Thyme Paramaanantra and Kavin Kittiyangkul used to be the the billionaire it boys of Kocher High School. They were part of a group called the F4.
But in present day, Thyme is the owner and curator of a well-known art gallery. And Kavin is an FBI-tr...
Gallery Akira reopened six months after Olga. Thyme finds that term funny but also apt. Those few months truly felt like its own era.
It's been a year since Thyme went back to art - making sure to carefully vet his artists and partners this time around. And things were finally getting back to normal.
His mother has given up (again) on trying to get him to head their conglomerate, finally accepting that it's his sister who was meant to rule the Paramaanantra empire. And it seems Kavin's mother has given up on stalking him as well. Maybe thinking that if the reported engagement was even real, it has long been called off.
Thyme smiles a wry smile - engagement doesn't seem to be in the cards ever. He and Kavin are still dating and although Kavin had never committed to anything, Thyme knows that they have both been faithful. He knows Kavin loves him. He felt it even from miles away, like a soft warm blanket protecting his very soul.
There was nothing to ask for. Nothing that was missing.
But sometimes, Thyme still longed for the label. To utter words that would make anyone understand that they belonged to each other.
He knew it was silly. Most people had the word but not the love that should come with it. He got the love, why did he need the words?
He shakes his head. Truly, these are not thoughts one should have in the middle of a work day.
He gets up from his office desk and decides he should do rounds. A walk would snap him out of this. Maybe he should grab some lunch while he's at it.
He passes a Klimt, a hallway of Magritte, he sees a long line of people waiting to get in the Puuung exhibit - and he keeps walking. Pausing to admire a Pacita Abad and a series of photographs by Robert Maplethorpe.
Art calmed Thyme's mind, made it think of alternate worlds and realities. It gave him reason to be hopeful and at peace. He turns a corner and into a hallway being prepared for a Basquiat exhibit.
He stops in his tracks. Thyme stands transfixed at the archway of hallway B, staring at the back of a seemingly oblivious man in a plain white shirt.
Was that? But that's not possible. Maybe it was a doppelgänger.
Someone with the same broad shoulders, the same confident walk, the same sharp jawline and cheekbones punctuated by small moles. The same eyes that melted Thyme from within. The same lips he dreamt of night after night.
"Kavin?"
The man turns around fully. And upon seeing Thyme, his mouth opens into a bigger smile, eyes forming crescents.
"Hey," he says softly, the smile never leaving his lips.
"I thought you were still tying things up in Milan?"
"I was. But that's done and so I am here."
"You could have told me. I would have fetched you."
"I wanted to surprise you."
It's Thyme who's smiling now, the usual scowl on his face gone without a trace.
He walks towards Kavin, removing all space in their way.
He kisses the tip of that beautiful nose. "Consider me surprised."
Kavin tenderly kisses the curve of Thyme's lips. "This isn't the surprise."
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