Arthit unfolded the parchment.

The paper was smooth, pleasing to eyes and Lightly scented with Arthit's favourite perfume.

Of course.

He glanced up once. Kongpob was still standing, posture exact, watching.

“…you’re making this feel like an audit,” Arthit muttered.

“This is a high-risk submission,” Kongpob replied, plank still.

Arthit huffed. Then looked down—and began.

“This letter is intended to correct an omission in verbal communication.

My actions have been consistent. My articulation has not.

This has resulted in incomplete transmission of intent.

You have expressed your feelings directly. I did not respond in the same format.

This was not due to absence of feeling, but incorrect assumption that actions were sufficient and superior than verbal declarations. That assumption was inaccurate.

For clarity: I love you.

This is not recent. It can be traced to our first year.

Since that point, I have maintained proximity, prioritized interaction, and adjusted decisions to ensure continued association with you. These were not incidental behaviors. They were intentional.

When you initiated direct confirmation at the Ministry, it altered a decision I had already finalized.

I intended to leave. I could not witness someone else being cause if your optimal state of happiness.

Your intervention prevented that outcome.
(So, verbal declarations do matter.)

Since then, you have introduced consistent variability into my life. This has resulted in sustained positive deviation from baseline.

In simplified terms: you make my life better.

I recognize a failure in timing. Specifically, I did not respond when you said ‘I love you.’ This was an error.
I regret it.

You have continued to choose me. This has been observed. My long-term decisions reflect that awareness.

This letter is a direct correction.

I will improve articulation going forward.

This is a permanent adjustment.

" I love you. ”

Arthit exhaled softly.

A small smile tugged at his mouth.
“…first year of ministry ?” he said, glancing up. Five years...that's quite long huh? "

“First year of School.” Kongpob replied.

Arthit blinked. “…school?”

“Yes.”

“Kongpob… that’s—what—twelve years?”

“Twelve and a half.” Kongpob corrected matter of factly.

That—
that hit differently.

Arthit looked back down at the letter, but the words weren’t as steady anymore.

“…you’ve been in love with me since we were eleven,” he said, slower now.

“Yes.”

No hesitation.

No adjustment.
Just—fact.

Arthit let out a breath that didn’t quite hold.
“And you didn’t tell me.”

“I did not consider verbal confirmation necessary at the time.”

“That’s…” Arthit huffed weakly. “That’s insane."

Arthit sniffled, tears gathering at his eyes as he glanced at Kongpob.  “…why?”

“I was not a suitable candidate under your known preferences.”

Arthit blinked. A tear fell  “You thought I was straight?”

“The known parameters indicated towards it. You were in love with Namtarn. Heartbroken enough to mess up quidditch final. ”

“That was in fifth year" Arthit wiped an escapaing tear with back of his hand. " I  kissed you under mistletoe in seventh year"

“Due to tradition and external coercion.”

“I tricked you under the misltoe "

" You were a known prankster"

" I was the coercion Kongpob. I planned it because I wanted to kiss you " Arthit bit his lip , trying to control the tears fighting to slip "

Kongpob swallowed , all the calculations were failing.“…noted.”

Despite everything, Arthit almost laughed.
Almost.

Then his vision blurred. Not being able to control the heaviness in his heart anymore. This idiot friend of his has loved  him since they were snotty nosed first years, learning the way through moving stairs.

If only he would have paid a little attention to Kongpob's actions.....

All that nagging, the rainproof charm on his clothes, the herbs to curb his rhinitis, the colour coded notes, the Felix felicis as birthday gift so he could propose to Namtarn.... it all made sense.

Kongpob going stand still under misltoe when their lips touched.... then melting in his arms... it all made sense.

He looked back down at the final line.

I love you.

His grip tightened.

The first tear fell before he could stop it. Spolching the dot beside 'I love you'

Kongpob saw it. His eyes widened, he took a small step towards Arthit... not knowing what to do.

Moisture accumulation at the lower lash line.
Blink rate reduced.
Respiration—uneven.
Escalation.

Arthit’s thumb dragged once across the edge of the page, like he was anchoring himself to it.
“...twelve years,” he said under his breath as another tear fell. Then another and another...  soon Arthit's cheeks were streaked with two tear lines, dropping down his chin, soaking in to sleeve of his robes.

Kongpob pulled  his wand.

" Arthit " he said softly, once ... then twice.

There was no response.

No response required. He had seen Arthit in this state of distress once prior. At that time he couldn't do anything. He did make Felix felicis to increase Arthit's chances of being accepted by Namtarn but Arthit did not use it.

But, now, situation was different. He can take measurable action to ensure Arthit's state of optimal happiness.

Kongpob had already identified the variable causing destabilization in Arthit's emotional state.

Before Arthit could react—
The parchment vanished.

A clean, controlled incineration.
No smoke. No ash left behind.

Just—gone.

Arthit stared at his empty hands.

For a second, his mind didn’t catch up.

“…what,” he said slowly, “did you just do?”

“Emotional distress was observed,” Kongpob replied. “Source removed.”

Silence.

Then—
“Kongpob Suthiluck..." He glared through tears "You burned it.”

“It was causing you distress"

" It was not."

" Similar state was observed during your first unsuccessful romantic endeavour (first heartbreak)."

" I was not sad , Kongpob."

" You were deep enough in distress to not notice my intervention..."

" I was thinking about all the missed opportunities. " Arthit clarified " I am a little sad. If only I had observed your action more seriously earlier. We could have had more valentine's together."

" You only came to know about this muggle festival, this year"

" Doesn't negate the fact that i could have you as my boyfriend much earlier."

Komgpob nodded. " If you want, the letter can be reproduced.” Kongpob offered quietly.

Arthit stepped forward, eyes still wet, but now focused.
“That was the first time you said it properly.”

“I did not say it."

“You wrote it,” Arthit corrected. “You meant it. And then you erased it because I had a reaction.”

“It was a negative response.”

“It wasn’t negative,” Arthit shot back. “It was—”
He stopped.
Exhaled.
Tried again.
“It was me caring, Kongpob.”

That—
required recalibration.
Kongpob adjusted.

Slowly.

“…misclassified,” he said.

Arthit let out a shaky breath. Some of the edge left him—but not the intent.

“Write it again.”
Kongpob blinked. “…now?”

“Yes.”

“It will not be identical.”

“I don’t want identical,” Arthit said. “I want you to say it again. And not delete it this time.”

A pause.

“Emotional response may recur.”

“Good.”

“That indicates instability.”

“That indicates I’m in love with you,” Arthit said flatly.
Silence.
Then—
“…understood.”

Kongpob turned.
Walked to his desk.
..........

“I love you." The second letter read .

I have loved you since our first year of school. I did not say it because I believed you already knew and you were not interested due to different gender preference.  That assessment was insufficient.

You said it first. You stayed when I did not respond correctly. That was not because I felt less. It was because I did not understand how to say it in the moment required.
I understand now. I should have said it then.
You make my life better in ways I did not anticipate and cannot fully quantify. That is not a problem I intend to solve.

I have made multiple long-term decisions based on your continued presence. This was done without formal declaration. This letter is that declaration.

I love you. I am saying it now while you are here to hear it.”

Arthit didn’t get past the second line.
His vision blurred too fast this time.

A breath hitched.

Then the dam broke the second time.

He stepped forward without thinking and collided into Kongpob, arms wrapping around him tightly, face pressed into his shoulder.

And then—
he cried.

Not quiet. Not contained.
Just—open.

Unfiltered.
Loud.  

Mumbling " I am sorry... Kong "

Kongpob froze for a fraction of a second.
Then adjusted.
Arms came up. Firm. Certain. Holding him in place.

Moisture seeped into his robe. Warm.
Continuous.

Kongpob registered it.

Did not move away.

“This is not a negative outcome,” he said carefully, reassuring himself.

“Don’t—” Arthit’s voice broke. “Don’t analyze it right now—”

Kongpob paused.
Recalibrated.

He searched for a response.

Data reference: muggle cinema.
Observed sequence: • physical contact maintained
• verbal reassurance reduced in complexity
• gentle tactile input

He executed.

One hand shifted—moving to the back of Arthit’s head. Not precise this time. Just there.
Then, after a brief hesitation—
he pressed a kiss into his hair. " Let the past go. I'm here"

Arthit went still.
Mid-breath.
“…what,” he mumbled, voice muffled against Kongpob’s shoulder.
Kongpob continued, because the sequence had not yet reached completion.
He adjusted his hold slightly—closer.
“You are not required to reduce output,” he said quietly.
A pause.

“…did you just tell me not to cry like it’s a productivity metric?” Arthit asked, somewhere between disbelief and a laugh.

“Yes.”
Silence.
Then—
a broken, wet laugh escaped him.
“You’re unbelievable,” Arthit muttered. " You made me laugh amid my ugly crying without a single joke."

" I intend to keep you in optimal state of happiness " Kongpob said, his grip didn’t loosen.
If anything, it tightened.
And Kongpob—
held on.
......

Arthit didn’t know how long it took.
Time blurred somewhere between breath and heartbeat, between the steady rise and fall of his chest and the way his fingers had curled into the fabric of Kongpob’s robe like letting go might undo something irreversible.
Eventually—
the intensity ebbed.

His breathing steadied first. Then his grip loosened—slightly, reluctantly. He didn’t step away completely. Just enough to breathe without breaking.
“…okay,” he muttered, voice rough. “I’m done. Probably.”

“Uncertain,” Kongpob replied.

Arthit huffed weakly against him. “Shut up.”
But he lifted his head.
And that’s when he saw it.

Kongpob’s eyes—clear, steady as always—
except not entirely.

There was a faint redness at the edges. A slight sheen that hadn’t been there before.
Arthit blinked.
“…wait.”

Kongpob stilled.

“You—” Arthit leaned back just enough to see properly. “Were you crying?”

“No.”
Immediate.
Flat.
Automatic.

Arthit narrowed his eyes. “That was too fast. That was suspiciously fast.”

“It was an efficient response.”

“Yeah? Then explain this.”
He reached up before Kongpob could move—thumb brushing just under his eye.

Not a tear.
But close enough.
Kongpob paused.
Recalibrated.

“…moisture accumulation occurred,” he admitted.

Arthit stared at him.
“…you were crying,” he repeated, softer now.

Kongpob held his gaze. Didn’t look away this time.

“I do not prefer tears in your eyes,” he said.
Arthit blinked.
Kongpob continued, voice even—but something under it had shifted.
“You should remain in a stable state,” he said. “Preferably smiling.”
A pause.
“…with dimples visible.”

That—
that did something entirely different to Arthit’s chest.

He stared at him for a second.
Then huffed out a soft, disbelieving laugh.
“You fell for my dimples?”

Kongpob tilted his head slightly.
“No.”

Arthit blinked. “…wow. Okay. Rude.”

“They are a favorable visual outcome,” Kongpob added, as if clarifying a data point.

“That did not help.”

“They are not the cause.”

Arthit stilled.
“…then what is?”

Kongpob didn’t hesitate.
“You.”

Simple.
Unqualified.
No adjustment.

“If the visual variables were altered,” he continued calmly, “the outcome would remain unchanged.”

Arthit didn’t speak.

“…altered how?” he asked after a second.

“Any deviation,” Kongpob said. “Reduced symmetry. Visible scarring. Structural variance.”
A beat.
“…if you were considered conventionally unattractive, the result would be identical.”

Silence.
And then—
Arthit exhaled sharply, something breaking into a laugh that wasn’t entirely steady.
“…you’re unbelievable.”

But his eyes stung again.
Of course they did.
“Do you—” he started, then stopped, because the question was ridiculous. “Do you even hear yourself?”

“Yes.”

“And you thought I didn’t need to know this?”

“That was my assessment.”

“It was a terrible assessment,” Arthit said immediately.

“…acknowledged.”
Arthit let out a breath that turned into something halfway between a laugh and a sob.

“God, you’re—” he shook his head, stepping forward again, closing the distance he had just created. “You’re so—”

He didn’t finish.

Just grabbed the front of Kongpob’s robe and pulled him in.

The kiss wasn’t careful this time.
It wasn’t measured.

It was messy, a little desperate, a little overwhelming—like Arthit didn’t know where to put everything he was feeling except into this.

Kongpob adjusted instantly.

Matched pressure. Corrected angle. Maintained contact.

When they broke apart, Arthit didn’t go far.

Forehead dropping briefly against Kongpob’s shoulder again.

“…twelve years,” he muttered.

“twelve and half.."

“You idiot.”

“…acknowledged.”

Another breath.
Another hit of it—
too much, too fast, too deep.
Arthit blinked hard.

Then failed completely when the next tear slipped out anyway.

“Oh, for—” he laughed weakly, wiping at his face. “I’m not even sad, why am I crying again?”

“Residual emotional output,” Kongpob supplied.

“Shut up,” Arthit said automatically, even as he leaned into him again.
A beat.
Then—
“You should’ve told me.”

The words came out quieter this time.
Not sharp.
Not accusing.
Just… true.
“You should’ve told me,” he repeated, softer.
Kongpob didn’t interrupt.
Didn’t defend.
“I would’ve—” Arthit stopped, exhaled. “I don’t know. I would’ve done something differently.”

“Your actions were sufficient,” Kongpob said.

“That’s not the point.”
A pause.
“…I wanted to know.”
That landed.
Kongpob processed it.
Stored it.
“Understood,” he said.

Arthit let out a breath, then huffed faintly.
“…I’m going to keep crying at this rate.”

“That is probable.”

“And you’re just going to stand there and analyze it?”

“No.”
Arthit blinked.
“…no?”

“No.”

A beat.
Then Kongpob adjusted his hold—slightly firmer this time.
Less calculated.
More certain.
Arthit went still for half a second.
Then—
smiled.

Even through the mess of it.
“…good,” he murmured.
And because he couldn’t help himself—
he kissed him again.