Johan POV

“Teerak… wake up.”

My voice was low, gentle, but the only response I got was a soft groan as North buried himself deeper into my chest. His arms tightened around me, his messy hair tickling my chin.

A smile tugged at my lips. This man… even on his birthday, he wanted to cling to sleep more than anything.

“Baby…” I tried again, brushing his fringe away from his face. He murmured something incoherent against me, the vibrations tickling my skin.

I sighed, amused, then lifted his hand from where it rested against my chest. His fingers were curled loosely, so small against my palm.

Slowly, I pressed my lips against the center of his palm.

Once. Twice. A trail of soft kisses along his palm, lingering on each fingertip.

He stirred, his nose scrunching, and finally cracked one eye open. “Phi…” His voice was husky, still tangled with sleep.

I kissed his palm again, smiling against it. “Good morning, fiancé.”

He groaned, trying to yank his hand back, but I held it firm, kissing the heel
of his palm this time. “Mm, stop… it’s embarrassing.”

“Then wake up.” I nipped lightly at his thumb, playful.

He gave me a glare so weak it only made me chuckle. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re beautiful when you’re grumpy,” I murmured, brushing another kiss against his knuckles.

North let out a dramatic sigh, flopping back into the pillow, his cheeks faintly pink. “It’s my birthday. Shouldn’t I get to sleep in?”

I leaned closer, pressing a kiss to his forehead this time, softer, slower. “It’s your birthday. That’s why we have to wake up, baby. We’ve got merit-making to do, uncle and aunty are coming, and…” I hesitated, letting my lips graze the corner of his mouth, “…I want more time with you today.”

His pout faltered. He tried to hide it, but a small smile tugged at his lips. “…You’re impossible.”

“You knew that when you said yes last night,” I teased, giving his palm another kiss.

He let out a little laugh—still sleepy, still unwilling to fully surrender—but it was the kind of sound that made my chest warm.

His hand relaxed in mine, and I laced our fingers together, kissing the back of his hand once more for good measure.

“Fine,” he mumbled, eyes closing again. “Carry me then.”

I raised a brow, smirking. “Careful, teerak. I don’t make empty promises.”

Before he could argue, I slipped my arms beneath him and lifted him bridal-style. He squeaked, his arms flying back around my neck.

“Johan!”

I grinned down at his flushed face. “What? You told me to.”

His cheeks turned redder, his lips pressing into a stubborn line as he buried his face against my shoulder. But I felt the way he clung tighter, his heartbeat thudding against me.

I kissed his temple, holding him securely. “Happy birthday, baby. I’m not putting you down until you smile properly.”

And just like that, he laughed—quiet, unwilling at first, then freer, the sound filling the room like sunlight.

✿✿✿

North POV

The morning was a blur of saffron robes and the gentle cadence of prayers. The monks’ voices were low and rhythmic, filling the temple with a kind of peace that always seemed to settle into my bones.

I bowed beside Johan, placing offerings of rice and flowers, the smoke of incense curling upward like it carried our wishes to the sky.

Afterward, we shared a simple meal with the monks before heading home.

Dad and Mae came by to join us for breakfast, and though we didn’t talk much about last night, their faces said everything. Dad’s eyes were still puffy, his handkerchief tucked in his shirt pocket, but he smiled more now—smiled like the weight he’d been carrying for years had finally been lifted. Mae stayed mostly quiet, sipping tea, but every so often her hand would brush mine, grounding me.

When they finally stood to leave, Dad squeezed my shoulder. “We’ll go inform the relatives,” he said, his voice still thick with emotion. “They’ll want to know our boy has grown up.”

I wanted to tell him I hadn’t grown up at all, that I still felt like his little boy—but instead, I just hugged him tightly.

By late morning, Johan dropped me off at the café where my friends had been waiting.

The place was buzzing as usual, but somehow it felt different walking in—like everyone already knew.

Easter spotted me first, waving so wildly he nearly knocked over his drink. “Baby witch!” he shouted, drawing every eye in the café. “The man of the hour!”

I groaned, covering my face with my scarf as Dao and Phoon dragged me into their corner booth.

“Happy birthday,” Phoon said dryly, though the corner of his mouth lifted just a little.

“Happy fiancé-day too,” Dao added with a grin.

My face burned. “You guys—”

“Open mine first!” Easter shoved a neatly wrapped box into my lap before I could sit properly.

Inside was a framed photo. Us. The four of us in the library, laughing at something dumb, Dao mid-eye-roll, Phoon glaring at the camera, Easter with his ridiculous open-mouthed grin, and me… smiling so wide it looked like my face hurt.

My throat tightened. “…You printed this?”

“So you won’t forget us when Johan whisks you away to his fancy penthouse life,” Easter teased, though his eyes were softer than his words.

Dao shoved his own gift at me next—a small bag. I pulled out a lime-flavored chapstick. I blinked. “…Really?”

He smirked. “So your lips won’t get chapped. Practical and romantic.”

Easter nearly choked on his tea, laughing so hard he had to clutch his stomach.

Phoon’s gift was next—a simple leather keychain with my initials engraved on it. He shrugged when I stared at it. “Practical,” he said again, but his ears were faintly pink.

We spent hours like that, talking, teasing, reminiscing.

They asked about the proposal at least three times, Dao and Easter dramatically re-enacting how Johan had knelt on the track, the crowd cheering.

I wanted to be embarrassed, but instead I just laughed until my stomach hurt.

At some point, we ordered cake, even though I insisted I’d already had too much sugar.

Easter smashed a bit of frosting onto my nose, and Dao threatened to record me licking it off just to use it as blackmail. For once, Phoon didn’t stop them—he only shook his head with a long-suffering sigh, though I caught the fond curve of his mouth when he thought I wasn’t looking.

By the time afternoon melted into evening, the café had grown quieter. One by one, my friends had to leave, pulling me into hugs, shoving more jokes and half-serious warnings at Johan through our group chat.

When I finally stepped back outside, Johan was waiting by the car. His expression softened the second he saw me, like it always did.

“Had fun?” he asked, opening the passenger door.

I nodded, slipping in. “They’re ridiculous.”

“But you love them,” he said, smirking.

I couldn’t deny it.

Instead of heading back home, though, the car took a different turn. I frowned, glancing at him. “Where are we going?”

He only smiled. “You’ll see.”

It wasn’t until the car pulled up in front of a quiet restaurant—one of those hidden places that didn’t look like much from the outside but glowed warmly inside—that I realized what he had planned.

The lights were dim, soft music playing in the background, the scent of freshly baked bread drifting in the air.

A table had been reserved for us in the corner, tucked away from the noise. Candles flickered between us as we sat down, and for a while, neither of us spoke.

The silence wasn’t awkward—it was full, weighted with everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours.

When the food arrived, I caught myself just watching him, the way his sleeve brushed his wristwatch as he cut into his steak, the way he poured my water before his own. Every little thing about him felt suddenly… magnified.

Halfway through, I leaned over the table and pressed a quick kiss to his lips.

He paused, arching a brow. “What’s that for?”

“Guess,” I whispered, grinning.

He smirked, leaning in closer until our noses almost touched. His lips brushed mine—just barely—before he pulled back, licking the corner of his mouth like he was thinking. “…Lime?”

I laughed, my heart fluttering. “Dao’s gift.”

He shook his head, smiling. “That explains a lot.”

We lingered there for hours, eating slowly, sipping wine, letting conversation ebb and flow.

At one point, I found myself asking softly, “Do you… ever think about kids?”

He didn’t answer right away. He reached across the table, taking my hand, his thumb brushing slow circles against my skin.

“Sometimes,” he admitted.

I swallowed. “And?”

He looked at me directly, his voice low, certain. “Not yet. Not for a while.”

“Why?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

His grip on my hand tightened. “Because I don’t want to share you yet. Not with anyone.”

My breath caught. A laugh slipped out, half shaky, half giddy. “You’re selfish.”

“Yes,” he said simply. “When it comes to you, I am.”

The candlelight danced in his eyes, and I couldn’t help but lean across the table again, brushing my lips against his.

Just a peck at first, then another, and another—each one leaving me more breathless, more flustered, until finally he caught the back of my neck and deepened it, slow and steady, melting everything else away.

By the time we pulled apart, I couldn’t stop smiling.

It was the perfect end to the day.