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Build only starts to notice it after Bible spends a day torturing Pete in the badly ventilated room of the minor family dungeon, on location at Rong Mueang Road.
Bible starts the day on edge, quiet and withdrawn. Neither of them had managed to get any rest during the night before, sleeping in fits and bursts at best, hoping they’d be able to live up to these scenes that could make or break Vegas and Pete as a pairing, iconic car batteries and hidden tattoos and all. It’s been a challenge for Build, and he knows that whatever pressure he’s been feeling, Bible’s been inflicting on himself threefold; Bible’s combination of perfectionism and professional inexperience are the ingredients of a perfect anxiety cocktail.
“Why does anyone even go into acting,” Bible says, eyes closed and head tilted back against the grimy wall, and it’s easy for Build to lean sideways into him, jostling Bible a little into loosening up, because the set can’t take them both being giant balls of stress.
“Come on, Vegas,” Build says in a low voice, grinning. “Show them how you’re gonna rip into me.”
Bible rolls his eyes and gives Build a half hearted shove, and lets out a breath. “Okay, okay,” he says. “Let’s do this.”
It’s an intense day, and by the end of it Build feels nothing short of elated. He hasn’t seen the footage, but he knows that it clicked, knows it in the ache of his bones, his throat sore from screaming, his muscles that are still tense from being clenched all day, expecting pain. The months of prep and workshops were worth their time in gold; there was a crackling tension in the air that he could almost taste every time Bible leaned in, every time Pete could feel him too hot and too close, knowing Vegas could smell his sweat and fear and deep forbidden want. The kind of rush that takes time to fade away, even after the directors yell cut.
At the end of the day Build is exhilarated and exhausted and horny and starving, and when a container of khao pad is thrust in front of his face, his mouth waters immediately.
“Eat,” Bible says, and Build doesn’t have to be told twice, digging into the rice with a little moan that makes Bible smile. When he tries offering some to Bible, Bible shakes his head, saying, “I’m good, don’t worry about me,” and Build is honestly too tired to insist.
They wrap up a few last shots in that location the next day. Build shows up with significantly less trepidation than he did the first day, and it’s not hard to see it’s the same for Bible. Occasionally, Bible will pass Build a water bottle between takes, holding it up for him to take a few sips; it helps him stay hydrated with the buckets he’s been sweating, and the cool water gives Build’s throat a bit of relief.
Later, when they’ve finished up for the afternoon, and Build is up on street level, taking in what feels like the first breath of fresh air he’s had in days, he hears Bible come up and join him, recognizes the sound of his walk.
Bible plops down next to where Build is perched on the sidewalk, and nudges Build’s feet back so they don’t rest on the road-side of the curb.
“How are you doing?” Build asks.
“I feel like I could sleep for a week,” Bible says. “But I guess I’ll face tomorrow’s 4:30AM wake up call like an adult or something.” Bible does look tired, but his smile is real, different from the cruel, self-loathing smiles he’s been carrying around for the past two days. He looks relaxed, golden in the late afternoon sun, until a strange frown crosses his face. “How about you?”
Build is still feeling the buzz of the past two days, the satisfaction of a job done and a solid physical workout. He winks. “I get tomorrow off. I’m great, man.”
Bible still looks weirdly worried, though, and Build doesn’t understand why until he realizes Bible’s staring at Build’s wrists, which Build has been rubbing absentmindedly. It had been harder to notice in the room downstairs, awash with pink lighting, but here in daylight it’s easy to see the reddened marks left by the ropes.
“Hey, don’t worry about it, I’m fine,” Build says, shaking a wrist to prove it. “Just a little sore. It’ll pass.”
Bible just looks more upset.
“I swear I’m fine, look,” Build says, and holds up both hands, doing a full rotation of his wrists, which backfires because for a brief second his wrist does sting and he thinks it must show on his face.
Bible hesitates for a moment, and then reaches out. “Can I?”
It feels ridiculous, Build has been in significantly more pain from pretty much every martial arts workshop they’ve undergone in the past few months, but Bible looks like he’s really working himself up over nothing, and Build wants him back at the tired and goofy mood he’s supposed to be in at the end of really good filming days.
Build offers his hands, palms up. “Go for it.”
Bible’s fingers are oddly cool, but maybe it’s Build’s chafed wrists that are running hot; in any case, it feels nice, actually. Build lets Bible inspect his wrists, turning them over, gently rubbing his thumb in circles against the pulse point of one wrist, then the other. Build’s skin feels tender, but pleasantly so, and at some point he realizes that Bible’s been massaging his hands for a few minutes, and is now carefully flexing Build’s palms back and forth, stretching his fingers one by one, thumb to pinky.
Build bites back a grin. “Are these carpal tunnel exercises?”
Bible raises a judgmental eyebrow. “Did you think to do any?” he says, but Build thinks he can see a faint flush. He’s seen Bible doing these himself, after typing away at his laptop furiously for an hour, in between scenes. It’s adorable.
“I did not,” he concedes, holds back a shiver at how Bible is now kneading the center of his palm, which doesn’t really seem to have anything to do with being cuffed for hours but feels really fucking good. “You should do my shoulders next, they’re way worse than my wrists.”
“Should I?” Bible asks, back to fretting, and Build snickers.
“No, BOC booked me a massage for tonight. I’m gonna get all the physio I need. Don’t need. Because I’m fine.”
He pulls his hands back, flicks Bible on the shoulder just to see him jump, and meets his eyes. “Thank you,” he tells Bible sincerely. “That felt lovely.”
Bible closes his eyes for a moment, and the breeze catches his hair. When he opens them again, something in his face has eased.
“You good?” Build asks.
Bible nods, the corner of his mouth curving into a self-effacing smile. “I’m good.”
*
It’s easier to notice after that. Bible spends his days on set in a vicious headspace, angry and violent in actions and words, and he doesn’t want to shake it off between takes, finds it too difficult to oscillate between the kind of dork that Build has seen him be on his downtime, and Vegas’s loneliness and anger.
But what he does do, is, well. He brings Build a powerbank when his phone’s running out of juice, and reminds Ta to reapply sunscreen when their temple day shoot takes longer than expected. He gets Apo something to cover himself up with after Vegas has stripped him of his shirt in the bathroom, probably breaking the heart of the production assistant whose job it was to approach a shirtless Apo to begin with. He fixes the air conditioner on, ridiculously, more than one occasion, and one time P’Pond needs to tell him to stop trying to grease a jammed dolly wheel because he’ll mess up his costume and that’s what the grip is for.
Bible makes himself useful. In small, imperceptible moments, he tries to care instead of hurt.
The first warehouse battle scene is another draining day. Take after take of leaping over cargo piles and hefting machine guns and breathing in the dry white powder floating through the air takes a toll. But it’s so much fun, getting to spend the day with Bible and Apo and Bas, feeling almost like an elite squad on an undercover mission.
Build can already predict some of Bible’s quirks by this point, so he drags him to the craft services tent when they’re done with their part and the crew’s filming some generic exterior shots, makes Bible collect some takeaway containers for them, and pushes him down into an outdoor sofa probably used by the warehouse workers, when this place isn’t being used to film any mafia dramas.
Build spreads out next to him, and they chat while they eat. They have the casino action scene coming up, which is bound to be fun. Jeff has finished writing one of the songs they’ll be using as a recurring theme, and it came surprisingly well for something that was basically written on the spot. Bible’s been asked – or has volunteered, Build still isn’t entirely sure what went down there – to translate the KinnPorsche novel into English.
Build snorts when he hears. “You fucking overachiever,” he says, taking a bite of his gai tod with a shake of his head. “Please tell me this will at least give you some extra credit at uni.”
Bible rolls his eyes. “Look who’s talking. Remind me how many instruments you play again in addition to your, what, acting/design career?”
“Don’t try to make this into a competition, I’m very confident I’ll win.”
Bible looks affronted. “What if the competition is in making things into a competition?”
“Okay, that one you’d win for sure, you weirdo,” Build says, in between bites. “Also, stop looking nervous,” he says. “You didn’t hurt me.”
Bible looks like he’s about to protest, but doesn’t, biting his lip instead.
“Come on, it was in the heat of the moment in the middle of a fight scene. You just did what the directors told you to do.”
“You know that’s not how it works,” Bible says quietly. “It’s still me.”
“Okay, yes. I know. But you gotta trust that I can take it, yeah?” Build takes Bible’s hand, and presses it against his own chest. He’s not an exhibitionist like his castmates, so his pecs tend to actually stay covered most of the time, but the white shirt he’s wearing is thin enough that in this light, he knows the mark Bible left on him earlier is showing through the fabric. He presses both their hands against it, feeling a sharp spike of pain. “You checked in with me before, you checked in with me after. This isn’t any worse than one of your rugby bruises. Okay?”
Bible takes a deep breath. “Okay.”
“Good.” Build tosses his container into a trash bin – perfect shot, he notes, maybe he’s the overachiever after all – and declares: “And now, I need a nap.”
Bible lets out a chuckle. “Do you.”
“I do. If only I had some pillow to rest my poor, tired, injured head on.”
“Okay, okay,” Bible says. He crumples his takeout container and shoots it into the same bin – one-handed, the asshole. “Come here.” Bible scoots down a bit, crossing his legs and creating a cozy little space in his lap that Build lowers himself to rest his head against. For someone whose training regimen results in what are essentially thighs of steel, Bible’s lap is surprisingly comfortable. Build wasn’t actually tired when he planned this, but he thinks he might actually be able to powernap while he’s at it.
“You can play with my hair,” he says helpfully, and this time Bible full on laughs.
“Yes, Khun Jakapan,” he says, and Build closes his eyes against the sunlight while Bible strokes his hair until he falls asleep.
*
If Build had thought his torture dungeon scenes had been intense, well. To say they pale next to the safehouse would be an understatement. Build has never experienced such an extreme emotional rollercoaster in his life, and they’re barely a day in; they haven’t even gotten to the NC scene yet, which is going to be a whole other story.
The location is two hours away from the city, and BOC have rented rooms for the main cast and crew for a night to save travel time. He and Bible stick close together all throughout, grounding themselves in each other; it’s so much so that Build actually finds himself feeling anxious if he can’t see Bible in his line of sight, for the few scenes they have to shoot apart, or when one of them gets called over for rehearsal or direction without the other.
They’ve rehearsed their scenes countless times, but in the end it all hinges on the amount of trust they have in each other; Build doesn’t think he’s ever placed this much faith in another human being, except for maybe P’Pond. None of this works if they don’t commit to act out their rawest, most private emotions, demonstratively, before each other and the rest of the crew, no matter how embarrassing or intimate. None of it works if Build doesn’t trust that Bible will be able to give it his all emotionally, but still be controlled enough to pull some punches when he needs to; it doesn’t work if Bible doesn’t trust that Build can move in time with their choreography, twist his body to avoid the strength of the belt on sensitive areas while making it seem like it hit, and withstand the ones that do, or be able to hold himself so that he doesn’t choke every time Bible shoves his head into a bowl of water; the both of them needing be perfectly in sync, balancing the mental and technical aspects of each scene.
He's too exhausted by the end of the day to do anything but collapse into bed, utterly spent. He can barely make himself shower, just scrubs himself off quickly, probably not even getting all of the makeup of Pete’s injuries off – they’re going to need to reapply it anyway tomorrow – pulls on a perfunctory pair of boxers, and falls onto the light blue sheets. Bible was trailing off somewhere behind him, waiting for Build to free the shower, but Build doesn’t even have enough energy to wait up for Bible to say goodnight. Before he knows it, he’s out like a light.
He wakes up to the sound of a thump on the floor, and a muffled curse. For a moment, he doesn’t know where he is, but takes in his surroundings: the thin, soft sheets; small room; curtains breezing slightly by the open window letting in moonlight and warm air and the sound of crickets; and Bible, stock still on the floor at the foot of Build’s bed.
“Shit, sorry,” Bible whispers. “Go back to sleep. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Build blinks blearily. Everything feels slow. “What time is it?”
“It’s late, sorry,” Bible says. “Go to sleep, we have an early day tomorrow.” He picks up his phone from where it’s facedown on the small rug—he must have dropped it, the noise waking Build up—but he isn’t making any move to get up. He’s just… sitting on the rug, in his oversized t-shirt and soft plaid pants, leaning back against the frame of Build’s bed, knees folded to his chest. His hands are clenching at the fabric of his PJs, as if he doesn’t know what to do with them now that his phone is out of the way.
“Hey,” Build says, leaning up on one elbow. “Is everything okay?”
Bible doesn’t turn to look at him. He swallows. “I’m sorry,” he says again. Build really needs him to stop apologizing. “I couldn’t… I don’t know why…” He takes in a shaky breath. “I’m just—finding it hard to shake off today.”
Something cracks inside Build’s chest. Bible looks like he’s trying to make himself small; like he’s trying to hold himself back. He’s still not meeting Build’s eyes. That’s not going to work.
Build leans forward, and places a hand on the back of Bible’s head, running his fingers through his thick hair. “What do you need?” he asks.
Bible shakes his head. “I’ll be fine, it’s okay.”
“Come on, hey. We’re in this together. Let me help. What do you need?” Build squeezes the back of Bible’s neck, finishing with a slight caress of his thumb. “With honesty, this time. Like we worked on with Teacher Ning.”
Bible gives a small huff. He finally looks at Build, and there’s so much pain in his eyes, it takes Build’s breath away. He knows he’s looking at Bible, sitting in the dark in his sleep clothes, worn out after a day of emotionally and physically draining work, but… in Bible’s eyes, he’s also seeing Vegas looking at Pete, wracked with guilt and terror, on the verge of panicking. It’s the middle of the night, and it’s disorienting for Build to see; it must be that much more disorienting for Bible to feel.
“I hurt you again today,” Bible says.
Vegas hurt Pete, he wants to correct, but he doesn’t think that’s what Bible needs to hear right now. “I’m okay,” Build tells him instead. Some of the bruises had hurt like a bitch when he got them, even ducking out of the way for the stronger ones, and they still throbbed now. But he had walked with them around set like a badge of honor, later. These were stunts; it happened. And there was something empowering about feeling the echoes of the pain on his skin when he was playing Pete, knowing how defiantly Pete took whatever Vegas dished out at him.
He should have known Bible wouldn’t see it the same way.
“Please, let me,” Bible says, in English now, “I just need to—"
“It’s okay,” Build says, because it is, blanket permission, Build will let him do anything he wants to quiet whatever storm is raging on inside him.
It’s as if Bible was only waiting for Build’s greenlight, because once he gets it, he flips so that he’s kneeling in front of the bed, and grabs at the first thing that’s in front of him, which is Build’s left arm. There’s a bruise on Build’s upper arm, on the inner part of his bicep, and Bible traces it, first with his eyes, then delicately, slowly, with his fingers. He’s as focused as Build has ever seen him, all of his attention zeroed in on Build, eyes dark and wide behind his glasses, and so careful with Build there isn’t even a hint of pain, just goosebumps at the feel of warm puffs of air against Build’s skin.
What Bible wants, it seems, is to inspect every inch of Build’s skin he can access and assess the damage.
From his arm, Bible travels to his shoulder, maps out the patch of irritated skin there, and then moves down to his torso, gently brushing over the marks the day has left on Build – on his chest, along his ribs, on the tender skin below, that trembles involuntarily when Bible touches it. Build tries to keep still, let Bible do his thing, only his chest rising and falling beneath Bible’s fingers. It’s almost meditative; it feels like the center of his body is wherever Bible touches.
“What’s going on in your head,” he murmurs, as Bible moves on to his waist, and Bible groans, pressing his brow against Build for a moment, hiding his face.
“I just,” he says, “I know it’s fucked up, I can’t even tell if it’s me or Vegas or you or Pete, I was so angry today, I… I just need to know you’re okay.”
Something flutters in Build’s chest, pride at this terrible intimacy that he can barely grasp, couldn’t imagine experiencing in his first acting role, can’t imagine sharing with anyone else. It’s scary, how much he wants Bible – Vegas – both of them – to be at peace. It’s a good thing only a few episodes are devoted to their arc; he doesn’t think bodies are made to withstand this kind of turmoil for long.
“It’s okay,” Build says softly in English, reassuring. “I’m okay.”
He repeats it, over and over, as Bible continues exploring his body, studying it as deeply as any of the textbooks he’s always carrying around, pressing hands against muscles and seeing what reaction he gets.
Build closes his eyes. He’s not actually used to being the focus of this much attention, and being at the center of Bible’s like this is – overwhelming. Bible’s pressing against one of the bigger bruises by his navel now, the one Build probably could have prevented if he’d moved a little faster on set, and Bible’s breath is so hot against him, so loud in the room it sounds like he’s panting, Build feels his muscles quiver, and then—a touch of searing heat, and that is definitely Bible’s tongue lapping at his skin.
“It’s okay,” he says immediately, before he has a chance to think, before Bible has a chance to freak out, and Bible lets out a small noise and licks him, burning hot, and Build doesn’t know what he’s doing but he thinks he might expire on the spot.
“Fuck,” he says, his hand moving almost involuntarily to Bible’s head.
“Fuck,” Bible says in agreement, and this time Build can feel Bible’s words as his mouth shapes them. “Please,” he says, Please let me make you feel good, and Build nods and rubs his thumb across one of those sharp cheekbones, like a blessing. Bible continues the path he started earlier, this time with lips and mouth and taste, trailing kisses after each aching touch, sending blood rushing to Build’s cheeks, his chest. Other places. Everything about Build’s body feels sensitive. He really fucking wants to kiss Bible.
With great difficulty, he manages to say, “I don’t want you to stop. But I think maybe we should.”
Bible lets out a tiny whine that is both hot and adorable. He slows down, but doesn’t pause on where he’s now sucking on Build’s collarbone, a place where he definitely did not hit Bible during the day, by the way, and he knows it.
Now’s not the time to make things complicated.
“Okay, definitely no hickies, P’Pepzi will kill me,” Build says, and he can practically feel Bible roll his eyes, but Bible eases off, with a final nip against his clavicle, a scrape of teeth that makes Build shudder. “At this point one of you will be the death of me, at least.”
Bible slides back down to his knees, elbows resting on the bed. “I’ll try my best not get you killed, Biu,” he says obediently, a small smile playing on his lips. His eyes look tired, looking up at Build from below long lashes, but he seems lighter. Softer.
“Good,” Build says, and then rubs his eyes. “We should, yes, stop,” he says, sounding like he’s trying to convince himself. “Save some passion for tomorrow.”
“I’m not planning on running out,” Bible promises, his dark gaze full of heat, and Build knows he’s in trouble.
After Bible’s back in his own bed, and enough time has passed that Build’s pulse has returned to resting pace, Bible asks, sounding almost curious, “Should we talk about it?”
Bible might be newer at this acting gig, but Build has never gotten entangled with any costars either, so fuck if he knows. But tomorrow’s a big day. This week is a big week. He doesn’t know where any of this might lead, but they’re both way too emotional about their characters to be thinking about anything clearly. They can’t afford to do anything to hurt this production.
“Probably,” he says. “But let’s focus on tomorrow. We can talk about the rest after.”
*
Impossibly, or maybe predictably, the next day ends up being even more challenging than the day before, and by the time they wrap up at the end of the day, Build feels utterly depleted, and definitely not up for any conversations more difficult than where to meet his ride home. But he knows they did good work, checking in with each other, but also giving each other space, and it’s reassuring that things don’t feel weird, that they can still work well together. Better than well.
They don’t talk about it, and after tomorrow turns into after filming, and then suddenly this crazy two-year whirlwind is over, or at least this leg of it is. They’re going to start promos soon, and marketing gigs, but for now it’s up to the post-production team to turn their work and sweat and literal tears into a TV show, and where before there were workshops and set work and camaraderie with the cast and crew, there’s a new gaping void in Build’s life.
They’re all still in the same city. He didn’t expect to miss them all so much.
Even more remarkably, he didn’t expect to miss Pete this much.
They talk about it in the cast group chat, where Apo assures them that it’s normal, this grief you feel when a project ends, and Build has done TV shows before, but he’s never felt it like this, this—this itch. Build likes being alone, enjoys the respite from company when he needs to recharge, but it’s such a sharp contrast from the past few months. He’s been so used to being both himself and Pete, in every one of Pete’s different, beloved forms: surrounded by people, protecting and teasing his friends; or sharply, acutely aware of where Vegas is with every fragment of his body.
One night, he wakes up with his heart pounding and the feeling of blood on his hands, and the image of Bible, of Vegas, face twisted with pain, chest riddled with bullets. It’s a dream, it was a memory, he tells himself, but it doesn’t feel like it; it’s like the dream reminded Build’s body of the hollow despair of losing Vegas, and now he can’t shake it loose.
He tries to will his heart rate down, but no amount of telling his brain that Vegas isn’t real, that Bible is okay, works, and he finds himself texting Bible with clammy hands.
you awake?
It’s past midnight, but Bible answers immediately. hey, what’s up? he texts back in English.
Now that’s he’s started the conversation, he has no idea what to say. He finally says, had a weird dream.
His phone rings.
“Faster than texting,” Bible says after Build picks up, and just hearing his voice is a relief, sightly obscured by background noise. He must be out somewhere. “What kind of dream? Is everything okay?”
Build wants to say yes, but the words stick in his throat, and there’s low key anxiety thrumming through his veins. “I think I’m having weird pool scene flashbacks.”
“Pool scene? What kind of—oh,” Bible says after a beat. “Hang on a moment,” he says, and then it sounds like he’s moving somewhere, the background noise becoming muffled. “Listen, I’m in your neighborhood, I can come by in ten minutes, if you want.”
He doesn’t want Bible to trouble himself, but the thought of seeing him in the flesh right now is too good to refuse.
“Yeah, okay,” he says, and from the sound of it, Bible’s already hopping on his bike.
“I’ll be there in ten,” Bible promises.
Something about knowing Bible’s on his way goes a small way towards calming him down, and by the time Bible arrives ten minutes later – good on his word – Build is feeling a little silly for having reached out at all.
He’s almost about to apologize when he opens the door, but before he can manage, Bible steps forward and wraps his arms around him in a tight hug, as if they hadn’t seen each other only two weeks ago, and Build finds himself melting into it. Bible’s body is firm and warm and whole, and Build can feel his heart beating where their chests are pressed together, and something tight inside his chest unclenches with a shudder.
“Ugh, what the fuck,” he says into Bible’s shoulder, and grabs on tighter.
Bible lets out an amused sound, and kicks the door closed behind him, which is good, because cat. He maneuvers them both to the couch, and Build is technically being a bad host because he should probably be putting the kettle on or like, saying words, but instead all he apparently wants to do is burrow himself into Bible and breathe in his smell and feel the solid proof that he’s alive and well with all his senses.
They end up on the couch, with Build snuggled up pretty much on top of Bible, his cheek resting on the gray fabric of Bible’s t-shirt. Build’s limbs feel loose, and he feels dumb but grateful for needing what amounts to a Bible-shaped teddy bear to get over a bad dream, but Bible’s presence has worked. He can definitely fall asleep now.
“Not so fun when it’s your side, huh,” Bible murmurs, his hand rubbing up and down Build’s spine.
“You mean, what... Pete-Vegas-induced anxiety?” Build guesses.
“Mm. That’s one way to put it, yeah.”
“Yeah. But I mean.” He pats a pattern on Bible’s chest with his fingers, entranced by the movement. “It’s not so bad.”
“It was for me,” Bible admits. “I got—Vegas felt so fucking much. It really messed with me.”
Build gives a small shrug. “Well, that’s because when you get messed up about your character you get stuck with all his guilt, but when I do, I get stuck with all the love,” he says. “Lucky me.”
Bible doesn’t respond, but tightens his arms around him, and Build feels so, so safe, he falls asleep to the sound of Bible’s steady, even breathing.
*
In the morning, they both receive an email from P’Pond, with the draft of a promo script of Pete and Vegas in a bathtub. It’s good. It’s more than good. It’ll definitely help create some buzz for the show.
Bible puts his phone down, after they read it. They’re both still on the couch, and Build feels kind of terrible for making Bible spend the night on a couch with a human weight on top of him and no comfort except for kicking off his shoes, so he’s a little disoriented when Bible says: “I want to talk about it.”
“The script?” Build asks.
“Not the script,” Bible says. He licks his lips. Build thinks about the fact they haven’t brushed their teeth yet, and then thinks about why he’s thinking it.
Let’s talk about it after.
He feels his heart start to race again. Such a shame, really, after all the trouble they went through to get him to chill last night, but this is the other kind of rush; the kind that’s tinged with anticipation.
“We have this promo coming up,” he points out.
Bible nods. “Yeah. And there’ll probably be another one after that. And—I know it’s early, it’s really fucking early, but you know P’Mile’s been thinking about doing some sort of tour. Biu, I don’t think after is coming up anytime soon.”
It’s an absolutely wild thought, but something in Build’s gut, the part that’s been trained to trust Bible, feels, knows that it’s true. They’ve finished filming the show, but this isn’t really the end. Not yet.
And in the meantime, Bible Wichapas Sumettikul is sitting on his couch, with disheveled hair and eyeglasses, with his resting bitch face soft from sleep, with his laser focus and his kindness and his utter devotion to these characters that Build loves so much, and with red, red lips that look really fucking good to wake up to.
Build closes his eyes and imagines it, and yes. He wants.
He opens his eyes. “If you want to kiss me without brushing your teeth, we might need a safeword,” he says, and laughs when Bible leans forward and pecks him politely on the cheek, and Build turns his head to catch his lips properly, toothpaste be damned.
He has no idea where this is going, but this seems to be the year for new beginnings.
“Okay,” he says when they part, grinning brightly. “Let’s talk about it.”