Chapter Text
Morning light streamed through the curtains of one cozy Bangkok apartment, casting warm golden hues over the two men’s entangled bodies. Mile—with skin so fair it made his black hair seem like midnight—was the first to wake up.
By some unspoken agreement, Mile took on the role of the household's early riser for the past decade. So, like any other day, he'd shuffle out of bed quietly, careful not to disturb his partner’s peaceful slumber, and head to the kitchen.
Soon, the scent of freshly brewed coffee would fill the air and pull Apo out of bed, just in time to help set the table and perhaps begin his role as the sunshine of the household.
Mile’s day hadn’t started until Apo’s laughter filled their dining room. After all, the other man had quite the personality—spontaneous, quirky, imaginative. Sometimes, he would grab a banana and make a phone call with it. Sometimes, he would put orange juice in his coffee for a change of pace. This morning, Apo decided to be a barnacle and clung to Mile's back while he cooked breakfast.
In short, every day was a new day.
“Why aren’t you complaining?” Apo’s muffled voice came from behind him. “Have you gotten stronger? I’m not heavy anymore?”
Mile grinned, feeling the comforting weight of Apo's presence on his back. “Maybe. Or maybe you’ve lost weight.”
Apo pressed his lips to Mile's earlobe and whispered, “That’s what happened when you worked me out every night.”
A smile still played on Mile’s lips as he shook his head, amused. “It’s literally seven in the morning, Apo, And I am frying eggs.”
Apo playfully sneaked an arm past Mile’s waist to turn off the stove. “They’re cooked already. You can leave them.”
And that’s all it took for Mile to turn around and finally face his sun with a kiss.
“Good morning.”
Their roles around the house had always been well-defined yet flexible, a testament to their decade-long relationship. Apo took charge of grocery shopping and meal planning, noting Mile's food preferences and incorporating them into the week's menu. Mile, with his uncanny knack for organization, managed the bills and kept track of their schedules, ensuring neither of them missed any appointment, be it for their work or social life.
Chores were less of a duty and more of a dance between them. Apo loved the smell of fresh laundry but loathed the act of folding. Mile, on the other hand, found the act of folding clothes almost meditative. So, it was usually Mile who folded the clothes. But sometimes, they would switch tasks, just for the variety or because one had had a particularly grueling day, and the understanding was implicit—no words needed.
This simple, daily life was an important part that made up their relationship, keeping them in tune with each other. Their honeymoon phase was long gone, and while they still yearned that youthful lust and passion to spice up things, they found more contentment in the simplicity of each other's presence.
Like in one quiet afternoon when they’d just lost themselves in their own books. But they sat in their home, on their couch, and their feet were touching, and it was enough.
Their friends often teased that they behaved like an old married couple, and perhaps they were—in the best of ways, their relationship had that familiarity, a rhythm perfected over time.
***
It was just a regular rainy day, or so it seemed like any other in the bustling city of Bangkok. The first drop of the monsoon rain began to splatter against the busy streets. The air was thick with anticipation as vendors hurriedly pulled over their colorful awnings, and commuters sought refuge under neon signs.
Apo found himself standing in the air-conditioned chill of a local grocery store, perusing the produce aisle for fresh vegetables. He had already picked out some bell peppers and debated between kale and spinach when an overwhelming sensation seized him—a tidal wave of exhaustion crashing over his body.
This has been happening to him for a while and usually, he just needed to sit down for it to be gone in ten minutes. If anything, he found it rather annoying to happen at the most random time.
So, he brushed it off, put the spinach in the cart and walked to the cashier.
Or not.
Because the next thing he knew, he was definitely no longer at the grocery store.
The sterile smell of antiseptics filled his nostrils, and he could feel a sharp needle pricked into his arm. The beeping and murmuring sound that surrounded him brought a particular sense of nostalgia. Like he was 18 again, on his mother’s bedside.
In her hospital room.
*
Like any other day, Mile was ensconced in the leather chair at the head of the conference table, embroiled in a high-stakes meeting with potential investors for his business. This was his third meeting of the day, at four in the afternoon, and he honestly just wanted to go home and eat dinner already.
They were discussing numbers and profit margins when Mile’s smartphone vibrated forcefully against the polished wood.
Mile glanced at the screen but he didn't recognize the number. For all he knew, it could be some salespersons from an insurance company. However, since it came just when he needed a break, Mile decided to give the salesperson a chance, and pick up whatever five-minute conversation they would have over the phone.
"Excuse me for a moment; I need to take this call. It could be urgent," Mile lied, excusing himself with an apologetic smile.
He didn’t wait for their response and immediately stepped out of the meeting room into the hushed atmosphere of the corridor. However, when he swiped the screen to answer the call, he found that the woman on the phone might sound polite, but she wasn’t from any insurance company.
"Hello. Am I speaking to Mr. Phakphum? You're the emergency contact listed for Mr. Nattawin.”
Mile’s heart was about to leap out of his chest. “Yes. Is everything alright?”
“Mr. Nattawin collapsed at a public place and is currently in the emergency room," said a voice tinged with urgency and professional concern.
Mile’s face blanched, eyes widening in disbelief. "Which hospital?" he managed to stutter out, already sidestepping to grab his jacket from a nearby hook.
Within minutes, he had delegated his responsibilities to his second-in-command and was out the door. His driver was already waiting by the time he got to the lobby, and he impatiently tapped his fingers against his knee as the car maneuvered through Bangkok's congested streets. Each traffic light tested his patience, each honk of the horn an echo of his rising panic.
Rushing through the sliding doors of the emergency room, Mile found Apo stretched out on a gurney. His partner's usually vibrant face was ashen, lines of pain etching his forehead. A nurse was adjusting the drip that fed into his arm. Seeing all of Apo’s limbs intact, a wave of relief washed over him, but a tide of concern immediately followed.
The attending doctor, a middle-aged woman with a kind but weary face, noticed Mile's arrival and beckoned him over. "Mr. Phakphum? I'm the doctor on duty in the ER today.”
“Yes. Thank you so much for contacting me,” Mile replied. He glanced at Apo’s seemingly half-conscious figure and frowned. “What happened?”
“Mr. Nattawin collapsed at a grocery store, but we've managed to rehydrate him and monitor his vital signs. He was conscious for a while but fell back asleep a few minutes ago,” the doctor answered patiently.
“Is there…something wrong?” Mile asked, seemingly trying to stay calm.
The doctor smiled and started flipping through Apo’s medical file. “First, may I know your relationship with the patient? Are you a family member?”
“His partner,” Mile answered, a little bit irritated. “Boyfriend. We have lived together for ten years.”
“I see,” the doctor answered, “I need to make sure that I am sharing the patient’s personal health information to the right—”
“I’m the caregiver,” Mile cut, the smile on his face didn’t reach his eyes. “He doesn’t have any siblings or parents. It’s just me. Please proceed with the details.”
The doctor nodded curtly. “Mr. Phakphum, do you know if the patient has been feeling fatigued or experiencing any abnormal pain recently?”
Mile felt his voice catch in his throat. "He's been complaining of being tired and caught a few colds, but we both assumed it was just stress from work."
“Okay,” the doctor replied, taking notes. “Are you aware of some extensive bruising on his arms and legs?”
Nobody else in this world had seen Apo’s body as much as Mile. “I reckon there were, but he said he might’ve just bumped into something without realizing,” Mile answered, “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”
“It's too early to say for certain, but there are some concerning signs. We have run some tests and found that the patient’s white blood cell counts are abnormally high. Given his symptoms, I strongly recommend we do further testing to confirm whether or not this is cancer," the doctor explained.
Mile felt his stomach churn. The word ‘cancer’ hung in the air like a dark cloud, casting a shadow over him. “His mother had leukemia,” he muttered.
“Even more reason to do the biopsy,” the doctor convinced. “It's the most definitive way to confirm what we're dealing with. If you approve, I can refer him to our oncology department so that he can undergo the procedure immediately.”
Mile looked back at Apo, who seemed to be fighting off sleep. Then, he thought about the bruising he had noticed but dismissed, the nights when Apo woke up drenched in sweat, and the fatigue that seemed to grip him in recent weeks.
How could he not have seen this coming?
“Please,” Mile answered. “Please proceed with it.”
*
This time, Apo found himself in a much quieter place.
He was lying on his stomach, arms folded beneath his chin. The examination table was made of stainless steel and felt cold against his skin. The room felt too small, and the air too thin. If he wasn’t careful enough, he might’ve felt like the walls were closing on him.
After a few minutes, a nurse finally walked in, her movements efficient but not rushed. She prepped the skin on his lower back, swiping it with a cold antiseptic solution. A chill spread through him, but he wasn’t sure whether it was from the alcohol or his anxiety.
Soon after, there was a sound of feet shuffling, followed by a man’s voice—perhaps the doctor. "We're going to numb the area first," he said alarmingly, "You'll feel a pinch."
The supposed ‘pinch’ turned to a sharp prick when the local anesthesia entered his skin. Immediately, the numbness blossomed, a small island of nothingness on his back.
"Now, you're going to feel pressure, maybe a slight discomfort," the doctor advised as he picked up the larger needle meant for the bone marrow extraction.
‘As if.’ Apo mentally retorted.
Apo clenched his fists beneath his chin, his eyes shut tight as he felt the needle make contact with his numbed skin and then push deeper. When it started prodding into his bones, his thoughts scrambled for distraction, and they inevitably landed on his mother.
She told him once that the anesthesia might be working on the outside, but the inside of the bone cannot be numbed. So every time she had a lumbar puncture, she could feel the needle entering her bone. Apo had always wondered how it felt like. After fifteen years, he finally found out.
"We have a sufficient sample," the doctor confirmed, retreating as the nurse swiftly dressed the puncture site.
It was a blur after that.
Apo was told that the lab result would come out in a few days, and minutes later, he was already dressed up like nothing happened. But as he gingerly swung his legs over the side of the table and sat up, a wave of nausea rose in his stomach. Not from the procedure, but the looming unknown that now colored his every thought.
When the nurse asked how he felt, he turned and asked her: “Is my partner still outside?”