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The moment Thit steps out of the car, he knows he’s made a mistake. Even as he goes around the car to open the door for Dao, he feels the piercing gaze of Dao’s grandmother on him. With a hand on Dao’s lower back, he stands tall, meeting her gaze as unflinchingly as he can.
Looks are deceiving. Thit knows this. But aside from the terrifying weight of her gaze, nothing about Dao’s grandmother seems threatening. Her smile is framed by laugh lines, her crows feet tell of a life filled with joy. And yet he feels like she could crush him under her sandal and not even notice his bones breaking.
The pressure lightens marginally as she wraps Dao in a hug, his boyfriend (boyfriend!! Official!!!) doing the same and all but melting into her arms. His respite is briefly prolonged as he shakes hands with Dao’s fathers, but alas, he cannot escape his fate. Dao turns to his fathers, and Thit is left alone with the woman who’s approval his entire future relies on.
She regards him with a critical eye, smiling slyly in a way that makes Thit want to tuck his tail and run. “Dao tells me you can cook.”
“Yes Khun Phuangthong.” Thit says as deferentially as he can. Direk would have a heart attack AND a stroke if he could hear how polite his son’s being.
“Good. You will help me.”
Oh. Oh no. Thit freezes, his instinctive motion to seek Dao only barely thwarted. He cannot refuse. Yes, Dao’s fathers are important, but he knows deep in his bones that if this woman does not approve of him it’s over. He cannot afford for that to happen. “Of course Khun Phuangthong.”
She nods, reaching out a strong hand, her skin soft but grip firm on his forearm. “Good, good. Come.”
He only has a moment to glance back, meeting the commiseratory gaze of Dao’s father (Dave? He looks like a Dave). Thit turns back, following her through the house and into the kitchen. This is fine. Thit can cook. He’s been cooking for years. It may not be the crème de la crème, but he can do solidly restaurant quality when given the time and ingredients. He just has to keep up with Dao’s grandmother. Impressing her is off the table, he can’t afford to aim for perfection. He just needs her to know his skill and his willingness to take orders.
Jo probably burst into spontaneous laughter. Thit mentally swears his vengeance.
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In the middle of going over his work, Jo has the inexplicable urge to start cackling wildly. It bubbles up his throat, barely being held back by his teeth. He can feel himself trembling.
“Jo?” North asks, staring at him in concern, spoon halfway to his mouth. “Are you OK?”
Jo coughs, trying to hold back. “Fine.” He gasps, shaking even harder.
North eyes him up and down. “You don’t look fine. Do we need to go to the hospital?”
For some reason that’s the straw that breaks his control. The laughter bursts out, forcing him to bend over, face down in his textbook. North stares at his boyfriend in concerned confusion.
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“How did you meet Dao?” Thit has never been this stressed in his life. Doing rounds in the hospital, car racing, hell, dealing with ghosts was nothing compared to this. His attention in divided, maintaining even cuts even as the conversation shifts. Khun Phuangthong does not give him a moment of rest – as soon as he finishes cutting one vegetable she directs him to another, as soon as he finishes stirring there’s something else that requires his attention.
He is sweating. He hasn’t sweat while cooking in a long time, possibly ever. It feels like getting his entrance exam results back AND his first race AND asking Dao out all at the same time. He’s pretty sure he’s exibiting textbook signs of a heart attack but he can NOT afford to deal with that as Dao’s grandmother interrogates him.
“He moved in next door. I don’t think he even noticed me, but he caught my eye from the start.” Not a lie. Not the full truth either, but it’s probably better to wait until after the wedding to tell her he was drunk as hell when they first truly met.
For his own safety.
Khun Phuangthong hums, stirring a pot on the stove. Thit can’t even remember what, if anything, has gone into it, only that she has barely moved from in front of it. He probably shouldn’t be grateful, but honestly not having to dance around one another is a blessing. Running from counter to counter is much simpler when he just has to account for one stationary person. “I see. This was the haunted apartment?”
Thit pauses. He doesn’t know who Dao has talked to about what went on, or what he’s said. Khun Phuangthong notices, side eyeing him as his knife hovers uncertainly. He decides to keep it simple. “I didn’t know it at the time but yeah, it was haunted.”
She hums again. He doesn’t know what it means.
“I’m glad he had someone to lean on nearby. I worry about him.”
Thit freezes. He can feel his lungs holding in air, his throat filled with emotions too tangled and shifting to name. After several minutes of silence he finally manages to speak. “I’m just glad I could help.”
A third hum.
“I am too.”
The adrenaline keeping him upright seems to dissipate with her words. The predator has moved on. He feels like crying but he’s not going to cry in front of fucking Dave.
Later. Much, much later.
(And if he spends hours in bed that night imagining their wedding, well. That’s his secret to keep until it comes true.)
(And it does come true.)