Autumn is a second spring

163. What are we?

Boun sat down on the warm sand beneath the shade of the trees that overlooked the beach, their long branches swaying gently above him. From here, the sea stretched endlessly, waves rolling in with a steady rhythm that felt almost hypnotic. 

For the first time in days, there was nothing pressing him from all sides—no arguments to resolve, no responsibilities tugging at his sleeve, no expectations he had to meet.

He exhaled slowly. "It's really nice," he said quietly, eyes fixed on the horizon, "to finally have some time to relax... in the middle of all this chaos."

Prem stood beside him for a moment before lowering himself onto the sand as well. He didn't answer right away. Instead, he watched Boun's profile—the calm expression that didn't quite reach his eyes—and something twisted painfully in his chest.

"I am sorry, Hia," Prem said at last.

Boun turned toward him, genuinely confused. "Sorry? For what?"

Prem shrugged, fingers digging into the sand. "While we were talking to Earth and P' Kao earlier... I realized things might have been simpler if I hadn't brought up the breakup at all."

Boun shook his head immediately. "No. Don't say that." His voice was firm but gentle. "It wasn't wrong of you to break up with me. Your emotions were valid." He paused, swallowing. "If anything, I was the one who messed up."

Prem looked at him in surprise.

"I never stopped to think how you would feel," Boun continued, "when I did that fake proposal for James. Even when you told me you were uncomfortable with how I interacted with him, I didn't really understand how deeply it affected you." His gaze dropped to the sand between them. "Those few days apart... they made me realize everything. I should have realized it sooner. I am sorry."

Prem didn't respond.

He didn't know how to.

He couldn't say it was alright—because it wasn't. But he also didn't want to be angry, didn't want to create more distance when they had only just started closing the gap again. So he stayed silent, staring at the stark contrast of white sand and endless blue ocean before him.

After a moment, he leaned sideways, resting his head against Boun's shoulder.

The silence stretched, heavy but not uncomfortable. The waves kept moving, indifferent to the tension between them.

Eventually, Boun spoke again.

"I know Fluke told us to wait until after the wedding to talk about our issues," he said carefully, "but... I don't think we should."

Prem lifted his head, looking at him. Boun's expression was earnest, almost pleading.

"The longer we drag this out," Boun continued, "the worse it will feel. I don't want us walking around pretending everything's fine when it's not. I want to fix this—if we can."

Prem hesitated.

Part of him wanted to listen to Fluke, to wait until the wedding was over, until the celebrations passed and emotions settled. Talking about their relationship—about everything that hurt—felt heavy, like opening a door he wasn't sure he could close again.

But before he could decide, Boun spoke again, voice quieter now.

"During the breakup... I realized something," he said. "I don't think I ever fully understood what the problem between us was." He turned fully toward Prem. "Please. Tell me. Tell me what bothered you."

Something in his tone—soft, vulnerable—undid Prem.

He looked back at the sand, drew in a breath, and began to speak.

"You came into my life," Prem said slowly, "at a time when I had lost everything. My aim, my career... my future felt empty back then." His fingers curled tighter. "I clung to you without even realizing it. You were my support."

Boun stayed silent, listening.

"I don't know when it changed," Prem continued, "but somewhere along the way, that clinginess turned into feelings. Into love. I didn't even notice it happening."

He paused, then asked softly, "Do you remember the night you left me in Phuket?"

Boun's jaw tightened. He nodded.

"I felt everything that night," Prem said. "Sadness. Fear. Anger—mostly at myself." His voice wavered. "That's why, when we patched things up, I promised myself I wouldn't bring up being in a relationship again."

Boun frowned slightly, but still didn't interrupt.

"I was over the moon when you confessed to me publicly," Prem said, a faint smile flickering across his face before fading. "But even then, I didn't dare push your boundaries. I thought... I would be content just staying by your side."

Boun's brows knitted together. Something about the way Prem described their relationship felt off to him—skewed somehow—but he forced himself to stay quiet.

"At first, everything was fine," Prem went on. "We moved in together. We raised Bew together. You, me, Bew—our small little world."

His voice trailed off.

Then came the pause.

A long one.

Prem swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. "When I rejoined the national team," he said eventually, "things started to change."

Boun pressed his lips together.

"I couldn't spend as much time with you or Bew anymore," Prem continued. "And slowly... I realized I was becoming distant. From both of you."

It was true. Boun had felt it too—the growing gaps, the missed calls, the quiet nights that stretched longer than they used to.

"I tried not to overthink it," Prem said. "I focused on my career—the one I had lost before." He hesitated. "And around that time... James joined the company."

Boun stiffened, his frown deepening, but he said nothing.

"When James came into our lives," Prem said, voice tightening, "it felt like he was slowly taking my place. Every time I called Bew, he talked about James. When I came home, you talked about James too."

Tears slipped down Prem's cheeks. He didn't wipe them away.

"I told myself I was imagining things," he whispered. "That I shouldn't feel threatened. But when I finally met him..." He shook his head. "The way he looked, talked, behaved—it just made it worse."

His voice cracked. "I started resenting him. And I hated how much you cared about him."

Boun's chest felt tight.

"That's why I kept bringing it up," Prem said. "And every time, you told me he was just an employee." He laughed weakly. "I didn't dare push it further. Because if you asked me who I was to question you... I wouldn't have an answer."

He turned to Boun, eyes shining. "I wasn't your boyfriend. I wasn't anything official."

His voice dropped to a whisper. "That's probably why I couldn't take it when I saw you proposing to him. Even if it was fake... it hurt more than it should have."

Boun laughed suddenly. Not a happy laugh. Not even an amused one. It was hollow, sharp, almost broken.

Prem stared at him, startled. "Why... why are you laughing, Hia?"

Boun stopped, a forced smile stretching across his face. He pointed at himself. "I just found the biggest joke in the world."

He let out another short, bitter chuckle. "For the past three years, I was under the delusion that we were in a solid relationship."

His voice trembled despite the smile. "And now you are telling me... we weren't even boyfriends." He looked straight at Prem, eyes dark and hurt. "If we weren't a real couple in your eyes," he asked quietly, "then what were we?"