It’s a little past 9AM, and for once, Arthit is wide awake.
He inspects himself in the mirror of the dressing table in his hotel room, fidgeting with a stray tuft of hair. I look like a fucking penguin, he thinks, although he admits that it’s definitely a step up from his usual party attire.
Straightening up and rolling his shoulders back, he takes a deep breath, shuffling nervously and shaking his clammy hands of jitters. It’s as he’s adjusting the thistles of his bow tie that a soft knock comes on the door.
Sighing, he peers through the peephole. It’s Knot.
“Hey.” he says, opening the door to let him in.
“Damn, bro, you look red carpet ready.”
“The only red carpet I’ll be walking on is one covered in my own blood from when I bleed out and die of anxiety.”
“You’re getting married, not castrated. Breathe. And stay hydrated,” he points to the bottle of water on the desk. “But not too much, or you’ll have to pee halfway through the ceremony.”
“Shit, what if I need to pee during the ceremony?” Arthit clicks his tongue and sets the bottle down before he even takes a sip.
“Okay, stop spiralling and just drink maybe a third of the bottle. Besides, it’s just going to be your parents and closest friends. You’ve done far more embarrassing things than pee yourself in front of us.”
“M said in the group chat that there are already paparazzi parked outside the hotel.” he grumbles. “How do those shutterbugs even know? We literally put this together in a week and told like, twenty people.”
He takes a seat in the desk chair, fiddling with the corner of his collar and exhaling sharply.
“Stop touching that. It looks fine. Speaking of tabloids, Twitter is still reeling with clips of your showdown at Songkran. You’ve gone viral,” Knot smirks, reading out each headline as he scrolls through his feed.
Fight and Make Love: Arthit’s Hot, Wet, Proposal
“Is that from an adult magazine?”
Calm after the storm: Arthit and Kongpob’s Rocky Engagement
Do we hear wedding bells? Nope, it’s the sound of Arthit’s screaming.
“I wasnot screaming. I was just…enthusiastically…projecting.”
Sorry ladies! Bangkok’s cutest couple *ring* in the new year!
“Ugh, there’s always one with a shitty pun…”
“Will you f*cking marry me, Kong?”: Arthit’s furious proposal – Click to watch the video!
“You hopeless romantic, Arthit. Oh, this next one is my personal favourite.”
Arthit asks Siam Polymer heir to “Make [him his] damn wife”!
“Oh, fuck off,” Arthit chucks a pack of pocket tissues at him.
Knot dodges it, still laughing as he continues to peruse each amusing commentary.
“At least people in the replies are happy for you two.”
“Speaking of happiness, this,” he reaches inside his jacket and hands Arthit a small white envelope. “Is from your Disney prince husband himself.”
“He’s not my husband yet.”
“Just take the damn thing,” Knot rolls his eyes. “I’m going downstairs to make sure your mom hasn’t bitten Bright’s head off yet. See you in a bit.”
Arthit is left alone in the room once again. He picks up the ivory stationery, the front of the envelope printed with Kongpob’s neat handwriting:
To My Sun
“Corndog,” he mutters to himself as he extracts the letter and unfolds it.
Sunday, April 19th, 2026
My dearest P’Arthit,
The first time I wrote you a love letter, I thanked you for your kindness, for always looking out for me, and for making me smile on otherwise ordinary days. I promised to make you my first priority and to love you forever.
I may have only been 19 then, but in hindsight, I really knew what I was talking about, if I do say so myself. Don’t roll your eyes at me (I know you are); it’s true. You asked me why I’m still with you after all these years, and if we’re spending the rest of our lives together, I really want you to know. I might have told you over a million times that I love you, but perhaps I’ve neglected to let you know what exactly I love about you and why.
“You just like my butt,” Arthit smirks.
Why yes, I do like your butt. It’s very white and cute.
On a more serious note, though, I love who you make me. I love you because you don’t see me the way that everyone else does. I grew up being taught to be a certain way, to always be perfectly courteous, and prioritise my work first, to stand up for those less fortunate and remain disciplined and focused at all times. From an early age, everyone around me has always seen me as the kind of do-no-wrong, polite and polished, heroic, unreal alien from a wealthy family.
I always thought that that was just how things were, and for the longest time I believed that it was who I was supposed to be. I didn’t care what I wanted. I stayed quiet and reserved, doing everything that others expected of me, moulding myself to their impressions of my supposed flawless image.
And then I met you, and it was like putting on glasses after years of wandering through blurry outlines of the world around me. From the first moment we met, you spoke like I was anyone else, like I wasn’t special for upholding my rigid principles. You scolded me and made me do jump squats and run laps, and called me an annoying and pretentious show-off. Nobody else had ever told me before that I was wrong, or challenged me to think outside of the way I was raised, or tried to mess up my spice rack.
“You and your damn spice rack…”
You made me want to break all the rules, make all sorts of beautiful mistakes and do all the things I never realised were options. You made me want things for myself that I never thought I could have, and for the first time I gave a crap about something. If not for you, I would never have tried tom yum, become a hazer, gone abroad to study, or had the guts to present my unorthodox ideas at the company. I would never have done so many unspeakable things with you in our dorm rooms…and otherwise.
P’Arthit, you make me feel like the real and best version of me, and begin to love parts of myself that I didn’t even know were there. You make me feel so…alive. I feel like I’m finally breathing when I’m with you.
So yes, I know you love me. I’ve always known. I feel it so deeply. I never needed you to do the same things. I don’t need flowers, or dinner reservations, or fireworks, or even a ring to want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to come home and embarrass you with compliments, to make fun of reality TV with you, to eat fried chicken with you in holiday traffic, to run away from stuffy parties with you, to become a recluse and eat pizza in bed with you, and rub your back when you’re throwing it up the next day. I want to bicker with you over stupid things, then kiss and make up, knowing that we’ve grown together. No, you’re not perfect and neither am I. But I still want you. I want it all.
A tear escapes from Arthit’s eye, dripping onto the page. He feels warmth, only warmth, because for the first time, his love feels understood. Received. Accepted. Treasured.
You still surprise me every day with your unique language of love. I was so sure and terrified that you were going to leave me at Songkran, and you have no idea the relief I felt when it was completely the opposite. I know you don’t always tell me what you’re thinking, and I understand. Both of us still have a lot to unpack and I guarantee it won’t be easy, but forever is a long time, and I’m all ears.
I love you, my sun. And I want you to love you, too. Trust me when I say that you are more than enough for me. Now hurry up, get your cute butt downstairs and marry me before Bright accidentally tries to flirt with my underaged niece.
Yours, forever and always,
Arthit smiles and tucks the letter back into the envelope, leaving it on the desk. He’s a little on edge still, but he knows that with Kongpob at his side, well, fuck the fear. He would brave all the worries in the world for a lifetime of happiness.
A small, velvet box has been tucked carefully into Arthit’s back pocket since early this morning.
Today, he finally gets to give it to Kongpob.