Apo is going to France as a special guest at the Dior Womenswear show during Paris Fashion Week, without Mile.

"First you, now me," Apo sulks.

Mile grits his teeth. In his own experience, Paris wasn't fun without Apo. Apo's the one who really wanted to go to Paris, see the Louvre and the Eiffel Tower. Apo's the fun one.

"I know. I'm gonna snap pretty fucking soon. This is the last time we do Dior individually, or I start drafting the nasty kind of paperwork."

"Don't make promises you can't-"

"Oh, I can do whatever I want. You should know that by now."

Apo's knuckles brush against Mile's. He's still wearing the vintage Maltese cross ring Mile bought him to ward off flirty women. Of course, it means nothing when they've never even discussed exclusivity in their relationship.

"After this," Mile implores, "wherever you go, you will go with me."

"I'm really gonna miss you," Apo laments. Mile wishes he'd been more expressive, kissed Apo goodnight rather than just staying up all night with his sheet music and coming to bed around three in the morning. He wishes he could break down the dam in his throat, say I love you more.

"Pond is gonna take good care of you for me, okay?"

"What about the time difference? I know you always stay up waiting for my calls."

"I might actually get some sleep," Mile says, tongue-in-cheek.

"Mile..." Apo swipes half-heartedly at his bicep.

"I'll stay up," Mile promises. "I'll be five hours ahead, but I'd rather lose five hours of sleep than all of it, tossing and turning and wondering how you are."

"Maybe I shouldn't go..." Apo frets.

"Are you kidding? You can't back out now. You have to go. You need to do this for yourself. This will be good, trust me. And next time, we do it together. I promise."

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

Mile presses their foreheads together briefly. He shouldn't. This thing between them is the only private thing they have left for themselves. Everything else is public knowledge. Neither is ready for it to make headlines today.

"Uh... Do I even exist?" Suddenly, Mile remembers that Pond and the others are still standing there.

"Take care of him." He turns to Apo's new charge, lowering his voice. "He's like the fucking...penguin from Happy Feet, okay? It's a problem."

Pond nods sagely.

"On the topic of Apo. Anything you wanna tell me, or..?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Mile mutters stoically.

"Okay." Pond nods, pensive. "You know... I told Apo when this all started that it doesn't matter to me whether he's gay or not, just that he's happy being himself. I don't know if I ever told you that."

"Mm." Mile nods stiffly.

"Well, just remember that I'm your friend. We were drinking buddies before all of this. Drunkards."

"You were the lightweight. I can hold my liquor, as I'm sure you're unable to recall."

"The point is: I'm here, Mile. You can tell me anything."

"Sounds like you already know whatever it is you think I should tell you." Mile purses his lips.

Mile remembers when this whole whirlwind adventure started. He remembers Pond saying, "our lives will forever fucking change, you know that right?" Little did he know just how right he would be.

Pond nods again, slow and contemplative. He claps Mile's shoulder.

"Look, man, I wasn't planning on saying anything. You just come to me when you're ready."

"Okay." Mile swallows.

"I've told you a million times that you and Apo are two of the greatest people in my life. It all started with you."

Mile nods.

"Thanks, man."

"I got you, brother." Pond gives him a one-armed hug and thumps his back. "I'll make sure he doesn't wander off and get lost or run in front of a train or something."

Mile panics.

"Keep an eye on him at all times. A hand, too."

"I'll look for a leash first thing when we land."

"I'm serious. You take your hand off him for a second and he springs forward like he's been released from a slingshot. So don't."

It was easier to part from Apo before they were intimate. Now Mile sits in his car with his white-knuckled hands gripping the steering wheel, and grits his teeth against the onslaught of tears that threatens to pour from his eyes. He doesn't know how he's going to survive the next week.

•••

Apo is turning heads in Paris just like Mile knew he would. He warned them; if Apo goes to Paris, it will be chaos. And it is.

At first, Mile hated the idea of being apart - again. But the way Apo's texting and calling him every chance he gets, Mile thinks he kind of likes it. He's even taking pictures in the same places as Mile.

"What's up, handsome? I miss you so much," Apo greets over Line chat. Mile could get used to the amorous tone of his voice. They're never really this affectionate with each other when they're together.

I wish you'd stay away longer, if it'd make you talk to me this much.

"Miss you too."

"Everything here is so different. The people. The architecture. The food-"

"Have you tried the croissants?"

"Yes, so many. My stomach hurts."

"Poor baby." Mile aches to comfort him with a belly rub, regrets not doing that too, when he had the chance.

"Anyway, they're all looking at me like I'm the different one."

"You are different, baby. You're the sun."

"How are you holding up? Is your wrist sore from jerking yourself off yet?"

Mile flushes. "You know what they say. Absence makes the hard-on grow fonder, or something like that."

"Tonight, before you go to sleep, I want you to make me a little movie," Mile grins coyly.

"You sure you can handle that? You're blushing like a tomato just talking about it."

"Mm yes, and this time prop the phone up so I can see your face when y- oh, shit." Mile frowns at his phone screen. "Your mom's calling me."

"Uh-oh. Quick, think of dead puppies." Apo laughs. He bites his lip sultrily. "How about instead of a movie, I call you and we do it together? I'll teach you how to touch yourself the way I touch you-"

"Apo," Mile groans. "Stop. I have to take this-"

"Wait. First, there's a selfie I want to show you."

Before he can reply, a photo notification comes in. Mile opens it and his body immediately jackknifes into a sitting position.

In the selfie, Apo is reclining in his hotel bed, in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror. One leg is drawn up, the foot propped up on the bed, the other slightly spread, exposing...everything. His beautiful lips are visible beyond the outline of the phone case, robe open to reveal the two succulent nipples, one of which is encased between Apo's thumb and forefinger.

Mile's wrist is trembling, voice breathless, mouth dry, pressure between his legs cataclysmic, when he says:

"Hello, Mrs. Watta... Wattanagitiphat..." He barely manages to stammer the words out before he gulps. "Excuse me, I... m-my inhaler." Mile stumbles woodenly across the room. His hand smacks the wooden desk as he searches blindly for the small, elusive bottle.

"Are you alright, dear? If this isn't a good time-"

"No! No, no. It's absolutely a good time. The best time." Mile takes a long hit.

Mile still has debauchery on his mind when Apo's mother invites him over for dinner in her sweet, serene voice. The cognitive dissonance is almost too much. He imagines Apo cackling roguishly in Paris. Apo is a cruel, cruel man.

•••

Apo's father reiterates incessantly how polite Mile is, how gentle and respectful: a clear departure from Apo.

Apo's mother calls him handsome. Mile wonders if she can intuit, in that way that mothers always can, about the line that he crossed with her son.

She shows him pictures of Apo as a sweet baby, ninety percent cheeks, as a child with his floppy hair, as a teenager with braces, as a young adult, blossomed into the most beautiful model that ever graced a Thai runway.

Mile points to a picture of Apo at eighteen.

"He changed my life. Completely. If I hadn't realized that I..."

"That you found men attractive?"

Mile's mouth opens and promptly closes. "You have no idea how long he's waited for someone like you, Mile. You're exactly what he needed, before he even knew he needed it."

Mile wants to verbalize his thoughts, but as usual, words won't come. "From the beginning," she goes on, "we wanted him to settle down with a nice girl and start a family. It's been difficult for us, coming to terms with the fact that he might want something different." She nods, eyes bright and earnest. "But it's obvious that you make him happy."

Mile huffs a soft, nervous breath. He feels like she's expecting him to reveal something, something big, but the truth is they haven't defined what they are. They fuck exclusively. Hopefully, probably, exclusively. Mile realized they still haven't even discussed that.

"Let me give you some advice about love, Mile. Make sure you're in love with each other's roots, not just flowers. If you only love the flowers, you won't know what to do when autumn comes. We've always tried to teach Apo that a relationship needs to be built on deep alignment of values, character, and morals, not just a beautiful appearance."

"I should..." Mile's voice cracks. "Mm. We're not- um...o-okay. Thank you."

She points out another picture.

"Look at his eyes. Aren't they beautiful?"

"His eyes are my favorite part of him." Mile finds his voice. "I admire the way he looks at and interprets things. And when he sees something he loves, something that really excites him...a cute cat, a freshly tailored suit..." Me, he thinks with a gulp.

"Please don't hurt my baby," Apo's mother implores him.

"I'd rather slit my own throat," Mile vows.

•••

High Hopes by Kodaline is blasting through the condominium while Mile drinks and goes through his phone looking at pictures and videos of Apo doing all sorts of random things. Every single picture with, taken by, or sent by Apo is saved in a separate folder on his phone called 💚.

Mile doesn't have time for this. He's triple booked with business meetings, but he's feigning sickness. He is sick: sick at heart. He grabbed lunch with his mother - they got that lobster sandwich Apo loves - and made merits, before Mile stopped by the guitar shop. Now, he finds himself in a pathetic, deplorable state, rewatching the modelling video at the department store. Damn, we were so close, he thinks.

Mile aches to know what Apo was like, back in university, imagines what it would've been like to share an exam room with him. He probably would've showed up late and sat sprawled in his seat, a lanky mess of limbs, chewing on the end of his pencil eraser, leg jittering restlessly as he scribbled his answers in chicken scratch. He was probably the first to leave, striding up to the front desk with his quintessential swagger and slapping the papers on it with a self-assured smirk. Not confident in his answers so much as in his face, which he must've known even then would get him far, regardless of his performance in school. He was a cocky motherfucker in class, no doubt. Probably a class clown. With enough of his added personal charm to make the teachers love him too.

Given the chance, young Mile would've tongued young Apo's throat in the back of the custodial closet without a doubt.

He swipes to a video of Apo slicing apples in Mile's kitchen.

"Why on earth would you want to record this?" Apo is laughing at the camera.

This is why, Mile thinks with a bitter pang. For times like this.

"For ASMR," comes his reply in the video. He's not wrong, what with the faint strains of music, the garbage bin opening and closing, the knife hitting the cutting board as Apo sliced, the trickling of coffee. But Apo's face, pinched with concentration, is the highlight. Mile's heart is warm butter. He could watch Apo do nothing for a ridiculously long time.

Mile spreads Apo's shirt over his pillow, buries his face in it.

"Alexa, play Apo Music playlist."

"Playing Apo Music playlist."

Mile is prepared to piss away the rest of the day just like this when Apo Line calls him.

"'Sup, boo? What did you do today?"

"Not much." Mile shifts and rests his head on the pillow. "Had your favorite for lunch, stopped by the guitar shop..." He smiles wistfully. "On the way back, I fed that stray of yours."

"Which one?"

"The... Oh, man." Mile grins. "We're gonna go broke feeding all these cats."

"You look comfortable," Apo observes sweetly.

"My bed smells like you."

Apo grins at him, and Mile's weak heart has been restarted. Until Apo hangs up, and he feels glum and downcast again. He listens to sad music and doesn't have Apo to share it with so he posts about it for some sympathy.

He knows Apo likes Eric Clapton, too.

Apo isn't helping, tagging him in a special story. Mile wants to put his fist through a wall.

Mile hits Apo's Line contact about an hour later and waits patiently for the video call to go through but it doesn't. He panics, envisioning the worst.

He calls Pond, who picks up on the third ring.

"Bad news," Pond winces. "I...may have accidentally, temporarily, misplaced Apo."

Mile's entire cardiovascular system pauses its work for a long moment.

"And I may accidentally kill you... Fuck!"

"Relax-"

"Krisda Witthayakhajorndet," Mile intones gravely. "Bring Apo home safely or don't bother coming home at all."

"Relax. I'm just teasing. His phone is out of battery from constant photography," Pond explains. Of course. "And even his portable charger is dead. You can use mine if you're that desperate."

"Let me see him," Mile snaps impatiently. "Yes, I'm that desperate god-fucking-damnit. Never do this again."

Pond rolls his eyes. He turns the camera on Apo, screenshotting discreetly.

Mile should be over all the butterflies, but they swarm his belly the moment Apo's flawless face appears on the screen.

"You little fucker," Mile greets. "What are you doing?"

"Do you mean that in a sexy way, like what am I doing right now? 'Cause, as you can see, Mr. Hornypants, I'm not alone-"

"I mean airing our personal business for the entire world on social media."

"What?" Apo pouts. His lips are plump enough without that; Mile wants to reach through the screen and bite them. "I miss you, hubby."

"I miss you too. Your story made me so shy, though. You could've just sent it to me privately."

"I like that. When you're shy." Apo takes Pond's phone.

"I know you do. But I don't."

"But I do." Apo smiles affably. "It's cute."

"Such a tease."

"Alright, you two." Mile can hear Pond's frustrated voice in the background. "Keep in mind we're all sitting right here."

Apo blows a frustrated huff.

"Hey, Pond," Mile calls. He sticks up his middle finger, and Apo angles the screen so Pond can see.

"Very mature, Phakphum." Pond rolls his eyes.

"Call me when you've charged your phone," Mile switches to a soft voice with Apo. "Okay, babe?"

"Okay."

"And be alone, okay?"

A desperate, besotted look passes over Apo's face.

"Okay," he practically whines.

"Now tell me you love me."

"I love you so much," Apo mewls softly.

"I love you, too, my meow meow," Mile says, for Pond's benefit more than Apo's.

Sure enough, Pond makes a gagging sound in the background. Apo angles the camera so Mile can see his friend mime retching.

•••

When Apo arrives back in Bangkok, Mile feels like he's the one who's come home. Apo is Mile's home, and Mile's home has a beautiful face.

Apo flies into Mile's arms. Pond gives them a - very - wide berth.

Then Mile and Apo are kissing, breathless.

Apo runs his hands all over Mile's back.

"I missed this. Great fucking Wall of China..." He pulls back. "You look like you're the jetlagged one," Apo observes.

"I haven't slept properly in about a week," Mile admits. "All alone in the bed without you...it was too empty. Slept on your side, though."

Apo goes off to get his hair, wardrobe, and makeup done, and then they resume filming, just like that. The story and screenplay were done by not just Pond but three PhDs, to be as realistic as possible. Apo's dancing is so graceful, even they're impressed.

The setting sun is blood red on the eighth of March. Mile and Apo take off after wrap, wandering through the fields, frolicking among the shrubbery and trees, snapping pictures of the sky, of each other, of shadows playing on concrete walls. Mile's heart is in his throat. John Mayer is playing on his phone. They're lying in the dirt, trading soft, tender kisses, the balmy breeze kissing their skin, tousling their hair. Mile is so in love, so alive, gently thumbing Apo's face while they watch the sun play on each other's faces and hum along to The Heart of Life.

Life hasn't been easy lately and there's still a lot weighing on Mile's shoulders. He's responsible for a lot of people, businesses, and money. But Apo is back and so Mile throws his hands over his head and closes his eyes and lets the happiness and guitar riffs and Apo's sweet lulling voice wash over him. No, life isn't easy, yet he's so happy he could cry.

When the blood moon comes up, Apo is enthralled. They both upload pictures to their Instagram stories while Apo sings Fly Me To The Moon, and Mile contemplates how he can do just that.

They grab lunch together the next day, Apo's favorite: lobster sandwich with truffle fries, but only Apo posts - and he doesn't tag the restaurant. Aside from a fan spotting them, their whereabouts are unknown.

They need to be subtle now. Back in the day, they could say whatever they wanted on each other's social media because they only had a few thousand followers. But their follower counts have increased in perfect lockstep over the years. Now, every fumble is exposed in seventeen different languages, for millions of followers.

Up until now, when they commented on each other's posts, they were thinking only of each other. Now they have millions of other people to think about before pressing Enter.

•••

Their two-year pseudo-versary around the corner, Mile is prepared to pull out all the stops to get some alone time with Apo. First, he needs the perfect romantic gift.

Mile remembers when he first laid eyes on the horse painting, back on March 10, 2021. It's been exactly two years and two days since he felt the ache. He bought the painting on a whim, because Apo loved it and Mile loved Apo.

Mile invites Apo over, and they reminisce about the day Apo saw the painting.

"You called me in the middle of my training. You really wanted to go out and were so disappointed when I couldn't come-"

"So I sent you pictures of the paintings I loved, so you could be there with me in a way. You said they spoke to you. I remember."

"They made me feel a certain type of way." Mile smiles, agreeing. "Then we had dinner two days later to make up for it, and you talked about them some more..."

He makes a sweeping gesture to the painting on the table. "It's yours, baby."

Apo is speechless. He fingers the painting like he's touching the face of an angel. His fingers trace over the date. 2021. When he looks up, his eyes are glimmering.

"Just when I think you've done the most romantic thing anyone's done for me..." Apo breathes. "You go and outdo yourself."

Apo's hand passes over his mouth. "I fucking love it. I thought for sure I wouldn't see it again. It's incredible; someone was bound to buy it. Back then, I didn't think I could afford it."

Apo posts a picture of the painting to his story and tags Mile in very small print. He's left Mile's Baccarat Rouge cologne bottle in the corner. It's 2AM...not exactly subtle.

Mile decides to make it worse. He logs into his secondary Instagram account and posts a closeup picture of it.

There, he thinks. This should make the sleuthing a little easier.

"Next time you go to an art gallery, go with me."

"Let's do it," Apo breathes. "Let's get out of here."

They need a vacation. Some time alone, to get away from everything and focus on each other. Before sex becomes a physical chore and they can barely spare each other a kiss goodnight.

"There's a great art gallery in South Korea I've been seeing posts about in my feed."

"South Korea... We could take up that CHIC magazine offer. That's in South Korea."

"What about your concert?" Apo worries his bottom lip.

Mile was going to decline the magazine because he'd already bought tickets for the upcoming Trivium concert - but spending time with Apo is more important than money.

"Fuck it. Let's go."

•••

Mile and Apo fly to Korea in mid-March dressed like Enis and Jack from Brokeback Mountain. Couple outfits, especially the white t-shirts, are significant because today is White Day in Korea.

They steal into their hotel under the cover of darkness. No one is expecting them; no one spots them.

Mile slams the door behind them and traps Apo against it. Then they're kissing, revelling in the thrill of secrecy. Foreign cities always bring out the wild side of Mile and Apo.

Later, Mile unpacks their clothes in a silk robe while Apo takes a shower. Brief but thorough.

When Mile tweets his routine GN to fans, a fan aptly suggests that he tweeted early so as to spend more time with Apo.

Mile chuckles to himself. This is so much fun. He loves playing this game, harboring this secret with Apo.

When Apo emerges from the bathroom, Mile's throat dries up. The steam billowing behind Apo makes him look every bit like the fantasy he is. With his hair streaked back, sinewy torso glistening with water, glimmering droplets clinging to each delectable curve of his bronze body, and his wet, broad back tapering into a tiny waist, he looks like sin incarnate.

Then his towel drops to the ground.

Mile awards the perceptive fan with a Like and promptly turns his phone off.