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Sarawat groans as he blinks his eyes open, sun seeping through his blinds. His head hurts, as it does every single day, so there's no use in whining about it.
He gets out of bed and does the usual. He takes a shower, eats some food, and cleans the house to a presentable state. Presentable enough so that peers could go inside and not realize how miserable he was. (Drama queen, he tells himself.) Sarawat goes back to his room and takes out a black, velvet suit from his closet. Holding it up to his chest, he inspects himself on the long, gold-rimmed mirror in front of him. Today's a big day. It'll be full of happiness and joy. Declarations of love will be, well, declared, and guests of honor will coo at the couple and shed a few tears.
Sarawat tries a smile. It doesn't quite reach his eyes.
He places the suit inside a garment bag and sets it aside. Sarawat changes into a comfortable shirt and washed denim jeans. He doesn't know why, but for a day that's supposed to be full of celebration, he can't bring himself to be genuinely happy. There is an uncomfortable, suffocating pain lingering in him somewhere and it would not go away. A tiny voice in his head chanting words laced with poison and he can feel his brain shutting down with every passing moment.
“Ugh.” he groans. His shoulders drop alongside the façade he so desperately wants to keep up. Sarawat is plenty good at lying to others, but not to himself. Never himself.
Who was he kidding? Who was he trying to fool? Of course he knows why he's being like this.
Sarawat heads out and unlocks his car. He's still spiraling, obviously, but he has a wedding to attend. He carefully places his suit and other essentials inside and shuts it with a soft slam. Sarawat walks over to the driver's seat and starts up the vehicle, the engine of his car whirring softly. His fingers instinctively reach for the radio. Sarawat turns it on and browses through a few stations and stops on his favorite.
"Ah," Sarawat says, clicking his tongue. "They'll be playing classical music today."
His sigh is heavy; it's a little too heavy for a guy in his mid twenties. Did they really have to play it on this particular day? It's like the station personally wants to single him out.
Granted, the world does not revolve around him (though sometimes it feels like it does, with others constantly going forward and he's the only one who hasn't changed). The station's been doing this for as long as he can remember. He's been a listener for an entire seventeen years. The schedule is as follows: MWF is pop music, the rest of the days are either R&B or classical. He sighs again and accepts his fate. It's not like he hates classical music anyway. He studied in a conservatory, for crying out loud. A little Liszt and Mozart wouldn't do anything to him, right?
Sarawat starts driving. His eyes are glued to the road but his mind is in complete, utter mayhem. How can the human brain be empty and so very full at the same time? Are there academic studies on this? No normal person would be like this. Again, today was a happy day. He was supposed to be happy, glad, joyous — every synonym for the word. He was supposed to be celebrating. Drinking until his liver can't handle another shot of soju. No matter how hard he tried, he simply couldn't. Just thinking about the glint of the diamond ring the groom will slide on the bride's finger today exhausts him. Every single one of his internal organs, at the brink of failure.
Sarawat feels terrible. Is terrible. Disgusting is too strong of a word but it isn't entirely incorrect either. A shitty friend was all he could make of himself. He can cover himself up with the finest suit and the biggest smile he can muster all he wants, but it'll show – the repulsive person he's become.
Tine is an incredibly important person to him. Perhaps the most important, actually. And yet, he can't smile. Not a single twitch of his lips. Do I even want to smile? He asks himself as he makes a U-turn. No, I don't.
Tine... is a person. The most person-like human being he's ever met. Does that make sense? What does one see when they think of a human being? Empathy, beauty, vibrancy, life, death. Tine is everything. The earth, the oceans, the planets, the constellations, the entire observable universe. There is something so untouchable about him, but if you extended your hand a bit more, you'd be able to feel him. Tine is an enigma, an oxymoron, a paradox – whatever you want to call it. He is light and dark. Life and death. He's so unbelievably human and it has driven Sarawat crazy. Then, he suddenly found a word for everything that he felt on a rainy night. The word, too weak for the swirl of emotions that lay in his heart. What he feels for Tine can't be fit into a single measly word.
But he tries. Sarawat tries and calls it love. This love, hidden as it is, gave him life like he's never felt before, then that life was snatched away in a fraction of a second when Tine introduces him to a bright-eyed girl he calls his.
(Is this what love is? Sarawat once asked his reflection, or am I just going insane? Not once did he think about that going insane is somewhat similar to falling in love, but he's never fallen in love, so how was he supposed to know?)
He thinks about Tine's arms wrapped around the bride's waist. He thinks about Tine lifting her veil and planting a soft kiss on her lips. And Sarawat will watch on a church pew and asks the Creator to have Tine love him like this in another world. In another time. He asks the gods to tear them apart because how will he survive like this? How will he survive at all?
What a horrible thing to say. He's not right in the head, isn't he?
Sarawat wanted Tine. All to himself, and no one else's, because loving Tine is all he knows. He's spent his life learning about music but he can only dream of trying to describe the melody of his heart. Even if this love of his is never returned, there is no one to blame but himself. He is always presented with opportunities to back down and let go of his affections, but there is no use in getting over something with this much depth. History.
Not only does he feel guilt for harboring these feelings, but he feels guilt for failing. Sarawat has failed in helping him find his way to his arms.
Why did you fail, Sarawat?
Why did you fail, milord?
Sarawat winces, his grip on the steering wheel tightening.
"Next up is a piece by Edward Elgar from 1888, composed for violin and piano originally." the DJ introduces. "Our listeners adore this piece, and for good reason. The producers here are nodding! See, everyone loves it. It's romantic, regarded as one of the most romantic pieces ever written—"
That's what he said, too. The boy with stars in his eyes. The boy who was so, so human.
"This is Salut d'Amour."
He almost crashes his car.
"I didn't know you could play an instrument, sir! Salut d'Amour, too...!" The boy exclaims, wide eyes stares at the man in front of him as the last few notes of the piece float in the air. The servant boy peers at the piano curiously, following every movement of the man's fingers. He closes his eyes and simply listens to the rich melody of the piece. Music is terrific, the look on his face says.
The lord of the estate plays the very last note and hums, content. He turns to the servant and smiles. A wave of fear passes through the boy's body. The lord notes how easy it is to read the boy's face. He finds it intriguing. In the world of nobility, you can truly never tell what a person is thinking. Perhaps he's never been good at reading people. His father would certainly agree, the monocle wearing freak.
The servant scurries away and bows his head timidly, biting his lip.
“I'm s-sorry, sir. P-Please forgive this servant for b-being rash.” He apologizes frantically, stumbling on his words.
The lord chuckles and bows his head. "Ah, no. It's quite alright."
The servant looks even more horrified after the slight bow. Should he be amused or worriedm This amount of fear for an employer doesn't seem normal. The servant says nothing. Like every other servant, they're taught to never speak unless asked. The lord can only smile awkwardly; he's great at playing the piano but terrible at small talk. That doesn't mean he shouldn't try, though. So, he tilts his head and strikes up a conversation.
“How do you know the piece?” He asks as softly as possible, trying to not scare o f f the boy. His voice came out a little odd. Like a failed, awkward whisper. Being socially inept is not good. He mentally prepares himself for another sermon about eloquence from his dear mother.
The servant looks up at him, his glittering eyes full of life and wonder. It's rare to see someone with those eyes in this dull, boring country. So his breath hitches for a moment, what of it? He's allowed to be mesmerized. Aren't rich people often eyeing pretty stuff, anyway? He's rich. Kind of. One of the poorer nobles, but he's better off than others
There's so much innocence in his stare and the lord can't help but stare back. His skin warms a little, but again, what of it? The lord's lips curve unconsciously. Who'd frown at this beauty? Certainly not him. This servant is gorgeous. If the maidens at the capital ever saw him, they'd either faint or interrogate him about the cosmetics he uses. The lord's smile widens when the boy starts to blush uncontrollably and that's when he knew that whatever this was was not like observing his fine gems in the storage. No, it's something else entirely.
"Ah, what am I doing?" The little voice in his head scolds him. Ah yes, his biggest critic — himself.
To his knowledge, this new servant of his was the same age. Perhaps with a bit of a gap with the monsmths, but the same age nonetheless. This is why his father constantly berates him. How could he have not seen this beauty? His headache of a father has a point. How eerie.
The boy carried himself in a very small manner, if that even makes sense. Even when he's knelt on the floor like this, the lord can tell that the servant is taller than him. But the way he moves and talks and everything else makes him seem so tiny. The lord found this adorable, for lack of better word. Maybe endearing was close. (Brush up on your vocabulary, you dimwit, his father's voice echoes in his head.)
The servant purses his lips. He finally speaks, albeit with some hesitance. "W-Well, I–I used to work in a theatre, my lord. I–I used to stand in the shadows of the theatre when the performers put on a show. So..."
“I see.” The lord hums and turns to the boy. “And you are fond of this piece, because...?”
His eyes light up even more. At this point, they were glimmering. Even in this dark room, the hazel sparkles.
“It's very romantic, sir. The best piece that graced that particular theatre!” The servant says excitedly, and the lord supresses a chuckle. Where did the tension from earlier go? Did the boy love music this much? "I–I don't know much about music or art or anything else, but I heard from the ladies that the composer dedicated it to his loved one...”
The lord nods, the lopsided grin still on his face. "As far as I know, yes. Sir Edward Elgar made it for his lover."
The two were silent for a moment. The lord fails to hide a chuckle this time and turns to the piano once more. He hovers his hands over the keys. The servant stares expectantly.
"Would you like me to play it for you again?"
Sarawat arrives at the hotel, the immortal memory still pulsing in his head. Today's not a good day to remember... that.,
The hotel is grandiose and hurts his eyes. Tacky, he thinks. Sarawat opens the door to the back of his car and carefully takes out the garment bag in the back seat. He shoves his less important items in a ripped ecobag stuffed away in the back seat. When he locks his car, he enters the hotel and immediately scrunches his nose with the amount of gold inside.
There is a distinct smell in hotels and Sarawat doesn't like hotels at all. He has bad memories.
Maybe I'll make another shitty memory in a hotel again. Sarawat thinks and snorts to himself. What? I'm already a bad friend, so I might as well...
After walking around the gigantic, carpeted hall for a minute or so, he spots Man, one of the groomsmen. He and Man were batchmates in high school and found solace in playing rugby before stressful exams. They got even closer when Man attended the nearby university. Man meets Sarawat's gaze and waves at him, his large grin spread across his lips.
”Oh, Ai Wat!” Man greets, hugging Sarawat briefly. He's never been a fan of physical touch, vut Man is one of the very few exceptions. “Why are you even later than usual? You weren't this bad at uni.”
Shaking his head, Sarawat chuckles dryly. “Ah, well – I forgot to do some things on the way here. And the traffic held me up a lot. Big city and everything.”
There was barely any traffic, a sarcastic voice that sounded too similar to Phukong whispers in his mind. Why couldn't Sarawat be normal and have his own voice for an inner voice? Even his brother haunts his head, Christ.
"Too true." Man agrees easily. "Well, come on then. Tine's impatient, ya know? He's been waiting since forever."
Tine has always been impatient, he knows that more than anyone. His best friend is nightmare at Starbucks. Sarawat nods with a tight-lipped smile and follows him to a few halls until they reach a two elevators. They step inside the marble-tiled elevator and go up a few floors. For the entire elevator ride, they talk about mundane subjects on the way there – like what they ate for breakfast ("No, yeah, P'Type was so nervous for today that we didn't get to eat.”) or what's been going on with their jobs ("The concertmaster was a dickhead."). In his conservatory days, when medication didn't work for his insomnia, he often drank with Man in small pubs in the city that sold alcohol cheap. There's nothing left for them to talk about. They've spilled all of their secrets for each other over greasy food and peach soju. Save for the fact that Sarawat is helplessly in love with his soon-to-be married best friend, but still.
When they arrive at the seventh floor, Sarawat feels his heartbeat pick up. Clearly (not so clearly?), he didn't have to do much, but why is he still on edge?
There's no reason to be nervous or scared, none. He wasn't the one getting married, after all.
Man opens the door, the creaking of it echoing throughout the room. Sarawat finds himself looking around anxiously, even more so after he locks eyes with the rest of the people inside. Then, Sarawat sees someone sitting in front of a vanity, frantically adjusting his hair and tie.
Tine. That's Tine.
"Oi, Tine, the best man is here!"
Tine, who's been staring at himself in the mirror for (probably) an unnecessarily long time, turns around. He looks up at Sarawat, his eyes widening. Sarawat tries to swallow the unpleasant taste on his tongue. Tine stands up hastily and heads over to him, with a impeccably styled hair and dreamy eyes. The rapid beating of his heart only quickens its pace when Tine pulls the biggest smile he's ever seen on him. Fuck.
Beautiful.
"Sarawat!" Tine exclaims, fussing over him alreadu. "I can't believe – what are you waiting for? Put on your suit–!"
Sarawat puts a hand on his best friend's shoulder, holding on to the suit on his other hand. Even after all these years, his fussing has never changed. "Whoa, why are you in a rush? I've just arrived, man."
Tine pouts and narrows his eyes, his red lips making Sarawat dizzy. He's not sure if he was hallucinating from the lack of sleep, but Tine is... ethereal. He's always been, of course, but there's something different with him today. There was a certain, unexplainable glow to him that was way much too bright for his poor heart. His grin so blinding to the point that it could rival even the biggest and brightest of stars in the Milky Way. And the way he spouted his words with a sense of urgency and excitement – he's excited, exhilarated, thrilled...
Happy. Tine is happy.
Sarawat's chest tightens. The familiar guilt seeps through his veins, a reminder of his selfish thoughts. A reminder of his selfishness. His mistakes. His failures.
His head rings again. Another memory is coming.
"I'm–"
"I'm just so giddy, sir!" The servant exclaims, running through the radiant flower fields. From tall sunflowers to dazzling narcissi, the servant loved all of them. The lord shakes his head affectionately as he gazes upon the innocent boy. Such purity and joy is rare in the royal court. Even his mother, gorgeous as she is, has never been this beautiful.
The lord follows him from behind. He stares at his servant as he admires each petal of eacj flower. In his eyes at this very moment, the boy was the sun, shining his light on everything and everyone around him. Untouchable, but so warm and comforting.
"You like it here?" The lord bellows, his eyes not leaving the boy once. The boy turns around and giggles. The wind blows through his short, brown hair with a large grin sprawled on his pink lips. Damn, if he wasn't already adorable enough. The lord's heart skips a beat. Several, actually. Oh, the things this boy does to him. Unexplainable, they were, but pleasant all the while.
(You may be a scholar, boy, but you're not a poet. His father's voice spits out. So stop with this nonsense.)
"O-Of course I do, my lord!" The servant stutters a reply. "I've never seen this much color in my life..."
The lord stops in his tracks. The servant stops frolicking, too.
He's never... seen this many colors.
The lord smiles softly.
"Then would you like to take a couple of flowers home, my love?" The lord says, his words full of affection. He lets out a hearty laugh when the servant's face turns pink.
The boy looks down shyly, fiddling with his fingers.
"Um, I–you would do that for me, sir?"
The lord shrugs as he plucks a peony. "What kind of lover would I be if I didn't give you what you wanted?
The boy's cheeks flame up even more. At that moment, the lord makes a promise to himself and to the boy in front of him–
From now on, I'll be the color in your life.
“...really looking forward to it, you know!” Tine gushes, then sighs. “I still can't believe that I'm marrying her – the love of my life. It doesn't feel real. Nothing does, these days.”
Sarawat tries to keep his grin. Even if he was moping around in the depths of his brain, he can't help but smile for his best friend. “Yeah, I can't believe it either.”
I can't believe we're not together, even in this life.
Tine hums, as he guides Sarawat into the room. “It's crazy, isn't it? We were just students in uni, doing whatever the hell we wanted. Isn't that right, Wat?”
He nods, as Tine offers him a seat. Sarawat sits down just across from the groom.
“But then I met her, and my whole world stopped.” Tine continues, laughing quietly as he reminisces. “I fell in love. And she felt the same way, for reasons I can never explain even if I tried. I mean, who would fall in love with someone like me?”
She has every reason to fall for you, Tine. Sarawat thinks to himself, and her reasons for loving you are the same with mine.
“And now we're here,” Tine concludes, sighing dramatically at the end of his little trip down memory lane monologue.
Sarawat chuckles. “Yeah, well–time goes by quickly. Too quickly. I still remember sneaking you in into my uni's practice rooms. And I'd, well, just play you the pieces you like. You'd complain about Tchaik only having one concerto while I was playing...”
Tine's eyes light up.
“Yeah!” Tine exclaims, “And well, I wanted to ask, are you going to play something in the reception? Pretty please? I hired musicians for the wedding but no one plays like you do–”
A piece.
Huh.
Maybe he should.
It'll hurt. And he'll hate himself for a bit. Possibly for the rest of his life. Playing for your best friend's wedding (who you're in love with) is just... not the ideal situation. Would it be worth it, though? Yeah, it would be. It's Tine – he'd jump off a cliff for him and it would be worth it. Tine will smile at the familiarity of whatever Sarawat will play, he knows. In that stuffy practice room with shit acoustics, Sarawat played everything for Tine even when his fingers started to cramp. That was worth it, too. Because Tine is always worth it. He'll do everything for him.
He did everything for him. During their last lives as lord and servant, and in this life as two best friends.
“Yeah.” Sarawat replies, smiling. “I will.”
He adjusts his tie in front of the mirror. He stares at the man in front of him, which is himself. Sarawat drowns in his own image. The image of a man that has broken a promise.
In an hour, Tine will be waiting at the altar, donning his matte black suit. A beautiful bride, adorned in a white, long dress and golden accessories will walk on the aisle towards him. Sarawat will be posing for pictures after it ends, staring mindlessly and letting the bright flash of the camera take over his vision. He will be pretending to be happy. But deep inside of him, behind his distant smile, is guilt. Guilt for being unhappy on his best friend's day, and guilt for breaking a promise.
For a moment, he sees the boy with shining eyes and short hair flash in his mirror. Sarawat stares, unblinking. He's smiling, mouthing "even in the next life".
He has broken a promise–the promise he made to the starry-eyed boy.
“My lord, did they find out about us?” The servant asks, his lips quivering in fear. It's the fear he did not want to see in his lover's eyes, ever.
The lord shakes his head as he drops on his bed. “Yes, they–they want to–”
“T-They want to–?”
The lord swallows. “Get rid of you. I won't–I won't. I won't let them.”
The two of them fall silent. The servant stares at his noble lover, then collapses on his knees. Tears run down his face as he chokes out sobs. He's whispering to himself, saying words like "not meant to be" and "undeserving". The lord scurries over to him, hugging the boy and telling him that it will be alright.
But he's not sure. No, he's not sure at all. Even as a high ranking lord, he doesn't have the power to disobey the royal court.
"Don't worry, my love," The lord says quietly, consoling the crying boy in his arms. "I'll never let them get you."
Sarawat blinks. He steps back when he realizes his hand was on the mirror. Daydreaming again. Memories again. What a pain.
He shakes his head and sighs. Sarawat leaves the hotel room with his shoulders lower than before.
When he comes outside, there's already a long, black limousine that's ready to drop off the groomsmen to the church. Sarawat enters the luxurious car and greets the familiar faces. Ohm, Type, Phuak, Mil – he's knows these people. Tine's other friends.
They continue to talk and socialize as they leave Sarawat alone with his thoughts. He's snapped back into reality when a finger taps on his shoulder. He turns his head to see Mil, offering him a sweet of some kind.
"You look tired, Ai'Wat," Mil says as he holds the sweet. "Not particularly ecstatic, I bet"
Sarawat rolls his eyes as he takes the candy from the other male. "Shut up. If you're here to shove it into my face, then just shut up."
"Oi, I'm your brother's boyfriend, you know," Mil replies, shoving him slightly.
"Yeah, but you were also a dick to me in university." Sarawat rolls his eyes as he opens the packet. "And you're a violist."
“Ha.” Mil laughs. "Fuck off."
Like with Man, they talk about mundane things for the first two minutes. The whole time that they talk, Mil stares at Sarawat once or twice. There's a certain look in his eyes when he does so. A look of knowing. A look of knowledge. Because out of everyone he could've told, he told Mil – the asshole from uni, who happened to be his brother's boyfriend. It was a mistake. A drunken one, obviously. He was upset after a particularly poor performance in some concerto and Sarawat had spent the rest of his money on liquor out of grief. That was kind of funny in hindsight; he seriously thought he was going to lose his job at the orchestra. Mil found him outside his dorm room, muttering about Tine. Sarawat had grabbed Mil's collar then and spilled every single thing.
Mil finally sighs. His joking manner subsides.
"I know you're not happy, Wat."
Sarawat shrugs.
"Good for you."
Mil rolls his eyes.
"I'm sorry." Mil whispers. Sarawat doesn't get why he does, the others are way too noisy to hear anyway. "I'm sorry that you couldn't get the happy ending you wanted."
Sarawat scoffs.
"Don't be," he says. "Not everyone will get one. And it just so happens that I'm part of those people. It happens all the time."
“But you deserve happiness.” Mil says and smiles sadly. He pauses and furrows his eyebrows. “You'll meet someone else, I just know it.”
Sarawat shoves the candy wrapper inside his pocket, then looks up at the other male.
“I don't think so.”
They arrive at the church. Sarawat scrunches his nose as he hears the familiar melody of Mendelssohn's Wedding March. Why do they always play that blasted piece? The number of gigs he's been to where he had to play that (and the wretched Canon in D) makes him sick. He's even sicker now since it's playing on the wedding of the only person he's fallen for.
Damn.
Sarawat heads inside the church, where it's packed with guests sitting and chattering softly. Their voices bounce off the building, making Sarawat's headache come back ever so slightly. He heads off to the side, and he stares in awe at the dazzling lights and the...
Peonies.
"Fuck," he whispers to himself. Even in this life, Tine was still fond of those flowers.
He waits, waits, and waits more. The Wedding March playing in the background has cemented its place so well that Sarawat couldn't even hear it anymore. He was thinking about nothing and everything at the same time.
Sarawat notices that the music stopped. He looks around quietly and realizes that it's about to start. The music begins once again.
The ceremony proceeds smoothly. He walks with the officiant and heads to a seat, sitting down almost instantaneously. The other groomsmen join him, then–
Tine is brought to the front by the officiant. And for a moment, he looks at Sarawat. He grins, and Sarawat does as well.
How beautiful.
Then, all of a sudden, the bride is walking down the aisle. Sarawat turns around as small choruses of "ooh"s and "aah"s surround the building. And really, who wouldn't be amazed? It was just as he imagined. A gorgeous girl, wearing a white dress and golden accessories, smiling brightly at everyone. Sarawat was happy for her because he knows to himself that this girl loves Tine with her entire being. He knows that she'll take care of him, and Tine will do the same for her.
Sarawat just wished it was him that was taking care of Tine. Pathetic of him, really.
When she arrives, Tine is looking at her with the most loving eyes. And so does she. Sarawat feels a pang in his heart.
A broken promise. A broken promise. A broken promise.
"My lord?" The servant calls. The lord shifts, getting closer to him.
"Yes, my love?"
The servant turns, eyes red from tears. "You will find me in the next life, right? And we'll be together again, right?"
"You believe in those things?"
He nods.
"I do."
The lord sighs, pressing a chaste kiss on the boy's lips. "Then I do too. I'll find you, no matter what it takes. In the next life, and the next one after that."
The boy falls asleep in the lord's arms, blissfully unaware for what was about to come.
In a blink of an eye, Tine is kissing his bride, as cheers echo throughout the church. Sarawat closes his eyes.
Broken promise.
--------
"You're drunk, Wat."
Sarawat squints, barely picking up what his friend just said because of the blaring music, and waves his hand nonchalantly. He picks up his glass and downs the alcohol straight. The liquid goes down his throat, burning, but he's long used to it.
"I know, I know – shut up," Sarawat replies, pouring himself another glass. Mil flicks his forehead, earning a loud hiss from the drunken boy. "What the hell was that?"
Mil pulls out a chair. "Aren't you supposed to perform, idiot?"
"I am?" Sarawat's eyes widened. "Hehe, but it's not a gig. Not a concerto either. It's my best friend's wedding. Stop being dumb.”
"Then why else would a piano be there?" Mil points at something. Sarawat squints again, following the direction of his friend's finger. It's blurry, and he can't really see well, but he could see well enough to tell that there was a grand piano across the room. "Well, I guess it could be for the other musicians–"
Sarawat interrupts, placing a finger to Mil's lips. "You're right! I need'a perform. I need to. Yes, yes—this is Tine's wedding!”
He stands up, staggering and struggling to walk. He can hear Mil's protests ("If you're too drunk, then I'll just tell Tine!"), but all that was going through his mind were regrets and the shrill screams of the messy-haired servant. He hears a piece so familiar, blaring in his ears, but the notes and melodies are distorted and broken.
Sarawat sits down on the stool right in front of the piano and slams the keys, earning the attention of the guests. Sarawat notices the mic set up next to it and chuckles. He brings it to his lips.
"Helloooooo, honored guests!" Sarawat says, slurring his words. "OI, OI! Stop the music, stop the music! Too loud!"
The pop music blaring in the background stops instantly.
"Good, good." Sarawat hums. He stands up and searches for Tine. Again, he couldn't see well, but he could see enough. Tine was sitting down, looking at him, amused. "Oi, Tine, what's so funny!?"
Tine bursts out laughing. Sarawat can only chuckle.
"Okay, whatever. Fuck it." Sarawat says. "So, that guy over there with the fancy suit? The one that just got married? He loves classical music. So, he practically begged me to play. I agreed because I'm a good friend. What kinda best man wouldn't do stuff for the groom, huh?"
Sarawat sits back down. He speaks one last time.
”Yeah, so – this is it. Tine loves this one, Salut d'Amour. By dead composer number seventy-five.”
The lord places a letter on his bedside table, a peony resting next to it elegantly.
The letter reads;
My love,
I deserve to die.
I know my power. I am well aware of it. Everywhere I go I am reminded of how much power I have. And yet this time, I am unable to use it. Pathetic, aren't I?
Sarawat plays elegantly, the notes of the piece resounding throughout the lavish room.
You know how much I love you, I know you do. But we live in a world where we cannot be free. We live in a world where the innocent are punished for the choices of the nobles. We live in a world where love is a sin when it is not. We live in a world where happy endings are rewarded to those who conform.
Is it so wrong to love you? Is it so wrong?
Sarawat chuckles as he plays. It's still true now.
Tomorrow, I will be watching you die in front of my eyes. Tomorrow, I will be watching the love of my life disappear from this Earth. And tomorrow, I will stand and stare, useless.
So, please, forgive me.
I know I am not worthy of your forgiveness. Even I cannot forgive myself. If you curse me from the grave, I will take the misfortune you will rain on me.
I will never love anyone else. I will never turn to anyone else. I will find you, in the next life and the next one after that, just like I promised when you were in my arms. Let it be in this nation or in an unexplored land miles and miles away from home, I will search for you. Endlessly, forever, til the end of time.
As long as we can be together. As long as we can love each other once again.
Sarawat closes his eyes for a moment, as the piece nears its end.
I promise.
He plays the last notes of the piece.
Wait for me, my love.
Then it ends.
The last image ingrained in his mind is a tattered and pale boy, clutching a blood-stained letter.
But in front of Sarawat, he sees in a boy with a smiling face, looking at the love of his life.
"I'm sorry," Sarawat mutters to himself. "I found you. But you didn't find me."