Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The dream began with silence. Not the calm, peaceful kind of silence, but the heavy, suffocating quiet that wrapped around a funeral. Somkrit stood at the edge of a cremation ground, his body trembling, his face pale as ash. In front of him lay the casket draped with white cloth, adorned with garlands of jasmine and marigold. Incense burned thick in the air, the smoke curling upward as if carrying prayers that would never reach.

Intouch’s name was whispered in hushed tones. The crowd mourned, their sobs muffled, but Somkrit’s grief was louder than anything else. It was raw, unrestrained, and merciless.

Team watched from somewhere within, not as himself but as the vessel of Somkrit’s sorrow. His chest heaved with cries that tore from a throat gone hoarse. His knees buckled, and hands clutched desperately at the hem of the casket as though clinging could hold back the inevitable. “Please,” Somkrit begged through Team’s lips, voice cracked and desperate. “Please do not leave me alone. Please, Intouch. You promised….” But there was no answer.

The monks chanted in rhythm, their words hollow in Somkrit’s ears. The flames crackled, devouring wood, inching closer to where the body lay. It felt like the world was ending, and Somkrit was powerless to stop it. His grief tore him apart until he collapsed on the cold ground, sobbing uncontrollably. The scene shattered, but the sorrow did not.

Team jerked awake with a cry lodged in his throat. His sheets clung damp to his skin, his face wet with tears. His chest convulsed with ragged sobs that came before he could control them. He pressed his palms to his mouth, trying to stifle the sounds, but the pain surged out of him in waves too strong to contain. The room felt suffocating. The shadows pressed in from every side, the silence so sharp it echoed his broken breathing. He curled forward, burying his face into his knees, but nothing could block out the images still burned into his mind—the flowers, the fire, Somkrit’s desperate pleas.

He tried to tell himself it was just a dream, but it did not feel like one. It felt real, as if he had lived it, as if the grief belonged to him as much as it belonged to Somkrit. The sobs would not stop. Minutes passed, or perhaps hours, Team did not know. All he knew was the sound of his own shaking breaths and the hollow ache splitting his chest. Then, a knock at the door. Soft at first, then firmer. “Team?” Win’s voice.

Team froze, panic lancing through him. He scrubbed at his face with trembling hands, but the tears came faster than he could wipe them away. He tried to steady his breathing, but it only made his sobs louder. The door knob rattled and suddenly opened without waiting for permission. Win stepped in, his expression immediately tightening at the sight before him. Team sat hunched on the bed, face blotched red from crying, eyes swollen, shoulders trembling. He looked like he had been broken open, and no lie could cover it.

Win crossed the room in three strides and crouched beside the bed. His hand hovered for a moment before settling lightly on Team’s arm. “What happened?” Team shook his head frantically, pulling in a shuddering breath. “I…. It is nothing. I am fine. Just…. just a bad dream.” Win’s eyes searched his face. His tone was quiet but firm. “That is not nothing. Look at you.” Team pressed his hands harder against his face, trying to disappear. His chest ached with every breath, the weight of the dream still dragging him down. “Please, Hia Win. I do not want to talk about it.”

Win’s jaw tightened. He reached up, gently but insistently pulling Team’s hands away from his face. “You cannot keep saying you are fine when you are falling apart in front of me. Let me in.” The words cut through Team’s defences, tearing down the fragile wall he had built. His sobs broke free again, violent and uncontrollable. He collapsed forward, and Win caught him without hesitation, arms wrapping firmly around his shoulders. Team buried his face in Win’s chest, clutching at his shirt like a lifeline. “It hurts,” he choked out between sobs. “It hurts so much.” Win held him tighter, one hand stroking the back of his head, the other anchoring him close. His voice was steady, grounding. “Then let me carry some of it. Tell me what you saw.”

Team trembled, resisting for a moment, but the weight was too heavy, the sorrow too consuming. His words spilled out broken, raw. “It was… a boy. Somkrit. I saw him at another one’s funeral Intouch, the other’s name was. And Intouch’s lover Korn. He was… he was breaking apart. Crying, begging, like his whole world was gone. I could feel it, Hia Win. It was not just a dream. It felt like it was me. Like I was the one losing him.”

Win’s hold did not falter. He listened, his steady breathing a quiet rhythm beneath Team’s broken gasps. “I do not understand,” Team continued, his voice hoarse. “Why do I dream these things? Why do I feel like I am someone else, someone who lived and died before me? I am scared, Hia Win. What if I am not really me? What if I am only… carrying someone else’s sorrow?” The confession left him shaking, as though speaking it aloud had made it too real.

But Win did not recoil. He did not look at him with disbelief or pity. He only held him closer, his voice soft but unwavering. “You are Team,” Win said. “You are the one sitting here, breathing, crying, feeling. Whatever those dreams are, whatever they mean, they do not erase who you are now. They do not take you away from me.” Team’s sobs stuttered, his breaths uneven. He tilted his face up, searching Win’s expression for doubt, for judgment, but found none. Win’s eyes were steady, filled with a kind of quiet certainty that made Team’s heart ache.

Win reached up and brushed the damp strands of hair from Team’s forehead. “Dreams can hold many things. Memories, fears, grief. But they are not stronger than the person you choose to be in this moment. And I know who you are. You are Team. The boy who laughs too loudly at Mannow’s jokes. The boy who scolds Pharm for skipping meals. The boy who makes me want to stay by his side no matter what.” Tears blurred Team’s vision again, but these were different, softer, lighter. “Hia Win…” His voice cracked. Win’s thumb brushed a tear from his cheek. “You are real to me. That is all that matters.”

The words wrapped around Team like a balm, soothing the raw ache left by the dream. He still trembled, still felt the weight of Somkrit’s sorrow in his bones, but it no longer threatened to swallow him whole. Win’s arms anchored him, reminding him that he was not alone, that he had someone to share the burden. For the first time, he allowed himself to believe it.

The storm of sobs slowed into ragged breathing. Team’s chest still heaved, but the frantic edge dulled under the weight of Win’s steady embrace. He stayed pressed against Win’s shoulder, letting the warmth seep into him, grounding him against the echo of that dreadful dream. For a long while, neither spoke. The only sound was Team’s uneven breathing and the soft brush of Win’s hand along his back. The silence was not empty this time, it was patient, holding space for something fragile.

Finally, Win shifted slightly, enough to tilt his head so he could look down at Team. “Can you tell me more?” His voice was calm, quiet, as though asking permission rather than demanding answers. Team hesitated. His throat ached from crying, his mind still a haze of grief. But Win’s eyes held no pressure, only concern, only patience. Slowly, he nodded. Win adjusted, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze directly. “When did these dreams start?” Team swallowed, struggling to find words. “It has been… months. Maybe longer. At first, it was small things, faces I did not know, voices I had never heard. Then it became clearer. Somkrit. Always him. Always grieving, always carrying something too heavy. Every time I wake, it feels like I am stealing his sorrow, like I am living it.” He clenched his fists in Win’s shirt, his voice trembling. “I thought if I ignored it, it would go away. But it only grows worse. Tonight… tonight was too much.”

Win listened intently, his brow furrowing slightly but not with doubt. He let Team’s words settle before speaking again. “And you never told anyone?” Team shook his head quickly, shame burning in his cheeks. “How could I? They would think I am mad. Even you….” He broke off, his voice cracking. “I thought you would leave if you knew.”

Win’s expression softened, a hint of sadness in his eyes. “Team. Look at me.” Reluctantly, Team lifted his gaze. Win’s voice was steady, each word deliberate. “There is nothing you could say that would make me leave you. Do you understand? Nothing. If you are hurting, I want to know. If you are carrying something heavy, I want to carry it with you.”

The words struck deep, unravelling another layer of fear that Team had buried. He felt his throat tighten again, tears prickling his eyes, but this time they came not from despair but from relief. Still, doubt lingered. “But what if… what if I am not myself? What if I am only….” Win cut in gently, his tone firm but kind. “You are yourself. These dreams, these memories, whatever they are, they do not erase you. They are a part of your experience, yes, but not the whole of you. You laugh, you cry, you love, you are here. That is what makes you Team.” Team’s lips trembled. He wanted to believe, but the weight of Somkrit’s sorrow still pressed on him like a shadow. “It feels like… like I am being pulled in two directions. Part of me is happy, living my life, being with you. But another part… it is drowning in grief I do not understand.”

Win reached up and cupped his cheek, brushing his thumb lightly against damp skin. “Then let us stand in both places together. I will not let you drown.” The conviction in his tone sent a shiver through Team. No hesitation, no doubt, only certainty. For a moment, he wondered how Win could be so steady, so unwavering. He wanted to ask, but the words tangled on his tongue. Instead, he leaned into the touch, closing his eyes. Win continued softly, almost like a promise. “Whatever Somkrit felt, whatever he lost, you do not have to carry it alone. Let it out. Let me be the one you tell when it hurts too much.”

The thought terrified Team. He had hidden these dreams so long, locking them away even from himself, terrified of what they meant. But here, in Win’s arms, the fear softened. He whispered, almost too quiet to hear. “Sometimes… I see him looking at Intouch, and it feels like I am looking too. The love, the pain, it is so strong. And when I wake, I feel guilty. Guilty because… because I am not him. Because I am here, and he is not.” Win exhaled slowly, as though choosing his words with care. “That is not guilt you need to carry. What you feel is real, but it belongs to the past. You are alive now, and you are loved now. Do not let the weight of yesterday steal your today.”

Team opened his eyes, staring at Win as though trying to grasp the truth in those words. His chest still ached, but Win’s certainty planted a fragile seed of hope in the cracks. The room was quiet again, the night heavy outside, but inside the silence felt different, gentler, no longer suffocating. Team’s voice was hoarse when he finally spoke. “Why are you not afraid? Why are you not… pushing me away?” Win’s lips curved faintly, not a smile but something softer. “Because I know you. The boy sitting here crying in my arms is the same boy who steals extra dumplings from the pot, who sulks when I tease him, who makes my world brighter without even trying. That is who you are. That is who I choose, every day.” The words broke something open inside Team. A fresh wave of tears welled, but this time he did not try to hide them. He let them fall, his body trembling as he clung to Win. “I do not deserve you,” he whispered. Win’s arms tightened around him. “You deserve to be loved. And I will remind you until you believe it.”

The two of them stayed like that, tangled in each other, until Team’s sobs eased into quiet sniffles. His body sagged against Win, exhaustion finally pulling at him. Win shifted, guiding him to lie back against the pillows without letting go. He stayed close, one hand resting over Team’s, grounding him. “Rest,” he murmured. “I will be here.” Team’s eyes fluttered shut, heavy from the storm of emotions. For the first time in weeks, he did not dread the darkness that followed. With Win beside him, the shadows felt less threatening, the grief less unbearable. He drifted into sleep, not free from sorrow, but no longer alone within it. And Win, awake beside him, kept his silent vigil, steady, unwavering, a quiet promise made flesh.

The night stretched on in quiet breaths and the faint hum of the ceiling fan. Win had not moved from Team’s side, his body curved protectively around him. Team’s breathing had evened out into the rhythm of sleep, but it was shallow, restless, as though even dreams did not let him go easily. Win stayed awake, his eyes tracing the lines of Team’s face softened in slumber. The tear stains were still visible, and the faint tremor in his fingers lingered even now. Win felt an ache in his chest, not for himself, but for the boy who carried such a heavy shadow alone.

After some time, Team stirred. His eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first, then sharpening on Win’s face. He blinked, confusion flickering as though surprised Win was still there. “You stayed,” he whispered, his voice rough. “Of course I did,” Win answered softly. “Where else would I be?” Team swallowed, his gaze dropping. “You should not have to deal with this. With me.” Win tilted his head, studying him with quiet patience. “Why do you think that?” Team shifted uncomfortably under the steady gaze. “Because it is not fair. You did not ask for this. You should not have to hold me together when I fall apart.” Win reached over, taking his hand. His grip was firm but gentle. “Listen to me, Team. I am not here because I have to be. I am here because I want to be. That is the difference.”

Team’s lips parted as if to argue, but the conviction in Win’s tone left him without words. His throat tightened again, emotion surging, but Win’s hand anchoring his steadied him. “Tell me,” Win continued, his voice low but insistent. “When you wake from those dreams… do you feel like you are Somkrit?” Team hesitated, then shook his head slowly. “No. Not exactly. It feels like… I am watching him, but from the inside. Like I am both him and not him. His grief becomes mine, but it is not my life. It is hard to explain.”

Win nodded, his expression thoughtful. “So you are not him. You are you. You are experiencing something through him, yes, but you remain Team. That matters.” The words sank into the cracks of Team’s fear. He wanted to protest, to cling to his confusion, but Win’s steady reasoning gave him no room to spiral. Win continued, his thumb brushing lightly across Team’s knuckles. “And when you laugh with your friends, when you complain about morning practice, when you look at me, are those Somkrit’s moments, or yours?” Team blinked, startled by the question. His lips trembled. “Mine,” he whispered, the word catching in his throat.

Win smiled faintly, though his eyes stayed serious. “Exactly. Whatever the past holds, it does not erase who you are now. Somkrit had his life. You have yours. And I… I want to share it with you.” The simplicity of the statement struck harder than any elaborate reassurance. Team felt his chest squeeze, his eyes burning again, but he no longer resisted the tears. They fell silently, sliding down his cheeks as he stared at Win. “You make it sound so easy,” he said hoarsely. Win squeezed his hand. “It is not easy. But it is simple. You do not have to solve everything tonight. You just have to remember that you are not alone.” For a long moment, Team could only look at him, overwhelmed by the warmth and certainty in Win’s gaze. He had expected rejection, doubt, perhaps even pity. Instead, he found only acceptance, solid and unwavering. A shaky laugh escaped him, half sob, half disbelief. “Why are you like this?” Win tilted his head, his lips curving just slightly. “Like what?” “Always knowing what to say,” Team muttered, wiping at his cheeks with his free hand. Win’s faint smile deepened. “Because I pay attention. To you.”

The words unravelled something inside Team that no amount of resistance could hold back. He leaned forward suddenly, burying his face in Win’s chest. Win’s arms came up around him instantly, holding him close, steadying him against the tide of emotion. They stayed like that until the storm inside him ebbed again. Team’s breathing slowed, his body heavy with exhaustion, but this time the weight felt shared, no longer crushing him alone. When he finally pulled back, his eyes were red but calmer. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice small but sincere.

Win met his gaze, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “You do not have to thank me. Just promise me you will not hide from me again.” Team hesitated, then nodded slowly. “I promise.” Win studied him for a moment longer, then leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. “Good. Now rest.” Team exhaled, a long, shaky breath. He lay back down, Win following to settle beside him. Their hands remained clasped, fingers intertwined under the blanket. As Team’s eyes drifted shut again, he whispered, almost too quiet to hear. “Do not let go.” Win’s reply was immediate, steady. “Never.”

The night carried them both into silence once more. But this silence was not heavy, it was healing, layered with unspoken promises and the beginning of trust deeper than either had known before. Team still carried Somkrit’s sorrow, but now he knew he did not bear it alone. And beside him, Win kept his quiet vigil, the anchor in the storm, holding him steady as he began to reconcile the fragments of past and present.