#i really will write you anything about firstkhao so please request away

[kevin-the-bruyne]

Firstkhao and getting drenched while wearing white please!

honestly i have no idea why i cant write firstkhao like a normal person but here is whatever this is - me emoting about Khaotung's beauty in this extremely reductive fashion. Also flipflopping tenses just gotta get used to 'em i guess lol

Pairing: FirstKhao

Rating: G (lol semi NSFW my ass)

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First didn’t think that after five years of being joined at the hip there could be new things to notice about someone.

And yet everyday it feels like all he does is discover Khaotung anew. 

The sharpness of his gaze when he’s Ayan - and the softness of it when he’s not. The tired lines around his eyes that come from long days back to back days of squeezing your soul out for a character. The frustration when he gets takes wrong one too many times. 

And then there are things that he pretends not to notice or else he would have to admit that he thinks about them a little too often.

Like the pink of his lips and how they complement his rosy cheeks whenever Khaotung blushes, or the sweep of his lashes that make him look so delicate. First knows what it feels like to have Khaotung’s body push up against him with intent, eyes holding equal part mischief and fondness.

Thanks to this series, First has to contend with the fact that he knows what Khaotung tastes like now for the rest of his life. He has to think about how Khaotung doesn’t taste different from any of the other people First has kissed, Khaotun doesn’t taste different from what First thought he liked. 

At least not in words Khaotung doesn’t taste different. 

In words, it’s still just tongue and lips and saliva but in an abstract plane of experience it’s also Khaotung and so it’s different. It's weird because it’s not. It’s weird only because he doesn’t know how to describe it other than that it's just lips and tongue and saliva but its also Khaotung and its what First likes.

Then there are things about Khaotung that he vehemently wishes he didn’t know.

Like the time that Khaotung had stared up at the sky when it started raining in the middle of filming. Long moments of quiet contemplation with the clouds and then he’d just stepped out from under the awning they were sheltered under and had spread his arms. It had taken but a second for Khaotung to drench through but First watched it happen as though he could see every drop, one by one weight down his hair, seeping into his clothes, every inch of skin that peeked out as though shy behind the now translucent white of their school uniforms.

First could have lived his entire life without knowing what Khaotung looked like in that moment so small under the force of the universe, a lone figure in the abandoned set, every fragile line of his body highlighted by the way his clothes clung to his body. And yet so large in his joy, in the rays of sunshine no longer visible beyond the clouds but now shining from his face.

First could have lived his entire life happily without that acute feeling of thirst that comes from wanting a warm cup of tea in the sprinkles of errant raindrops that find their way onto him and having his mind zero in on Khaotung’s dusky nipples, until thirst and desire are all but the same.

‘What are you doing?’ First asks because he has to do something before he ends up tackling everyone else who’s looking at Khaotung. He can hear the staff chatter around him. He doesn’t know that they’re talking about Khaotung but how could they not? What else is there in this moment but Khaotung in the rain?

‘You’ll get in trouble for ruining the costumes!’ First continues and Khaotung finally turns his face away from the clouds, brushes the strands of wet hair on his forehead back, ‘what are you on about? We have been sweating in these all day. They’ll wash it before the next Q’ and then before First can continue arguing Khaotung reaches his hand out, ‘Come,’ he says, ‘let’s have fun.’