight, in soft music and moon-kissed stillness, where nothing existed beyond the thrum of two hearts finding home in each other.

Their kiss lingered—not fiery, but full of emotion that glowed like candlelight. It was the kind of kiss that whispered promises of always, of forever, of every tomorrow wrapped in the same gentle affection.

When they finally parted, just barely, lips still brushing, their breaths mingled like sweet secrets in the air.

“I’m not dreaming, right?” Khaotung whispered, his voice barely audible, as if afraid the magic might disappear with sound.

First shook his head with the softest smile, touching their noses together. “No. You’re right here. With me.”

And in that quiet, perfect moment—Khaotung knew that whatever the world held for them, this love was something truly extraordinary.

The night was still young, and yet it already held a lifetime of meaning between two beating hearts. 

And oh, how sweetly the magic would continue.

_THE END_