A Vihokratana's tragedy

26. No therapy. No clinics.

Tay was humming to himself rhythmic to his movements as he dusted the shelves, a small towel draped over his shoulder. The room smelled faintly of citrus cleaner and dust—a quiet domestic moment interrupted by the sound of a chair scraping against the floor. Tay turned to see New pulling it closer as he sat.

“Gosh, Mr. Teechapaikhun,” Tay smirked, glancing over his shoulder. "don't sneak up on me like that in broad daylight. Unless you want me to lose control.”

Normally, that would earn at least a chuckle, or one of New’s trademark "oh, shup up, tay!". But today, New didn’t even crack a smile.

Tay set the duster aside, his teasing fading into concern as he knelt down in front of his husband, tangling his hands in his.“What is it, New?”

“It’s about Pluem,” New said after a pause. His voice held a layer of hesitation, the kind that only came when something had been sitting heavy for a while. “He’s… been getting headaches. Constantly. But you know how he is. Rule no. 1 in the Book of Pluem: ‘No hospitals.’ I even suggested a small clinic nearby but he refused right away.”

Tay’s expression softened. “And we know far better than to push him,” he said gently, folding his legs. “Not after… everything.”

New nodded, jaw tight. “Yeah. I know. But he’s not a kid anymore. He’s grown. Maybe it’s time we revisit the idea of therapy. A calm conversation. I don’t think he’d react the same way now.”

There was silence between them for a moment. Tay looked out the window—the late noon sun, which had felt so comforting in this winter just moments ago, now felt piercing to Tay. He looked back at New.

“You’ve been thinking about this a lot, haven’t you?” he asked quietly.

“I just… I don’t want to wait until it’s something worse,” New said, the vulnerability slipping into his voice. “I’ve seen that look in his eyes lately—the one he used to get no one's there for him. And I’m scared, Tay. I’m scared we’ll miss the window again. Maybe we shouldn't have taken him there. Maybe we shouldn't have brought the past to him now.”

Tay reached out and placed a hand over New’s cheek while the other rested on new’s hands. “let's not mix all the events together and stress ourselves out, New. First let’s talk to him. Let's not try to fix him — just tell him we love him and we are there for him. Maybe this time… he’ll let us in before the doors close.”

New let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Yeah. Okay.”

Outside, the wind stirred the curtains, and inside, the two prayed for everything to be well.

....

The late noon light spilled softly through the living room windows, casting long shadows on the walls. Pluem sat curled into the corner of the couch, his knees tucked up loosely, a cup of warm tea in his hands. Across from him, Tay and New sat close, their postures relaxed, but their eyes attentive—watching him the way only parents do when something matters.

“So,” Tay began, swirling his own tea absentmindedly, “you’ve been getting headaches. You didn’t mention anything.”

Pluem blinked, slightly caught off guard, but not alarmed. “It’s not a big deal. Just stress, probably.”

“Stress that comes back every day?” New asked gently, his tone laced with concern but not pressure. “You’ve been a little paler lately. A little quieter.”

“I’m fine,” Pluem said, not defensive—just calm. “Really. They pass after I rest.”

Tay leaned forward, placing his mug down. “my bag of sugar, it’s not about whether you can push through. We know you can. You’ve always been strong like that. But strength doesn’t mean you don’t deserve support.”