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The wind blows unusually strong through the station, forcing the crowd awaiting the trains to hold onto their newspapers and skirts so none of them take flight.
Khem’s no different, grip tight on the brim of his hat to keep it in place as he turns to his sister, words dying in his throat before they have any chance to come out.
Khem doesn’t have any siblings.
Never has and never will.
How, then, is he so sure this woman is part of his family?
“Phi?” her brows furrow, worry painting itself across her face. “Are you feeling unwell?”
Tongue-tied, Khem finds himself unable to respond, grasp growing lax around the letter in his hand.
He can't recall its contents – all that Khem knows is that this letter is the most important thing he has now, and losing it means losing all hope to make it back to a home he doesn't the placement of, a person whose name rests on the tip of his tongue, unsaid.
His feet hit the ground without his knowledge of it, hand stretched out to catch the letter that eludes him.
“Phi!” his sister yells after him as he runs off, tracing the path the flowing paper creates with his eyes, terrified that he'll no longer see it if he even as much as blinks. “Phi! Be careful!”
Khem can hear her no more, bells and chimes ringing all around him as he searches for the flighty correspondence, heartbeat pounding in his ears.
There’s a commotion – there’s steam billowing – there’s bright lights coming in his direction when, in a split second, Khem comes to his senses to see the train tracks beneath his feet, the locomotive much closer to him now than it was a moment ago.
All thoughts of letters and sisters and returning home disappear from his mind when metal meets flesh, a blood-curling scream ripping through him, searing pain spreading everywhere.
And then silence.
It’s the quietness that has Khem awaking with a start, sweat beading at his temples despite the cool air that breezes through the open windows, gentle where only a couple beats before it seemed as if it was about to blow him away.
His ears ring, nausea twisting his guts. The agonizing feeling that he’s still being hit by a train that has long since passed through the tracks radiates from his core, tiny metal icicles prickling at the exposed patches of skin as he bats off the duvet.
Sitting up, he tries to regain his breath, chest heaving up and down without any air making through his nostrils.
Khem's familiar with this feeling – the dreams have been a constant for as long as he can remember falling asleep, and their aftermath have left him shaky and panicked more times than he might bother to count.
What's still becoming familiar is the sensation of someone stirring by his side, a soft call of Khem? that has him finally able to open his tightly shut eyes, too afraid of what he might see in the corners of the room if he chances a glance.
The peaceful nights are less scarce now – it doesn’t mean Khem is any less perturbed.
“Khem,” Peem calls for him, less a question and more a statement, a reminder that he’s here, in the present, right next to Khem. Lifting himself upon the mattress, the older man fits their fingers together, tender as not to overwhelm him, as says, “Breathe.”
Inhaling, Khem feels his entire body tremble, grip on Peem's hand becoming bruising, though the other makes no comment on it. Instead, Peem rests a palm over his knee, pointer drumming a rhythm for Khem's breathing to follow.
One, two, and the dizziness slowly subsides, the room coming into focus and Peem's face crystal clear in the dim lights of the candles strewn about.
Three, four, and Khem's convinced he could make Peem out in a crowd even if he had never seen him before, the painful longing in his heart a match to Pharan's own.
Five, six, and the thumping in his chest mellows, the ache in his lungs dissipating. Khem breathes, no longer hurting from it.
The panic that griped at him seeps out, leaving Khem exhausted, gathering one of Peem’s pant legs into his hand for something to ground him in the real world, not let him drift off into his nightmares once more.
“It wasn't a dream, was it?” Peem asks, voice quiet in the dead of night, the sounds of nature outside weaving it into a lullaby Khem can't get enough of.
Shaking his head, Khem untangles their hands, though the older man doesn't let him go far. A weak smile crosses his lips at the idea that Pharan needs to be close to him just as much as Khem craves to never leave his side ever again.
How did Khem ever manage to walk away from Peem’s begging gaze? He doesn’t think there’ll be a point in time when it’ll make sense to him.
“I know I’m not him, but it felt so real.” The phantom of it can still be felt, weight on his shoulders dragging Khem down. “I’ve seen him before… She–” The mere mention of Ramphueng, even if not by name, has a shiver running down Khem's spine, and he forces himself to remember that she's gone, no longer haunting his every move like a countdown to his demise.
He can only wish that after centuries of agony and anger, she too might find some solace, the peace with her child she should've had long ago.
“She showed him to me. I saw him die. I felt him… Oh, I don't even know his name anymore.”
A chocked sob escapes him, face hiding behind his hands to obscure his tearful eyes. Peem seems to disagree with such a notion, fingers wrapping around his own to tug them down, interwoven upon Khem's lap.
There’s this calmness that washes over Khem each time they touch – a magic that is all Peem’s own, sweet like a sunset after the warmest days, and Khem can’t live without him anymore, can’t picture a world where he doesn’t haven Pharan to return home to.
“You’re safe here, Khem,” the older man reassures, palm resting upon his nape and gently petting the hairs there. “You can cry as much as you need, and talk if you want, or not talk at all. If you’re hurt, I’ll take care of you.”
And Khem knows, even if unspoken, that it’s a promise, one that he intends to keep as well. But these flashes of the past take a toll on him, and returning to his own mind proves itself as much a hardship as it’s always been.
“It’s like… I was dying in his place. Like the train hit me instead of him.” Khem can hear his voice as if he’s far away from his body, floating above the ground. “When Yod took me to Khemmika’s house…” he trails off, breathing again to gather the courage to speak things he couldn’t tell anyone else, not even Jet, no matter how much he loves him. “I felt her having a heart attack, like it was my own heart.”
“Khem.” Underneath the stern tone, Khem can hear the care, the worry that Peem feels for him. Taking Khem’s hand in his, Peem brings it to his cheek, the heat emanating casting its own spell on Khem. “Can you feel me?” Mouth falling open, Khem nods. “You’re alive. You’ll live to grow old and be happy, because there’s no one else who deserves it more than you.”
And Khem desperately wants to believe him – that the dark days have passed and the sun will rise again, that he’s paid the price Ramphueng deemed Krongkwan should pay, but it’s so hard to discern himself from the past.
“It wasn’t me,” he shakes his head, trying to disperse the burning feelings that cling to his bones. “I shouldn't feel this way if he wasn't me.”
“Easier said than done,” Peem offers him a saddened smile. His eyes shine in the moonlight, dark like the ocean, and Khem finds himself falling into their depths like he's done a hundred times, a hundred lives, before. “The past is in the past, but that doesn't mean it won't linger, probably forever.”
“But…" Khem mutters, “you said…”
Peem silences his doubts by cupping his cheek, thumb tenderly running over the tears rolling. “It was easier to say that I'm not Pawat than to admit that I was terrified of losing you the way he lost Khemmika.”
Khem's heart breaks all over again, like when he saw Khemmika's longing, felt it like it belonged to him as well. Like when he watched Pawat weep in sorrow at her funeral. “P'Peem…”
“But the love he felt for her,” Pharan's hand slides down his neck, resting over Khem's heart to feel it pound underneath his fingertips, “it’s the love that I feel for you. Not the same, because we’re not the same, but again. My spirit found yours, and I love you, again.”
“I love you too, Phi.” The confession comes so easily to his lips, as if Khem was born to say these words, over and over, a promise of lives past and futures to come.
The future has always been certain to Khemjira – no matter what path he decided to take, the ending would always be the same, leaving in its wake his mangled body and destroyed hopes.
It's strange to have plans, to define each day as a new sunrise instead of a moment closer to death, and he knows Peem feels the same, all the thoughts he's been bottling up all his life spilling out in the quiet of the night when only Khem's there to hear them.
“I wish I could forget, sometimes,” Khem admits, quietly, fearful to break the serenity that settles over him. “I wish it was just me in my memories.”
“I hope you'll be able to rest one day,” Pharan confesses, that tone of confidence in his words he so often carries when it comes to his powers. It makes Khem believe that the older man trusts him as much as he trusts the magic he possesses.
Khem's head falls forward, resting against his bare shoulder, and Peem says nothing more, cradling him in his calming embrace.
He remembers thinking of por kru as a raging storm caged in a man's body, lightning striking behind closed off eyes and waves pushing Khem far, far away, never to return to the shore again, lost at sea like the one who sent him that precious letter.
Pharan's his spring dew now, real where he once felt impossible to reach, and Khem digs his fingers into the other's sides, a silent desire to know that he's here, always asleep to Khem's left, arms around his waist under the moonshine and the sunlight and whatever weather might face them.
Turning his head, just enough that Khem can see the way his eyelashes flutter as Peem looks at him, he takes a deep breath, fingertips running over the goosebumps that rise on Peem's collarbones.
“Can I ask you something?” he whispers, and the hesitation must be clear in his voice, as Pharan lifts his chin with a hand, eye to eye and so much still to be said.
“Anything,” Peem states, tone leaving no room for Khem to hide away – and he doesn't want to, the time that sprawls before them more than he could've ever hoped for in his most deluded prayers to the heavens.
For long seconds, Khem remains silent, hand reaching forward to trace the bridge of Peem's nose, across his brow, down to his lips, feeling the other's hot breath fan over his skin and leave him tingling.
He's seen this face before, he's seen so many of Peem's faces, a picture kept in a locket and drawings on the edges of letters and the man himself, sitting opposite him at a table, a train, a wedding hall. “How much do you remember, Phi?”
There’s no need to elaborate further, the downturn of Peem’s mouth one that aches in him. “Not a lot. Enough that it hurts to think of it.” Khem immediately regrets asking, but the other doesn’t let him overthink it, so close over the sheets that they’re almost a single being. “And I don't remember anything that came before Pawat.”
Blinking the tears away, Khem mumbles, “I’m so sorry, P’Peem.”
“Don’t be. I think it's what the gods preferred for me then, that I don't dwell on the past too much.”
“Should I be glad you confessed to a crime you didn’t commit?” Khem tries to joke, voice wobbly.
Peem’s smile is too beautiful to be hidden, and Khem’s infinitely glad to be the reason it shows more and more these days. “I don’t know what Phuchagin thought of at that time, but if he wanted to find love, then I hope he can rest assured that his spirit has found it.”
“Do you think we’ll meet in a future life?” Because Khem not only thinks of it – he prays every night that their lives are long, that the cycle of reincarnation leads them back to each other.
Losing Peem now means losing all hope to return home, a home Khem has built with his bare hands, one that brings him the comfort he’s needed after all the loses life has brought him.
“I hope so,” Pharan holds his hand like he's about to ask the most important question of his life. “Will you still want me even when you know I'm destined to sacrifice myself for others?”
“What makes you think I wouldn’t?” There have been so many lives, ones Khem holds no memory of, that he knows he's chosen Peem - how could the future change that? “It’s one of the reasons why I love you.”
“I never want to see you get hurt again.” Tears gather in Peem’s eyes, little stars against the night sky.
“You still want me,” Khem reminds him, “and you knew what was waiting for me.”
“You’re free now,” Pharan promises.
Each brush of Peem's skin against his is a revelation, a sign that Khem is no longer dreaming, adrift, haunted by a past he can't change and a future he can't have. Peem touches him like he's precious, beautiful, and Khem doesn't think he can love him anymore than he does now – and a second passes, and he loves him more.
“I don't think there could be a life where I don't want you, Khem.”
Lips find lips like the maps to each other are engraved in their minds, hands framing Khem's face as he searches in Peem the things he can't find in himself – the hope that Peem will love himself the way Khem loves him, that Khem will see a brighter day the way Peem envisions it for him.
There's a quiet desperation in Khem, the one that never seems to cease, no matter how many times he's told himself they have time, they have their whole lives.
Perhaps he's lost Peem too many times to not need him as if he'll never have him again.
Perhaps he's too lost in Peem to see beyond the bone-deep craving that takes him over in the mere presence of the older man.
Pharan's fingers draw mindless patterns down his spine, like a message in a bottle, and Khem doesn't need any powers to understand him, to know that it means I love you, I'm here.
But air is a human necessity, Khem's burning lungs advise, and he pulls away, smiling when Peem tries to follow after him.
Forehead resting against Peem's, Khem inhales his scent, something so intrinsically Peem, he has never been able to describe it. "I'm sorry I woke you up," he whispers.
"I don't mind." Peem offers him such a genuine smile, Khem can't help but grin even wider, tired to the bone but sated in the knowledge that he has Pharan to share his worries with. "I'd rather stay awake than you be alone."
Khem thinks he can stay right here forever and never want for anything else, not when he has years ahead and Peem beside him. "I don't think I can go back to sleep right now," he admits in a small voice, the wind blowing through Peem's un-styled hair making him look younger and impossibly old at the same time.
“Would you like to go outside?” Khem nods, accepting the hand held out to him, and they walk out of the room, the breeze even sweeter at the balcony.
Leaning against the rails, Khem stares out over the treetops, the dark of night no longer terrifying the way it used to be.
The dreams and nightmares will probably never cease, the memories of lives that don’t belong to him but are his anyway lingering in his mind until he dies – and when he dies, old in his bed, Khem will have the certainty that he’ll want to remember having been himself when the time to reincarnate comes, if only to make searching for the people he loves now easier.
“What are you thinking of?” Khem asks Pharan as he notices the older man is only looking at him, missing the night sky. If he were to be honest now, and he tends to be, he finds Peem more mesmerizing than any star the firmament could offer.
“You,” Peem professes without a second thought, smiling when Khem bashfully looks away. “I’ll always find you, Khem.”
Hands find each other over the wooden slab, and Khem has been here before, will be here tomorrow and in all the days he has left of their small eternities. “Is that an oath?” he teases, Peem’s hard eyes enough of a promise that Khem understands the unspoken between them.
“Yes,” is the older man’s serious reply – and how Khem loves to hear it. “Would you…” he hesitates, bringing Khem closer with a hand to his hips. “Would you spend the rest of your life with me?”
The space that divides them is infinitesimal, and Khem crosses it without doubts or boundaries, kissing his own oath onto Peem’s mouth. “All of my lives.”
“I love you so much, Khem,” Peem utters against his lips. “In all my lives.”
Smiles melt into kisses, the night melts into day, and Khem’s solace is right here, right now, with the memories that belong to him and no one else, with the man who loves him.
In the nights when Khem can ‘t sleep, he can dream awake about all that they have time to be now.