Archive of Our Own

Ray takes a drag of yet another cigarette.

The rain has finally tapered off. October was full of storms, of torrential downpours and floods and sopping wet shoes, one of the worst times to decide to move to the beach. But life being what it is, Ray dreamed of somewhere calm, far from the bustle of the Bangkok neighbourhood he called home for the past 28 years. 

Maya Beach near Krabi is relatively unknown, a little too far off the tourist track for most to bother, especially when they could go to Ao Nang, Phi Phi, or the better-known Maya Bay from that one movie. The quaint villa he rented for a month is a stone’s throw from a walking street with a 7-Eleven, an ATM, a small night market, and a scattering of other villas sitting high on wooden stilts. Thai-style. Ray always disdained such simplicity as a young person, but he’s come to appreciate it ever since moving here.

He graduated from Thammasat way back in 2022, though the business degree was merely a piece of paper he could use to get his dad off his back for once. Drinking and drugs remained his daily indulgences. But after a near-miss car crash and a clash with his closest friends over his lack of investment in their shared hostel project, Ray voluntarily entered a three-month rehab program for his dependence on alcohol in late 2023. 

It wasn’t easy. He had more than a few relapses, but he turned twenty-five already two months sober, and hasn’t touched a drop in three years. 

Life had been on the up for the rich boy ever since then. He liked the job and made money of his own for the first time ever, and he was popular with the hostel guests, sometimes even making friends with benefits out of those who stuck around long enough. He never found a steady partner, but he made his peace with Mew dating Top, and treasured his friendships instead. 

A year after rehab, Ray moved out of his family home into a spacious Thong Lo condo. There was no reason to suspect that his late twenties and onward would be anything but what he’d always dreamed of.

Until one day, straightening the chairs in the hostel common room, he collapsed.

Only Nick had been working with him since it was low season, and Ray came to about a minute later, so he shrugged it off as low blood sugar and chugged a Coke from the vending machine. When it failed to keep him from sinking to the floor again within five minutes, Nick called 191, and Ray was rushed to the nearest hospital.

‘Stage three distant multiple myeloma’ is his de facto diagnosis, but Ray only remembers the word cancer as it repeated over and over in his mind. Nick had switched shifts so that Mew could sit with Ray in the hospital when he got the news. His father was somewhere in Singapore, and his mother, of course, was already gone. 

“It isn’t fair,” were the only words he could utter, before he turned and sobbed into his best friend’s collared shirt.

And it wasn’t. Ray had his demons, yeah, but he couldn’t be entirely blamed; his mother had treated him poorly for her whole life until she took it, driving him to attempt to take his own just a few years later. He’d survived not only that, but multiple blackouts, a car crash, debilitating heartbreak when Mew chose Top over him, and the horrors of withdrawal in rehab that he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy.

Things were finally getting better. How, then, had it come to this?

Ray sucks on the tail-end of his cigarette, then buries it in the sand. He doesn’t actually have to worry about money, because his dad is still rich and he technically still has a stake in the hostel, one that will be posthumous after his death, all proceeds going to a local charity. But he should take it easy on the smokes. This is his last pack, and he doesn’t have the energy to walk all the way up the street for more.

Money hadn’t made a difference in treatment either. The best doctors in both Thailand and abroad could only prolong his life by a few months at a time, and during his last visit to Bumrungrad, the doctor had kindly suggested that Ray get his affairs in order. 

It was almost laughable. What affairs? At 28 years old, Ray still has dishes in the cupboards of his apartment that he’s never used. His passport has several blank pages left, but he’s medically unable to fly now. He’s never even had someone sleep over at his condo.

His official prognosis was “end-of-life care,” which is why he’d decided to live out the end of his life here, on Maya Beach, with few possessions and even fewer worries. 

There’s no care, but Ray doesn’t mind. It’s better to spare his friends and family one last burden of looking after him, protest as they did. He sold his condo and most of his things, and signed away his inheritance to the cancer wing of the same hospital that had failed to cure him. 

Mew, Cheum, and Boston come down to visit him once a week (on his dime). His father comes less often. Ray can't really blame him—he already buried a wife. It will probably kill him to bury his son too.

He dusts the sand from the seat of his jeans. His hiso habits haven't quite left him, so he refuses typical beachwear like flip flops or swimming shorts. He doesn’t like swimming anyways. He strolls past the open-air market with the intention of picking out a meal before heading home, but he's stopped in his tracks by a deep, melodic voice in the distance, singing along to the twang of a guitar.

And if a double-decker bus

Crashes into us

To die by your side

Is such a heavenly way to die

Ray chuckles inwardly. Are those real song lyrics? He's always been good at English, so he knows he hasn't misunderstood, but he's never heard something so melancholy sung aloud before.

The person's voice is nice though. He tears his eyes away from some sizzling gai yang and walks down a side street, following the music. 

And if a ten tonne truck

Kills the both of us

To die by your side

Well, the pleasure, the privilege is mine

On the first floor of a dilapidated building, he spots a small bar open to the street. The neon purple sign reads Ploy's; the Y is burnt out. A few locals are crowded around tables stacked with beer, ice buckets, and snacks, watching a guy seated on a stool. Ray steps up to the edge of the fairy-light fence and takes a deep breath.

Damn.

The culprit of the depressing but beautiful song is this exact guy. He plays a sticker-covered acoustic guitar that's probably seen better days, but he's well-dressed in a leather jacket over a black t-shirt, rounded out by blue jeans and scuffed black boots. Dark hair falls into even darker eyes, but Ray can see the hint of colour his lush lips provide, rosy-pink and full.

“Thank you, thank you,” he murmurs as he finishes up. He folds his arms over top of his guitar and smiles at the audience. “I love that song. I can take…” He cranes his neck towards a tacky Chang beer clock on the wall. “Hmm. Two more requests.”

The crowd whoops, and the singer adds, “But none from Bank. You're cut off, man.”

“Fuck you, Sand!” The guy who must be Bank shouts good-naturedly. Sand shakes his head and flips him off, smiling.

Ray sits at an empty table and orders a plate of fries and a Coke. Miraculously, being told he had months to live didn't drive him to start drinking again. Everyone thought it might, and even he had his doubts in the beginning. But it's been far better remembering the precious moments as they come—or rather, creating them for people who will remember him when he goes.

The venue is nice, and he feels a certain sense of pride in being able to be around drinkers without drinking himself. The view isn’t bad either. 

Sand plays another request for an older woman, a song by Carabao that Ray vaguely recognizes from his mother’s old records. They came with him down here, as did the player, and he listens to them as loudly as he can, as often as he can. It’s the only good memory he has of her, singing along to those old songs when he was too young to sense her disappointment. 

“Thanks, jae,” Sand beams when he finishes the song. “One more. If I don’t know it, I’ll try my best to fit the vibe.”

Maybe it’s the fact that Ray spent the better part of yesterday hugging his toilet from being sick, and finally felt well enough to leave the house today. Or maybe it’s Sand’s huge brown eyes looking so earnestly at the audience, none of whom are giving him a song to sing. Regardless, Ray finds himself raising his hand. Sand lifts his chin in his direction.

“At the back. Yeah, in the patterned shirt.” Sand smiles at him. “What can I play for you? Try to keep it rock or punk if you can.”

Ray has unfathomably lame music taste (at least according to his friends), rarely listening to anything recorded after 1994. He suddenly shrinks in his chair, embarrassed. 

What am I supposed to ask him for? A guy this fucking cool would probably scoff at Micro or another 80s group. Ray sighs and looks down at the half-eaten plate of fries on the table. 

“Can you sing something about like… feeling good maybe?” he asks in a low voice. “You can pick. Anything nostalgic.”

Sand bites his lip, nodding. “Yeah. I think I know a good one.”

He straightens up on the stool and begins to pluck the strings. Oddly enough, he keeps his eyes on Ray, as if he’s going to sing the song right to him. Ray tugs on his collar, feeling exposed.

But when Sand begins to sing, the lyrics draw Ray out of his discomfort; somehow, this is exactly what he wanted to hear.

In many ways, still miss the good old days

Someday, someday

Yeah, it hurts to say, but I want you to stay

Sometimes, sometimes

His friends had fought him about moving away at first. After all, when had he ever liked going to the beach, or being alone, or living somewhere he didn’t have 24/7 access to Grab delivery? Nevermind the fact that he’s, well, dying—Krabi has hospitals, but the road to Ray’s villa is dirt, and ambulances don’t service the area. He’d be gone before anyone could find him, and they know it. 

When we was young, oh man, did we have fun?

Always, always

Promises, they break before they're made

Sometimes, sometimes

He’s been here three weeks now, all moved in after his most recent doctor’s visit gave him less than two months to go. It’s offered him reflection on the good times, just like the ones Sand is describing in this song. Ray had his fun when he was young, and while he has some regrets, he has only one wish for the future: that he had more time to experience the world sober, without the dissolving margins of vision tainted by alcohol.

Oh, my ex says I'm lacking in depth

I will do my best

You say you wanna stay by my side

Darling, your head's not right

I see, alone we stand, together we fall apart

Yeah, I think I'll be alright

Ray has also never truly been in love. He used to think he was with Mew, largely due to the fact that Mew saved his life (more times than his best friend really knows). But he learned in therapy that the love he thought was romantic was more like admiration for someone who actually cared for him, and who treated him like a human being worthy of respect and reciprocal affection. 

He also uncovered his tendency to use Mew as a crutch, since his friend was always there—literally and figuratively—to clean up his messes when he was at his lowest. Ray had to be the one to get better, and it was only after he made the decision to do so that his crush faded into the abyss.

Still, it would have been nice to experience a deep, romantic connection sometime before now. He doubts he can make it happen in less than a month.

I'm working so I won't have to try so hard

Tables they turn sometimes

Oh, someday, yeah

No, I ain't wastin' no more time

Trying, trying

Sand finishes the song and Ray claps along with the rest of the crowd. “Thank you,” he says, for the hundredth time. He nods at Ray. “That was one of my favourite songs. Thanks for giving me the opportunity to play it.” He puts his guitar down. “See you guys next time.”

Once again, Ray is entranced by his movements. When he hops off the stool and stands at his full height, he looks tall as fuck; he has to be at least 180cm, if not more. Ray sips the rest of his Coke, but his eyes follow the musician as he walks over to the bar, chatting with the pretty older woman behind it. 

He must be staring too hard, because Sand turns on his heel and weaves his way through the maze of tables, only to stop right in front of Ray’s.

“Hey.”

Ray swallows the gulp of pop in his mouth. “Hi.”

“Can I sit with you?”

“Uh. Sure.” Ray motions to the empty seat across from him, as if there’s anywhere else for Sand to sit. “Help yourself.”

“Thanks.”

Sand reaches for one of Ray’s fries and bathes it in ketchup, then takes a bite. “I’ve never seen you here before. Are you local?”

Ray shakes his head. “Not yet,” he replies with a grin. “I’m from Bangkok, but I just moved here.”

Sand grins back. “Tired of the grind, hm?”

“Mn. Kind of.”

Ray has never in his life been shy, but it’s been difficult opening up to new people after his diagnosis, mostly because each passing day brings him closer to his last. Why would anyone want to get to know him, when he’s going to disappear from their orbit within a month?

“I’m Sand,” the singer offers. He extends his hand, rough and callused. “What’s your name?”

“Ray.”

“Ray.” His name sounds good in Sand’s slightly raspy voice. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too.”

The chattering of strangers around them is somehow muted, along with the unpredictable roar of passing motorcycles, and the easy-listening track the woman behind the bar just put on in lieu of Sand’s live vocals. Ray grabs another fry. “You’re from here?”

“Born and raised. Well, in Krabi.” Sand leans back in his chair, legs slightly spread. “I’ve been to Bangkok a few times. Tried making some money playing music out there, but it didn’t stick. No one can be a rockstar anymore.”

“I mean, you just were,” Ray points out. Sand regards him amusedly.

“Playing Strokes covers is probably the closest I’ll ever get,” he jokes. His eyes sparkle under the string lights. Ray had been wrong earlier; they’re not dark, but caramel-brown, at least right now. 

“Was that the song you played for me?”

“Yeah. It’s called ‘Someday.’ It seemed to fit the bill of nostalgia and… feeling good.” Sand shrugs, blushing slightly. “I mean, I hope it did.”

“It did. I really liked it.”

Ray is burning with curiosity about why Sand decided to sit down next to him. Judging by the looks being tossed their way, he has more than a few admirers, guys and girls alike. 

The rich boy has always been confident about his appearance, but after his aggressive treatments, he’s lost a lot of his (pretty minimal) muscle mass, and his skin is pale, no matter how long he spends in the sun. The dark circles never seem to leave their spot under his eyes. He also has some unfortunate scars from the chemo.

All he really has left is his style, which is on par with Sand’s, cool in a different way. He wears a black and white button-down patterned with different letters of the Thai alphabet, over his signature white singlet and dark blue Levis. He wouldn’t be caught dead in sandals, so he’s had to contend with his boots getting covered in grime.

As he ruminates, Sand murmurs, “Can I get you a beer?”

“Hm? Ah.” Ray tightens his grip on the empty can of pop. “No. I mean… I don’t drink. Not anymore.”

“Oh, okay. Can I get you something else then? Another Coke?” Sand offers, completely non-judgemental.

Ray smiles. “Sure. A Coke would be great.”

Sand walks over to the bar and comes back with one can of Coke and one of Sprite. The gesture fills Ray with warmth. Unless he’s with his closest friends, he always gets strange looks when he says he doesn’t drink, whereas Sand didn’t seem to give it a second thought.

He searches for a topic of conversation. “You were born here? That’s cool. I love the beach.”

Sand snickers. “You do? You look like you’re ready to walk in an Ed Hardy fashion show, not the jetty.”

Ray laughs too, despite the call-out. “Fine, fine. I don’t like the beach very much, but I’m trying to.”

“But you moved here?” Sand quirks an eyebrow. “Are you a hotel investor or something?”

Ray’s heart lurches. This is it. 

Of course he could lie—he has before, plenty of times, when he just didn’t want to get into it. Claimed he inherited the beach house from his grandmother, or had a sudden urge to pan for gold after losing everything gambling in Poi Pet. He even told some pesky guy trying to rizz him that he had stalked his ex to the island, which quickly put the other man off.

But Sand has an open, honest face, and he’d been the one to sit down with Ray in the first place, right? 

Fuck it. It’s not like I have anything left to lose.

“I’m dying,” he states, trying to keep his expression neutral.

Unexpectedly, Sand chuckles. “Good one.” He clinks his can with Ray’s. “I’ve heard better pick-up lines though.”

Ray relaxes from the implication (Sand gets hit on by guys? And doesn’t mind?), but he doubles down. “No, really. I’m dying.” 

He turns his wrist over, displaying the bruises and red spots from all the IV drips. Some of them never healed, so his skin is permanently purple in places. “I have a rare type of blood cancer.”

Sand’s mouth drops open, revealing his bottom row of teeth, where two of them stand a little taller like vampire fangs. “Oh.” He coughs. “I’m… sorry.”

Sorry is Ray’s least favourite word. It means nothing at this stage. Sorry never brought back his mother, or fixed his wounded heart, or killed the mutated cells that are swimming through his blood at this very moment. 

Sorry is what people say when they don’t know what else they can offer, but it’s worthless currency. Always has been.

He draws his arm back onto his lap and shrugs. “You asked.”

It’s quiet for a bit, at least between them. Sand clears his throat. “If you’re dying, then why did you move to a place you don’t like?”

Ray’s smile resurfaces. It’s a fair question, and Sand looks like he’s open to the truth. “Honestly, I don’t know. I guess I was just tired.” 

He scoots his chair a bit closer to the table so he can put his elbows down and rest his chin in his hands. He gazes up at Sand. “I wanted to make a clean break. My whole life is in Bangkok, and while I have a lot of good memories there, I have a lot of bad ones too. I made a lot of mistakes in the past.” 

Sand nods. “I know what you mean.”

Ray doubts it, but he continues, “It was kind of like…” He sits up again, then drops back down, onto one hand this time. “I don’t know. My mother died when I was thirteen, and instead of learning my lesson about not being a fucking drunk like she was, I took her place.” He closes his eyes. “Ten years of blacking out so often, it became my default state. Then I graduated and had real responsibilities, and I couldn’t keep those up either. I felt like a fucking failure all the time.”

He knows he’s ranting now, but Sand just keeps looking at him, mouth in a straight line. He cocks his head to the side. “You know what’s weird?”

“What?” Sand asks softly.

“I always thought like… I would never be able to convince myself to change. I had to do it for someone else, even if it was someone who didn’t care about me the way I cared about them.” He huffs out a laugh. “But it’s true that it has to be you. The one who makes the change, I mean. One day I woke up hungover, and I just rolled over and called the rehab place. I was scared shitless, but I did it. And I never looked back.”

Sand smiles. “Well, I’m proud of you then. It makes sense why you’d want to move.” He sips his drink from the straw. “Still doesn’t answer why you chose to move here though. We don’t even have a Café Amazon.”

Ray snickers. “Tragic. The last thing I hope to do before I die is have one of their shitty lattes.”

He’s used to making such jokes by now, and thankfully, Sand joins him in chuckling over it. “Too bad. There’s a stall at the market that makes pretty good lattes though.”

He crosses his legs and leans over the table. “What do you want to do then? Before you…” He waves his arm vaguely in the air, as if it’s sign language for the forbidden word.

“Die. You can say it.” Ray shrugs. “I don’t really know. I like living day by day, and trying to take care of myself. This is the first time I’ve ever lived without a maid.”

Sand’s lip twitches. “I knew you were hiso as soon as I sat down here, but I didn't think it was that bad.”

“Oh, come on. Cleaning a toilet sucks. I bet if you could pay someone to do it, you would.”

Sand snickers. “I’d pay to watch you do it, khun nu.” He puts his drink down. “I’ve done my own chores since I was five. No real choice—my mum was always working.”

“What does she do?”

“This.” Sand jerks his head in the direction of the bar. The pretty older woman he was talking to earlier smiles at the two of them. Ray makes the connection in his head, having noted that Sand didn’t pay for their drinks. 

“Ohhhhh. Is this your bar?” he asks, intrigued. 

Sand laughs again. “No. It’s been here for years. The original owner named it after his wife, Ploy, but she di—” He stops, his face reddening again. “Yeah. Anyways, my mum just started here last year. She worked in a gogo bar in Ao Nang for like two decades and raised me in the back room, with all the dancers.”

Ray is fascinated. He’s spent his fair share of time in gogo bars, though as the customer, and out-of-his-mind drunk. The women there were always nice to him. “Interesting.”

“Is it?” Sand scratches the back of his head. “It was kind of shit. There are lots of mafia in the beach towns, and loan sharks used to come by to try to shake the place up. My mum stopped bringing me and made me stay home alone. I was cooking my own meals before I could ride a bike.”

“I don’t even know how to ride a bike,” Ray interjects, feeling lost from the sudden turn of the conversation.

He’s struggled in his life plenty of times, from his mother’s death to his own personal difficulties with drinking. But he also had access to everything possible to pull himself out of it when he was good and ready: therapists, expensive rehab centres, private hospitals, on-call home nurses. Even now, he’s exhibiting a certain kind of privilege over someone in a similar situation, able to support himself without having to work. 

Sand smiles thinly. “I’m surprised your maid didn’t teach you. Guess they were too busy cleaning your toilet.” He kicks Ray under the table so he knows he’s joking. 

“Yeah, well, I don’t see what was so bad about growing up in a gogo bar. Lots of beautiful women,” Ray comments, kicking him back. “Unless you’re not into that.”

“I am. I’m into everyone.” Sand sounds pleased with himself. “If someone has a good personality and we can vibe, I’m down. I have no type.”

“Mn.”

“Yeah.” Sand’s cheeks are still pink. “But… I don’t know. It wasn’t bad growing up there, but it wasn’t good either. I started working odd jobs to make my own money and help my mum. Not really for myself. She didn’t like that though, and she refused to let me help her with anything but the food budget once I turned fifteen.”

“What did you do with the money then?” Ray asks.

Sand grins, leaning in and raising a finger as he counts. “First, I got my guitar. Self-taught from YouTube. Then, I saved up to get my own motorcycle.” He points at a shiny black bike parked up the road. “After that, I went on trips by myself, mostly around the south. My biggest one was up to Bangkok where I spent a month just bumming around peoples’ couches and playing little gigs. It was fun.”

“A hippie, hm?” Ray scrunches his nose up and giggles. “That suits you.”

“It does.”

Ray can see hints of hippie on Sand—a few hemp bracelets, a single earring, a peace-sign patch on the sleeve of his jacket. “That sounds pretty cool, actually. I’d love to take a trip on the back of a motorcycle.”

“Let me guess… you don’t know how to ride one of those either?” Sand teases, his eyes squishing into crescents and forming lines in their corners. 

“No. But you do.” Ray’s shyness has disappeared, now that he’s laid everything out to the man in front of him. “You asked me what I want to do before I die. How about watching the sunset somewhere, na?” 

He bats his lashes and pouts, something he hasn’t done since before he got sick. There’s been no one to direct it towards. “You’re from here. You must know a good spot.”  

The singer shrugs. “I do. But it’s locals only. No hiso city boys allowed.” A smirk plays at his lips as he gulps down the last of his Sprite.

“Saaaaaand. I’m dying,” he wheedles, and Sand nearly spits his drink up. “Besides, I told you I’m local now. Kind of. I have an official address and everything.” He blinks rapidly again. “Please? Naaaaa?”

Sand shakes his head, laughing. “Okay, okay. Stop with the shitty puppy dog eyes.” He stands up. “Give me a second.”

Ray counts out the bills for his earlier Coke and fries, and leaves them on the table while Sand goes to speak to his mother. She gives him a knowing look and he rolls his eyes, saying something Ray can’t hear. 

He walks back over with his hands in his pockets and nods. “Follow me.” 

Sand’s bike is as beat up as his guitar. He straddles it and clips his helmet on, then turns to look up at Ray. “I only have one helmet. Sorry.”

Ray laughs. “It doesn’t really matter now, does it?” He shimmies daintily onto the bike and wraps his arms around Sand’s waist, surprisingly small under his bulky jacket. “Let’s go!”

Wind whips his hair as they drive. There’s almost no traffic, just a few aunties pushing their food carts, and a stray tuk tuk whizzing past them. The sun is already halfway down the horizon. Ray gazes at the kaleidoscope of warm colours that paint the sky over the churning blue ocean and smiles.

It’s probably only ten minutes before Sand veers off the main road and down a bumpy dirt path. Ray clings to him, pressing his face into his wide back. He can hear Sand snickering to himself and it makes him laugh too, vibrating into Sand’s jacket.

The path straightens, surrounded by stately palms on both sides. At the very end, Ray can see the same orange and blue, framed by a pair of gray rocks three times as tall as the two men. Sand pulls over to the side and stops the bike.

It’s a lovely spot. In reality, it’s the same stretch of beach as before, but a small patch of sand is blocked off by the two flanking rocks, making it feel like their own private cove. 

“Wow.”

Sand takes off his jacket and puts it down on the ground, motioning for Ray to sit on it. He does, and Sand sits next to him, their arms pressed together. 

“Do you know why they call this Maya Beach?” he asks Ray.

“No.”

Sand takes a handful of the white, sparkling sand in his hand and lets it fall through his fingers. “It’s because of an old legend. A fisherman claimed he saw a mermaid when he was out on the water, but no one believed him. He couldn’t find her in his boat, so he waited in this spot, between the two rocks, but she never came back.” 

He leans back and supports himself with both wrists. “Then finally, he decided to stand on top of the rocks so she could see him from far away, in case she was looking for him too. She was, and she fell in love with him. He loved her so much that he drowned trying to follow her into the water.”

“Oh.” Ray nods as if it’s some profound conclusion. “Was her name Maya?”

“No. It comes from the original meaning.”

Illusion. Ray frowns. “That’s not even a good story.”

“I didn’t say it was. It’s just why they named the beach that.” Sand nudges him. “Aren’t you supposed to be watching the sunset?”

“It’s more boring than I expected.”

They both laugh. The same warmth that radiated through Ray when Sand shared a pop with him fizzles in his gut, this time from his proximity to the handsome near-stranger. Sand likes guys. Ray is a guy. Sand is nice. Maybe…

“You’ve told me a lot about your mum,” Sand comments. “What about your dad? Isn’t he disappointed that you moved out here instead of staying with him?”

Ray groans. Nothing like talking about his father to kill a fantasy. “Mn. My dad…” He leans back on his wrists too, but it hurts too much, so he just lies down fully, head on the cool sand. “It’s complicated.”

“How?”

Ray smiles, because he likes Sand’s interest in him. “I don’t remember much from growing up. He was like any other workaholic dad, and I was so busy trying to get a crumb of my mum’s attention that I didn’t really care if he was around or not. When she died, he checked out completely. I think he was afraid of saying the wrong thing.”

“Mhmm. I bet it was hard on him.” Sand pauses. “Her dying, I mean.”

Ray is eye-level with Sand’s belt when he flits his gaze in the musician’s direction. “Yeah, probably. They met young, when she was a famous actress. He comes from a long line of jewellers that are pretty prominent in Bangkok.”

“Your mother was an actress?”

“Yeah. Chintana Rattanakosin.” Ray spots a flicker of recognition in Sand’s eyes, but the singer says nothing. “She was the darling of the Thai film industry at one point. Then she got pregnant. She resented me being born and ruining her life, and I’m sure she saw my dad as an accomplice to that somehow.”

Sand makes an affirmative sound to show he’s listening. Ray adds, “I stayed out of his way in uni unless I needed money. I know he must have been concerned about me drinking so much, but like I said, he probably knew it was me who needed to make the change, so he never forced me into rehab. He seemed happy when I finished, but by then it was too late to really repair our relationship. Same with the cancer. I guess he just never learned how to act like a dad.”

In all honesty, Ray would have liked to make amends with his father. He has in some ways, like successfully running the hostel with his friends, and finishing rehab so his dad no longer has to worry about him being dead in a ditch somewhere from alcohol poisoning.

But like with his mum, he’ll never get back those years when he and his old man were as distant as roommates. He sighs. “Anyways, it is what it is. What about you? Is your dad still around?”

Sand snorts. “Never was.” He shifts so he’s lying next to Ray, elbow-to-elbow on his spread-out jacket. “My mum had a one-night stand with a guy, and that’s how I came about. A real-life bastard.”

Ray laughs. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true.” Sand sounds like he’s had to defend himself on this plenty of times. “She told me who my dad is, but she never told him I was her son, and I’ve never had the courage to tell him either.” He looks down at Ray. “His name is Sun. He’s a saxophone player at a jazz club in Krabi Town.”

“Really? That’s cool.” 

“I guess.”

Ray digs the heel of his boot into the sand. “Why won’t you tell him you’re his son? Do you think he’s going to think you want money or something?”

Sand chuckles, his body trembling against Ray’s. “No, not really. I’m too old for that anyways.”

Ray realizes he never asked. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-eight.”

“Same.” 

“I thought so.” Sand smiles down at him again, then turns back to the sky, still bright with a hint of sun. “I don’t know why I haven’t told him. My mum said she doesn’t care if I do it, but it feels a bit like betraying her. Does that make sense?” He sighs. “It’s always just been me and her. She gave me the best life she could, and him knowing about me isn’t really going to change the last couple decades.”

“No, you’re right,” Ray assures him. He purses his lips thoughtfully. “But… I don’t know. This probably sounds cliché, but you’re not guaranteed tomorrow. If you want to get to know him, you should. The worst he can do is say he doesn’t want the same, and then your life is exactly as it was before, but with that weight lifted off your shoulders.”

Sand rolls over onto his side and rests his cheek on his hand. His eyes are impossibly big, like a deer in headlights, blinking back at Ray. “Did you ever do something like that?”

Ray thinks of Mew, but it doesn’t feel like the same gravity as confronting a birth parent, so he shakes his head. “No. Not really. But now, with like a month left to live, I think about it. All the times I didn’t speak up enough or go for something I really wanted. Or someone.”

“You have less than a month to live?” Sand asks in a hushed voice.

It dawns on Ray he told Sand he was dying, but not that he was like, dying dying, at the end of his life. He nods slowly. “Yeah. And I have a few regrets.” He looks down at the cracked leather of Sand’s jacket. “I hope you don’t have them.”

Sand smiles. “I don’t have very many. Not yet, anyways.”

“Good.” Ray smiles back. Sand is inches from him, smelling of cigarettes and a watery cologne. “You shouldn’t.”

“No?” Sand’s fingers wrap around Ray’s wrist as it lies limp by his side. “Then what should I do, hm?”

“To have no regrets?”

Sand’s eyelids lower, blinking slow as a cat. “Mhmm.”

“What I said.” Ray’s heart is in his throat. “You should do what you want.”

“Okay.”

And with that, Sand's lips connect with his.

It's brief. Soft. Ray tilts his head back a bit, lets his mouth open for more, but Sand doesn't take the bait. He pulls away, tucking a piece of Ray's hair behind his ear. 

Ray's eyes open. Sand is staring at him with a lazy smile on his face as the sea creeps up the shore. He's so beautiful, even in the fading light of the sunset. Ray can see the whites of the waves reflected in his eyes. 

“Do you want to come back to my place?” Sand asks quietly.

Ray does. But he's also aware of himself, of the situation. He takes a deep breath and exhales, looking down at Sand's twisted hemp bracelet instead of back at him. 

“Are you just asking because you feel sorry for me?” he whispers.

Sand shakes his head. “No.” He thumbs at Ray's cheek. “I don't feel sorry for you. I feel sorry for myself.”

Ray laughs. “And why is that, hm? You just got to kiss me for free.”

“That's why.” Sand leans in and kisses him again, with the same sensitivity as the first, lips brushing against lips. “I like you. But you're…” His voice trails off.

“Dying,” Ray finishes, and this time they both chuckle. 

“Yeah.” Sand bites his lip. “I wish… that I'd met you before.”

“I know.”

Unlike Sand, Ray has had months to come to terms with this, and after the terminal diagnosis, all he was hoping for was a peaceful last few weeks on this beach. Meeting Sand was never part of the plan, but he's been a welcome addition, even if it will only last for tonight.

“There's nothing I can do about it though,” Ray reasons. He braids his fingers with Sand's and smiles up at him. “So maybe you should take my advice, and we can make the most of what we have now, na?”

“Mhmm.” Sand's kissing him for a third time, nudging his lips apart with the tip of his nose. “I'd like that.”

This kiss is much rougher. Passionate. Sand’s hand tiptoes up Ray’s shirt, thumbing along his ribs as he urges his mouth open. He tastes like Sprite and a hint of tobacco. Ray hasn’t been kissed in a long time, not since before his first hospital visit, so it feels as brand new to him as when he was in high school. Somehow, that makes it all the more thrilling.

The sun has finally set and it's dark, but Ray can hear the waves pounding the rocks next to them, drowning out the heavy breaths coming from Sand’s mouth. He pays little attention though, focusing on Sand’s warm tongue and how delicious it feels mingling with his own. 

It’s messy. He forgot how wet kissing is, how much spit gathers in the corners of his mouth. He forgot how much he likes to bite too, and Sand pulls away in surprise when he sinks his teeth into his plush top lip.

“Sorry,” Ray giggles, his expression showing the exact opposite. 

“Don’t be.” Sand kisses him on his cheek, nibbling down to his jaw. “But I’m getting you back. Just wait.”

It doesn’t take long. Ray’s always liked having his neck kissed, and Sand must have picked up on it, because he sucks a deep red mark into Ray’s throat before kissing his way up to his ear and licking the shell, lobe between his teeth. Ray moans in the near-silence of the empty beach, only the palm trees swishing in the autumn air. 

He’s already straining in his jeans when Sand yanks him to his feet. “My place,” he says again. “Come on.”

Neither bothers with a helmet this time. Ray rests against his back again as they putter off down the road. The rocks get smaller and smaller until they disappear around the curve of the path, and they're back onto the main soi.

Sand pulls up in front of a small apartment complex. Ray half-expected him to live with his mother given the circumstances, but this is a much better alternative. They take the stairs to the third floor and Sand unlocks the door, holding it open for Ray to step inside. 

The strong smell of soil hits first, and the sources are all around him; plants hang from the ceiling or sit in pots on the windowsill. He shucks his boots off as Sand noisily closes the door and takes a look around.

Besides the plants, Sand's place is fairly bare. Photos of him and his mother decorate the fridge, held up by magnets from various locations around Thailand. Phuket. Krabi. Ayutthaya. An old TV sits on an overturned box that probably housed a microwave at some point, and a lumpy brown couch is pushed against the far wall with a knitted blanket tossed over the spine. Sand's electric guitar rests on a stand in the corner, next to a small collection of records on a shelf in need of dusting.

Ray ignores the dirty dishes in the sink as Sand presses him against the counter, rubbing circles on his hips just inside the waistband of his jeans.

“Wait, can you…?” He drops a kiss on Ray's neck, then buries his face in his shoulder. “I didn’t even think.”

“Can I what?” Ray muses, but then it hits him. “Oh.” He gently taps Sand’s chin so he’ll lift his head back up. “Mhmm. We can have sex. It’s not going to kill me, I promise.”

Sand laughs, a good sign that he’s taking all of this in stride, without the usual glass-handling that comes with these sorts of conversations. “Okay.” He still sounds a bit unsure, and confirms it by asking, “Is there… do I need to do anything differently?”

“Maybe go a little slower than usual,” Ray suggests, knowing how easily his breath can be stolen from him at the most banal of times, let alone when the hottest guy he’s ever seen is plowing him through a mattress. “But that’s it. I’ll tell you if I need to take a break.”

Sand’s eyelids lower in fondness. “Mn. Okay.”

He reaches behind Ray and clasps his arms around his waist. “Have you ever been carried to bed?” he asks.

Ray shakes his head. “No. Not yet.”

Sand smiles. “Let me be the first. Hold on to me.”

Ray has little energy to hop up, but he snakes his arms around Sand’s neck and grips his shoulders. Sand uses the counter for leverage to hoist him up, and Ray locks his legs around him.

“I can’t do this for long, but I’ll try,” Sand huffs. Ray laughs, just happy to be carried at all. Sand stumbles a short distance down the hallway to his bedroom, door already ajar, bed unmade. He lets Ray down onto the rumpled sheets like a delicate flower. 

Ray hasn’t entertained the idea of sex since getting sick, so he understands the notion that he needs to be handled with care. He hopes Sand won’t go easy on him though; he needs the singer inside him more than he’s ever needed anyone in his life. 

Sand seems to want to take his time. He undoes the rest of Ray's buttons and pushes his shirt off his shoulders, then reaches for the hem of his singlet, tugging it upwards. Ray helps him and tosses it to the floor. His bare chest is exposed, scars, bruises and all.

“What happened?” Sand asks, tracing the faded red lines from years ago, where the seatbelt had saved Ray's life.

“It wasn't time,” Ray replies. 

He smiles up at Sand, and the singer smiles back, understanding. “Mn. Glad it wasn't.”

Sand lays him onto his back after taking his own t-shirt off. He's lean, more than even Ray used to be, skin tightly stretched over his protruding clavicles. Ray leans up to kiss him and the temperature of the room rises. He could do this forever and die happy, probably.

But Sand won't stop there. He kisses the mottled skin of Ray's scar down to his nipple, circling the shy bud with his tongue. When he takes one between his teeth, Ray lets out a guttural moan. Sand grins.

“Sensitive, hm?” He rolls the other, neglected bud between two fingers. “You're so cute, Ray.”

Cute. Ray will take it; he hasn't been complimented in months. He watches Sand kiss his way down his belly and stop at the waistband of his jeans. A noticeable bulge has already formed, and Ray can see that Sand is just as aching in his own trousers.

“Let's get naked,” he suggests, nudging Sand with his knee. “Na? I want to touch you too.”

Sand smirks. “Whatever you want, little brat.” 

He steps off the bed and unlatches his belt. It's obvious he's putting on a bit of a show, and Ray watches, completely mesmerized. He pops the button on his jeans and yanks the zipper down, then slides his pants and boxers off completely in one fell swoop.

Ray stares. Sand's cock is thick, already hard, glistening at the tip. He licks his lips and Sand raises a brow.

“Still want me to take your pants off too?” he asks, tongue between his teeth.

“Mn. Later.” Ray makes grabby-hands as Sand kneels back down onto the bed. “Get over here.”

It's uncomfortable for him to bend down like he normally might, so he has Sand stay on his knees and lean down so his cock is level with his mouth. He keeps his eyes on the musician though, even as he licks the salty precum from the tip. Sand's expression is neutral, but Ray can tell he's fighting to keep it that way. 

“So good,” he murmurs, taking more of Sand to the back of his throat. The singer is definitely a hippie; the hair around his cock is wild and tickles Ray's nose as he sucks him off. But it's so fucking sexy he doesn't even care. He squeezes Sand's ass as he goes, trying his best to get a rise out of him.

“Ray…” He finally breaks a few minutes later, knees shaking. 

“Come down.” Ray pulls him onto the mattress so they can kiss again, sharing in the taste. Sand takes the opportunity to get Ray's jeans off and he kicks them to the end of the bed. He moans when their cocks brush together, bare at last.

Everything is hyper-sensitive. Sweat pools beneath them; Sand's AC is no good. Their skin is slick with it, and nowhere are they even an inch apart, chest to chest and limbs tangled in a heap. 

Ray has never in his life felt this close to someone, and not only physically.

Sand nudges him gently onto his back again. He kisses down his stomach, past his hip tattoo and onto his thigh. He thumbs at Ray's entrance and looks up at him. “Can I eat you out?”

Ray involuntarily spasms, and Sand laughs. “I'd take that as a yes, but I need you to say it.” 

“Yes. Fuck.” Sand's relentless dedication to consent is admirable, obviously, but Ray is also about to explode from how fucking horny he is. Not having jerked off for weeks (mostly due to lack of energy or medication side effects) has him simmering deep in his gut.

“Mn. So cute.” Sand parts his thighs with his elbows and pushes them up so they can rest on his shoulders. 

He licks the puckered skin of Ray's hole with the expertise of someone who's done this before. Ray whimpers and bites down on his fist to keep from waking Sand's entire apartment complex.

“Mn.” Sand moans against him, clearly turned on by the action. The vibration goes straight to Ray's cock. He fights the urge to stroke himself, knowing Sand would just slap his hand away.

It's better than he could have ever imagined. He's never had someone do this to him, though he's done it for others, and he always figured he'd like receiving.

And fuck, is Sand ever a giver. 

Along with the little noises he's making, he's a master in using his tongue. He traces Ray's rim, licking the ring of muscle before pushing the tip inside, lapping at Ray's tender walls. Precum drips down the side of his dick as Sand licks him open. 

“Sand,” he whispers, gripping the thick tendrils of his hair. “Fuck, don't stop, please… please…”

Of course Sand doesn't; he digs his nails into Ray's thin skin and continues to taste him. He varies the pressure, licking softly, then hard, flicking along the sensitive edge of Ray's entrance. Ray's eyes are closed, but everything else is amplified, from the sound of Sand's wet tongue inside him to the thundering of his heart as it rattles inside his chest.

Sand stops after a few minutes and kisses his way back up to Ray's lips. “Mm. Did you like that?”

Ray nods. “I don't even know what to say,” he replies weakly. They both laugh and keep kissing, unable to separate their lips from each other's.

Eventually, Sand slows his kisses down and reaches clumsily for his bedside table, where a bottle of lube sits amongst a pile of condoms. He squirts the liquid onto his fingers and circles Ray's rim again.

“Good?” he asks softly, punctuating the question with a kiss. His head rests on the pillow next to Ray, wide eyes half-shut, lips shiny with spit. 

“Mhmm. I like it.” Ray taps his finger on the mole near Sand's eye, then follows it to the one next to his lip. “You're so pretty. Has anyone ever told you that?”

Sand blushes. “No. Not those exact words,” he admits, and Ray smiles. 

“Good. I wanted to be the first something for you.” He kisses the most prominent mole on Sand's chin. “Fuck, Sand. How did I get so lucky?”

Sand silences him with another kiss as he fingers him open. It's unhurried, probably obvious that he's tight after months of fucking absolutely no one, not even himself. So they take their time, kissing and biting and sighing late into the night. Sand rubs the bundle of nerves inside Ray and has him spurting precum once again.

“Okay, enough. Enough.”

“Do you need a break?” Sand asks. He removes his fingers but stays on his side, tracing the letters of Ray's hip tattoo.

“Maybe,” Ray admits. “For a minute. So I can catch my breath.”

“Sure.” 

They don't kiss directly, but Sand presses his lips to Ray's shoulder, his collarbone. Ray smiles down at him and strokes his hair. “You like me a lot, na?”

Sand nods. “I haven't had fun like this in a long time.”

“Me either.”

After five minutes or so, Ray is ready. He strokes Sand's cock, semi-hard as they come down a bit. Sand gives him a kiss while stretching over him to grab a condom.

“We don't need those,” Ray tells him. Sand freezes.

“Really?”

Ray nods. “I haven't slept with anyone since I started getting a million blood tests a week,” he assures him. “We can use it if you want to, but I promise I'm safe.”

Sand grins. “I trust you.” 

He tosses the condom back onto his bedside table. He rubs Ray's thigh with his thumb and strokes himself with his free hand after removing Ray's. Leaning in towards his ear, he murmurs, “Spread your legs for me.”

Ray follows his slight command and lets him lift his thighs onto his own. He lines up his bare cock with Ray's dripping hole. “Are you ready? You're okay?”

“Mhmm. Yes and yes.” Ray's entire body is pink with embarrassment, so clear is his desire to be fucked within an inch of his life. “Get in me, na?”

Sand doesn't need to be told twice. He starts with just an inch or so, probably still nervous about hurting Ray in his fragile state. He doesn't need to worry; at this point, Ray wouldn't care if this last act killed him, as long as he got to experience making love to Sand at least once.

Because that's what this has felt like, ever since that first kiss on the beach. Not some one-night stand, not just hot sex, but the joining of two people who've managed to connect at exactly the right time. Ray sighs as Sand stretches him slowly, running his hands up and down his legs.

“Okay?” he asks.

“You're being too patient,” Ray tells him. He pulls him down to his mouth and nips at his lip. “Kiss me. You don't have to be so gentle.”

“I want to though.”

Ray can't argue. Sand bottoms out inside him and rolls his hips, deliberately moving at a glacial pace to tease him. They're still coated in sweat, and when Sand bends down to tuck his arms under Ray's back, his cock is pressed between their stomachs, gliding against wet skin.

“You're so sexy,” Ray tells him, biting his shoulder. Sand licks up his neck, savouring the salt, until he nears Ray's lip and nips him right back.

“No, you are,” he grins. He pushes Ray's hair from his forehead. “Fucking hell, Ray. You drive me insane.”

This close, it's impossible not to reach their breaking point far earlier than either of them would have thought. Ray can feel Sand's cock hitting him at just the right angle. He kisses him open-mouthed, sloppy and rabid. Sand picks up the pace slightly. The bed begins to creak.

“More, Sand, please…” Ray can't say much more than that now. “Fuck… I'm close…”

As soon as the words leave his lips, he comes with a startled cry. Sand thrusts into him only once more before he comes as well, sputtering a mangled gasp of Ray's name.

Having someone come inside him is new too. Ray feels full, sticky. It's an odd sensation, but it's Sand, so he puts the slight discomfort to the back of his mind and sighs contentedly.

I slept with someone.

He hadn't been advised not to or anything, but he didn't think it would happen at this stage. He smiles and kisses the top of Sand's head. 

Sand grunts as he pulls out. Cum spills from Ray's hole and Sand keels his spine into a parenthesis, licking what he can before it drips onto his sheets. Ray shivers from overstimulation, and further still, when Sand kisses him with his taste on his tongue.

He smiles. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I'm okay.” Ray shifts his neck. “Kind of tired.”

“I'll clean up. Be right back.”

He leaves the room and returns with a wet washcloth. He wipes Ray's thighs and belly, then tosses it into his laundry basket.

“Can you stand for a minute? I want to change the sheets,” he explains.

Ray nods. With great effort he stands up, and Sand makes quick work of stripping the bedding and snapping a clean fitted sheet overtop. He pulls Ray back down and tugs the covers up over them. It's not really necessary because it's so damn hot, but Ray appreciates the care.

He snuggles into Sand's shoulder. “That was so good.”

“Was it? I'm a little out of practice.” Sand brushes the hair from Ray's eyes and gives him a kiss.

Ray laughs. “Thank God then. You might have actually killed me otherwise.”

The AC unit hums as they both come down. Ray could have never in a million years predicted meeting someone like Sand, let alone being invited back to his place for the best night of his life. He leans up to give him a thank-you kiss, something soft and sweet. Sand returns it.

“Let's go to sleep.” Sand wraps his arm around him. “I'll make us breakfast in the morning.”

“Promise?” Ray asks.

“Mhmm. Why would I say it if I didn't mean it?” Sand yawns. “Goodnight, Ray.”

Ray smiles, his eyes fluttering shut. “Goodnight, Sand.”

***

His exhaustion takes him all the way to dawn, when a koel bird awakens them both. Sun peeks in through the blinds, but it can't be any later than seven, so Ray drops a lazy kiss onto Sand's chest and plays with the hair of his treasure trail.

“You like that, hm?” Sand speaks without opening his eyes. Ray affirms it by continuing to play, noting that Sand's dick is already interested.

But Sand suddenly rolls over and attacks him with kisses all over his face, and Ray can only giggle in protest, as Sand's lips press to his nose, his temple, his chin.

“Aoooow. Stop! It's too early,” he complains. Sand pulls away and pushes a strand of hair from Ray's sleepy eyes.

“What?” Ray asks, daring a quick kiss to his swollen lips. 

“I love you,” Sand whispers. He drops his cheek down onto the pillow and smiles.

Ray does the same, but he rolls his eyes, snorting a bit. “You haven't known me long enough to fall in love with me.”

“I don't have long enough.” Sand kisses him again, hand on his cheek. “I'm just doing what you told me to do.”

“What was that?” 

“Making sure I have no regrets.” 

Sand pulls him closer so their noses touch. “I think if we had more time, I'd fall in love with you eventually,” he admits, and Ray can see what an effort this type of vulnerability is for him. “But we don't. So I'm telling you now.”

Ray blushes. “That's stupid,” he retorts defensively, because he's never been loved, not like this. Part of him is angry that it's happening now, when he has such little time. But the other part of him knows that he's lucky to have had any time with Sand at all, and without his illness, he might not have even met him. 

Life is funny like that. Ray can't help but laugh.

“Mn. I guess I'm stupid then.” Sand grins. “But I love you. And no, not because I feel sorry for you.”

“Then I love you too,” Ray declares. He steals another kiss, softened by their confession. “Does this mean you're my boyfriend?”

“I suppose it does,” Sand says slyly. His eyes are crescents again, glinting in the sunlight.

“Ohooooo. I've never had a boyfriend before.” Ray can't hide his giddiness; he's always wanted to use the label. 

Sand kisses his forehead this time. “I'll be your first one.”

“And my last,” Ray reminds him. 

He doesn't mean it because he's dying. If he had years with Sand instead of weeks, he'd never want to be with anyone else. Even after just twelve hours with the musician, he's sure of it. He's never met someone so perfect in his life.

More kisses. Lazy, warm. Ray hasn't woken up with someone in so long. He almost forgot how sweet a morning-after could be, when most of the ones in his past were marked by hangovers or regret.

“If we're speed-running this whole relationship thing, then you should come live with me,” Ray suggests. He takes in the watermarked ceiling and cracked walls of Sand's apartment, more visible in the daylight hours. “No offense, but my villa is nicer than this. It's right on the water. We could go to the beach every day, na?”

Sand laughs. “You hate the beach though, khun nu.”

The pet name stirs Ray. “Yeah, but I'm warming up to it. It'll be better with you there.” He bumps Sand's nose with his and kisses him. “Please, Sand?”

“Okay, you win. No puppy-eyes.” Sand sits up. “I'll come stay with you a few days a week, as long as you never say na again.”

“Can't guarantee that.” Ray grins. 

As he'd promised, Sand makes coffee and scrambled eggs for the two of them. Ray sits on the kitchen counter while he prepares everything, kicking his feet and waiting (im)patiently for a kiss whenever Sand reaches for something else in his cupboard. Soon, they're seated at his modest dining table, thigh to thigh instead of across from each other.

Sand drinks black coffee, but he'd managed to unearth some sugar, hidden in the back of the cabinet from when he made a cake for his mother's birthday. 

Ray sips his sweetened drink with gusto. It's weird to say, but one of the good things about dying is that ironically, he doesn't have to worry about his health.

After eating, Sand pours them each another cup and they take it on the balcony. As suspected, Sand is a smoker too, and they share Ray's Zippo after he explains that yes, he can smoke without dropping dead in the wicker chair.

The beach is kinda-sorta visible from here, but it's more of a parking-lot view. Ray takes a thoughtful drag before sipping his coffee.

“Sand?” he murmurs.

Sand exhales a plume of smoke. “Yeah?”

His voice is sexy in the morning, gravelly and low. Ray leans over in his chair and kisses his cheek. 

“I…” He sighs. “You don't have to do all this, you know.”

Sand regards him quizzically. “Do what?”

“Be my boyfriend and stuff,” Ray replies. “It's nice, but the whole point of me coming down here was to cut off the need for people to care for me.” He stares straight into the musician's cow eyes. “I'm dying. It's not a euphemism. I probably won't be here next month.”

Sand sighs, ashing out his smoke. He motions for Ray to sit down in his lap, and after butting out his own cigarette, Ray does. Sand slinks his arm around his waist and looks up at him seriously.

“I know.” He smiles as best he can, but Ray can see that his eyes are already watering. “I understand that you're dying. Trust me, I'm not downplaying it.”

Ray smiles too. “Good. Only one of us is allowed to be insane.”

Sand shrugs. “Then it's me.” He kisses Ray with tobacco breath. “Listen, I've had partners before. You're not my first. But I haven't been with anyone since my last boyfriend cheated on me, and I told myself I'd never open my heart again.” He chuckles. “It would have worked too, if it weren't for some meddling rich boy who showed up to my little gig.”

“Guilty.”

“Mn.” Sand kisses him again. “I fell hard and fast for my ex too. It's just the way I am. Not everyone can appreciate it, but I know you can. We fit well together, Ray. Even if we only will for a short time.”

Ray sniffs back his tears. “Okay. I believe you. I just… wanted to make sure you knew what you were getting into.”

Sand sighs. “I'm not sure I really do, but that'll be for me to deal with.” He drops his face into Ray's chest, which is covered by one of his own shirts, some old Joe's Tavern tee in dusty blue. “I love you. That's the only thing I'm sure of.”

Ray strokes his hair. “Then I love you too.”

In the calm of the morning, there's no need to rush. The two pass the hours chatting and smoking, before making love again in the early afternoon. Ray sleeps the day away, content to stay here another night, knowing Sand will follow him back to his villa.

Someday.

[Five Weeks Later]

Sand takes a drag of yet another cigarette.

Given what’s happened in the past few weeks, he should quit. He knows he should. He’s been a smoker since he was seventeen, and a heavy one at that, always turning to his favourite vice to take the edge off.

There have been a lot of edges, but this one has been the sharpest. He spits a tobacco-laced glob onto the road and inhales deeply.

Maybe next week.

From the trunk of his motorbike, he grabs a small object protected by layers of bubble wrap. It’s a necessary precaution on such rough dirt roads, and he’s taking no chances with something as precious as this. 

He walks down the hill to Maya Beach. The sun is just beginning to set where the two rocks flank the sand. He hasn't been back here since the first night he met Ray, because he was making the most of the time they had, just like he had promised to do.

They toured Krabi on the back of Sand's motorbike, sometimes taking boat rides to the islands so that Ray could enjoy the rhythm of the ocean. His boyfriend met his mother too, who cooked for them often. One night, when Ray had a lot of energy, he even sang a love song for Sand at the open mic. That evening had been particularly good in bed.

But most of the time, Ray had little energy, and it deteriorated more and more as he neared the end of his life. On those days, Sand would just lie with him, letting him talk while he was awake and cleaning the house when he wasn't. It was enough just to be next to him, to hear his little kitten snores in the quiet of the villa.

It’s funny really. Sand’s seen a lot of old movies, most of them courtesy of his mother and her taste in cheesy romance. In the films where a loved one is dying, there’s often a moment where the character just knows. They say their goodbyes, lie down in bed, and just never wake up. Sand’s mum always cries. Sand never has.

But last week, it happened, coincidentally while they were lying on the ratty old couch watching a movie. Ray lay in front of him, his head on the armrest. Sand kissed the top of his head, his hand resting on Ray’s bony hip while the smaller man chewed thoughtfully on popcorn.

“I think I’m going to die tomorrow.”

Sand had prepared himself as much as one can in a matter of weeks, and despite his instinct to stiffen, he had simply replied, “What do you want to do?”

There wasn’t much Ray could do. He was in a fragile state at that point, too weak to leave the house, even on the back of Sand’s bike. He rolled over with great effort on the couch and smiled.

“I just want to be with you, Sand.”

Of course, he called his father and his friends, all of whom were too far away to make a trip to see him. They already had the previous week. He declined advice of going to the hospital or attempting to come back to Bangkok. 

Sand tried his best to assure them that he would take care of him, but he knew the task at hand would be massive. He only hoped Ray would forgive him if it wasn’t perfect.

“We’re back,” he whispers, and unwraps the small jar. He takes his shoes off and walks barefoot to the shore.

That final night, Sand cooked Ray’s favourite meal—khao man gai—after texting his mother to bring over the necessary ingredients so he didn’t have to leave his boyfriend alone. She stayed and chatted with them for a while, tearing up of course. Ray sipped the Thai tea she brought him and joked as if he wasn’t about to leave them any minute. 

When they finished eating, Sand padded the bed with extra pillows from the couch and helped Ray to change his clothes. His lover wanted to wear one of his t-shirts, so Sand dressed him in the one he was wearing the night they met, a vintage Queen tee he’s had since high school. 

“Promise me something,” Ray murmured. He rested his frail body on Sand’s, curled up in his warmth.

“Mhmm. Anything.”

Ray tapped the mole on his chin. “Don’t ever stop playing music.”

Sand chuckled even through his tears. “I won’t.”

“Promise though.” Ray’s stubbornness had a habit of coming through when he was sleepy. Sand kissed his forehead.

“I promise,” he whispered. “I won’t stop playing music. Ever.”

“Good.”

Sand uncaps the jar. It’s not unusual to take ashes from the temple, and Ray’s father had been happy to give them to Sand. Even though their relationship wasn’t perfect, it was clear the older man loved his son a lot, and he expressed his relief that Ray’s final days were spent with someone who loved him just as much. 

He closes his eyes.

“You have to always play music, because it’s what brought me to you,” Ray had reminded him, snuggling into his chest. “And in the next life, it’s how I’ll find you.”

Normally Sand would have made some kind of sarcastic remark, but it was impossible that night. He instead choked down a sob and tilted Ray’s chin up so his boyfriend faced him.

God, was he ever the most beautiful person Sand had ever met. His face may have thinned out, but his eyes were always bright with mischief, and his red lips ready to na-na Sand into another kiss, another mango smoothie, another boring arthouse film he couldn't have cared less about.

But he cared. For Ray. 

“I’ll be right here,” he said. He stuttered on the final word, and he could feel Ray trying to kiss his tears away. It made him smile in spite of everything. “I love you so much, Ray.”

“I love you,” Ray had replied. He was also crying, but made no attempt to hide it. “Thank you for making my last days the best of my life.”

Sand’s voice broke. “They’ve been the best of mine, too.”

On the beach, he lets the ashes fall through his hands like sand in an hourglass. It goes far too quickly, but he tries to make it last, so he can keep Ray in the very place they met. The sun becomes a sliver of orange on the horizon before it disappears, leaving the stars in its wake. 

He sits down on the shore, letting the waves froth over his legs and soak his jeans to the knees. From his jacket pocket he takes his phone and scrolls through his playlists with misty eyes. When he finds the song he’s looking for, he hits play and stares out at the moonlit sky.

And now my fears, they come to me in threes

So I, sometimes

Say, “Fate, my friend

You say the strangest things

I find, sometimes”

The song he played for Ray that night has always been tinged with sorrow, reminding him of too many days spent chasing the wrong people, of breakups and hookups and the general downtrodden trajectory of his life. But as Ray had requested, it carries a certain sense of hope too. Of feeling good. He ignores the rush of the waves and sighs.

Oh, my ex says I'm lacking in depth

Shit, I will try my best

You say you want to stay by my side

Darling, your head's not right

I see, alone we stand, together we fall apart

Yeah, I think I'll be all right

One thing’s for sure: He won’t ever go back on his promise, even if it means playing at shoddy little beach shacks until the end of his days. Because there’s no telling when Ray will come back to him, seeking the same comfort in music that Sand himself has always found. His soul has to know what to do.

I'm working so I won't have to try so hard

Tables they turn sometimes

Oh, someday

I ain't wasting no more time

Sand smiles serenely. “I’ll see you again, Ray,” he whispers.

Someday.