kasidet thinks jiratchapong is breathtaking—or maybe it's the wine talking. but possibly, he's not the only one trying—because jiratchapong knows it's never enough—wanting.

mork is all alone. again. everything comes crashing down—without a sound. and there's nothing left in him—not even the last twilight could save him from this. 

there's something so uncannily endearing about day's calmness. the peculiarness of his gentle smile doesn't match the brightest glint in his darkening eyes—awaiting tears hanging onto the last thread of manufactured composure—and mork wonders if day isn't crying because of him.

two lovebirds, guncher and morkday, spend the last day of the year at the beach (without) a promise of chaos ensuing—but they have lots of fun teasing (and kissing) under the sun.

mork savours the beauty of day with all senses, taking in the shy smile and challenging smirk gracing day's lips as they quietly undress each other. and every touch incites a familiar memory for them both, as day remarks, "you're still rough all over, phi." and mork smiles. so in love, he is.

even in mortality, it will be beautiful.

day mulls about mork's touches on his skin, his assuring existence, and his cheeky good night, na. and day wonders if this is how falling in love feels like.

force no longer believes in second chances. because when the universe aligns its stars with kasidet, it feels too good to be true. and force doesn't know what to do.

mork swears—this isn't a story narrated by shakespeare, but he wonders—if love can fleet to the atmosphere, and mork has to adhere to the thought that it's possible to fear something so dear, a mysterious sneer.