We Don’t Need a Title(BL)

The city lights were nothing like London.

Yangon was louder. Brighter. More alive.

And yet, Ngwe Nay Kha had never felt more suffocated.

Each day spent beside Paing Say Yan felt like a slow punishment. 

It didn't matter how carefully he planned, how quietly he acted—Paing Say Yan always seemed to catch him. Always one step ahead.
Just like when they were kids.


And just like back then… Ngwe never won.

He stared at himself in the bathroom mirror.
His black hair was tousled; the collar of his shirt wrinkled from today's fight with Paing.


He reached up and touched his face.

He looked older.


Not in age.
In spirit.


In heart.

That heart—once so full of fire—was now splintered into pieces.

A knock sounded on the door just as he stepped out of the bathroom.

"Come in," he said.

The door creaked open.

"Mom?"

She smiled faintly. "Son."

"Is something wrong?" he asked, walking over. "You don't look well. Are you feeling sick?"

She shook her head quickly, trying to brush it off. "No, no. I'm okay. I just…"

Her voice cracked. Tears brimmed in her eyes.

"Mom… what's wrong?" His chest tightened. "Please tell me."

"Just answer me honestly," she whispered. "Don't lie to me. Are you planning to leave from this country again?"

Ngwe's breath caught.

"…Mom… how did you know?"

"So, it's true…"

She covered her mouth with her hand, trying to hold back the sob. "My son, do you really have to go again? You just came back five months ago. You've got a good degree—you could work anywhere here. If you don't like working at Paing's company, it's okay. Find another job. Just… don't leave."

Her voice broke, and the tears finally fell.

"You're all I have. I already spent years missing you. I can't do it again."

Ngwe felt like the worst person alive.

"Mom…" he reached out and pulled her into a hug. "I'm just thinking about it. I haven't decided anything yet, okay?". I lied to her.

"I know I can't choose your life for you," she said through quiet sobs. "You're an adult. But this… this is the one thing I beg you. Don't leave from this country again. Don't leave me."

He held her tightly, his own throat thick with guilt.
"I'll think about it. I promise. Please don't cry anymore, Mom."

He stayed with her until she calmed down, stroking her hair gently like she used to do for him.

After she left the room, he sat down in silence.

The guilt crawled up his spine.

He was selfish. I don't know how the other families work.

But for us, it was always different.

For, me and my mom....

We were never just part of a family.

We were the family.

The only ones we had in the world were each other.

His mom had given up everything to raise him—working long hours, always suffering silently. After the divorce, his father had left them with nothing. Ngwe was just eight. His mother only twenty-eight. With nowhere to go, it was her cousin—a single woman living alone—who gave them a place to stay.

To raise him well, to make him feel like other kids, his mother worked herself to the bone. She took any job she could find, things she'd never imagined doing, just so he could stand where he was now.

He was her entire world. Her only family.

And yet, he'd left her behind.
For four years.
Without warning.
Without looking back.

He clenched his hands into fists.

"I don't want to make her cry again," he thought. 

He knew it was Paing Say Yan who told his mom. Of course it was him.

No one else dared cross that line.

Because Paing knew—more than anyone—how important his mother was to him.

And that was exactly why he did it.

Manipulation disguised as care.

He didn't know what to do anymore. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.

The urge to scream—to shout at the sky, at Paing, at the world.

Why?

Why did life always have to be this hard for him?

Ngwe Nay Kha sat on the edge of his bed, He leaned forward, hands tangled in his hair, head low. 

He had almost made up his mind to leave again. But now?

Now it felt like he was being pulled apart from all directions.

And then—his phone buzzed.

Paing Say Yan.

Ngwe stared at the screen, unmoving.

The buzzing stopped.

Then started again.

Still him.

The phone buzzed for the fifth time.

Ngwe Nay Kha stared at the screen, his thumb hovering over the green button. He could feel the familiar heaviness pressing on his chest. And then… he picked up.

"Where were you?"

Paing Say Yan's voice was low, measured—but there was an unmistakable tension beneath it, the kind that vibrated under the skin like a barely leashed storm.

"Why didn't you pick up my phone?"

Ngwe didn't answer right away. He let the silence hang—thick and suffocating.

"Ngwe," Paing said again, this time sharper, a flash of frustration slicing through the calm. "I'm asking you. Can you at least answer me?"

"I was with my mom," Ngwe finally replied, voice quiet and flat. Not emotionless—just tired. So, so tired.

A beat of silence.

Then, softer, almost careful: "Is she okay?"

Ngwe exhaled, sharp and bitter. "Do you think you even deserve to ask about her?" His voice trembled, not with fear—but fury barely held back. "I know you told her. That's why she was crying, wasn't it?"

He could almost feel Paing's silence through the line.

"Why are you always doing things that hurt me?" Ngwe pressed, voice rising slightly. "Are you doing it on purpose? Do you enjoy watching me struggle?".

There was another pause. Then the sound of Paing breathing in, slow and heavy through his nose.

"Why are you always acting like I'm your enemy?" he asked, his voice low and pained.

"Because you are," Ngwe shot back suddenly. His tone cracked open—sharp, broken, and raw. "You're the one who ruined everything."

"I never wanted to hurt you—"

"But you did."

Silence fell between them again. But this one wasn't empty—it was loaded. Like a wire pulled taut between them, buzzing with old wounds and words unsaid.

"I know," Paing said after a long pause, voice barely above a whisper. "I know I hurt you. And I've lived with it every fucking day for four years. Is that not enough punishment for me? Ngwe...."

Ngwe's jaw clenched. He looked at the floor. His heart didn't beat—it echoed.

"You think you're the only one who suffered?" Paing continued. His voice cracked now, filled with something heavier than guilt. "After you left, I fell apart. I couldn't eat. Couldn't sleep. I ruined my own life. I couldn't even look at myself. I destroyed myself, Ngwe… for you."

Ngwe blinked, stunned silent for just a second—then scoffed, a humorless laugh bubbling out like acid.

"For me?" he spat. "What the fuck, Paing Say Yan? You destroyed yourself because you deserved it. Not for me. You destroyed yourself because it was the easiest way to make yourself feel less guilty. Don't dump that on me."

"Ngwe… why can't you understand me?"

"I don't want to understand you," Ngwe hissed. "Just leave me alone, Paing Say Yan. You brought me into your company just to keep tabs on me. You wanted control. And now, when I try to leave, you won't let me go. And then you ask me to understand you?"

"I didn't bring you back to control you," Paing's voice rose now, snapping with his own anger. "I brought you back because I needed you close again. Because I—"

He stopped. Choked himself silent.

Ngwe gave another bitter laugh, hollow and painful. "Because you're obsessed. That's what it is, right? You can't stand the idea of me being happy without you."

"That's not true—"

"Isn't it?" Ngwe's voice trembled now, with rage and a trace of despair. "You threatened to destroy any company I work for. You said it like a joke, like it was harmless—but I know you. You meant it."

"I had to do it…" Paing murmured, voice strained. "Because you're always trying to leave me."

"Why can't I, huh? We're not even friends anymore!"

"Still… you're mine," Paing whispered.

Ngwe closed his eyes, his grip tightening around the phone. The weight of those words sat like a stone in his stomach.

"You never tried to understand what I feel," he said, his voice breaking. "I was never yours, Paing. I never was. I hate you."

And with that, he ended the call.

The room was quiet.

Too quiet.

And Ngwe stood there, hand trembling, chest burning, heart aching—with the silence of four years crashing down all over again.

"Mine."


Paing Say Yan had always known—deep down, without a shred of doubt—that Ngwe Nay Kha was his.
It all started from the moment their eyes met on the first day of kindergarten.

Flashback: Kindergarten – Sunny morning.

That morning had been chaos. Children cried everywhere, clinging to their mothers' skirts like life rafts, screaming with the horror of being left behind. Some threw tantrums, some curled into corners.

Ngwe Nay Kha had wanted to cry. God, he really had. His tiny fingers clenched into fists, his throat tight, his eyes glassy as he watched his mother prepare to leave him in a room full of strangers. But even at that young age, he could feel her worry. So instead of wailing, he bit his lip, hard, and simply stood there—trembling but proud, his big dark eyes wet but determined.

And Paing Say Yan, standing just across the room in his shiny new shoes and a backpack more expensive than the teacher's purse, noticed.

He liked what he saw.

Paing, even back then, believed that everything he liked could be his. Toys, books, snacks—and people.
So naturally, he went to the one person who made things happen.

"Mom."
Tiny Paing Say Yan marched into the living room like a mini-CEO storming into a boardroom when he comes back from kindergarten. He planted his hands on his hips.

"I want that boy."

His mother—lounging on the couch with her tea—blinked in surprise.

"Which boy, darling?"

"The one with the big eyes and soft cheeks," Paing replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"He didn't cry. I like him."

His mom chuckled softly.

"Oh, you mean Ngwe Nay Kha? Sweetheart, people aren't for sale."

Paing crossed his arms, puffing out his chest like a tiny storm cloud.

"I won't eat anything unless you buy him for me!"

Trying not to burst into laughter, his mother sipped her tea and said,

"Alright then. Go tell his mom yourself. If she agrees, he's yours."

The next morning, outside the kindergarten gate…

Ngwe Nay Kha clung tightly to his mother's skirt, still unsure about this place full of loud kids and unfamiliar smells.

Then—
"Ahem!"

Tiny Paing Say Yan stood tall, blocking their path like a very important man with very serious business.

"Auntie," he addressed Ngwe's mom solemnly.

"Can you give him to me now?".

Ngwe's mother blinked. "Sorry? Give you who?".

"Him." He pointed directly at Ngwe, who was now half-hiding behind his mom leg. "You're friends with my mom, right? She said you can give him to me. I'll take care of him from now on ."

Ngwe's mom burst into laughter. "You mean like… adopt him?"

"Yes." Paing nodded confidently. "He'll sit next to me. I'll give him half my cookies. No .if he wants, I I will give all .Just give him to me, please."

Still giggling, she crouched and looked at her son. "Well, my baby . Want to be this little gentleman's… property?"

Ngwe peeked up at Paing. The boy was strange, loud, and kind of scary—but… cookies.

Paing knelt dramatically, like a knight offering a crown.

"Well? Will you be mine? I can give you anything."

Ngwe hesitated. "Then…. Can I have ice cream?"

"Every day," Paing promised without blinking.

Ngwe's lips twitched into the tiniest smile. "Okay."

And just like that, it began.


The story of mine.