Hello Darlings!

The sky was crying big fat tears that hit the earth beneath Botpleng’s feet with an audible plop. Usually, the rain acted as a balm on his weary body. It was something to play in, something that cooled him off when the heat of the day got too much for him. But this rain did not sooth him. Each raindrop was an icy bullet that stabbed through his clothes. He felt mocked by the weather that used to offer him so much comfort. But this was something that he should have been used to by now. It seemed like everything that used to offer him solace was now turning into a weapon to hurt him.

If Tankhun was with him then he would have called the pounding rain a melody. And he would have tried to match the tune only he could hear on his violin. Or he would take Botpleng into his embrace, his first love protecting him from any harm that could ruin the day. But his first love’s name wasn’t Tankhun. It was Thunphob. And he wasn’t playing the violin, or shielding him from the storm. He was dead, lying buried 6 feet under where he was currently standing.

Where he was standing alone. So alone.

Botpleng should be used to feeling alone at this point. He had felt that way after he first woke up without his memories. Of course, it was hard not to when everyone knew him better than he knew himself. But at least there were people who were willing to work with him. And it was easy enough to pretend to be the person that they remembered him being after a while. But this wasn’t something he could pretend about. He couldn’t go up to Thunphob and fake his way into loving the other man once more. He couldn’t regain his old memories of their love from visiting their favorite places. He couldn’t build new memories with the man he met during that warmest winter. Because Thunphob was gone forever. The only way he could meet him again was if he chose to . . . no. He didn’t dare to finish the thought.

Botpleng knelt down in front of Thunphob’s headstone. He traced the letters etched into it, hoping against all hope that this was all some cruel nightmare. Dreams had a funny way of warping time and playing on his worst fears. Maybe Tankhun really was his first love. Maybe he was still asleep in his bed, Tankhun’s warmth keeping him in the deep lull he was stuck in. But he knew this was reality. The cold seeping into his soul was something that not even his most vivid dreams could recreate.

Botpleng couldn’t move. Even as his knees grew numb from the cold stone he was kneeling against. Even as his fingers began to prune from the rain and the letters he traced over and over again. He was stuck, trying his best to process the new information that was presented to him. Trying to recognize that this dead person used to be the one to warm his bed. Accepting that all Thunphob would be is the man he had written about in his journal. He had to deal with the fact that he had been betrayed. And worst of all, betrayed by someone that his heart had learned to love. There was no doubt in his mind about it. Tankhun had held his heart in his hands, and now his heart was smashed to pieces. Buried with the remains of his first love.

Botpleng suddenly lost the will to stay upright, opting to lay down against the cool stone. He curled into a ball, resting his head where he imagined Thunphob’s chest would be if he was laying down under him.

He stared ahead of him, not really seeing anything. He tried his hardest to remember anything about Thunphob. But he didn't want the memories he had written about in his journal. He tried to remember other things. Like what Thunphob’s favorite color was. Or his favorite food. Or things that they talked about. Or dreams that they shared. He could feel warm tears rolling down his face. It felt like lava compared to how cold he felt everywhere else. He couldn’t remember. A sob broke through, and once one escaped the rest came after. Each one wracked his shaking frame. He just wanted something. Anything. Any memory that he didn’t get second hand. Any remains of who he was before he lost years of his life. But none came. And there he lay, curled into himself as he cried himself to exhaustion. It felt like he was mourning not just Thunphob, but also the Botpleng that he had loved so much.

Tankhun found him there not too long after. The sight was heart breaking. Botpleng, laying in a tight ball. One hand curled into his chest, the other with it’s fingers stretched towards his brother’s headstone. He was soaked to the bone, and Tankhun could see the shivers that coursed their way through the other man’s body. He lets out a deep breath, blinking back tears as he shucks his suit jacket off. He kneels in the soil next to Pleng, not caring about the mud getting on his pants. He gently maneuvers him, making sure he is slow enough to not wake him from his slumber. He sits him up before wrapping him in his suit jacket. He then lifts Pleng up, one arm around his shoulders and the other under his knees. Pleng’s head lolls onto his shoulder. Tankhun readjusts before walking away from the grave.

He hopes that they can get past this. Because even if Botpleng hates him right now, Tankhun refuses to let him go. It is then and there that Tankhun swears to himself that come heaven or hell he is going to earn Botpleng’s trust back. Even if he is a suspect in the case.