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“I’ll present at that,” Pae said, pointing at a poster on a wall of the College of Art and Design. “Maybe next year?”
Duang did a double take, then turned on his heel to go inspect the poster. The Mango Art Festival. Boost visibility! Forge valuable connections! Explore collaborations! Galleries! Emerging Artists! Craft Brands! Stage Performers! River City Bangkok!
The date was too close to apply to present now, but Pae was right. They could apply for next year’s event. If Duang started making money on his art while still in college, maybe his family would acknowledge how hard he worked—even if he wasn’t a doctor. This year, at least, they could go see what it was all about. To prepare, obviously.
He glanced at the date.
“Oh, but it’s—”
The date overlapped when Qin’s parents would be in town. Qin always went to stay with them when that happened. He often took Duang with him for emotional support, and to cover the house in new, happy memories to muddle the bad.
“You guys go,” Duang said flippantly, like he wasn’t interested. “Have fun.”
His friend’s eyebrows furrowed. “You don’t wanna go?” Jamie asked.
A shrug. “You can tell me about it later.”
With one last longing gaze at the poster, Duang turned and walked away.
…
…
The festival haunted him. After learning about it, it just…kept appearing. He and Qin watched a movie on TV and an ad for the festival came on. He went shopping for supplies to cook for Qin and saw advertisements for it on the door. Other students in his classes mentioned being excited to attend—two were even presenting!
Even though he was leaning against his car, Duang’s whole body vibrated. Across the grass from his parking spot, walking along the side of the building, were ladies carrying signs related to the festival. Were they presenters? Friends of one? Volunteer workers? No matter what, they were going to have so much fun. He could tell by the smiles on their faces.
“Duang.”
When Duang’s attention snapped away from the ladies, he found Qin standing beside him, guitar across his back as usual. Qin’s eyebrows drew down and he glanced toward the building, then back to Duang.
“You know them?” he asked.
Was he jealous? Qin should know by now that he was the only one for Duang! But seeing him get jealous still caused butterflies in Duang’s chest.
Duang shook his head and reached out to take Qin’s guitar to put in the car, his fingers trailing along Qin’s arm as he did. Would Qin ever want to be a performer at an art festival? He wanted to be a professional singer, and he would enthrall everyone who heard him. More than Duang with his art, even.
“Perform at what?” Qin asked.
Duang jumped in place. Still bent over to put the guitar in the car, he smacked his head. “Ow!”
With a sigh, Qin grabbed Duang’s head and gently rubbed the sore spot. “Be more careful. You can’t heal yourself, remember?”
“Aww, Ter, you’re making me blush!” Duang smiled. If he were a dog, his tail would wag wildly at Qin’s ministrations. Qin loved him~ Qin loved him~
Qin shook his head, but smiled when he said, “Ridiculous.”
That was okay. Duang knew Qin meant ‘ridiculous’ in a good way.
He’d probably like the Mango Art Festival, too. Some of the booths were for photographers. Ah, next time. Next time.
Taking Qin’s hands from his hair, Duang gave them a kiss and then opened the passenger door for his faen. Qin gave him a curious look, then took his seat.
…
…
The day of the Festival—and their trip to Qin’s parent’s house—Qin got up before Duang. That was odd, but not overly so. Sometimes, Qin got excited or nervous about something and couldn’t sleep. And sometimes Duang liked sleeping late because Qin might kiss him awake.
By the time Duang rolled out of bed that morning, Qin was already stepping out of the shower. “Hurry and get ready,” he said, toweling his hair.
His parents must be expecting them for a late breakfast or early lunch. Duang nodded and scurried to the bathroom, only pausing to give Qin a peck on each cheek and think, ‘Shame we’re not showering together’ on the way. He dodged Qin’s instinctive shin kick and laughed.
Qin drove, as he usually did when they visited his parents, except Duang realized...
“This isn’t the way to your parents’ house,” he muttered, confused.
“It’s not,” Qin agreed.
Duang frowned. “Then where…?”
“The Mango Arts Festival,” Qin said, easy as anything.
A whine caught in Duang’s throat. “What?”
Qin barely glanced at him. “You want to go.”
Wiggling in his seat, Duang protested, “But—Your parents—”
“Will have dinner with us tomorrow.”
Changing tracks, Duang asked, “How did you know I wanted to go?”
Qin lifted an eyebrow, then held out one hand, the other still on the wheel. Duang took it without hesitation.
“You’ve been thinking about it almost as much as you think about me,” Qin said, frowning.
Oh. Duang’s lips lifted. “Ter…are you jealous…of the festival?” Flushing, Qin tried to pull his hand back, but Duang held tight. “I love you more than any festival, Ter.”
Though he didn’t say it back, Qin smiled warmly and squeezed Duang's hand.
Duang smiled. "Thank you, Qin."