Archive of Our Own

--

The roar of the crowd as the teams jog out onto the court for the basketball game feels like it vibrates right through Joss to his core, shaking every atom in his body.

The sheer number of people squeezed into Impact to watch them for three hours is insane. Almost every actor and actress is present at Starlympics, surrounded by a rush of energy.

The whistle blasts, and Joss wins the toss, batting it easily away from AJ, and Gawin hustles, trying his best to get away from Pond and open up enough to get the ball down the court.

The game is hard; the first period grinds by, with the players drenched in sweat and parched during the foul break. The air conditioners are barely keeping up with the demand from so many fans and the athletes. Neo takes the shot and gets the basket, everyone is exploding, and they reset back to center court.

The stadium is a riot of color and sound -- fifteen thousand fans screaming, waving banners, and phones raised like a sea of fireflies. Joss feels alive, every nerve firing as he dribbles the ball down the court, Gawin hot on his heels. The sweat on his skin stings his eyes, his muscles sing at each stretch and flex, and the cheers feel like electricity in his veins.

He pivots sharply, eyes on the basket, the squeak of his sneakers jarring to the ear. Phuwin is fast, too fast, and Joss knows he has to jump now or lose the play. He launches himself, twisting mid-air for a layup, hearing the collective gasp of the crowd before the sound hits him -- a sickening pop, followed by a sharp, searing pain in his right shoulder.

Time slows. He hits the court with a thud, the ball bouncing away, the roar of the crowd fading into a distant buzz. A sickening burn radiates up through his arm, his chest, his spine. He tries to push up. Nothing works. The world tilts sideways.

“Joss! Are you okay?” Gawin’s voice cuts through the fog. He’s on his knees beside Joss, hands hovering but careful not to touch, unsure of what’s hurt. Fear curls around his tone.

“I’m okay,” Joss gasps out, but the lie cracks under the weight of his agony. He can barely lift his arm, can barely breathe without a stab of white hot heat. The crowd’s cheers turn to murmurs when Joss doesn’t get up, doesn’t move, whispers of worry spreading. Cameras zoom in. He waves weakly, forcing a grin. “It’s nothing, really!”

Gawin shakes his head, urgency bleeding into his features, a hand on Joss’s side. There are legs everywhere, blocking his view of the stands, noise ebbing and flowing as his mind tries to process what’s happening. “No. That’s not right. You’re not moving like nothing’s wrong.”

Joss forces himself upright, teeth gritting, but his arm betrays him when he tries to move it. His shoulder refuses to cooperate; bolts of pain shoot through him.

Fuck, I’m not good. That’s really not fucking-- ow, fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

He swears and stumbles toward the sideline once he’s on his feet, Gawin catching him halfway, steadying him like he’s made of porcelain. Phuwin is near them, looking stricken, apologising, his mouth moving too fast for Joss to catch. He waves a hand at Phuwin, hoping to convey he isn’t upset, Gawin steering him onward.

Jimmy is hovering around them, peppering questions at him that Joss can’t hear over the sound of the crowd, as the medic team finally comes, running out to swarm around him.

The whistle blows to restart play, Ryu and Book coming on to replace them, but Joss barely notices. Every throb of his arm is a reminder that this isn’t minor.

It isn’t minor at all.

*

The exam room smells of antiseptic and quiet panic. Kevin is already there, pacing, his usual calm replaced by restrained worry. Gawin sits nearby, glancing from the monitor to Joss’s pale face.

“Looks like a partial rotator cuff tear,” Dr. Pakapon says, avoiding alarm but firm in his words. “No workouts, no basketball, no lifting -- for at least six weeks. You need rest.”

Joss’s jaw clenches. “Six weeks? That’s impossible.” He wants to argue, to leap off the bed, to prove he can still move, still control his body. But every twitch sends fire up his arm and down his side, a cruel reminder that his pride is powerless here.

Gawin looks like he’s going to fall off his chair, the shock palpable in the room. Even Kevin’s mouth drops.

“It’ll be okay,” Gawin says, after a beat, worry encompassing his expression. “We’ll be there the whole time.”

Kevin nods from the other side.

Joss forces a nod, swallowing around the lump in his throat. He hates feeling like this -- unmoored, and so vulnerable. But in that quiet, with Gawin close, there’s a strange warmth making itself home underneath the panic.

“You’re gonna be okay, man,” Kevin says as they exit the hospital, Gawin gone to bring the car around the front. Joss has his arm in a newly acquired sling, strapped tight, a bag full of meds and prescriptions, and the number of a physio for him to call in the morning.

“Fuck, I hope so, Kev. This is bad,” Joss says, voice choked. Kevin reels him into a hug, squeezing him tight.

“It seems bad now, but it’s going to be okay. Regardless of what happens, you are going to be okay.” Kevin pulls back and holds his good shoulder, looking into his eyes. “And besides, your nurse is a lot hotter than I would be,” he says.

Joss frowns. “My… nurse?” he asks. Kevin smirks, looking over his shoulder, and Joss turns to see Gawin pulling up in his car, the window down.

“Uber for Khun Way-ar?” he calls, all teeth, eyes crinkled up in a smile.

“And that’s my cue to get home to my wife and child. Take care of our boy, G. Joss, I’ll call you tomorrow to check in,” Kevin says, giving them a mock salute and guiding Joss towards the car, opening the door and holding his bags as he eases himself in awkwardly.

Gawin reaches over him for the seatbelt, making him bristle a bit, but Kevin pushes the bag in his lap. “Let him take care of you, don’t be difficult,” he murmurs, patting Joss’s stomach, before backing out and shutting the door.

The car ride home is silent except for the hum of the engine. Joss stares out the window, at the neon blur of Bangkok streets, at the reflection of his pale, pinched face in the glass. He feels like he’s looking at someone else -- someone who has always defined himself by the strength of his body, now trapped in its betrayal.

Gawin takes Joss’s bag once they arrive at his building, Joss’s damaged arm in his sling, the other hanging limply by his side as they wait for the elevator. Gawin gnaws on his bottom lip, shifting from foot to foot, while Joss stands there, stock still, his body back in motion again once the doors open.

Inside Joss’s condo, he shucks his shoes off at the door, padding through to sit down heavily on the couch, eyes following Gawin as he moves around the place, familiar with where everything is. He unloads Joss’s game bag into his washing machine, unpacks the shakers and cleans them out, the domestic noises soothing something inside Joss’s turbulent heart. In contrast, Joss just sits there and watches him.

When Gawin’s finally done, he comes to stand next to Joss by the couch.

“You’ll heal, Joss,” Gawin’s voice is soft, far too soft for Joss’s liking. It makes his chest throb in time with the pain radiating as the pills begin to wear off.

“You don’t know that,” Joss says flatly. He glances a look up at Gawin, whose expression is blown open, pity and fear and something else Joss doesn’t know what to name, but that calls out to the way he feels, deep inside him, new and tenuous in its growth.

“Joss…” Gawin says. Joss can’t stomach the pity any more tonight.

“It’s fine. Thank you for doing all of that for me and bringing me home. I’m just gonna get changed and go to sleep,” Joss interrupts him, not wanting to hear what’s coming.

“I’ll help y--” Gawin starts, going to follow Joss, but Joss stops him, hand on Gawin’s chest.

“No. Thank you, though.” Joss can’t have Gawin here, not like that, not just yet. He picks up Gawin’s car keys, tossed on the bench without a second thought, and presses them into his hands. “Drive home safe.”

Gawin sighs unhappily, keys clinking between his fingers, awkward about misreading the situation of Joss not wanting him here any longer. “The medicine bag is on the counter. Make sure you take two pills before you go to sleep, and ice your shoulder.”

“I will,” Joss says, and Gawin doesn’t flinch when Joss moves in, bringing them barely a breath apart. Joss remembers when they were first put together, and even before, Gawin disliked him in his personal space. He would shuffle apart from Joss on couches, shift away on chairs next to each other, and give him a wide berth on the bench at basketball.

But now? Now Joss can look into Gawin’s eyes and is close enough to see the flecks in those dark brown irises, framed with the longest eyelashes known to man, his mouth pulled downwards in an expression Joss never wants to see again. Joss feels the heat radiating from Gawin’s body, the pull of their chemistry thick in the air, even now, without any attention on them bar each other.

“Call me if you need anything, okay? I’ll be right here,” Gawin finally says, breaking the hushed spell between them. He leans in, hugging Joss so gently he barely feels it, a whisper of comfort and the rub of a palm against his back, before Gawin pulls back, squeezing his hip, and sliding past him to leave.

Joss stands there until the door shuts with a snick, and then it’s just him and his thoughts, all alone. He desperately wishes he hadn’t pushed Gawin away, the emptiness all-consuming.

Later that night, in bed, surrounded by extra pillows he’s dug out of the cupboard to prevent too much jostling while he sleeps, there’s footage all over X of his injury, some fancams zooming in on the other players.

But the majority of the footage finds Gawin straight away yelling something inaudible as Joss hits the floor. He then sprints over, shielding Joss from the crowd for a few moments, GAWIN 777 the only thing the camera sees until Joss’s prone body comes into focus, holding his arm, curled up around himself.

It’s Gawin’s expression that haunts Joss, though, completely raw and blown open with worry. He’s seen Gawin in multiple events, appearances and performances, and it feels like every iteration of his facial expressions is burned into Joss’s mind.

But he doesn’t think he’s ever seen Gawin quite that scared about anything, ever.

Putting his phone down, plunging his room into darkness, he closes his eyes and tries to sleep.

*

Joss stirs early the next morning, groaning as he comes to, the pain shooting up his neck and along his lower back from where he’s slept funny, not used to being propped up, normally a stomach sleeper. His shoulder feels like it’s on fire.

He woke up four times during the night, uncomfortable because of the throbbing heat from his arm every time he shifted in his sleep, and the broken sleep, paired with the pain, already has him pissed off.

He fumbles on his bedside table for the pain meds, remembering too late he left them on the bench in the kitchen, annoyed at himself and the reliance on them.

“Fuck,” he moans, thumping his good fist against his pillow. Sweat beads his forehead, and he struggles to sit up, out of breath by the time he gets upright, swinging his legs over the edge of his bed.

He flips the mirror off as he walks past it, gets up, stumbles over the pants he kicked off sometime during the night, and wanders into the kitchen. He remembers he’s lost use of his dominant arm, and has to close his eyes and breathe through the urge to cry.

He has to bring the pills up to his sling, putting them in his hand and awkwardly unscrewing the lid with his left hand, managing to shake two out into his palm and getting a water bottle from the fridge.

Meds taken, he goes to the couch and turns on the television, landing on ESPN and sinking into it.

Hours pass.

Joss struggles with the stillness, and his restlessness turns to self-loathing, especially as the pain pills start to wane.

He decides to shower sometime after lunch, which consists of an apple and five boiled eggs he had in the fridge, and getting the sling off makes him want to punch a wall, every jarring movement causing white hot agony.

Under the spray, he washes his hair one-handed and scrubs himself down, wondering just how terrible he’s going to look once the six weeks are over. He hasn’t stopped working out for more than a few days since he was fourteen; this body has been hard won through years and years of dedication and self-determination.

Determination… or maybe just trying to keep up with everyone else. Your brother was amazing, Por always expected more of you, Mae squished your cheeks and called you her little piglet… and now here you are, right back where you started. None of it mattered, in the end. You couldn’t run from yourself forever.

Joss feels his eyes begin to sting, his bottom lip wobbling, and leans his forehead against the tile, trying to breathe his way through it.

It’s no use.

He cries under the spray, sliding down to sit on the floor, wrapping his good arm around his knees, feeling so utterly hopeless.

If I’m not strong, then what am I? What value do I have?

When he finally drags himself out of the shower and dries off, no wiser than he was before his little breakdown, he changes into shorts and forgoes a shirt, the effort to get it on around the sling more energy than he can be bothered to expend right now. His phone is buzzing on the coffee table, where he’d left it.

Picking it up, his sling half on, he props it against a book he’d left there and answers the call.

Line bursts to life with Kevin, his face filling the screen.

“About fucking time you answered. What were you doing, jerking off over Gawin’s latest IG?”

Joss flips him the bird rather viciously and returns to refastening his sling, fumbling with the velcro. “Trying to get this stupid fucking thing back on,” he snaps, too irate to think in English.

“Bella has a get-well message for you, so put your happy face on,” Kevin says once Joss is done strapping himself back in, red in the face.

He immediately puts on a huge smile as Bella appears, holding a plushie of Guinzly that Gawin gave her last time they were there.

“Uncle Joss!” she yells, waving at him.

“Hi, Princess Bella. How are you?”

“I’m good. I miss you and Uncle Gawin a lot! Guinzly is keeping me company,” she says, the plushie invading the camera. Joss laughs, unable not to.

“We miss you too. Maybe we’ll come by this weekend or something,” Joss says.

“Yay! Don’t forget to take your medicine, Uncle Joss. Mae says it’ll make you all better,” she says, and runs away, yelling about watching Bluey.

Kevin reappears, and Joss’s smile fades, the bitterness coming flooding back in.

“God, your face… are you sure you’re okay being alone?” Kevin asks, his tone dubious.

“I can take care of myself, Kev, I’m only temporarily broken,” Joss snaps.

Kevin rolls his eyes. “I think we need Florence Nightingawin to come over there to take care of you,” Kevin says.

Joss groans. “Do not call him.”

“Well, have you eaten today?”

“Yes…” Joss mutters.

“Yes, what?”

“I ate an apple and some eggs,” Joss says, flushing. He knows it’s not enough, and Kevin scoffs.

“The eating disorder has started early, then.”

“It’s not like that -- I just couldn’t be fucked cooking! I’ll do something better for dinner, or I’ll order something!” Joss exclaims.

The phone call ends with Kevin demanding photos of each meal Joss eats, to which Joss flips him off again, and then the condo sinks into an unnatural quiet, and he feels annoyed.

He scrolls through his IG, rewatching his old workout videos, lingering on shirtless pictures and remembering how he felt taking them, the rush of exhilaration knowing people would be looking at his body and seeing him. TikTok serves him no better, as his feed is filled with fitness influencers, travel vloggers and the occasional edit of him and Gawin together.

He goes for his drink on the table, thoughtlessly reaching with his bad arm, gasping and grabbing it as the pain lances up his arm. He breaks out in a cold sweat, his vision going spotty.

“Fuck--ow--” he groans, clutching it to him, breathing through the pain.

Once it finally starts to ebb away, to the point where he feels hungry enough to wonder what to do for dinner, there’s a buzz at his intercom.

“Hello?” he says, leaning in to peer at the tiny screen. Gawin’s face appears, and he holds up a bag.

“Grab delivery!” he calls, voice tinny over the speaker. Joss rolls his eyes, buzzing Gawin up.

“Fucking Kevin…”

He peers out the door until he sees Gawin exiting the elevator, stepping back so he can come inside.

“You don’t have to babysit me,” Joss says once Gawin gets into the condo, Joss sliding onto a seat at the breakfast bar.

Gawin unpacks the bags, opening Joss’s dishwasher to get plates and cutlery.

“I’m not. I’m eating with you.”

Joss raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “And you just had to get something to eat 30 minutes away from your place?”

“It was on my way home from work,” Gawin says, completely deadpan.

Joss frowns, confused, until he notices the telltale curve of Gawin’s lips as he portions out two decent servings of chicken and rice, bowls of miso to accompany, sliding into the seat next to Joss at the bar and turning on a Lakers game.

Gawin ducks his cutlery in around Joss and breaks up the chicken breasts into easily manageable pieces, as Joss flushes with embarrassment, mumbling his thanks. Gawin ignores him and keeps eating, calling out a foul when Lebron goes down.

After dinner, there’s another buzz at the intercom, and Gawin gets up and heads over, laughing when he sees who's there.

“Darren,” he says, coming to sit back down on the couch next to Joss, picking up the pain pills and shaking them.

It’s nice seeing Darren, and he tests Joss’s range of motion steadily, stopping the second Joss’s expression tenses.

“We need to let you rest for a bit, until your shoulder is healed enough that you don’t need the sling all the time. We can probably get you on the bike at that point and start some hydrotherapy or something,” Darren says.

It all sounds fucking terrible. Joss just wants to lift weights and be normal. He forces a smile, the pain fading into a background hum as the pills kick in.

He heads to the bathroom as Darren gets ready to go, leaving Gawin and Darren talking in low voices, and takes off his sling, wanting to shower.

“I wonder if I can still…” Joss says, going to lean against the wall to see if he can push off it. Gawin appears behind him, panic on his face as he catches him, grabbing at his wrist.

“What the fuck are you doing? You’ll make it worse!” he exclaims.

Joss shoves him off, suddenly furious. “I was just… fuck, I just wanted to see if I could still do something. If I stop entirely, I’ll lose everything!”

He wants to throw up as he glares at Gawin and sees a flash of genuine pain there, making him wilt. God, he’s so expressive. He’s so… those eyes…

“You won’t lose everything, Joss. I’m still here. You won’t lose me.”

Joss swipes angrily at his tears that begin to gather as Gawin rubs his back.

“Let me help you.”

Joss submits to Gawin with a shuddering sigh, helping him take off his shirt and shorts, Gawin turning around as Joss pushes off his underwear, walking out with Joss’s dirty clothes under his arm. Joss ducks under the spray of the shower and groans at the hot water hitting his tense muscles.

When he gets out of the shower, towelling off, he catches his reflection in the mirror, and it already looks unfamiliar. The right side of his body seems… smaller.

Or maybe he’s imagining it. He feels a spike of nausea anyway.

Gawin has clean clothes waiting, including an old, stretched-out tank he can get into easily, for him to change into once he’s done drying off.

He pads out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist. “Where did you find this?” Joss asks as he comes into the bedroom, Gawin sitting on his freshly made bed, one leg crossed over the other, leg jiggling as usual.

“In your wardrobe. You’re such a neat freak, it’s weird seeing your shit everywhere,” Gawin says, eyeing the floor. There are clothes and shoes scattered around, with stacks of presents from fans and a pile of posters in the corner he hasn’t gotten around to storing yet.

“I’m not a neat freak,” Joss says, coming to sit next to Gawin once he’s dressed, sighing as he relaxes back into the pillows, easing the tension on his arm.

“I’ve unscrewed your bottle, and there’s fresh water. Take some at 10 and go to sleep, alright? I’ll come back tomorrow.”

“G, I’m serious, you don’t have to babysit me, it’s just an injury,” Joss says, feeling conflicted. He wants to be left alone to sulk and be stupid, but having Gawin here has been really… nice. Just filling those spaces, keeping Joss from getting lost in his head, those hateful thoughts he drowned out years ago, tending to resurface at the worst times.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” is all Gawin says, patting his thigh and squeezing it, getting up and walking out, turning his lights off as he goes, plunging Joss into darkness, the television bathing his room in a soft glow.

Joss sinks into the covers, and all he can smell is Gawin’s cologne. He watches baseball until 10, takes his pain pills, and gets ready to go to sleep.

---

Kevin calls Gawin to check in once he’s in the car and on the way home. Gawin gnaws on his bottom lip. It’s so much worse than he thought.

“How’s it going?” Kev asks once Gawin answers the call on his CarPlay screen.

“Not good,” Gawin sighs, indicator blinking to merge onto a different street, turning it over and over in his head. Joss is sinking into depression, and he knows he’ll do something stupid if he’s alone much longer.

“You’re closer to him than anyone now. Just keep him company, okay? He listens better when he feels seen.” Kevin’s advice makes Gawin flush, because it’s not wrong -- he is the one Joss spends the most time with out of everyone, the same true in reverse, which makes him feel all warm inside. It’s just work, Gawin snaps at himself, the faint strains of a crush gone wrong, wrong, all wrong. He’s just work, you’re just work, don’t get the wrong idea.

“Alright. I’m worried about him. I don’t… I’m not sure I know him well enough to just… push myself into his space like that.”

Gawin winces as the words leave his mouth, like he’s revealed a truth he wasn’t ready for, to someone who has been in Joss’s world far longer than Gawin has.

Kevin pauses for a moment.

“G, I’ve known Joss since we were kids… and I’m not jealous at all, so don’t get me wrong… but you’ve managed to overtake me in importance in that guy’s life real fucking fast. If he’s gonna listen to anyone, and be done right by anyone, it’s you.”

Gawin pulls up to a red light and leans his head on the steering wheel, taking a breath, as Kevin’s words wash over him, pouring all over the garden he’s started cultivating deep in his heart for Joss.

Fuck, this is the worst, this is not what I need to be hearing right now-- it’s work, it’s just work, you’re friends, please just be friends, fuck--

“Joss cares about you a lot, more than your ship. He might not be the best version of himself right now, but he’s still himself, deep down, and you know who that is. You see him better than anyone else. So just… show up for him, and help him remember who he is. Remember that he’s more than just some abs and a dimple.”

Gawin groans, banging his head against the wheel. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Alright. I’ll stay at his for the next few days. Just to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid. I caught him trying to do push-ups against the wall tonight.”

Kevin laughs. “Of course. Take care of our boy, okay? And take care of yourself.”

“Thanks, Kev. Appreciate it,” Gawin says, pushing End.

He grabs his phone, the light still red, opening his Line chat with Joss.

GAWIN C.

I’m crashing at yours tomorrow. Don’t argue with me about it.

Back at his condo, Joss’s phone vibrates, and he picks it up tiredly, seeing a message from Gawin. He breathes through his nose for a beat, eyes fluttering closed, as the movements jostle his shoulder, the painful shock of it still catching him off guard.

GAWIN C.

I’m crashing at yours tomorrow. Don’t argue with me about it.

Joss groans and begins to type.

JWR

You don’t have to

His thumb hovers over the Enter button, but something in him stops him from sending it. He tosses his phone down instead and stares up at the ceiling, that familiar frisson of heat whenever he thinks of Gawin thrumming through him.

He throws his arms over his eyes, not wanting to give in, and tries not to think about the way his heart trembles, and with a sigh, resigns himself to waking up at least three times to the worsening pain at night.

*

It’s lunchtime, and Joss is still in his pajamas. He’s wearing his glasses today, unbothered with his contacts, with ESPN on in the background and Fruit Ninja on his iPad.

Today is a particularly bad day for exhaustion, the constant fatigue of guarding his shoulder wearing him down, paired with not sleeping through the night. He’s on edge, feeling even more restless than before, sick of his own company, and lost in his thoughts.

The buzzer goes off, and he gets up, looking at the security screen and seeing Gawin.

“Lemme in, J,” he says when Joss greets him, and Joss smiles, opening the door.

He doesn’t particularly like being alone. Having attended inter school and living in the dorms since he was from the south, he’s always been surrounded by people, having roommates up until very recently. As a result, he’s quite tactile and enjoys skinship, but has backed off with Gawin, fully aware he isn’t as comfortable with it as Joss’s other friends. Slowly, though, Gawin has become more open, reaching for Joss and initiating contact, and it makes him happy to see the changes the longer they’re together.

He thinks about the last time they were together pre-injury, and how Gawin had hugged him when they greeted each other, the feel of his tall, warm body pressed completely against Joss’s. No awkward spaces, no hesitation, just… comfort. How good and right it had felt, almost as good as winning his 10Fight10, almost as good as winning anything.

He holds the door open for Gawin, who has come with his guitar, a large duffel and his backpack this time. Joss raises an eyebrow.

“All this for one night, huh?” he asks. Gawin’s cheeks go pink, and he averts his eyes, dropping his bags in the lounge room, resting his guitar on the long part of the couch.

“Maybe I pack heavy,” he says, as Joss snorts but closes the door.

“Let me guess: Kevin’s told you to stay with me until you’re sure I’m not going to do something stupid,” Joss says, opening the fridge and getting Gawin a water, pulling out a shake of his own. He gets the protein tub from the bench and brings it to the counter, realising he’s going to struggle getting the lid off.

Gawin moves into the kitchen, hip-checking him gently to the side, and undoing the lid, scooping powder into the shaker and screwing it closed again, giving it a good shake before handing it to Joss, all the while standing there, feeling surplus to requirements.

“Go sit down. I’ll do some laundry,” Gawin says, pushing Joss back towards his couch.

“I’ve been sitting all morning, I need to move, to do something. Can we go to the gym? I’ll just sit on the bike, I promise,” Joss begs.

Gawin raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, right. Until you lose your balance and tip forward, and your reflexes make you try to use your shoulder, and you rip it right out of your arm socket. Just… go sit down, let me do your laundry, and we’ll go for a walk. The weather isn’t too bad today.”

Joss resists the urge to pout. “But I’m bored, I wanna follow you around.”

“God, alright, just-- don’t do anything,” Gawin says, flustered. Joss grins and trails after Gawin as he walks around the apartment, picking up clothes and socks, towels and underwear.

“You wanna see Kev and Fai tomorrow night?” Gawin asks as he’s putting the clothes in the washing machine and pouring in the liquid.

Joss frowns. “Steak night?”

Gawin nods, straightening up and moving to the kitchen, opening the dishwasher and beginning to put Joss’s dishes away. “Yeah, Kev got a tomahawk. Fai’s trying my dad’s mac and cheese recipe. I’m interested to see if she keeps it legit or puts a Thai spin on it,” Gawin says, laughing and shaking his head.

Joss leans against the bench, his stomach rumbling at the thought. He’s been eating barely anything, just smashing packet protein shakes until he ran out today and had to go back to the tub, and he swears he’s lost a bit of definition when staring at himself in the mirror this morning.

“Maybe I’ll skip the mac and cheese…” Joss frowns, and Gawin tsks loudly.

“Joss. You not working out for a few weeks and still eating normally isn’t going to undo years of health, and if you drop down to a four-pack or a two-pack, it’s not the end of the world,” Gawin says, a container in hand.

“It’s not that--” Joss starts.

“Yes, it is. We’re going to Kevin’s. You’re going to eat steak, and my dad’s mac & cheese, and you’re gonna drink some wine. And you’re gonna drink a lot of wine, because I need you drunk and listening to me instead of being stubborn. Alright?” Gawin brandishes the container at Joss, jabbing him with the lid.

“Ow,” he says, stepping out of the way and pulling a face. “Fine, whatever.”

“I don’t know if you deserve to be rewarded with a walk after that behaviour,” Gawin says once he’s done cleaning Joss’s kitchen, standing in the living room with his hands on his hips. Joss pouts up at him and gets up, trying to look as pathetic as possible.

“But I’ve been looking forward to this all afternoon. I wanna go on a walk with you. Please, P’Gawin?”

Gawin goes bright red. “Shut up.”

“What? Me calling you phi gets you going?” Joss asks, a cheeky grin on his face. Gawin goes even redder, right to the tips of his ears.

“No. Shut up.”

Joss laughs, and Gawin can’t help but smile.

Once they get downstairs, they wander around, stopping at his local cafe nearby and picking up iced coffees and large, fluffy chocolate chip cookies.

“Ah, P’Joss, what happened to your arm?” the young barista, Golf, asks when Joss orders, peering at his sling.

“I was playing basketball and did something stupid and tore some stuff. Six weeks, I’ll be in this,” Joss says. It stings to admit, but he’s got a good relationship with her, a sweet young girl who likes watching anime as well.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, phi. Coffee’s on the house today,” Golf says, poking the guy serving.

“No, it’s fine, I can pay…” Joss starts, but she waves him off, and he taps for the cookie, thanking her and sliding to the side. Gawin follows up shortly after, giving Joss a look.

“So handsome that you get free coffees now, eh?” he asks. Joss blinks.

“I’m not-- it’s not like that, she’s got a girlfriend,” he splutters.

“Oh, does she now?” Gawin says, his voice cheeky, and Joss goes red. He chomps on his cookie, the tips of his ears burning, and Gawin snorts, checking his phone and tapping away at something.

“Let’s go shopping and make something nice for lunch and dinner,” Gawin says, once they’ve got their drinks. Joss is still embarrassed from before and just nods, sipping at his drink.

Joss is on cart duty, and opinions, and they pick lemongrass chicken for lunch, and Gawin decides on bolognaise for dinner, one of the few things in his repertoire he can cook.

By the time they get home, Joss is sweating slightly, and Gawin has the pain pills ready, along with an ice pack.

“Go sit on the couch for 20 minutes while I unpack and start preparing,” Gawin says, pushing him towards the couch.

“I can do it…” Joss starts, and Gawin waves him off and heads back to the kitchen, while Joss sits there, eyes closed, ice pack pressed to his shoulder.

Gawin comes to join him while the rice is cooking, flicking through Netflix to find something to watch, landing on Freien. Neither of them has seen it, so they settle in, arms and thighs close enough, in a sprawl of easy intimacy. Joss can feel the warmth from Gawin radiating against his skin and how safe he feels in that stillness.

Joss is usually a yapper around his shows, but this time it’s different. This time, Gawin is the one who talks during the slow moments, while Joss just nods along, the exhaustion and frustration wearing at his edges.

Gawin tries to joke a couple of times, the flow between them is usually sweet and easy, but Joss can only force a grin this time, feeling wrong all over.

He goes to the bathroom at the end of the first episode, and ends up staring at himself in the mirror once he’s done, eyes zoned in on his shoulder, unable to stop.

Gawin calls that lunch is ready, which finally snaps him from his trance. Gawin brings him a plate of chicken and rice once he gets back, the chicken broken up into pieces he can easily get on his spoon. They settle down to eat, the next episode queued up.

“Thank you,” Joss says, once it’s become dark outside and Gawin is preparing dinner. He’s sitting at the breakfast bar, keeping him company, watching Gawin chop onions and saute them, adding mince and crushed tomatoes and a bunch of herbs.

“For what?” Gawin asks, looking up at him. Joss feels… it feels big inside him, that fondness in the space he usually has for Gawin growing larger in size each day.

“For being here for me, even when I’m ungrateful and rude.”

Gawin goes a little pink in the cheeks, his eyes wide. “You’re not ungrateful and rude,” he says.

“I am. I have been. It’s… hard, mentally, when I’m used to moving, and now I’m being forced to not… move. I don’t know how to deal with that and everything it’s doing to me,” Joss murmurs.

“You’re healing, Joss. It’s going to take time,” Gawin says.

Joss sighs. “You make it sound easy.”

“It’s not. But you don’t have to do it alone,” Gawin says, putting the lid on the sauce and coming to stand by him, a hand on Joss’s thigh. “I’m here. Kevin and Fai, and Darren are here. Your parents are here. We’re all in your corner, fighting with you… to use an analogy you’d respond to best,” Gawin says, a cheeky grin on his face.

Joss smiles, shaking his head. “You always make me shy.”

“Good. Be shy and behave, and do all the right stuff so we can get you healthy again.” Gawin pats him, squeezing once, and moves Joss back to the couch while they wait for dinner.

It’s terribly domestic, and Joss can’t figure out why it feels so good, why Gawin being here settles that dark, black void inside him and why Gawin’s words clear the clouds.

“Alright, time for your stretches,” Gawin says, ice on the bed as he sits in front of Joss, who is freshly post-shower, his hair fluffy from Gawin drying it for him.

Darren has sent them some very gentle stretches Joss can do to stop his back and thighs from getting tight without putting much strain, but they are definitely a two-person job. How convenient.

“I haven’t been this taken care of since Mae visited me last,” Joss says, only partly joking.

Gawin guides Joss through stretches, careful around the injury, his hands steadying him. The familiar burn in his hamstrings makes Joss inhale sharply -- relief and care rolled into one, and having Gawin’s hands on him makes him feel good.

He can’t do anything really on the upper half, Gawin massaging his lower back and traps, doing his best not to aggravate the issue further.

When they’re done, he straps the ice pack to Joss’s shoulder and pops out two more pills, holding up his drink bottle.

“Call me Khun Mae,” Gawin says, making Joss laugh, startling them both at the sudden burst of it, which sets Gawin off.

Joss groans, the motion shaking him, but he can’t stop, doesn’t want to stop.

“Okay, get into bed, I’ll go set up on the couch,” Gawin says, and Joss frowns.

“Bro, nobody’s sleeping on that couch, you’re too tall. Just sleep in here.”

Gawin raises an eyebrow, watching as Joss shuffles to the right a little more. “It’s a Queen, it’s fine.”

“I’m worried about rolling over and hurting you in the middle of the night…” Gawin says, and Joss waves a hand.

“I’m surrounded by pillows and bolsters; if you can get through all those and still get to me, you deserve to give me a nudge.”

Gawin laughs again, shaking his head, but grabs his bag and brings it into the room, disappearing into the bathroom to shower.

When he comes out, water is trickling down Joss’s arm from the ice pack melting, and Gawin comes over with wet hair and smelling like Joss’s bodywash, unstrapping his arm. Joss’s fingers drift up, and he holds Gawin’s wrist, and they smile at each other.

“Thank you, really. I mean it.”

Gawin blinks, a pleased smile spreading across his face, at the softness in Joss’s voice, that tone becoming Gawin’s the longer they’re paired together, and the more Joss can’t help but be that way.

“It’s fine, J. I’m happy to be here.” He gets up to put the ice back in the freezer, returning after turning the lights off and shutting the door behind him.

Gawin falls asleep fast, his breathing slow and steady, like a metronome, but Joss just lies there for hours, staring at the ceiling, unable to follow him. He finally gives up some time after two and gets up, needing to pee. The jostling of the bed wakes Gawin up.

“Y’okay?” Gawin’s voice floats after him, thick with sleep.

“Yeah, just gotta pee,” Joss says back, and Gawin settles back down. By the time Joss is done and back into his room, Gawin’s spreadeagled on his back, the covers kicked off, as he snores softly.

“Yeah, and I’m the one with the snoring problem,” Joss says under his breath, shaking his head, as he leans over Gawin and tugs the blankets back up over him, smoothing them down with his good hand. Gawin hums happily in his sleep, smacking his lips, and Joss moves around to his side, climbing back in and trying to get comfortable.

His shuffling must disturb Gawin again, and his hand comes over the bolsters and pats at Joss’s chest, rubbing it.

“Y’okay?” he asks again.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Joss says, yawning, Gawin’s hand warm and solid on his sternum.

He still doesn’t find any solace of sleep, his mind racing all night, until Gawin begins to stir as the sunshine creeps into the room, snuffling and sighing as he turns, the delicate curve of his spine visible through the thin material of his t-shirt. Joss’s gaze never leaves him.

*

The next day sees Joss booked for his first physio appointment, and Gawin sits on the closed toilet while Joss talks to him about potential outcomes.

“Don’t be discouraged if they don’t want you to start much yet,” Gawin says, and Joss peers around the curtain, shampoo in his hair.

“But I’ve been really good and haven’t been doing anything,” he says. Gawin snorts, shaking his head at the sight of Joss.

“Wash out your hair,” he says, and Joss frowns but does as he’s told.

Before they go to leave, Joss is thirsty and forgot to fill up his water bottle, sitting on the bench, half-forgotten. He goes to reach for it with his bad arm, not yet in his sling, which Gawin is bringing from the bedroom, the same move he’s done a thousand times before.

“Let me,” Gawin says.

Joss freezes. “I’ve got it,” he says, stopping with his arm and changing to the other one.

Shrugging, Gawin just waits as Joss carefully maneuvers himself, annoyed he forgot so quickly.

The physio is a tiny lady with muscles of steel named Kilo, and she manipulates Joss without breaking a sweat, walking him through a series of exercises he can do, and some very low-impact options for his shoulder to start next week once he’s down to one set of pain pills at night.

“You’ll need to ice more often once you start these exercises, and you may notice an uptick in pain -- if you need more pills, take them, but don’t over rely on them. We need to make sure your recovery continues on track,” she says.

Joss, just happy he can start doing something again, nods, unable to stop smiling.

“Oho~ that smile gets you out of a lot of trouble, doesn’t it?” Kilo says, clucking her tongue, and Gawin laughs at that, making Joss blush a little.

“I don’t trust you not to just start smashing these exercises, so I’m staying again tonight,” Gawin says, eyeing him as they walk to the car, Joss humming happily.

“Sure,” he says, bumping his good arm against Gawin, making him stumble a little.

Dinner with Fai and Kevin is an unremarkable affair, an oasis of normality amongst the ocean of absurdity and depression that Joss has been floating in since he got hurt.

Fai makes the mac and cheese, and Gawin forces two helpings on him, and the tomahawk is cooked to perfection by Kevin. Bella is gentle with Joss, stroking his hair and asking if he got lollipops from the doctor when he got his ‘owwie’ tended to.

“I didn’t get a lollipop, no,” Joss says sadly. Bella looks very upset on his behalf.

“It’s okay, Bella, Uncle Gawin will give Uncle Joss lots of sweet things to suck on,” Kevin leers from the kitchen, waggling his eyebrows.

Joss flips him off behind Bella’s back, smiling at her when she whirls around, confusion all over her face. Gawin just shakes his head from the floor, where he’s building a Lego car for Bella, cheeks stained red.

Once they get back to Joss’s later that night, Gawin picks up his guitar once Joss is settled, strumming a new song Joss doesn’t recognise.

“And I do wanna be there when you hit the ground… so don’t go away, say what you say, say that you’ll stay forever and a day,” Gawin sings, his voice finding the tune he wants to sing, his heart beating a little faster at the honesty.

“Yes, I need more time just to make things right, you and you, what’s going on? All we seem to know is how to show the wrong feelings…”

Joss appears in the doorway, hair wet and flopping over his eye, shirtless and smiling sheepishly, his arm held close to his chest. His eyes are tight, and his breathing is shallow -- he’s hurting.

“Help me, please?” Joss asks, holding out the sling. Gawin snorts, shaking his head, putting his guitar down and hopping up. He wanders over, hand outstretched, and takes the sling, moving into Joss’s space. He loops the strap over his neck, gently helping him slide his hand into it, barely taking a breath.

“You’re rubbing off on me,” he says as he begins to fasten the sling.

“How so?” Joss asks, his voice taking on that soft, sweet tone that makes Gawin feel all tingly.

“Can’t get no personal space,” he jokes as he finishes, smiling at Joss.

Joss’s eyes crinkle, and he’s all teeth, his dimple flashing. “You don’t want personal space with me,” he says.

Gawin just rolls his eyes and walks back to his guitar, picking it up and resuming his song.

Joss stands there in the doorway, watching Gawin sing, his own private little concert.

*

Gawin is supposed to stay a couple of nights. Three at most. But somehow ‘a few nights’ becomes a week, then ten days, then two full weeks -- long enough that his toothbrush migrates to Joss’s toothbrush holder, and his shoes come to sit neatly next to Joss’s in the shoe rack, space magically appearing for him the longer he’s there.

Whenever he leaves to go to meetings or rehearsals or events at GMM, he always comes back, or he takes Joss with him, and nobody looks twice at how together they are these days.

Gawin worries he’s overstepping, regularly texting Kevin and having several breakdowns about it late at night in the shower, where he thinks Joss can’t hear, but his desire to see Joss taken care of overrides his intense politeness and need not to offend anyone.

Joss, on the other hand, doesn’t question it -- not out loud, but inside, it’s constant. Because the thing no one warned him about is how easy it is to get used to Gawin’s presence, beyond the work, beyond the steak nights and holidays. Inside his home, his daily routine, flexing to include the younger man so effortlessly.

How the coffee machine clicks on in the morning.

The sound of Gawin’s guitar drifting around the space as he practises, writing something new.

The way he hovers, subtly but consistently, whenever Joss tries to do his physio exercises.

All of it becomes part of the condo’s rhythm. And Joss… likes it, relies on it, depends on it… which terrifies him.

For the first week, he progresses. Not fast. Not dramatically. But enough to feel a spark of hope. Kilo is impressed -- his range of motion is improving, there’s slightly less pain, and he is tracking ahead of average, which stokes his ego fantastically.

Joss clings to that validation like a lifeline. Gawin celebrates every tiny victory -- obnoxiously at times, cheering like Joss had won a championship when he manages to lift a one-kilo dumbbell without wincing.

It’s ice cream for dinner and a long walk around the neighbourhood, Gawin gazing at Joss as he demands spoonfuls of Gawin’s ice cream and talks about potential covers Gawin could record, now that he’s started doing that more often. Joss rolls his eyes at Gawin’s over-the-top acknowledgement, but inside, he melts every time.

Joss wakes up the next morning and is working his way through his reps, getting most of the way before his shoulder starts to throb, to the point where he has to bail out early.

Gawin just offers him an ice pack, a smile, and the tempting offer of binge-watching the new JJK episodes.

When Joss sees Kilo later that day, annoyance knitting his brows together, she says it’s normal.

“Rotator cuff rehabs are never linear,” she reminds him kindly, working him through his exercises.

The shame simmers under his skin, frustration and annoyance lacing around each other like a noose.

“Joss…” Gawin starts when he finds Joss sitting on the floor of his bedroom the next evening, surrounded by physio gear, frozen with inaction, aching all the way through. He brings pain meds and sits there with Joss, holding it until the pain is under control enough for him to move.

His cheeks are wet, but Gawin says nothing, just hugs him and hums some melody under his breath. All he can think is how much less it sucks when Gawin’s around, holding him close, solid and there.

It’s going backwards, though, like an unwinding clock, Joss even unable to get even his shirts on without Gawin’s steady hands.

On day twelve, the pain flares badly enough that he drops the resistance band mid-exercise.

Gawin, who has been quietly tidying the kitchen behind him, turns sharply at the sound of Joss’s sharp inhale and stifled groan.

“Joss?”

Joss shakes out his arm, jaw tight.

“I’m fine.”

But the pain isn’t passing. It sits there, throbbing, daring him to admit to it.

Gawin walks over, gentle as always, reaching for his elbow to steady him.

Joss jerks away, feeling prickly all over, the burning radiating out from his shoulder as it did from the start, making it hard to breathe, the fear of regressing right back to the start cloaking him like a second skin, pressing down on every inch of him.

Gawin frowns. “You’re in pain.”

Joss snapped faster than he meant to. “I said I’m fine.”

Gawin flinches -- barely, but enough for Joss to see it.

Shame burned hotter than his ability to apologise, grabbing his keys and muttering something about needing some air. He doesn’t want Gawin to see him like this -- soft, weak, and needy.

Gawin doesn’t follow.

Somehow, that hurts more than his injury.

*

The next few days are tense.

Joss isn’t sleeping well. He keeps waking up with his shoulder stiff and aching.

He starts ignoring meals, telling Gawin he’s eaten already as he disappears for work or appearances, smashing protein shakes when his stomach starts to grumble.

He sits, more quiet than ever, to the point where Gawin starts being the chatty one, trying to lure him into conversation about something -- about anything. He puts the Discovery Channel on some special about dolphins, he lets the Lakers play all day without a fight, he puts One Piece and JJK, and Attack on Titan on, but Joss is quiet; all the words he wants to say are gone with his progress.

He’s spiralling inward, slowly losing himself.

Gawin notices, though. He notices everything.

He doesn’t push, but Joss can feel him watching, the worry and quiet panic in the way he hovers closer without touching, as if Joss will lose it at him or something.

That makes him feel even more sick -- as if he had the capacity ever to hurt Gawin, wouldn’t ever hurt him like that. Still, he can’t seem to find the words to apologise, to beg Gawin to forgive him for his terribleness, can’t force past his lips, the silence burrowing deep into him, the shame and depression eating him alive, pulling him under like a riptide.

By day fourteen, the air between them is bowed tight, frayed at the seams, like a catapult about to snap. Stretched to beyond breaking point and needing the slightest spark to ignite.

Which it does, because of course it does. And it happens at night.

Joss is trying his third set of wall slides, the simplest movement in his whole routine. His arm refuses to glide properly, pain seizing his shoulder halfway up.

He hisses a breath through his teeth.

From the couch, Gawin says softly, “Joss… maybe stop for today.”

Something inside Joss snaps so suddenly that it scares him.

He spins -- too fast, the movement wrenching his arm -- and snarls, “I’m fine, I can do it.”

Gawin stands immediately, alarm written all over his face. “But you’re hurting yourself!”

Joss freezes.

His breathing stutters.

For a moment, before the shouting, their eyes meet -- Joss’s brimming with terror, Gawin’s with helplessness.

Then Joss breaks, like a river bursting through its banks, flooding everything around it.

“Everyone gets hurt!” Joss explodes. “You think I don’t know that? You think I’m stupid?”

Gawin freezes. “No. That’s not-- I didn’t say that--”

“I don’t want this!” Joss shouts, the words shaking, spilling out unchecked. “I hate looking like this, and I hate having you watch me fall apart every single day.” If he loses his body, what’s left of him?

The moment the words leave his mouth, Joss regrets them. He sways, suddenly drained, as if the admission has taken something out of him.

Gawin’s expression crumbles -- hurt, disbelief, and something deeper.

“Is that what you think I’m doing?” he whispers. “Watching you fall apart?”

Joss can’t answer. His throat is tight, his chest heaving, the emotion making him shake.

Gawin steps closer, voice low but firm. “I’m here because I care. Because you’re hurting and you refuse to ask anyone for help.”

“I don’t need--”

“You do,” Gawin interrupts, voice suddenly fierce. “And it’s okay to need someone, Joss.”

The words punch the air out of him.

He feels it building -- months, years of pressure -- the fear of losing control, of losing strength, of being worthless without his body.

His voice breaks. “I don’t know... how to be me... if I’m not... if I'm not healthy.”

Gawin’s expression softens instantly. He steps closer, slow, hands lifted but not touching.

“Hey,” he whispers. “Look at me.”

Joss tries and fails, his bottom lip wobbling. When his gaze finally lifts, Gawin’s eyes are awash with something that makes Joss want to crawl into his lap and breathe him in, burrow into his warmth and stay forever.

“You’re not just strength, man. You’re Joss. You’re… you’re someone I--” Gawin cuts off, biting his lip. 

Joss’s heart slams against his ribs, desperately needing the distance between them to close, desperately needing Gawin closer, to touch, to--

Gawin swallows, stepping in further, his hands coming up to hold Joss’s arms. “You don’t have to be perfect for me to care about you.”

The tension snaps like a resistance band.

Joss lets out a low sound, somewhere between a sob and a laugh, and Gawin surges forward, catching him -- not touching the shoulder, just wrapping his arms around Joss’s waist, holding him together.

Joss collapses into him.

He feels Gawin’s breath against his neck, warm, steadying.

“Let me in,” Gawin whispers. “Please.”

Joss doesn’t think -- he lifts his good hand and cups the back of Gawin’s neck, pulling him closer.

Their foreheads touch, breaths mingling.

Joss says, on a shuddering sigh, “I’m scared I’ll never get better. That this is my new normal.”

Gawin hums, rubbing his nose against Joss’s, “I know. I’m here. And I’ll be here for all of it. Better or worse.”

Joss’s lips graze Gawin’s cheek -- not quite a kiss, but close enough to feel the electricity. “I don’t know what to do, how to find myself again.”

Gawin turns his head slowly, deliberately, until their mouths hover centimetres apart, one arm around his good arm, the other cupping his sling.

“You never stopped being yourself, Joss. You’re kind… super intelligent… caring and honest… a big softie… you love deeply and truly for those around you… you have an amazing smile and a kind heart. All of these things are more important than your body.”

Joss wants to cry. It’s too much. It’s too much.

Gawin’s eyes are on Joss’s mouth. “Tell me to stop,” he breathes.

Joss can’t.

He won’t.

“Are you sure?” Gawin continues, thumb brushing Joss’s cheek.

“Please,” Joss breathes. His breathing slows, and Gawin doesn’t touch him yet.

They exist in the space between them -- raw, trembling, uncertain.

And then Joss leans in, barely an inch, but enough to be enough.

The kiss is soft at first -- tentative, shaky, full of everything they don’t know how to say. Then it deepens, heat rising, bodies pressing gently together, careful around the injury but nowhere else.

Joss feels like he’s unravelling and being held together at the same time. He inhales sharply against Gawin’s mouth, shaking like his whole body is waking up from its numbness, re-learning how to speak again after being quiet for so long.

He tries to pull Gawin closer with his injured arm, but winces.

Gawin immediately steadies him, hands sliding around Joss’s waist instead, guiding him backward until his spine meets the wall -- supporting him, keeping him steady, trying his best not to jostle Joss’s shoulder.

The kiss turns hungry.

Messy.

Joss kisses him like he’s starving for touch, for reassurance, for something to hold on to.

Gawin breaks the kiss just long enough to breathe against his cheek. “Let me be here for you. Just lean on me.”

Joss groans -- quiet and desperate -- and does exactly that, bracing with his good arm around Gawin’s neck, letting the rest of his body press fully against him.

Their chests drag together; Gawin’s fingers dig into Joss’s waist; Joss’s exhales are hot and uneven against Gawin’s throat.

“If you keep touching me like that… I’m going to lose it,” Joss huffs.

Gawin smiles cheekily at him. “Good.” Gawin kisses down along his jaw, slow enough to make Joss shiver, careful to keep clear of his arm. His hands explore everywhere else -- Joss’s ribs, his hip, his lower back -- firm but mindful.

Joss’s voice is wrecked when he says, “You’re going to fuck me up, G.”

Gawin’s lips brush his throat. “No I'm not. I just want you. All of you. Even like this. Especially like this.”

Joss drags him into another kiss, one that borders on desperate -- teeth, breath, soft sound caught between them -- until Gawin steadies him again.

“Come to bed. Let me take care of you properly.”

Joss nods, dizzy with relief, with want, with the sudden overwhelming knowledge that someone sees him, all of him, and still chooses him.

Gawin guides him slowly, supporting him around the waist, easing him down onto the mattress with meticulous attention.

Joss looks up at Gawin like he’s the only thing keeping him from falling apart. “Don’t stop.”

Gawin answers by leaning over him -- close enough to share breath, close enough to make Joss warm all over. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Joss lies back on the bed, propped up on a pillow. His breathing is uneven, not from pain, but from anticipation. He can feel the lingering heat from their earlier kiss -- the memory of Gawin’s lips, hands, his presence.

Gawin lies beside him, fingers tracing small, careful patterns along Joss’s ribs and stomach. The injury is untouched, protected by pillows and careful positioning. Every stroke, every graze of his thumb makes Joss shiver.

“Is this okay?”

Joss smiles. “Yeah.”

That single word is heavy with surrender. He’s letting Gawin in, letting himself relax, letting his desire coexist with his vulnerability. This is the first time he hasn’t been performing strength, just allowing himself to be held together.

Gawin leans down, mouth brushing along Joss’s neck and jawline. He pauses to let him react, watching his body tremble and pulse with each touch. Joss’s hands wander toward Gawin, pressing, holding, needing contact without being able to act fully.

“Gawin… slowly. My shoulder…”

“I know. I’ll be careful with you.”

The gentleness makes Joss’s midsection tighten -- not from caution, but from longing. He arches into Gawin’s touch, unable to stop the soft moan that escapes him.

Gawin’s hands move to his ribs, waist, and lower back, guiding Joss to roll onto his side. Joss’s arm folds across him protectively, but Gawin threads his own arm behind Joss’s back, supporting him, anchoring him close.

Their faces are inches apart. Foreheads touch. Breaths mingle. Eyes lock.

“You’re safe here. You don’t have to hold anything back.”

Joss swallows, fingers curling into Gawin’s shirt. His lips part, searching. They kiss again -- longer, more insistent, hands mapping each other carefully, testing boundaries, savouring the closeness.

Gawin murmurs against his lips, “I’ve wanted this for so long. Seeing you like this, letting me in…”

Joss doesn’t answer with words. He presses into him instead, letting himself be fully held, fully seen, fully desired. His head tilts, jaw and neck exposed, trust absolute.

Gawin’s talented hands pull Joss’s pants down, his boxers following, his cock hot and heavy against his hip, leaking precome. He bites down on his lip, trying not to moan too loudly, as Gawin wraps his fingers around him, cool to the touch.

“You’re exactly like I thought you’d be,” he says, shaking his head, nosing against Joss’s neck, dropping kiss after kiss there, moving down to use his other hand to tug his t-shirt up, mouthing at his nipples.

“G--” Joss groans, trying not to thrust too wildly into Gawin’s hand, and Gawin hums, kissing him once more before shimmying down the bed, his lips sucking at the head, making Gawin’s eyes roll back.

“Oh-- fuck--”

Gawin takes him in, inch by inch, sloppy and wet, no teeth, all suction, and Joss shifts. Pain flickers but doesn’t stand a chance against the pleasure roaring through him. He’s in so deep it barely registers, fingers tangled in Gawin’s hair, feeling his head bob up and down, barely able to watch, the sensualness of it too overwhelming.

Joss has had countless blowjobs in his life, but somehow this one is… more. Knowing it’s Gawin’s mouth he’s in, Gawin’s tongue curling around him, slick and wet and warm.

“G, it’s been a while, I don’t think I can…” Joss chokes out, his bad arm pushing into the pillows, while his fingers tug at Gawin’s hair, as gently as he can manage, trying to pull him off.

Gawin refuses to move, somehow getting deeper around his cock, and Joss’s eyes roll back in his head at the pleasure flooding his system, gasping for it, Gawin’s name like a prayer as Joss spills into Gawin’s mouth, shooting down his throat, unable to stop.

“I’m sorry,” Joss starts, once he’s come back online, rebooting, Gawin wiping at his mouth and settling next to Joss on his good side. His sweatpants are tented, but he’s looking at Joss like there’s nothing else that matters in the world right now. “Let me…” he starts, reaching for Gawin.

“Your shoulder…” Gawin says, frowning, but Joss glares.

“I’ve still got one good arm!”

Giggling, Gawin submits to Joss tugging down his shorts, leaning in to kiss him, needing to keep the mood from curdling into something too cautious. He’s luxuriating in the new intimacy blossoming between them, the closeness and connection that comes from their physicality.

Joss pulls Gawin on top of him, unable to stop kissing for anything, and it gives his good arm enough space for what he wants to do. He holds his palm up to his mouth and makes a show of licking it, Gawin’s eyes darkening as he watches Joss coat himself, before touching Gawin.

“Oh, God,” Gawin breathes, kissing Joss, his hips stuttering as Joss begins to work up and down his shaft, the slick tightness all-consuming.

“Stay with me,” Joss murmurs against his mouth.

Gawin whines, nodding. “Always.”

It doesn’t take long for Gawin to reach his peak, a fact that Joss is quietly smug about, given how hard he comes, burying his face in Joss’s neck, the tiny moans and whimpers doing their best to get Joss going again.

They collapse together once Joss has wiped off his hands and Gawin has cleaned them up, side by side, skin against skin, where it’s safe, breathing syncing.

Their worlds shrink to each other’s presence, the warmth, the gentle rhythm of touch, and the knowledge that being vulnerable doesn’t mean being alone.

*

Joss wakes up to the smell of garlic and eggs.

For a moment, he doesn’t move. He aches -- a deep, tendinous throb that reminded him of everything he couldn’t do yet. But that wasn’t what freezes him.

It was the memory of last night. The way he’d broken, the way Gawin held him, the way their mouths had found each other like it was inevitable. The way Gawin touched him -- gentle, reverent, and sure.

Joss swallows. If he sees regret on Gawin’s face, he isn’t sure he’ll survive it. Still, he pushes himself upright and pads into the kitchen.

Gawin is barefoot at his stove, drowning in one of Joss’s shirts. Hair messy. He hums quietly to himself, like nothing has changed.

“Morning,” Gawin says, glancing up with a smile that is too soft. “Hungry?”

There’s a sinking feeling -- Joss can’t tell if it’s pain or wanting.

“Are you… okay?” Gawin asks when he doesn’t answer.

Joss forces a nod. Frowning, Gawin turns off the stove and comes over, stopping right in front of Joss. “Something’s wrong. What’s going on? Talk to me.”

Joss swallows around the fear. Gawin has been brave for him every step of the way, including now. The least he can do is meet him in the middle.

“I just… want to make sure we’re okay, after yesterday. That you don’t feel uncomfortable around me or… what we did.”

He feels his cheeks flush as he says it-- so fucking stupid, he’s almost thirty and blushing at the thought of sex? Ridiculous.

Gawin sighs, his hands coming up to hold Joss’s waist, tugging him in until their chests are flush together. “I’m wearing your shirt and making you breakfast in bed… or well, trying to. Does that sound like I’m uncomfortable or regret what happened?” Gawin says, voice low, nosing against the side of Joss’s face, breathing him in. Joss’s eyes flutter shut.

“N-no…” he says. Gawin smiles, his hands coming to rub at Joss’s back, keeping him close.

“Do you regret what happened?” Gawin continues. Joss shakes his head.

“No, I don’t.”

“Okay then. So we’re on the same page, hm? Both very happy about seeing each other’s penises.”

Joss snorts, groaning as it causes his arm to tense, and Gawin pulls back, far enough that he can lean in to kiss Joss, deep and all encompassing.

He reaches out again, slow and deliberate, fingers brushing the edge of Joss’s jaw, as Joss’s eyes flutter closed. Joss leaned into the touch, letting the fear slip out of him on an exhale. Breakfast is long forgotten by both of them.

“Tell me if it hurts,” Gawin says.

Joss nods.

Gawin guides him into the bedroom, coaxing him to lie on his back so his shoulder won’t strain. Then he climbs over him, straddling his hips.

Gawin leans down, brushing their mouths together once, twice -- soft kisses that make butterflies.

When Joss reaches up instinctively with his injured arm, Gawin catches his wrist.

“Careful,” he says.

Something in Joss cracks open at being handled, not with caution, but with care.

Gawin kisses him again, deeper this time, slow and searching. Their hands roam -- hipbones, ribs, the warm skin under shirts. Gawin rolls his hips down, drawing a strangled sound from Joss.

“Fuck,” Joss breathes. “Gawin…”

“Yeah,” Gawin says against his mouth. “Me too.”

Clothes come off, bare skin sliding against each other, they feel so wondrous and new. Joss wraps his arm around Gawin’s shoulders, their cocks aligned, and they feel amazing. This feels more right than yesterday, the

“G… can we…” he trails off, unsure of what to ask for.

Gawin smirks, kissing his cheek, looking at him fondly. “There is about a 2% chance we’re going all the way until your shoulder is fixed, bro. The last thing we need is to set you back a week or two.”

Joss groans, and Gawin laughs, kissing him, feeling so light, he could float away. “I’ve got you,” he says against Joss’s mouth, eyes crinkling as he apes on Joss’s usual line to him, and the delight on Joss’s face as he pulls back is worth it.

He kisses a path down Joss’s stomach and hip, sucking a bruise or two there, feeling possessive, wanting to mark Joss, to show the world he was his and belonged to someone. To him.

“G--” Joss says, and Gawin sighs, so impatient.

His cock is thick and red, leaking from the tip, and Gawin swipes a thumb along the slit, his hands around Joss’s shaft, slowly jerking him up and down, watching the way his eyes flutter shut, his mouth drops open, the pleasure wracking his beautiful body.

“F-fuck,” Joss chokes out as Gawin sinks down around him, warm and wet and fucking sinfully perfect, and begins to move, his hand covering what his mouth can’t reach. It’s silky smooth, and Joss’s fingers tangle in Gawin’s hair, gasping as Gawin sucks, cheeks hollowed, eyes trained on him.

He pulls off with a loud pop and smirks at Joss. “Good?”

“Fuck you,” Joss says, voice shaking. Gawin laughs, and Joss can’t help but crease up, smiling so stupidly, and Gawin leans in to kiss him, before returning to his task at hand, Joss’s fingers gripping the sheets.

He hurtles towards his orgasm, the sight of Gawin going to town on his cock and the emotionality of it all tipping him over, coming down Gawin’s throat, as he dutifully swallows his gift.

He pulls off, and Joss paws at him, until he lies on Joss, kissing him, making Joss taste himself, and Joss gets a hand around Gawin and jerks him off, swallowing down every moan, every gasp, every whine for him.

When they finally stilled, foreheads touching, Gawin cupped Joss’s face.

“You don’t have to be strong with me,” he says. “Just be here.”

Joss closes his eyes and breathes Gawin in. “Okay. Okay.”

*

Two weeks later, Kilo clears him for light training. Joss walks out of the clinic feeling like he’s gotten a piece of himself back.

It’s been a hard-fought improvement, one that’s seen Joss also talking more to Gawin when he’s having bad nights, being honest about his fears, and not looking too long in any mirrors at his softening physique. The way Gawin lavishes praise on him about everything else that makes him him, though, has helped a lot. A reframing of his self-worth that doesn’t depend so intrinsically on his body and what he can offer people physically.

“You’ve always been my friend because you’re kind and a goofball, J. Not because you’re a hottie,” Kevin says to him one evening, Joss’s feet kicked up on the balcony, steak night long over, Gawin inside reading Bella to sleep.

“I know. It’s just hard… after a lifetime of being one thing, to figure out how to be something else,” Joss sighs. But it feels more achievable now that he’s not alone, Gawin by his side, chasing the darkness away with his sunlight.

Gawin waits outside for him to emerge, playing with his phone, sunglasses on, clearly trying to look inconspicuous. It didn’t work; fans still whisper as they pass by.

“You did good,” Gawin says in a low voice.

Joss bumps their shoulders together. “We did good.”

Gawin flushes, smiling helplessly.

Things aren’t completely public -- not yet. But Gawin stays at Joss’s condo most nights now. Kevin and Fai don’t bother pretending they don’t know. Darren makes obnoxious kissy faces whenever they all meet for dinner.

And little Bella draws them holding hands the next time she sees them, handing the picture proudly to Joss.

“That’s you,” she says. “And that’s Uncle Gawin. You’re happy.”

Joss looks over at Gawin, cheeks bright red but smiling.

“Yeah,” Joss says. “We are.”

Maybe strength wasn’t ever just about his body after all. Maybe it was the summation of his parts-- the good, the bad, and everything in between.

Joss reaches for Gawin, hand on his thigh, squeezing down. “So happy.”

Gawin’s eyes crinkle up as he laughs, patting Joss’s hand.

Not alone. Not anymore.