Chapter Text
The clinic always settled into a strange quiet after sunset.
Not silence — never silence — but a softer rhythm. Phones rang less urgently, conversations lowered into murmurs, footsteps slowed. Outside, Bangkok moved in restless waves of traffic and light, but inside Jimmy Jitaraphol Potiwihok’s clinic everything followed order, logic, routine.
Jimmy liked routine. Routine meant control.
Routine meant nothing important was slipping away without him noticing.
Which was why he realized something was wrong almost immediately.
Sea hadn’t texted him all afternoon.
Not unusual on paper. Sea worked, filmed, disappeared into schedules all the time. But usually there were interruptions — random photos, complaints about hunger, voice notes that started with Hiaaaa stretched dramatically for no reason other than wanting attention.
Today, nothing.
Jimmy told himself it meant nothing.
He finished his last consultation, removed his gloves, washed his hands carefully, methodically — motions ingrained through years of training — but his attention kept drifting toward the waiting area visible through the glass partition.
Sea was there.
Sitting properly.
Politely.
Not sprawled across two chairs. Not chatting with the staff. Not wandering into restricted areas despite repeated warnings.
Just sitting.
Jimmy frowned.
That alone was enough to raise concern.
Sea noticed him and smiled immediately — bright, perfect, distant.
“You’re done?”
His tone was light, casual, like they hadn’t known each other long enough to skip formalities.
Jimmy felt something tighten in his chest.
“You waited long?”
“No,” Sea said easily. “I just arrived.”
Jimmy glanced toward reception.
The nurse quietly held up two fingers and mouthed, hours.
He looked back at Sea.
Sea was already looking at his phone again.
Jimmy didn’t like this version.
Not even a little.
⸻
“Doctor Jimmy?”
Nara, the new clinic coordinator, approached with a tablet tucked against her chest. Efficient, capable, friendly — exactly what the clinic needed. She spoke quickly, laughed easily, and had the comfortable confidence of someone settling well into a new environment.
She stood close while explaining scheduling changes, pointing at the screen, brushing his sleeve without hesitation.
Jimmy nodded automatically, listening — but not really processing.
Because across the room, Sea was watching.
Not openly. Sea never stared when he felt something too strongly. Instead he smiled faintly at nothing, scrolling through his phone with exaggerated focus.
When Nara laughed at something Jimmy barely remembered saying, Sea’s thumb froze mid-scroll before continuing again.
Jimmy noticed.
He always noticed Sea.
A quiet unease settled under his ribs.
It wasn’t jealousy he saw.
It was distance.
And distance scared him far more.
⸻
The change didn’t disappear after that day.
It grew.
Sea became… careful.
Polite greetings. Short messages. Professional tone during schedules. He sat beside Jimmy instead of leaning against him. Walked half a step farther away. Laughed, but softer — like he was measuring how much space he was allowed to take.
Worst of all, he stopped saying Hia.
At first Jimmy thought he imagined it.
Then an entire week passed without hearing it once.
The absence echoed louder than any argument could have.
Jimmy tried to reason through it logically.
Sea was busy. Tired. Filming stress. Normal fluctuations in mood.
But logic failed to explain the way Sea avoided casual touch — the unconscious habits built over years. No sleeve tugging. No leaning into his shoulder. No absentminded closeness.
It felt like watching someone slowly pack their belongings without announcing they were leaving.
And Jimmy discovered, to his own surprise, that the possibility terrified him.
He was not an impulsive person by nature. He planned, evaluated, waited.
But there was one area of his life where patience had never felt like hesitation.
Sea.
They weren’t together. Not officially. Not publicly. Too many eyes, too many expectations, too many complications attached to timing.
But in Jimmy’s mind, the future had always been simple.
One day — without cameras, without noise — there would be a life where Sea existed beside him naturally. Mornings without schedules. Evenings without hiding affection behind jokes.
A quiet life.
A real one.
A life with Sea in it.
He had never questioned that Sea was walking toward the same future.
Until now.
And the thought that Sea might be getting tired of waiting scared the shit out of him.
⸻
The interview confirmed his fear.
“So how would you describe your relationship these days?” the host asked cheerfully.
Sea smiled politely, posture perfect.
“We work well together,” he said. “P'Jimmy takes care of everyone equally.”
Jimmy turned his head slowly.
Equally.
The word sat wrong in his chest.
Sea didn’t look at him.
Jimmy answered the next question automatically, but something cold settled under his calm exterior.
Sea had never treated them like “everyone.”
Why start now?
⸻
Three nights later, Sea appeared at the clinic after closing hours.
Jimmy was finishing paperwork when the door opened quietly.
“You’re still working?” Sea asked.
His voice was soft, cautious.
Jimmy looked up immediately. Relief came first — quick and instinctive — followed by concern at the careful distance Sea maintained near the desk.
“Almost done.”
Sea nodded and placed a small box on the table.
“For you.”
Jimmy opened it.
A silver necklace rested inside, a tiny avocado pendant catching the light.
Understanding hit instantly.
Their joke. Their thing. Something meaningless to anyone else.
Something personal enough to matter.
Jimmy looked up.
Sea avoided his eyes.
“It’s nothing,” Sea said quickly. “I just saw it. Thought it was funny. You don’t have to wear it.”
Jimmy closed the box slowly.
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
Sea stiffened. “I haven’t.”
“You stopped calling me Hia.”
Silence.
Sea crossed his arms, defensive. “I’m just being respectful.”
Jimmy made a face immediately — genuine displeasure slipping through his usually composed expression.
“I don’t like respectful Sea.”
Sea blinked. “What?”
“This version,” Jimmy said, gesturing lightly. “Polite. Careful. Sitting far away like we’re strangers.”
“That’s normal.”
“It’s not you.”
Jimmy stepped closer, calm but unmistakably firm.
“I don’t like not-clingy Sea.”
Color rushed to Sea’s cheeks. “I am not clingy.”
Jimmy didn’t argue. He just looked at him — the look that always won arguments because it was entirely truthful.
“You stopped touching me,” he said simply. “You stopped waiting for me. You act like you’re preparing to leave.”
Sea’s expression faltered.
Jimmy exhaled slowly, choosing honesty over caution — an impulse rare for him, but stronger tonight.
“We’re not officially together,” he said, voice steady, “but that doesn’t mean I see you the same as everyone else.”
Sea’s breathing slowed, listening despite himself.
“I’m a reserved person,” Jimmy continued. “You know that. I don’t let people close easily.”
A small pause.
“I already decided who I make space for.”
Sea’s eyes flickered up.
Jimmy held his gaze.
“When the time is right — when there are no cameras, no expectations — the life I picture…” He hesitated only briefly. “You’re in it. Always.”
The room felt suddenly too quiet.
Sea swallowed hard.
Jimmy picked up the necklace and, without another word, clasped it around his own neck. The avocado pendant settled against his collarbone like it had always belonged there.
“You pulling away,” he added softly, “is the only thing that actually scares me.”
Sea’s composure broke in a small, helpless laugh. “I thought… maybe you didn’t need me like before.”
Jimmy reached forward, impulsive despite himself, hooking a finger into Sea’s sleeve — grounding him there.
“I don’t need many people, but I need you” he said. “That’s the point.”
A beat passed.
Sea leaned closer unconsciously, resting lightly against his shoulder, as natural as breathing.
Jimmy felt tension leave his body for the first time in weeks.
After a moment, Sea murmured, embarrassed, “You look ridiculous wearing an avocado.”
Jimmy huffed softly. “You bought it.”
“…I regret everything.”
A quiet laugh slipped between them.
Then, softer — familiar again — Sea said, “Hia.”
Jimmy closed his eyes briefly, relief warm and overwhelming.
“Yes?”