A tranquil evening, ft. ZaynArthit

Three days before Diwali, Arthit found himself standing nervously in front of Zayn's apartment after college. His heart pounded against his ribs as he debated with himself, his mind torn between two conflicting thoughts - one urged him to go back, to wait for a better time, while the other reminded him that he had already delayed this moment for far too long.

Before he could change his mind, the door to the apartment suddenly opened as if by magic. Arthit's breath hitched—he hadn't even pressed the doorbell or knocked, and there stood Zayn, his boyfriend, smiling at him with a calm yet knowing expression.

Arthit swallowed hard and ran a nervous hand through his hair. "H-hi..." he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. He avoided Zayn's gaze, staring at the floor instead. "T-tumhe kaise pata ki m-main aaya hun?" (How did y-you know that it's m-me who has come?)

Zayn chuckled, tilting his head slightly. Without hesitation, he lifted Arthit's chin with two fingers, forcing him to meet his gaze. His dark eyes shimmered with warmth as he said, "Tumse itna pyaar jo karta hoon... tumhare aate hi mujhe pata chal jata hai." (It's because I love you so much... I can feel it whenever you are near.)

A deep blush bloomed across Arthit's cheeks at Zayn's words. He whined, "Bhaiya!" in protest, embarrassed yet unable to suppress the fluttering in his chest.

Zayn giggled at the adorable sight of his boyfriend turning into a blushing mess. "Andar nahi aana tumhe?" he teased, stepping aside to give him space to enter. (Don't you want to come in?)

Arthit, still pouting from the teasing, walked in and placed his bag on the couch. Trying to shake off his flustered state, he mumbled, "Main dinner bana dun?" (Should I make dinner?)

Zayn closed the door behind him and walked over to where Arthit stood, still looking nervous. He reached out and gently bopped his nose, a soft smile playing on his lips.

"I don't want you to hurt yourself, so don't worry. Sit here and relax, dinner main bana lunga," he said reassuringly. (I will make dinner.)

Arthit pouted, crossing his arms stubbornly. "Main chhota bachcha nahi hun... aur maine bhabhi se paranthe banana sikh liya hai!" he argued. Then, as if realizing something, he added with a grumble, "Haan, woh circle nahi bante, lekin taste itna bhi kharab nahi hai…" His brows furrowed, and he muttered indignantly, "Tumko poison karke khudko vidhwa banaunga kya main?" (I am not a small kid... And I have already learnt how to make paranthas from bhabhi. Yeah, they are not perfect circles but they are not half as bad in taste... Do you really think I'll poison you to become a widow?)

Zayn let out a soft chuckle, his eyes twinkling with affection. Without hesitation, he looped his arms around Arthit’s neck, pulling him close until their foreheads touched. His voice was gentle yet firm as he murmured, "Tum mujhe zeher bhi khila do to main khushi-khushi kha lunga... but tum hurt ho jao, yeh bardasht nahi hoga." (I will happily have poison if you hand it to me... But if you get hurt, I won't be able to bear it.)

Arthit’s heart skipped a beat, his blush deepening at Zayn’s words. Flustered, he lightly smacked Zayn’s chest. "A-aisi baatein karna band karo!" he scolded, his voice barely above a whisper. Lowering his gaze shyly, he mumbled, "A-apne shauhar ke liye khaana nahi banaunga, toh aur kiske liye banaunga?" (Stop saying things like t-this! If I don't cook for m-my husband, then who will I cook for?)

Zayn chuckled at Arthit’s persistent pout and ran a hand through his hair, amusement dancing in his eyes.

"Haan toh main kab mana kiya hai?" he teased, tilting his head. "Shaadi ke baad puri zindagi padi hai humare paas. Jo marzi ho, bana ke khilana... lekin aaj main bana ke khilaunga." His tone turned firm but gentle. "Ab aur kuch mat bolna. Jaake fresh ho jao, thak gaye hoge." (Yes, when did I ask you to not cook? After marriage, our whole life is there. You can cook whatever you want to feed me... But today I want to cook for you. Don't say anymore. Go and freshen up, you must be tired.)

Arthit narrowed his eyes at him, his pout deepening. "You are a meanie," he huffed. "Jante ho ki humari shaadi hona next to impossible hai, aur yeh kehke har baar mujhe fasa dete ho!" His voice was filled with a mix of frustration and something softer—something almost yearning. (You know that our marriage is next to impossible, and still you trap me with the same excuse every time!)

Before Zayn could say anything in response, Arthit turned on his heel and stomped off to the bathroom, determined to use as much of Zayn’s bathing supplies as possible. If he couldn't have him in the way he wanted, at least he could carry his scent.

Zayn let out a soft sigh as he watched his boyfriend disappear into the bathroom. Shaking his head, he made his way to the kitchen, rolling up his sleeves. His hands automatically moved to prepare dinner, but his mind lingered on Arthit’s words.

"Next to impossible..."

The words echoed in his head, leaving behind an ache in his chest that he couldn't quite shake.

After some time, Arthit emerged from the bathroom, his damp hair clinging to his forehead. He had shamelessly put on one of Zayn’s overused t-shirts, the fabric hanging loosely over his small frame, reaching well past his thighs. He inhaled deeply, feeling comforted by the scent of the man he loved.

Quietly, he padded over to the kitchen where Zayn was busy at the stove. Without a word, he slipped his arms around the elder’s waist from behind, pressing his cheek against his back.

And then, out of nowhere—he bit his shoulder like an over-spoiled puppy.

Zayn flinched hard at the sudden sharpness on his shoulder. "Aaww, kya kar rahe ho, jaan?" he yelped, turning around swiftly to face his attacker. His brows furrowed in confusion as he found Arthit standing there, pouting at him like a stubborn child. (Awww, what are you doing, jaan?)

"Kya hua?" he asked, a mix of amusement and concern in his voice. (What happened?)

Arthit crossed his arms, his lips jutting out further. "I am punishing you!" he declared, his voice filled with determination.

Before Zayn could process what was happening, Arthit lunged forward and bit him again—this time on his arm. It wasn’t painful enough to draw blood, but it left behind small, visible imprints of his teeth.

Zayn blinked, half in shock, half in disbelief. "And may I know why am I getting punished?" he asked, grabbing Arthit by the shoulders to hold him back as he still tried to reach for another bite.

"For not letting me cook for you!" Arthit huffed, wriggling in his grip. Seizing an opportunity, he ducked past Zayn’s hold and sank his teeth into his wrist.

Zayn instantly pulled his hand back with a sharp intake of breath. "Ouch!" he hissed, shaking his hand slightly.

Arthit, now satisfied with his work, peered over Zayn’s shoulder to take a look at the food. His eyes sparkled with curiosity as he tilted his head.

"Kya bana rahe ho?" he asked, as if he hadn’t just spent the last few minutes attacking his boyfriend. (What are you cooking?)

Zayn stood at the stove, expertly mixing the spices in the pot. The aroma of roasted masalas filled the kitchen, wrapping them both in a comforting warmth. "Chicken," he answered simply, his focus on his cooking.

Arthit peeked over his shoulder, his face lighting up for a brief second before he scrunched his nose in disdain. "Nice… ghar pe toh jabse Dadi aayi hui hai, tabse veg ban raha hai," he grumbled. (Since Dadi has returned, only veg is being cooked at home.)

Zayn glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. "Kyun? Woh non-veg nahi khati hai kya?" he asked, placing the marinated chicken into the sizzling spice mix. "Aur unke khane ya na khane se kya farq padta hai? Baaki sab toh khate hain na?" (Why? Does she not eat non-veg? And what does it matter if she doesn't? Others can have it na?)

Arthit crossed his arms, his expression souring. "Unki baat na karo toh hi achcha hai," he muttered. "Pata nahi unko mujhse aur bhabhi se kya problem hai…" His voice trailed off before he looked up at Zayn with a frown. "Jaante ho unhone kya kiya?" (It's better if we don't talk about her... I don't know what beef she's got with me and bhabhi.... Do you know what she did?)

Zayn, stirring the chicken as it started to cook, shot him a quick glance. "Kya kaha unhone?" he asked, his tone calm but curious. (What did she say?)

Arthit huffed, ready to rant about the "hag" who had been making his life miserable.

Arthit leaned against the kitchen counter, his voice dropping into a whisper. His brows furrowed, and his fists clenched as he spoke.

“Bhabhi ko do din tak vrat rakhne ko majboor kiya,” he muttered angrily. Then, in a hushed tone, he added, “Maine servants se yeh bhi suna hai ki unhone uss bechari ko ghar se nikalne ki dhamki bhi di... Bhabhi unke pair pakadke ro rahi thi..." His voice darkened, his hatred for his grandmother evident in every word. (She forced bhabhi to fast for 2 full days. I heard from the servants that she threatened to throw her out of the house... Bhabhi was crying at her feet...)

Zayn, who had been stirring the chicken, froze. His grip on the ladle tightened. “Woh itni buri hai?” he asked softly, glancing at Arthit with concern. Taking a deep breath, he hesitated before voicing the fear that had been gnawing at him for years. “Jaan, agar unhe humare baare mein pata chala toh woh kya karegi?” His voice betrayed the one thing he rarely admitted—his fear of losing Arthit again. (Is she that bad? Jaan, if she gets to know about us, then what will she do?)

Arthit immediately stepped closer, cupping Zayn’s face between his small hands. His touch was warm, steady, and full of conviction. "Main unhe pata chalne nahi dunga," he promised firmly. "Aur chal bhi gaya, toh sab chhod ke aa jaunga..." His voice wavered, and his eyes shone with unshed tears. "Tum apna loge na mujhe, Bhaiya?" (I won't let her know in the first place. But if the truth comes to light, I'll leave everything behind. You'll make me yours, right?)

Zayn’s heart clenched. He reached up, holding Arthit’s hands against his cheeks. "Itna bharosa hai mujh pe?" he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Itna pyaar karte ho?" (Do you trust me so much? You love me so much?)

Arthit nodded, a tear slipping down his cheek. “Bharosa nahi hota, toh puchhta kya?” he murmured. His voice trembled as he asked the question that had haunted him for years. “Bolo na Bhaiya… meri galtiyan maaf karke mujhe apnaoge?” (Had I not trusted you, would I ever have asked? Tell na bhaiya... You'll forgive my faults and make me yours?)

Zayn looked into those pleading eyes, his heart aching with love and longing.

Zayn didn’t hesitate. He pulled Arthit into a tight embrace, holding him as if he never wanted to let go. His hands ran soothingly over his back, grounding him.

“Mere darwaze hamesha tumhare liye khule hain,” he murmured into Arthit’s hair. “Jab bhi tumhe lage ki sab kuch zyada ho raha hai, bas seedha mere paas chale aana… koi sawal nahi puchhunga.” His voice was gentle, yet firm—a promise, a sanctuary. (My door will always be open for you. Whenever you feel like it's getting too much, come straight to me... I won't ask a question.)

Arthit let out a shaky breath before wrapping his arms around Zayn with all the strength he could muster. “Ek arzi hai… maanoge?” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss against Zayn’s nape. (I have a request... Will you keep it?)

Zayn shivered at the sensation, his grip tightening slightly. “Bolo…” he encouraged, nuzzling into Arthit’s neck, his voice warm and affectionate. (Tell me...)

Arthit took a deep breath. “Diwali pe mere saath mandir chaloge?” he asked hesitantly. “I’m sorry… agar kuch zyada maang liya toh…” His voice trailed off for a moment before he suddenly perked up, excitement bubbling in his tone. “Aur mandir ke paas mela bhi laga hai! Mujhe rides pe jaana hai, golgappe khaane hain, balloons khareedne hain—” He began listing off his demands like an eager child, his eyes sparkling. (Will you come with me to the mandir on Diwali? I'm sorry... If I overstepped... And there's a fair near the mandir! I wanna go on rides, eat golgappe, buy balloons -)

Zayn smirked mischievously, tilting his head slightly. “You sure you want balloons only?” he teased, his amber eyes gleaming. “Aur kisi aur type ke balloons nahi chahiye?” (Don't you want a different type of balloons?)

Arthit’s eyes widened before he smacked Zayn’s arm with a scandalized look. “Uss balloon ki koi zaroorat nahi hai!” he declared with absolute conviction. “Shaadi-shuda logo ko uski zaroorat nahi padti, aur aisa bhi nahi hai ki main pregnant ho sakta hoon…” He rolled his eyes dramatically before huffing, his pout returning. “Mujhe fairy lights waale balloons chahiye! Dilaoge ki nahi?” (I have no need for those balloons! Married people don't need them, and it's not like I can get pregnant... I want balloons with fairy lights in then! Will you buy then for me or not?)

Zayn looked at Arthit with a smirk as he pinched his nose lightly. "Jo mangoge, woh dilaunga. Ab khush?" (I'll get you whatever you want. Now happy?)

Arthit's face lit up with a wide, beaming smile. "Tumhare liye kuch laaya hoon!" he said, excitement bubbling in his voice. He quickly pulled away from the hug and rushed to his bag to fetch the gift. (I brought something for you!)

Zayn, still focused on the food, turned around, a bit distracted. "Ab kya laaya ho? Kuch mehnga hua toh main nahi lunga." (What did you bring now? I won't take it if it's too costly.)

Arthit smirked, clearly not fazed by Zayn’s reluctance. "Chup raho! Nahi loge toh fenk dena," he teased, walking over with a brown paper bag in his hand. "Ab kitchen mein sambhalta hoon... Yeh pehenke dekho, fit hota hai ki nahi..." (Keep quiet! If you don't want it, then there is away. I'll take care of the kitchen... Wear this and see if it fits you...)

Zayn raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Tum mere liye kapde laaye ho?" he asked, taking the bag from Arthit and peeking inside with curiosity. (You brought clothes for me?)

Arthit nodded with enthusiasm, his eyes sparkling. "Diwali ke liye... Yeh pehenke mela jayenge... twinning karke!" He paused and gave a small, knowing grin. "I’m so damn sure bhabhi ne mera kurta choose kiya hai, kyunki Ash ko fashion ka koi bhi sense nahi hai..." (It's for diwali... We'll go to the fair wearing this... And we'll twin! I'm so damn sure that bhabhi chose my kurta, because Ash doesn't have the slightest bit of fashion sense...)

Zayn chuckled, taking the kurta from the bag. "Wasn't that a little bit rude to say about your brother?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as he began removing his t-shirt to put on the kurta right there and then.

(Zayn's Kurta)

Arthit, leaning against the counter, shrugged nonchalantly. "I was the one who dressed him on his wedding," he said, clearly amused by Zayn’s unbothered attitude as he ogled at his body.

Zayn chuckled softly, still spinning around in the new kurta. "Accha baba, thik hai, maan liya tumhare bhai ko, dressing ke koi bhi knowledge nahi hai... Ab batao, kaisa lag raha hai?" He gave Arthit a full 360-degree turn, looking for his approval. (Okay baba, fine, I accept that your cousin has zero knowledge about dressing himself... Now tell me, how do I look?)

Arthit’s eyes softened as he took in the sight of Zayn. "Mere sapno ke rajkumar jaise dikh rahe ho..." he replied shyly, unable to hide his admiration. (Like the price of my dreams...)

Zayn raised an eyebrow, clearly pleased. "Accha? Sahi mein kya?" he asked, checking himself in the mirror, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. "Hmm, accha to main lag raha hoon... but tum itna kyun sharma rahe ho?" The elder had a playful smile on his lips. (Really? Hmm .. I do look good... But why are you blushing so much?)

Arthit nervously scratched the back of his neck. "Nahi pata... rice ban chuka hai..." he muttered, poking some of the grains to ensure they were cooked properly. "Main strain kar doon?" (Don't know... The rice is done... Should I strain it?)

Zayn waved him off. "Nahi, bas gas off kar do, main strain karunga," he said, stepping out of the kurta and into his shirt. He walked over to the stove to strain the rice. (No, just turn off the gas, I'll strain it.)

Arthit huffed, slightly pouting. "Tum mujhe koi kaam karne nahi dete..." he complained, crossing his arms over his chest. (You don't let me do any work at all...)

Zayn looked at Arthit with a soft smile. "Hmm, that's because you are my prince, both literally and figuratively. And princes are not supposed to work..." He gently pulled Arthit to the side in the kitchen while he strained the rice, making sure the hot water wouldn’t splash on him.

Arthit huffed, crossing his arms. "We are equals! Bas dekhte jao... main bhabhi se sab banana sikh lunga..." he muttered, still a little upset. (Just wait and watch... I'll learn to cook all kinds of dishes from bhabhi...)

Zayn raised an eyebrow, teasing him as he worked. "Accha, mere master chef... aur uske baad kya karoge?" he asked, putting the rice pot back on the stove and adding water to the almost cooked chicken to make some gravy. (Alright, my master chef... What will you do after that?)

Arthit’s face lit up with excitement. "Roz tumhare aur humare bachcho ke liye khaana banaunga!" he said, a determined look in his eyes. (I'll cook everyday for you and our kids!)

Zayn smiled softly, finishing the last bit of cooking while cleaning along the way to minimize the mess after dinner. "So tumne puri future planning kar li hai? Kitne bacche chahiye tumhe?" (So you've planned for the future? How many kids do you want?)

Arthit, blushing slightly, glanced up at him. "One is enough! Tumko kitne chahiye?" (What about you?)

Zayn finished garnishing the chicken curry and turned to Arthit with a gentle smile. "I want a small family... with you, me, and maybe a baby girl," he said, his voice full of warmth as he added the final touches to the meal.

Arthit smiled dreamily, his eyes sparkling. "That would be so perfect, right?" he said softly, lost in the thought of their future.

Zayn looked at him, a hint of concern in his eyes. "You are okay with it?" He stepped toward him and stood in front of him as Arthit sat on the counter.

Arthit leaned his head on Zayn's shoulder, nodding. "Hmmm..."

Zayn wrapped his arms around him, holding him close. "We will have a perfect, small family of our own," he whispered, inhaling the familiar scent of Arthit's hair. He chuckled lightly and pulled back to look at him. "Jaan, did you use the entire bottle of shampoo or what?" he teased, noticing how much Arthit smelled like him.

Arthit smiled, his cheeks flushing slightly. "Nope... Tumhara shirt pehna hai, isliye aisa lag raha hai," he said, grinning up at him. (Nope... I'm wearing your t-shirt, so you feel like it.)

Zayn raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at his lips. "Hmm, it's been a while since I’ve seen you in my clothes," he said as he stepped back slightly to get a better look at him. He gave him a thorough head-to-toe glance, before his expression shifted. "Wait, are you wearing a shirt only?" he asked, stepping closer once more, his voice filled with curiosity.

Arthit gave him a cheeky smile, enjoying the attention. "I thought you'd never notice," he teased, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

Zayn stood a bit closer, his hands resting on Arthit's waist as he confirmed with a playful smirk, "So, you're wearing a shirt only..." He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a teasing tone. "May I know the reason behind this bold move?"

Arthit shrugged nonchalantly, a grin still plastered on his face. "Maybe I was trying to get some free kisses?" he replied, his voice a mixture of mischief and sincerity.

Zayn chuckled, clearly entertained. "Oh really?" he said before leaning in to plant kisses all over Arthit’s face, causing him to giggle uncontrollably.

Arthit giggled, his hands resting on Zayn’s chest as he replied, "Yes... seems to be working too!"

Zayn kissed his forehead last, a soft smile on his lips. "I think this trick works," he said warmly, his eyes full of affection.

Arthit, calming down from his giggling fit, finally spoke up, "Ab dinner karle? Khaana thanda ho jayega..." (Should we have dinner? The food will get cold at this rate...)

Zayn nodded, helping him down from the counter. "Hmm, let's go have dinner," he said as they walked to the dining table. He served both of them their meal, the warmth of the food matching the warmth between them.

After dinner, the two of them found themselves winding down. Despite Zayn's insistence, Arthit once again chose to sleep on the couch, though Zayn had offered the bed. But as always, Arthit ignored the offer, determined to stick to his usual routine.

Zayn watched him from the doorway of the bedroom, a soft smile on his lips. "You sure you don’t want to join me in the bed?" he called out, though his tone held a quiet amusement, knowing full well that Arthit wouldn’t budge.

Arthit shrugged from where he lay on the couch, looking up at Zayn with a small smile. "I’m comfortable here, don’t worry," he replied casually, though there was a hint of something deeper in his voice—a familiarity, a bond that neither of them could quite explain, but both cherished deeply.

Zayn sighed, but his smile never faded. "Okay, but if you change your mind, my door's always open," he said softly before retreating into the bedroom.

As the night drew on, the sound of soft breathing filled the room, each of them lost in their own thoughts, but together in the quiet, familiar way they had come to love.

AUTHORS' NOTE:

This was a fucking ginormous chapter!!!! All thanks to PriyaRout0 for editing it...

Guys please pray for the both of us...

Priya di has her results soon..

And I am down with fever, cold, right middle ear congestion which is making me hear everything in echo mode on...

Don't forget to support ZaynArthit... The next update will be given when this chapter gets at least 50 votes! And I kid you not that the next 2 are going to be juicy... 😉

Enjoy, Adiraj and Priya!