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Monday.
Thame felt like he was stuck in a state of limbo. An endless loop of misery and helplessness and back to misery again only to get a few moments of reprieve when he’s asleep and then the cycle continues again. He doesn’t know what he’s doing and have no clue what he’s going to do either. He felt like the ground beneath him gave way with all the emotional weight he’s been carrying these past few days crashing down on him.
Even Dylan, the only thing he was certain up until few days back, has now started to feel like a personification of all his doubts and guilt. Everytime Thame looks at him, he was remembered a list of things that he has done that he’s regretting.
On the top of that list, written in his shame was, using Dylan as a coping mechanism, as a cane, to hold him upright when he was about to fall down.
It has been two weeks since they slept together. Ten days since he was confronted by Dylan in the washroom, since he begged Dylan to trust him, since the last time he kissed Dylan. Ten days in which Thame has been feeling the noose around his neck tighten inch by inch, cutting out his breath.
A knot of his own doing. One he wrapped around his neck himself. One that only tangles further with each of his attempts to set himself free.
Now, standing in front of Dylan's door, the place where Thame had fucked up once, he knocked on the wood, waiting for the door to open. Since they both share a major, Thame decided to pick Dylan up for their class, as a subtle way to ask for forgiveness, knowing that on Mondays, Dylan would have to walk to uni because Pepper has no afternoon classes.
Like a man waiting for his penance, Thame waited with bated breath, no longer than fifteen seconds later, the door opened to reveal Pepper.
“Thame?” Pepper looked surprised to see him there.
“Hi.” Thame greeted him, heart fluttering with every second that passes.
“What are you doing here?” Pepper asked. He took a step back inside, leaving way for Thame. “Come in.”
“Is Dylan home?” Thame asked the minute he stepped inside, eyes searching for him.
“He’s in the shower.”
When Thame still awkwardly stood in the living room, Pepper added, pointing to the closed door of Dylan's room at the end of the hallway. “You can wait for him in his room, if you want.”
Thame offered him a strained smile and walked the familiar path back to Dylan's room. The handle gave way beneath his palm, opening with a small creak of its hinge. The room was still the same since the last time Thame visited. Posters lined the wall, desk still messy and covered with scraps of papers in Dylan's handwriting, crushed papers littered near the dustbin he keeps beside it, bed unmade and a hoodie thrown over the back of the chair.
Thame paused, his brows furrowing when he realised he had never seen that hoodie in Dylan's wardrobe before, a purple one that seemed a little too big for Dylan, but one that still seemed familiar. But Thame dismissed that doubt since he has pressing matters at hand. Instead, he took a seat on the edge of his bed, his foot tapping a nervous rhythm on floor. Thame counted to 365 before the bathroom door opened and Dylan walked out, halting in his steps when he spotted Thame.
He looked flushed from the shower, cheeks pink and hair dripping wet. Thankfully, he was wearing a loose sweatpants and an undershirt, the middle of it sticking to his chest in a wet patch, a towel slung on his shoulder as he was in the middle of drying his hair.
“Dylan.” Thame stood up, feeling like a kid waiting in front of principal’s office.
Dylan scoffed. “Who let you in?”
“Pepper.”
He stared at Thame with indifference, the mask set firmly in place. And Thame felt like he was standing at the edge of a cliff. Because he could handle an angry-Dylan, but an apathetic-Dylan is like a wave rising in an open ocean, impossible to tell whether it will pass over him harmlessly or crash at him until it is too late. When Thame didn't seem to fill in, Dylan walked to his wardrobe.
As Dylan opened the door, half the clothes spilled out a like an overflowing cup, shirts and pants alike, Thame chuckled lightly but hid it behind a cough when Dylan threw a glare at him over his shoulder. The smile stayed on his lips, though hidden, because when everything about him seemed to have changed, Dylan was still messy and that was something that remained unchanged.
Dylan didn't mind the mess as he rummaged through the clothes when a glinting edge of something caught Thame’s attention. He took a careful step towards the heap, cautious to not step on any of Dylan's clothes to crouch in front of the pile. Nestled between a white shirt and a pink hoodie, was a notebook.
Thame picked it up to inspect. The leather felt new and unused under his palm, a ribbon attached in the same rusty orange as the cover. When he ran his fingers around the corners, he found out the reason as to why it was glinting. There, on the bottom right corner, a golden engraving written in elegant cursive was the word asshole etched deep into the leather he felt the dip of it beneath his thumb.
Curious as to why this Dylan stashed this book in his wardrobe instead of his drawer, Thame opened his mouth to question him. But before the words could form, the note was snatched away from his grasp. He looked up to see Dylan, now wearing a proper shirt, frowning at him before he hid the book at the back of his wardrobe once again, pulling on the clothes in one messy pile to shove it back and locking the door.
Thame stood up, waiting for Dylan to start, but he didn't. He resumed his routine, making his bed, pulling the comforter over and fluffing up the pillows, arranging the cluttered papers at his desk in a stack for a semblance of tidiness. All throughout, Dylan didn't look at him once. He either avoided Thame’s stare or straight up ignored his existence. Unable to let this silence continue any longer, Thame spoke up.
“Dylan.”
Dylan faltered in his steps, his hands hovering over his drawer as he searched for something Thame didn't care enough to notice.
“Dylan. Look at me, please.”
Dylan’s shoulders tensed, though he turned around as Thame asked.
He expected Dylan to look at him with anger, with his brows furrowed and a cold look in his eyes. Or something like his usual indifference, wearing the same old facade that he wore everyday like armour, one that never let any ounce of care to slip into the world, as unpredictable as it is, it was familiar. Thame even expected resentment, a man who is furious at someone for lying straight through their teeth.
Deep in his heart, Thame thought that maybe, maybe, Dylan would look a little happy. Not outright, just the tiniest brightening of his eyes, a small curl of his lips at the corners, the one he had shown Thame these past few months of working together.
But that was all too little, too late.
What Thame didn't expect, something that wasn't even in his list of looks Dylan could express, was utter tiredness and defeat. The face of a man acknowledging his fate and the fact that he can’t do anything, try as he might, to change it and simply accepted to live with it, because what else is there to do?
“Why are you here, Thame?” Dylan wearied, like he wanted whatever this was to get over soon, like he was done putting up with his shit.
Thame swallowed, eyes flicking at Dylan's. “I thought I could pick you up. You’d be walking to uni, right?”
Dylan stared at him unsure, looking more tired than Thame had ever seen him, and crossed his arms over his chest, looking down at him. Thame sighed, deciding to come clean.
“I’m sorry.”
A minute paused before Dylan asked again, “What for?”
The last time Thame had said sorry and Dylan had asked the same question, Thame hadn’t said the reason out loud. Instead, he had lied and said it was nothing. He had lied and had kissed Dylan and had said I just missed you okay?
The last time Thame had said sorry, he was trying to forget a pair of soft lips pressed against his with another pair of lips pressing against his, had tried to bury the warmth of a person under the star-lit sky by surrounding himself in the warmth of another’s body.
The last time Thame had said sorry, he had burned himself to feed a foolish hope because he was too afraid to spark a new one.
This time, when Dylan asked him what for? Thame went with what he didn't the first time.
“For making you hope.” He admitted the truth that was eating him alive. “I said I missed you, that was true. I wasn't lying about that.”
Dylan stilled, body going rigid and hands fisting on his sides. Thame continued.
“I missed what we had. I missed our nights where we stayed up late singing off-key to our favourite songs and skipping classes to coop in the music studio. I missed your witty remarks and phone calls in the middle of the night because you thought of a lyric. I missed our days where you finish a whole tub of ice-cream overnight and whine to me about having a sore throat the next day.”
A heartbeat. Thame watched Dylan take in the words, the hurt creeping back in his eyes.
“I miss you, Dylan.” He confessed.
“You can’t just come in here and dump all this and expect me to forgive you, Thame.” Dylan breathed in, taking a step back. “You can’t–”
“You asked why I was sorry,” Thame interrupted, stepping closer to him, and stopping within a foot between them. “I am sorry because I missed you and I didn't go off the right way about it. I made you hope that you can get back together with me if only you tried hard enough when I myself was confused about what I want with you.”
“You're doing it again.” Dylan cried, his voice trembling. “Can’t you see? You're doing the same shit for what you're apologising. You're giving me hope again, Thame. Can’t you see?”
“Don’t make any promises if you're not going to see through it. That hurts way more than you pretending to care about me.” Dylan pushed at his chest with every word. Every word that hurt him like a stabbing knife.
Thame stumbled, gripping Dylan's wrist to steady himself and he never let go. Instead, using the grasp on his hand, Thame pulled him closer, his voice dropping down to a whisper.
“I do, Dylan. God, I really do. That’s why I am doing this. I don’t want to see you hurt. I don’t want me to be the reason you get hurt.” He pleaded, hands reaching out to cup Dylan's face.
He felt his chest tighten the more he looked at Dylan, at the pain in his eyes. The same eyes that had looked up at him with love once. “I am trying to make this right. I don’t want to hurt you, Dylan. I don’t want to.”
He leaned forward, placing a soft kiss on the corner of Dylan's mouth. Their lips a shy inch away from touching and quiet-not-touching at the same time. Dylan inhaled sharply, eyes fluttering close at the contact.
“Just one more time.” Thame whispered against the skin, voice pleading.
Maybe this time I can make myself love you again.
When Dylan opened his eyes, he didn't nod nor did he shake his head refusing him. In fact he didn't even say anything, only stared at him, eyes roaming over Thame’s face, searching for any hints, any crack in his expression. Thame could only give him his word. And so he did.
“Just one more.”
Dylan sighed at last, pressing his forehead to Thame’s collarbone. Thame wrapped a hand around his waist, instinctively pulling him closer as he rested his cheek against the silver strands. Thame felt Dylan’s intake of breath, a shiver running through his body. He felt how Dylan melted into the embrace a second later, his hands coming round to grip Thame by the back of his collar, his voice a shaky whisper when he spoke.
“Do you really mean it, Thame?” The question came out muffled.
Thame let out a staggering breath.
Closing his eyes, he remembered a smile, soft eyes and a lingering touch. Music notes and surprised laughters. And he remembered shoulders pressed together, fingers hesitantly reaching across grass, cheeks flushed in the cold. Sky lit in stars and the chirping of crickets.
He saw a past he can’t go back to, a past he’s holding onto still. He saw his present that he’s letting go of. And he said,
“I promise.”
Tuesday.
Po thought there would be a time limit for Thame’s avoidance. That maybe after a week or so, Thame would confront him, offer an excuse or give a reason. That he would at least acknowledge the new direction their relationship had headed, or even say something about what prompted him to kiss Po that night.
But boy, Po was so wrong.
Apparently, Thame had made it his mission to stay away from him. The only words that passed between them these past two weeks were some good mornings and have you finished the song and how about this clip. Basically, only about the project.
Po was behind his camera once more, shooting Dylan's introduction video, the last video before Po could stitch together every video he took into a single cohesive one for his final project. A project that’s worth 40 percent of his final grade.
He was asking questions from the list he specifically made for Dylan. Some general ones and some a little particular, and some questions Po himself had selected from the band’s instagram page. And Dylan, being the main composer of the band, was asked more about the process behind putting in together different tunes and instruments to produce a final song that was felt instead of listened and how he comes across lyrics for some and whether he has a muse or those lyrics are from his personal experience.
Dylan was doing well. He sat as Po instructed, answered questions with a polite but a practised smile, chuckled here and there when he doesn't want to answer some. All in all, Po was a little disheartened to admit, Dylan did pretty well when compared to others.
As soon as the video was taken and Dylan dismissed himself, Po went to upload the clip into his laptop, duplicating it for a back-up, and waited for the progress bar to signal the process has completed.
Without meaning to, as it had become the norm lately, his eyes searched the room for Thame and spotted him sitting on the floor, leaning against the far wall and scrolling aimlessly. He looked up from his phone, eyes flicking around the room and when he looked at Po, his face split into a soft smile, eyes shining despite the smile being small.
He blinked, momentarily stunned at the warmth in Thame’s eyes, wondering if he dreamt up the past two weeks where Thame didn't even look at him properly, but Thame’s smile didn't waver. Po was about to return the smile, as hesitant as it was, when Dylan crossed his line of sight and went to sit beside Thame with a tired groan, and all that affectionate eyes and the softness that Po had thought was directed at him was turned to the silver-head beside and Po felt something break distantly.
That evening, Po stayed up late to work at the studio, wanting to finish polishing Dylan's clips before he had to start working on reviewing all the behind the scenes footages he’s taken of the group. The room was quiet, only the hum of the air conditioner and the tip-tapping of the laptop keys could be heard. Po was immersed in his work that when the door opened with a bang, he was startled out of his zone.
He glanced up at the sudden intruder to see Thame standing awkwardly at the threshold with one leg in and one leg out, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.
“You can come in.” Po said, turning back to the screen.
Thame hesitated for a moment but when he noticed Po was not staring at him, he took a step inside, eyes roaming around the room, searching for someone. By now, Po had come to learn that that specific look was reserved to only one person.
So before Thame could ask, Po said, “If you’re looking for Dylan, he already left.”
“Oh.”
Po waited, though his eyes remained at his screen, for Thame to say something else, anything that wasn't just an ‘oh’. He watched from the corner of his eyes as Thame’s gaze darted around the room, glancing past him a second too quickly. He saw Thame’s hand gripping the door’s knob like a lifeline. Po waited. When the silence stretched longer, Thame sighed, making up his mind.
“I’ll leave then.”
Po didn't glance up to see to Thame leaving nor did he nod to acknowledge it. He remained as he was. His back straight and posture stiff, eyes still on the clip that played in a loop on the screen. Dylan's face breaking into a smile, Po’s voice in the background asking him on a scale of one to ten, how much do you enjoy composing. The smile was genuine, but to Po, it kind of looked as though Dylan’s mocking him.
That was all they shared in these days between them.
And frankly, Po was getting sick of it. Of Thame running away. Of Thame avoiding his eyes everytime. Of seeing Thame being all lovey-dovey with Dylan.
Later that night, Po sat on his bed with his phone clutched tightly in his hands, his room lit only by a bedside lamp that casted a warm glow near his face just enough to illuminate the words he typed onto the screen. He didn’t even think twice before hitting send on the message that he had contemplated on sending every ten minutes these past two days, but didn’t because he wanted to give Thame some time to gather himself. But seeing that could take longer than expected, Po took matter into his own hands.
Now, standing near the river where all of this began with a trip and ended with a kiss, Po wondered if Thame would even show up.
The night was still and quiet, so unlike the nervous flutter of Po’s heart. The river trickled gently, its soft murmur providing a sense of calm against Po’s anxious thoughts. He inhaled the fresh air, breathing out slowly, a soothing balm against the restlessness gnawing at his chest, before he glanced down at his phone again, going over the same words in his mind.
Po 11:52 p.m.
Meet me at the riverside tonight
That was sent twenty minutes ago.
Twenty minutes in which Po changed from his pyjamas and got in his bicycle. Twenty minutes in which Po cycled his way from his condo and to the riverside in the chilly night air, fighting against a shiver everytime the wind blew too hard. Twenty minutes in which Po had a script memorised.
He would start off normally. Just why did you kiss me? Were you drunk that night? If not, what about Dylan? Yeah, just normal stuff, everyday stuff. Then, acclimating to Thame’s response, Po would continue his questions. The ones that keep him awake at night. The ones that influx his mind whenever he looks at Thame. The ones that Po desperately wishes he had been given an answer to.
Do you regret it? Was it a mistake in your part?
But what about myself? Po thought. What if Thame asked those same questions to him? Will he be able to answer them?
Po sighed, deciding that Thame wouldn’t show up after all. It’s been thirty minutes now. Thirty minutes of Po wallowing in self-doubt and the unknowns. If Thame didn't want to talk with him, clear the air, or at the very least, offer an excuse, then Po couldn’t force him to, how much ever he wanted to.
With one final glance at the star lit sky, Po stood up, brushing off his pants and turned to leave when he saw a car pulling to a stop near the streetlight, the moonlight reflecting off its the black hood like a beacon. Thame climbed down, closing the door shut behind him, the sound of it loud in the absence of it.
They both stood where they were, not moving an inch towards or away, just looking at each other across the distance. Po with his key in one hand and his phone in the other, Thame with both his hands curled inside the pockets of his hoodie.
Thame stood at the edge of the grass field, his foot tapping a nervous rhythm on the border where asphalt met soil, a rhythm that was familiar. One of the songs he composed for their project, one of the many that Po listens to often.
It felt like an eternity when Po finally broke the brittle silence, which was the exact moment Thame decided to step in.
“You came.”
“Are you mad at me?”
The question was asked at the tail end of Po’s that they both overlapped one another. So it took Po a moment to dissect Thame’s question from his own and it threw him off guard.
It wasn't on his script he made in the waiting of twenty minutes. It wasn't something Po would have asked either. Out of all the things he thumbed through, of all the questions Po thought he could ask, that Thame would ask, this wasn't one. It wasn't what he expected from Thame, and it threw him completely off-balance that it took him a minute to give an answer.
“No.” Po answered, voice equally hush in which Thame had asked.
Thame exhaled slowly, still distanced from Po, a gap that could be crossed in five steps but felt like five metres. Po wanted to close it. He didn't.
“Just ask what you want and get this over with.” Thame said in a tired voice, his shoulders slouching beneath the fabric of his hoodie and brows pulled down, looking stricken.
All the questions that Po lined up vanished, leaving his throat dry and brain empty. He swallowed, eyes flicking between Thame’s, searching for something that could give away how he felt, but all Po saw was helpless defeat.
“I wanted to ask you.” Po said. “Do you regret it?”
Thame’s head shot up from he fixed his stare at the ground. “...What?”
“The kiss.” Po repeated, heart beating faster with every word. “Do you regret it?”
“Why do you ask?”
“If you do, I can chalk it upto a one night mistake. Something that happened in the brink of the moment.” Po shrugged, trying to appear collected, that he’s actively not an inch away from bursting at the seams, palms sweaty and breathing coming out in rapid burst. But all his efforts proved futile when his voice cracked in the end. “A mistake we both made, but one that’ll remain in the past, behind us, behind me.”
Thame stepped closer, four feet apart, still too far. Po stayed in his place, not moving. This was something that Thame himself had to overcome. The distance was put in place by him, he had to be the one to erase it.
“...And if I don’t?”
Po’s breath hitched, his chest felt like a cage of his own making, hope and caution warring inside him. Hope, that he has a chance to have Thame beyond their delicate bubble that only exists in the dark of the night. Caution because Po knows Thame well enough to know that his absence of regret doesn't necessarily mean this thing between them can be resolved overnight.
Thame, for all his kindness and willingness to put others before him just so he would not be one of the reasons they’re hurt, carrying all the burdens alone and dismissing his own wants as something negligible, that thinking he’s doing all this for the greater good, never once stopped and checked to see that doing all the things he does might be the one thing that ends up hurting them. Thame, always willing to cut himself for others, never once stopped to check whether it stains the people behind. As long as he’s convinced he’s the sacrifice, convinced that the other wouldn’t have to get hurt, he would gladly pick up the knife time and again.
“I would ask if you think about it as constantly as I do.”
Thame blinked. His mouth opened, a whisper of an answer, and closed, his thumb drew circles on the knuckle of his index. “Would you believe if I say I don’t?”
Po hesitated. And that in itself was an answer enough if Thame cared to look for it.
You wouldn’t kiss a person at the end of a finish line of a race that you hadn’t won because you realised too late that it was something that you want just to end up regretting it afterwards.
A ragged inhale of breath, like weighing down the cost of the sentence and disliking the price. Then, in the voice of a man who decided he has everything to lose and nothing to gain and still deciding to show his cards, Thame said, “I don’t.”
And that’s the truth. But truth alone wasn't enough for Thame to see reason. “But I can’t –I can’t do this, phi.”
And this was the cost of the sentence. The result of showing his cards too late.
”I shouldn’t have kissed you, you're Jun’s boyfriend and don’t say you're not. Even if you don’t see him that way, he’s my best friend. I can’t do this to him.” And because when it comes to Thame, it was never only about Thame, though he liked to pretend otherwise, he continued. “And I promised someone –I promised him that I don’t regret him. I cannot do this to him again.”
Thame exhaled slowly. Po watched as he took a step back. Five feet apart. Back to the same place they started.
Finally, like a ribbon that ties all this up, Thame said, firm in the face of the words but weak in the certainty it held, “We can’t.”
And Po was not heartbroken.
He didn't lose the battle, because he knows, Po knows what would happen. He didn't ask Thame to meet him at the riverside that night because he hoped Thame would see the thing that’s been growing between them and will accept it for what it was. But because Po knows that the only way Thame would acknowledge it is when he’s forced to do so and acknowledging didn't mean accepting, and Thame would light himself in fire if it meant keeping the people he loved warm in a snowstorm. And that if accepting meant hurting Jun, hurting Dylan, Thame would deny the existence of such a thing till his dying breath.
It was this thing, Po realised, this very misguided selflessness that, if you care enough to pick it apart from the actual thing, would you come to realise it was really guilt and fear, masked as protectiveness over the people he loved.
Po, because this battle wasn't his to fight, took a step back. It was never his to win, but the losing hurt all the same. And when it ended and all that’s left in between them was a fragile self and a broken bubble and a corpse shaped like hope, Po said the only word that was vague enough to hide all the hurt but not enough if one looked past the loosely held barricade,
“...okay.”
Thame didn't care enough to look, or he was too afraid to find what lies behind. So instead, he took another step back again, his voice a whisper in the wind,
“I am sorry.”
Po nodded once. “Okay.”
Wednesday.
Thirty days. With roughly only thirty more days till the LOL festival and MARS looked as though they were the physical reminders of it.
They had started to spend extra hours at the studio, practising and going through the choreo again and again until Thame was sure he was dancing in his dreams and could probably do it right after waking up.
Every day went the same. Nano would lead the stretching and the warm-ups, Dylan would play the music through the speakers and Thame would help him if he noticed a mistake, Pepper wrote down things in the whiteboard, marking out days till the festival, Jun is usually seen with his sketchbook during the breaks and Po...
Po occupies the couch with his laptop open, sometimes his camera out as he recorded the practise and just MARS existing as a group for his final project.
Thame kind of became Pepper’s assistant as the days neared. Offering a second voice in new decisions, accompanying him to student council meetings discussing about schedules and add-ins, making a note on all the notices pinned up on the board, just little things in the hopes of lessening the burden carried by Pepper as a leader all alone and as a way to keep himself busy whenever Dylan deemed Thame’s breathing is too noisy for him to focus on the track.
And throughout it all, no one noticed him. The way his eyes avoided the corner of the room, that way he takes a second too long when he has to address Po for something, the way he subtly shifts topic whenever it was about him.
It was an attempt. Poorly built. But an attempt, nonetheless.
It was Thame trying to get back his sense of bearing without Po in his every thought and in every part of his routine.
In the beginnings, the days were okay, since mostly they would quietly work together. The afters were a little challenging. Since, following all the work and their assignments and projects, they would share some time together, though not in a literal sense, they would text each other and exchange memes and things about editing videos and some new choreographies.
The nights were difficult. All the stars and the constellations replaced by the plain white of his ceiling and the dark green of his bare walls. He would twist and turn around in his sheets, trying to chase sleep, until he could no longer be present in his room that has become suffocating compared to the vast green of the riverside, with all its bushes and trees that has become a part of his routine.
More importantly, Thame tried.
He tried so much to forget about that night where he stood five feet apart from the person he wanted and can’t have. He tried to forget about the look in Po’s face, watched the slow dawning of realisation in his eyes with every spoken word.
The quiet confirmation, as unspoken as they were, that whispered they can’t be together because he promised someone. The Dylan Dylan Dylan that plagued his decisions and hovered above him that night. Because he promised that he’d try.
He had to try.
“I heard Chokun’s going to host a pottery workshop.”
Thame snapped back to reality at Pepper’s voice, focusing on the conversation at hand.
The studio, as it turned out, besides providing an immense room to set up lighting equipments and to practise their steps simultaneously, also offered a great lounging spot whenever MARS decided to rest and relax from all their gruelling practise sessions to just sit and enjoy themselves. That includes throwing out suggestions for their costumes, picking out a lyric for Dylan to include in his song, pointing out things for Jun to draw and most importantly, gossips hiding behind the line sharing information.
“Really?” Jun straightened from his sprawling on the couch, the papers of his sketchbook flapping shut as it fell down with a soft thump.
Pepper thought over, his hand slung over Nano’s shoulders curled beside him. “Not sure, but I heard them talking about it and it sounded serious.”
“I also noticed many live competitions, food stalls, and–.” Nano put in, then his eyes widened with excitement, a grin splitting on his face. The same grin that meant trouble. “ –we could give our names to the costume parade.”
Jun grumbled, slouching back on the couch again. “Nano, no.”
“Think about it. I could design us costumes. It could be about anything. Our favourite fictional characters or anime characters or we could take inspiration from flowers.” Nano’s voice grew in excitement at the thought and eyes sparkling. “Or we could go as a group, you know, snow white and the seven dwarfs. I could be snow white and you guys could be the dwarfs.”
“There are only five of us, baby.” Pepper reminded him.
“Then we have to make do with five dwarfs. Our own version.”
“If anyone has to be a dwarf, it should be you.” Jun said. “You're the shortest among us all.”
Thame stayed and listened to their back and forth.
Laughing when necessary, piping in conversations when needed, teased Jun about submitting his paintings late, joined Pepper when he discussed about the schedule, trying to be the Thame he was before the ground seemed to vanish beneath his feet, leaving him to float in a state of nothingness without an anchor to make him feel grounded.
He left the room when it became too much, searching for Dylan. His steps taking him back to the main intersection with the arched ceiling, taking the hallway opposite the one he came from, knocked on the last door before he opened and stepped inside the room. Dylan was crouched over the mixing console, face illuminated by the screen and a notebook splayed open on his left, headphones over his ears as he adjusted something, a furrow on his brows and a pout on his lips, seemingly dissatisfied with whatever he was hearing.
With the festival close, Dylan decided to book a private music studio with all the necessary equipments for recording saying he had to test out new melodies and instrumentals and that he worked well alone. He practised his part with the group, wrapping up sooner than everyone, but seeing Dylan stressed at an all time with his schedule filled to the brim, Nano offered to help him on the weekends, since Nano seemed to spend most of it with Pepper at their shared condo.
When he noticed Thame, he removed his headphones, letting it hang around his neck and slumped back on the chair, tossing his head back with a sigh. Thame studied him. The tired eyes marked with dark circles, the tiny pull at the corner of his mouth, hair tangled with the many times Dylan must’ve run his hand through it. To simply put, Dylan looked like he was buried alive and clawed his way out.
“You okay?” Thame leaned against the table beside him, swaying the chair so that Dylan faced him.
Dylan closed his eyes, his throat bobbing before he muttered out a, “Fine.”
“You look tired.”
Dylan grumbled a response. He ran a hand over his face, pulling at his locks before he turned back to the system once again. His fingers hovered over the faders before pausing to twist a handful of the EQ knobs, the console blinked softly in the studio lights. He wore one ear cup of his headphones over his ears, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth as he focused on the track on the screen.
Thame sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Seriously Dylan, you look like you haven’t slept for a week.”
“Of course I did not.” Dylan mumbled, eyes fixed on the glowing screen. He answered absentmindedly. “I have to juggle between dance practises and to make the song perfect. How can I sleep when my brain is running synth like a broken radio?”
Thame looked at the immersed Dylan and at the mixing console before he went to the side of the room to drag a chair and place it next to the desk. Dylan glanced between the chair and at Thame who took his place beside him. He raised a brow at Thame, a question forming on his lips, but Thame answered before he could say anything.
“I can help.”
Dylan shook his head slightly, frowning. “It’s okay, I got it.”
“I can check the rhythm for you.” Thame said.
He picked up a spare pair of headphones from the nearby drawer to connect it in the headphone amp. When he pulled it over his ears he could hear the faint music running in loop, the bass thrummed like a low heartbeat. Before Thame could pick up the other notes, Dylan stopped the track, lips pursed and brows pulled down in a deep scowl.
“I said I am fine, Thame.” His voice raised a little, indignant at his request being denied and annoyed at Thame’s antics.
Thame only let out a tired exhale, his eyes flicking over Dylan's face. “I am just worried, Dylan.”
“I don’t need you to worry about me.” Dylan snapped, his patience breaking.
The sound echoed loud in the quietness of the room. Thame froze, body going still at the sudden explosion. Even Dylan blinked at his own outburst, hands suspended over the board, as he sputtered out an excuse, mouth opening and closing with no sound out. Thame could hear the soft hum of the air conditioning in the loud silence, saw the helpless look in Dylan when the words seemed to have failed him.
Thame nodded once, feeling something close to asunder. “Right.”
He moved to stand up, to remove himself from the space, when Dylan's hand shot out to grab at his wrist.
“No, Thame, wait–” Thame turned around to face him, waiting for him to finish his sentence. Dylan looked struck, a mix of frustration and guilt marring his features. “It’s just –I am.” When it seemed like he couldn’t conjure up an excuse, he sighed, shoulders slumping and muttered out a, “Sorry.”
Thame nodded again, a strained smile in place as he uncurled Dylan's fingers clutching at his wrist. Dylan's hand hovered above the skin before it fell back on his lap, grasping the air before he swept them through his hair again, mussing it up further.
“It’s okay.” Thame assured him, though he felt like his heart was beating at his throat. He continued, a last attempt to salvage the situation. “Well, I’ll wait for you. Text me when you're done, I’ll drop you off.”
Dylan looked like he wanted to refuse the offer but he nodded, agreeing before he went back to the screen. A little less relieved now that Thame hadn’t stormed out the room. Thame lingered near him for a few seconds, waiting for something.
Not an apology, but something that says he did the right thing, that he has chosen right. Just a small gesture from Dylan maybe. A glance, maybe a small touch, a smile. All he got was the side of Dylan's head, slightly bobbing to the music only he can hear.
And Thame left with his chest feeling heavy.
“You've been quiet.” Thame commented as he drove his car from the campus parking lot.
Dylan glanced away from the widow to answer him. “I am always quiet.”
“Not like you are today.”
As promised, Thame picked up Dylan from the studio when Dylan messaged him. The sky was lit in golden and red as it moved its way towards the horizon, casting shadows onto the street like growing vines. The atmosphere was still a little off between them, especially after Dylan lashed out. But it only seemed to nag at Thame as Dylan remained as normal as he was, though more stressed than earlier, the eye bags more prominent now.
“It’s nothing.” Dylan sighed, pinching his eyes shut. “Just worried about the festival. Probably an off day or something.”
Thame shot him a quick glance, noticing the tiredness in his frame and the worry that seemed to have etched permanently on his forehead. “Is it about the song again?”
A long pause. Then Dylan replied in a firm tone that meant he was done with the conversation. The same tone which he used when something is clearly bothering him but he didn't want to let it out and doesn't want Thame to prod more about it, a subtle hint to drop the topic. The same tone which makes Thame lose his mind because Dylan never ever said whatever is on his mind and lies through his teeth to keep Thame in the unknown.
“I am fine, Thame.”
Thame sighed, because what was he really expecting?
He knows Dylan well enough to anticipate deflection any second right about now. A question about his day, or what he ate for lunch, or what he’s going to do, and he braced himself for it. And just as he thought, Dylan spoke,
“What about you?” He asked.
“What about me?”
He shrugged, gesturing at Thame. “You know, in your new role in being the manager and all.”
It wasn't the first time Dylan shifted the topic to Thame whenever Thame starts to question him, and it wouldn’t be the last time, but knowing never made any of his disappointment hut lesser. So he went along with it.
“I wouldn’t call myself the manager. Pepper’s the one doing all the work. I am mostly just helping him.” Thame said, checking the side mirror before making a turn. “But boy, he’s bossy.”
Dylan made a noncommittal sound, nodding his head in agreement though his eyes were on his phone. “He can be like that.”
“We got the event schedule today.” To make better out of the given, Thame directed the conversation to something that would keep Dylan involved instead of letting him go back to his thoughts. “From eleven to five in the evening. We’ve got some new things this time.”
That seems to have piqued Dylan's interest as Thame expected and Dylan stopped scrolling on his phone to quirk an eyebrow at him. Thame listed some of the events, from workshops to live competitions and the DIY stalls that were added in newly this year.
Dylan gaped at him when he said, “Nano tried to enlist us all in the costume parade.” He said. When Dylan looked at him wide-eyed, he added. “Fortunately, Pepper talked him out of it.” and watched Dylan heave a sigh of relief which made him chuckle.
The air felt comfortable once again. Like the days where Thame didn't have to watch his words or feel guilty whenever he looks at Dylan. Just laughter and warmth and closeness that settled in every space like a warm patch of sunlight.
Dylan laughed with his eyes closed and head thrown back on the seat when Thame recollected how Nano and Jun bickered over who’s going to be the dwarf in their remake of snow white, the laugh that made Thame remember, that before Dylan was his boyfriend, he was his best friend once.
He felt bright, knowing that he can still make Dylan laugh like that. That even when Dylan seemed like a new person with every passing day, that every attempt of his to fix whatever’s broken between them that only results in the widening of the crack, it warmed Thame to realise that he still knows Dylan well enough to make him laugh, to pull him out of his shell. That Thame can still ease some of Dylan's worries, make him forget it exists for even a moment and bring him joy of some sorts. To carve a moment in time that wasn't shadowed by their past and their mistakes and the hurt they’ve inflicted on the other.
Dylan’s laughter died into a chuckle as he took a moment to regain his composure and asked, “Anything on the pamphlet that got your interests?”
“I am not sure.” Thame considered the scheduling of events, going over the list as he tried to remember anything that caught his interest. “Maybe we could do open mic night, sing a duet, mesmerise the crowd with our voices.”
Dylan huffed, though there lingered a hint of smile at his lips. “That’s a nightmare, Thame.”
“Or maybe you could cheer for me in the sidelines.” Thame offered and received a light smack on his arm.
“Shut up.”
Thursday.
The day was bright and filled with joy but Dylan was gloomy in his little corner at the studio.
He woke up that morning, unreasonably in a good mood –it might have to do with the first six of hours of peaceful sleep that he’d gotten in the week and also because he’s nearly finished with the song– and started for the day.
He arrived an hour early to the campus than he usually would to start working on the song with some peace and silence, mind going over the synth and the loops as he deliberated opening up the windows and work with the nature, with all the sunlight and morning breeze.
But luck was not on his side.
Dylan thought the campus would be scarce of people and that letting in some fresh air would be a good ventilation for the stuffy room and when he did, he was slapped with the bustling noise of people buzzing inconveniently around the studio when there was literally a wide stretch of land outside the perimeter of the said studio. And so Dylan's plans on working with the nature took a back seat as he switched on the air conditioning and closed the doors in an attempt to provide a barrier between him and civilisation. And just like that, his energy dimmed and a foul mood took in.
Moreover, everytime he was on the flow, his stomach grumbled as a reminder that he had skipped his breakfast to arrive early, which turned out to be useless, looking back now. So he offered it a bar of granola that he rummaged from his bag as a peace treaty and sent Thame a message to pick him a cup of coffee from the cafe before diving back into work.
It was nearly thirty minutes when Dylan heard the door opening and a cup was placed beside his notebook. He looked up to see Thame.
“Your coffee.”
“Thanks.” Dylan mumbled. He took a sip and cursed when it burned his tongue.
Thame leaned against the table, sipping from his own cup as he glanced at the screen. “How’s it coming?”
“Listen.” Dylan connected a headphone on the amp and handed it to Thame. Thame did as he was told, and Dylan played the track when Thame nodded.
Dylan could practically hear the music. The electronic synth with which the track opened before the drums kicked in. A groovy, low-slung bassline anchoring the song. The layered harmonies, rhythmic vocal chops, and the polished ad-libs. The crisp percussions and the punchy beats.
And the bland copy paste for a hook that was supposed to be the life of the song.
Thame tapped his feet to the music as he listened. When the track was over, he handed Dylan back the headphones, a confused frown etched on his face. “It’s nice, Dylan.”
“That’s the problem, Thame. It is nice.” Dylan grumbled. He gestured at the screen as the track replayed again, the sound thumping faintly from the headphones. “I don’t want nice for our festival. I want it to be different from all the other and it feels like all the other three we made for our projects.”
“It’s just...” Dylan searched for words to describe how he’s feeling but ended up with a sigh. “...not coming. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
He hit play on the track again, connecting the speakers. When the music started again, he hummed with it, his fingers tapping to the rhythm instinctively, like he had done many times before. And just as the chorus began, the song dipped. Harmonies overlaid the other and not in a good way, the beats felt too slow for the energetic feeling he had been aiming for.
Dylan groaned again, thumping his forehead against the table in the hopes that doing so would shake his braincells and ignite something new. Before Dylan could do it again. Thame placed his hand on the table and Dylan's forehead fell on it with a light sound.
“Hey, you're going to bruise, idiot.” Thame said, voice soft and concerned.
“I deserve it.” Dylan mumbled.
Thame looked at him, eyes flickering over his face as though searching for something and frowned at whatever’s that he found. “When was the last time since you had something?”
Dylan looked away, picking at the corner of his notebook. “I had a...granola for breakfast.”
“Granola? Dyl, it’s nearly twelve now and you had a granola for breakfast?” Thame sounded incredulous, gaping at him.
Dylan shifted the topic. “That’s not the point, Thame. There’s only a month left for the festival.”
“Thirty days, Dyl. That’s plenty of time for you to cook up something you think is worthy.” Thame said, voice full of barely masked concern.
His frown only deepened as he stared at Dylan. Dylan tried to hide his worries behind his mask, returning his attention back to the screen as he played the track once again to fill the silence when Thame spoke.
“You know what I think.”
“What?”
“I think you're thinking too much.” Thame started. “You think about the professor, you think about Nano, you think about the other groups. Maybe that’s why you're on the same spot, playing the same thirty seconds over and over instead of moving forward.” Dylan opened his mouth to argue but Thame shook his head, stopping him. “And don’t lie.”
“Okay, fine.” Dylan crossed his arms across his chest, bracing himself for Thame’s critique. “I was thinking too much, I just...I don’t know anymore. Every change I make, I make it worse and I think maybe I should’ve gone with the original one.”
He admitted, rubbing at his eyes. “It doesn't even make sense at this point.”
Thame was silent for a second before replying. “Maybe that’s why you're stuck.” Dylan looked up at him. “You're trying to see sense in music. A thing where you should lead with your heart.”
Then, with a distant voice, like he was reciting someone else, Thame said, “And hearts don’t do logic.”
Dylan blinked once. He blinked again, taken aback by his words. Thame looked like he was elsewhere, like he wasn't currently in a stuffed room with a very loud air-conditioning system. Dylan noticed, from the corner of his eye, Thame rubbing the knuckle of his index with his thumb. Then because the moment become to hold weight, he said,
“Very philosophical, Thame. Didn't know you had it in you.”
Thame blinked back to reality. “I try.” His lips quirked in a small, though it did not quite reach his eyes. “Besides, we could always sing a duet and save our faces.”
“That’s not comforting.” Dylan groaned, throwing his head back but he chuckled at the suggestion nonetheless.
“But hey, atleast I made you smile.”
“You got lucky.”
Then without warning, before Dylan could have any say in it, Thame saved the track and closed his notebook. Dylan watched as Thame began to pack his bag.
“Hey, I wasn't done.” He began to complain, turning the system back on.
Thame swatted his hand away when Dylan tried to open back to the track.
“I know. Which is why you need to take rest and eat something.”
“I am not hungry.” Dylan huffed.
“Liar. You're always hungry.”
Thame checked the table for any of Dylan's things and closed the zipper when he found none, all the while Dylan huffed on his seat, complaining that he cannot even work in peace even after he rented a separate studio. Thame only hummed when he deemed it was necessary and when he rechecked everything and was satisfied, he bent down to flick at his forehead which did an effective job to shut Dylan up as he rubbed the spot.
“Come, I’ll buy you something from the cafe.” Thame informed as he continued out the studio, not waiting to see if Dylan would follow him.
With an annoyed grumble, Dylan trailed after him.
The campus cafe was bustling with crowd as always. Students laughing with their friends over a pastry on plate, some with their laptops open and earbuds on as they blocked the rest of the world out, some were on their phones, scrolling mindlessly as they sipped from their cups.
Thame pointed him to the corner table as he went off to order for him. Dylan took a seat, looking out of the window to get a clear view of the campus fountain outside, the sun glared off the trickling water as it gleamed like diamonds. Dylan sighed and rested his chin on his folded arms on the table, basking in the loud clamour and the sweet smell of cakes and biscoffs, the noise, though he hated it, helped him to drown out his worries over the song.
He nearly dozed off in the middle of it all when his phone buzzed against his thigh. With an annoyed huff, he fished out his phone. A message from asshole.
ASSHOLE 12:32 p.m.
Okay, so question.
Do you think I can make a good dwarf?
DYLAN 12:33 p.m.
What the fuck?
ASSHOLE 12:33 p.m.
A dwarf.
I was thinking of giving my name to the costume parade with Nano.
DYLAN 12:34 p.m.
Thought you were disagreeing over who would be the dwarf?
ASSHOLE 12:34 p.m.
Don’t ask me how, Nano convinced me.
Dylan shook his head, hiding a grin behind his palm at the ridiculousness as he pictured Jun with a hat and pointy shoes, standing taller than the snow white.
ASSHOLE 12:35 p.m.
I am still waiting for my answer.
DYLAN 12:36 p.m.
It depends.
What dwarf are you? Sleepy? Happy? Sneezy?
ASSHOLE 12:37 p.m.
Which one is your favourite?
DYLAN 12:37 p.m.
Bashful.
ASSHOLE 12:37 p.m.
Huh. I thought it would be Grumpy.
Then Bashful it is then.
Dylan came to know he was grinning like an idiot at Jun’s text only when he caught his reflection after he closed his phone. As soon as he did, he cleared his throat and wiped it off his face just as Thame slid in opposite him with a blueberry muffin and an orange juice for Dylan and just a juice for himself. They ate in silence and Dylan sighed in relief as the sweet taste of the muffin filled his tongue, swallowing it with a sip of the juice.
Thame chuckled at him, warning him to eat slowly or else you’ll choke on it and I have to perform the Heimlich manoeuvre and the muffin would go to waste, which Dylan thought was exaggerating it but was proven wrong when he took a bite and it went down the wrong pipe and he was left coughing with Thame patting him on the back with a look that said I told you so and so Dylan slowed down from the next bite.
It did not take much time, and soon the muffin was finished and Thame walked him back to the studio, the sun burning down warm on them. And now that he had something, he felt a little livelier and less annoyed at the general world, a smile tugging at his lips as recalled Jun’s texts.
Thame spoke when they turned the corner for their faculty.
“When will you finish? I can stay and drop you off.”
Dylan looked up from where he was busy kicking a stone. “It’s okay, I can go by myself.”
“The weather forecast said it’ll rain today.”
Dylan halted in his steps and pointed at the glaring sky, sparse of clouds and birds taking flight. “This weather?”
Thame threw his head back to the sky, shielding his eyes. “Okay, maybe you're right.” His lips were curved in an embarrassing smile and eyes holding something soft and frail when he turned back to Dylan. “I’ll leave now then. Call me if you want anything.”
“Sure do.” Dylan nodded and traced his steps back to the studio.
Thame watched as Dylan disappeared into the building, his heart twisting slightly as Dylan skipped his way. A rarity, really, for Thame to see Dylan like this, or for Dylan to be ever like this. And somewhere deep in his chest, he doubts if it’s because of him.
Bangkok’s weather, as it turned out, is unpredictable.
The mornings were bright. All rush and frantic energy. The glaring sun and the sparse clouds that did little to veil the golden rays. The air was hot and dense with the pungent fragrance of roadside jasmines and the exhaust from engines. Loud with the screeching sound of brakes, people shouting, and the wailing of children. One would sweat a river standing under the shadiest tree. Even the tiniest scrape of cotton against skin was like tiny pinpricks of glass, eyes burning with sweat, shirt clinging onto chest and back the same way hair clings onto forehead and temple.
On the contrary, the evenings are dull. All slow and unhurried pace. The clouds which weren’t seen in the morning, formed close groups on the darkening sky, cocooning the whole city in shadows. The breeze was gentle and cool, ruffling through the leaves and strands of hair alike, cooling the sun-warmed flush in the cheeks. The hectic-ness one experiences in the morning morphs into languid drag of feet, the air soft with the quaint smell of the once pungent jasmines with notable absence of the fuming smoke that always accompanies it, quiet with the melancholic chirping of birds returning home.
Dylan loves days like these. A pleasant evening where he can curl up on his couch and work through his newest track, reviewing the beat and the synth, or sometimes, recording himself singing to check whether they fit the tone he’s aiming for.
He wished to do the same that day, when the roads were absent with ever-present vehicles and the sky offered gentle winds that felt like caresses, if only it weren’t raining. Not a slight drizzle, a soft pitter-patter against the gravel, but a full-on thunderous downpour that crashed onto the earth like a hammer onto a nail.
Standing under the broken awning of a deserted bus stand, Dylan sighed at the faded signal bars on the top corner of his phone, tapping it against his palm as though that would make the no service displayed in bold letters magically disappear.
Dylan sighed again. Resigning himself to his fate, Dylan hauled his bag over his head deciding to run back home. Before his feet could ever touch the wet pavement, a black car pulled in front of him, stopping him in his tracks.
Dylan was hit with a sense of déjà vu when the window rolled down to reveal a grinning a Jun..and Po on the passenger’s seat.
“Stuck in the rain again, prin–Dylan?” Jun asked, quickly correcting himself before he could let slip the nickname.
Dylan frowned at him, his eyes flicking behind Jun and at Po who looked like he could care less about whatever taunts Jun throws at him. He looked back at Jun to see his lips still curled in a mocking smile but his eyes held a softened edge, brows pulled inward in a subtle curve.
“I am not stuck.” Dylan lied through his teeth.
Jun sighed, waving his hand at him. “Get in, I’ll drop you off.”
“It’s okay, I can ca–”
“Just get in and save us both the time.”
Dylan hesitated, eyes returning to Po scrolling on his phone. But Jun looked determined and he still remembered the threat the last time Jun helped him on the side of the road in the middle of pouring rain, and with a small pout that made Jun slip a genuine smile, Dylan opened the back door and got in.
As soon as he settled back on the leather seat, he was hit with a gust of warm air from the heater, warding off the chill that settled on his bones. He clutched his bag closer to him, a gesture to generate more heat on his rain-sprinkled chest.
“Isn’t Dylan's house across the town from yours?” Po inquired, a frown lacing his tone. It was a genuine question, but Dylan flushed with embarrassment for reasons unknown.
Jun only shrugged. “I was going there anyways. Have to pick up Nano.”
Dylan knows that was a lie. He vaguely remembers Nano mentioning he wouldn’t be available to teach him that weekend because he has a pending assignment due following week. But he also knows telling the truth would invite another load of questions, and Dylan himself, though he wasn't very keen on participating in a Q&A session, doesn't have a clue what that truth is either. He tried to meet Jun’s eyes on the rearview mirror to no avail before turning back to glare holes on the back side of the headrest in front of him, which was, much to his pleasure, was Jun’s.
Jun started to drive and an awkward silence filled the car, atleast on Dylan's part. Dylan prayed to the universe that someone breaks it, and the universe answered him with Jun.
“What were you doing staying late, Dylan?”
Normally, Dylan would’ve made a sarcastic remark just to get under Jun’s skin, but he normal was thrown out the window the moment he wished for the silence to be un-silenced. So he answered, “Had to review the new track Thame and I composed for the project.” Dylan said. “What about you? Did you forget to submit your painting on time again?”
Before Jun could answer, Po did,
“He didn't. He stayed for me.” Po replied, switching his phone off and leaning against his seat. He met Dylan's eyes at the rearview mirror. “Had to stay and edit your videos we took that day and my friend helped me with some of the transitions.”
“Oh.” That left a bitter taste in his mouth. He stole a glance at Jun, and returned his gaze back to the window when he felt Po watching him.
Rain tapped on the windows like stones, blurring the world outside. Dylan fixed his stare on a single droplet, willing it to win over the other droplets on the fogged window when Po’s voice called him.
“I saw you leaving with Thame, didn't he drop you off?”
Dylan blinked, staring at his reflection before he replied. “He insisted on staying, but I work better alone, so I asked him to go without me.” Dylan said, remembering Thame’s warning about not staying too late at the studio and the tender look in his eyes.
He was once again brought back to reality when Jun spoke. “How’s it going.”
“What?”
“The song?”
Hesitation made him pause on his answer, but since it’s Jun, the guy who has seen him in his worst more often that he was at his best and didn't even bat an eye at it, instead offering him his shoulder –or his dick, to be more precise– made Dylan reconsider. And also, he would stay silent until it is offered, so Dylan gave it.
“Still a long way from being perfect.” He admitted. The chorus still looped in his mind at the thought of it, etched forever into his brain with the amount of times he kept listening to the same thirty seconds, much to Thame’s dismay. He shrugged once, “Atleast perfect enough to please Nano. It has been his dream.”
“Really?” Po asked in surprise, genuinely curious.
Since the topic wasn't about him and is about his favourite nong, Dylan sat straighter to answer, nodding at Po’s surprise with a smile. “Yep. Has been from his freshman year when he first heard about the festival. To form a group and participate in the Flash Mob. He talks about it literally everytime he visits for the weekends.”
Dylan could clearly picture the enthusiastic Nano talking about his freshman year in the uni and how he was stood mesmerised when he watched a group called LYKN perform for the festival, gesturing wildly at the room as he explained the dynamic and the praised their coordination and choreography while Pepper listened to all of it with a love-struck look in his eyes. Dylan had gagged at the scene once, pointing at Pepper and saying that the room is stinking of love and watched as Pepper turned a bright scarlet and Nano stuttered.
Thinking about that day made him remember the delicious fried noodles he was eating and thinking about fried noodles made him hungry. The muffin and the coffee he ate were enough to satiate his hunger for a few hours. But the fact remained is that it has been more than six hours since Dylan had a proper meal and he would soon be clutching his stomach like a Victorian child the longer he thinks about it and so he decided to speak up if only to distract his brain from his starved body.
“And your painting, Jun? How far are you ready for it to be displayed?” He asked off-handedly.
Jun shrugged, their eyes meeting briefly in the mirror. “Still haven’t started yet. Just waiting for my muse to pull me back in.”
Dylan rolled his eyes. “Well, we only have a month left. So you better sta–”
“What painting?” Po interjected with a frown. He cast a questioning look between Jun and Dylan, seemingly not understanding the discussion.
Jun’s smile wavered. Dylan did not notice it for he took it upon himself to answer the question.
“For the exhibition, of course.”
Po turned his attention on Jun. “You got selected?”
Shit. At that moment, Dylan realised he fucked up.
Po looked wounded, his brows pulled in and lips twisted. Dylan watched as Jun avoided Po’s gaze, focusing on navigating the street. Po waited until finally, Jun sighed and answered him, his voice noticeably remorseful.
“...yes.”
A heavy pause followed his admission. Dylan respectfully turned his head away, looking at anything but at the couple in front. But since he has well working ears, he heard them and felt like he was eavesdropping. And as much as he tried not to pay heed to whatever they’re saying, his brain decided to register the words distantly.
“Congratulation, Jun.” Po said.
A beat.
“Belated I guess, since I am hearing it only now.” Po sounded indifferent, which, Dylan didn't think Po was even capable of. Who knows the kind hearted senior with boba-eyes that everyone seems to fall in love with can sound so apathetic?
“Uh..I’ve been meaning to, but couldn’t find the right time.” Jun reasoned. “You know, too busy with only a month left and all.”
“I suppose you're right.”
If Dylan had thought the silence was awkward only from his place before, he would bet on his life that it is awkward for everyone in the car now. He decidedly did not utter any word. The hum of the car heater adding to the silence. Po went back to scrolling through his phone, Jun drove through the rain slicked streets, though Dylan noticed Jun’s eyes flicking every then and again to Po with a nervous edge. And Dylan went back to praying at the universe to end his sufferings soon.
“There comes my condo.” Po announced when Jun took the last turn. “Time for my leave, I guess.”
Dylan contained the urge to let out a relieved sigh at the sight of Po’s condo, so over with the most-terrible-car-ride he ever had in his life. Po checked his bag to make sure he didn't leave anything on the car before he zipped it up and turned towards the door. Dylan saw, from the corner of his eye, Po’s grip on the handle, the door leaving way to be opened. He also saw the subtle hesitance in Po’s posture, the posture of a man thinking between two things in a limited time and coming to a conclusion.
Before Dylan or Jun could blink, Po turned back on his seat to pull Jun down in a kiss, his hand going to cradle the nape of Jun’s neck and tilting his head for a better position. Jun’s shoulders stiffened in a way a surprised man’s would.
The kiss lasted too long for Dylan's comfort. It wasn't a heavy make-out session, but it was undoubtedly deep. A kiss shared between two people who have done it many times for it to feel familiar, a kiss shared between two people who couldn’t bear to exist without the other for too long, a kiss shared between two people who are undeniably lovers.
Dylan returned his gaze back on to the window. Eyes fixing onto a new droplet of water clinging on the pane of the glass, this time wishing so hard that the kiss would end soon and put him out of his misery. Dylan seems to wish for many things lately.
Dylan closed his eyes in relief when he heard the wet sound of the kiss breaking. Deeming it safe to turn back onto the front, Dylan watched Po peck a short kiss on Jun’s lips before he climbed down from the car, throwing out a bye over his shoulder and disappearing behind the closing door of the complex. Jun blinked at the retreating figure in a daze which only annoyed Dylan more.
It wasn't enough that Dylan had to witness him making out with Po, but he also had to sit and watch Jun going all blushy and love-stricken after the kiss.
Having had enough, Dylan cleared his throat, snapping Jun out of his reverie. “Are you going to drive or am I going to watch you build your life with Po in your dreams?”
“Shut up.” Jun croaked out, clearly in a haze still.
“Start the fucking car then.”
Jun started the car. “Why are you being so harsh? Am I not helping you?” He caught Dylan's eyes in the mirror. “Again?”
Dylan wrapped his arms around himself, shivering a little and sighed when Jun dialled up the car warmer, melting into the leather.
“Again, I didn't ask for it.”
Jun mumbled something under his breath that suspiciously sounded close to, If it were upto you, you never would.
“What?” Dylan scowled at him.
“Nothing.”
Dylan added. “Besides, I have things to do and places to be. I don’t have time to hang out with a liar.”
“Liar?” Jun asked in bewilderment, shooting Dylan a confused look in the mirror. “What did I do now?”
“Don’t play innocent, Jun. Why did you lie?” Dylan said.
“Okay, fine.” Jun exhaled loudly, his voice coming out defensive. “It was just easy to lie to him. It would save me the hassle about explaining why I’m so willing to drop you off at your condo.”
Dylan blinked, having no clue what the hell Jun is talking about. “What? –not that, you asshole.”
“Well what did I lie about then?” Jun was way well into exasperation at this point.
Dylan huffed. “You said Po was keeping you at a distance. It doesn't seem like it with the way you guys were kissing.”
“I wasn't lying about it, Dyl. He took me by surprise too. He honestly said he wanted to take it slow. He even said yes when I asked if I was an option to him.”
Dylan didn't believe it, but he wasn't going to waste his energy arguing with Jun. He only huffed again, and slumped further back on the seat, turning away from the infuriating man in front.
As Po graciously pointed out, Dylan's house is on the opposite side of the town from Jun’s and the drive was a long one, especially with the heavy downpour. It was a slow journey with Jun weaving his car between the puddles, wanting to avoid splashing any pedestrians. At one point, Jun switched on the radio when he was waiting at the signal, reducing the music down low. Not loud to disrupt the silence in the car, but just enough that one would feel its absence if it’s turned off.
It was in one such signal before a turn to Dylan's condo that Dylan's stomach decided it was time to let him know, again, that he hadn’t fed it any proper food for the past six hours and that the muffin and the coffee could only do so much to fuel his body.
Dylan got comfortable on the seat, chanting just five more minutes in his mind, just five more minutes and I can eat something. He then realised, to his greatest disappointment, that there’s a loaf of bread and a jar of butter sitting inside the fridge and nothing more and Pepper’s voice asking him to remind Pepper to buy groceries on his way back, which Dylan forgot to do, and now he’s paying the price for it. He grimaced, bread and butter. But food is food and he had to make do with it.
The light went green and Jun, instead of turning left to his condo, turned right.
Dylan frowned, sitting up straight and leaning between the console to glance at Jun.
“You took a wrong turn, Jun.” He pointed out.
“I am aware.”
Dylan scoffed at him. Asshole.
“Where are you taking me then?”
“I am hungry.” Jun stated as a matter of fact. “Heard there’s a restaurant near.”
Dylan's scowl deepened. He sat back on his seat with a huff. “You could’ve just dropped me first.”
His phone ringed with a text message from where he placed it beside him.
PEPPER 06:32 p.m.
Not cool, Dyl. Really not cool.
Attached to it was a picture of the inside of their refrigerator. As Dylan expected, there sat a sad loaf of bread with an equally sad bar of butter on the side door, nestled between water bottles and an even more sadder expired jar of mayonnaise.
Another message dropped in with a quiet ring.
PEPPER 06:37 p.m.
First comes first serve, I guess.
This time, Pepper sent him a selfie of him eating the said bread and butter that had been Dylan's anchor and hope these past few minutes. With a groan, Dylan threw his head back against the seat.
Great. He wouldn’t even get to it that miserable lump of bread. All thanks to Jun.
Dylan threw him daggers at the mirror, which Jun decided not to notice.
“You're insufferable.” He grumbled.
“That’s called charm, princess.”
Dylan straightened just enough to smack Jun at the back of his head. Jun muttered an ouch, rubbing the spot while shooting him a glare, Dylan only poked his tongue at him, going right back to crossing his arms and pouting like a petulant child.
Another five minutes and Jun parked the car in front a local food shop. One that Dylan himself went to multiple times with Pepper. Jun led to a booth with cracked green vinyl seats and low-hanging bulb that cast a dull, warm glow on the tables. There was a radio on the corner, near the counter where old songs from Dylan's father’s time played in a soothing volume.
As soon as they settled in their seat, Dylan said, “I am not hungry.”
Jun already helped him once by dropping him off. Though Dylan did not ask for it, he isn’t so cold-hearted to deny the gesture, and so he’s adamant on not wanting to add Jun buying him food on the growing list of Jun helping a damsel in distress –Jun’s word, not Dylan's– along with Jun saving him at the park, carrying him four flights of stairs, rescuing him from being stranded in the middle of a thunderstorm the first time –and Dylan's face warmed even at the thought of it– the night when he held him to sleep.
Jun did not even paid him attention as he checked the menu. Dylan pouted at the lack of response from him. Soon after, a waiter arrived with a notepad and Jun ordered.
“Khao phat with less tomatoes and extra soy sauce.”
Dylan raised a brow when Jun ordered two plates but held his tongue until the waiter arrived with the food and Jun pushed one plate towards him. Dylan pushed it back.
“I said I am not hungry, Jun.” He frowned.
“Just humour me.” Jun slid the plate back and shot him a look when Dylan tried to push it back again.
“I don’t–”
“Just eat, Dylan. I don’t want to look like an asshole.” Dylan watched as Jun divided the food in two halves and started on the first one, pointing a finger at Dylan, swallowing a mouthful before he spoke. “What do you think people will say when they see me eating and you looking like a kicked puppy?”
Dylan crossed his arms. “I don’t look like a kicked puppy.”
Jun shot him a pointed look.
“I am not paying.” Dylan said when Jun didn't seem to budge, reaching hesitantly for the plate.
“I am not asking you to.”
It was still hot and the steam wafted at his face, carrying the spicy aroma. His stomach grumbled again and his cheeks pinkened when Jun looked smug. Dylan huffed, but did as he was told. When he ate a spoon, he sighed in visible relief, the taste hitting the just the right spot, savoury and rich with a subtle hint of sugar to soften the saltiness. Within minutes, he began to scarf down the food.
Jun let out a surprised sound at the quickly emptying plate. “Someone said they weren't hungry.”
“Shut up.”
The food finished too soon, but Dylan still felt like he could eat more. But voicing it loud was not an option so instead he busied himself by looking around the shop and drinking small sips from the glass of water perched on the table and tearing the napkin into small pieces all the while Jun seemed to eat so. fucking. slow. Like those slow-motion videos of a bullet piercing through the air in action movies. When Dylan huffed and laid his head on his crossed arms over the table, Jun moved.
“Here.” Dylan looked up at his voice and watched as Jun piled the untouched half of his khao phat onto Dylan's empty plate, nudging it again at Dylan's arm. Dylan opened his mouth to refuse, but Jun beat him to it. “And before you think anything, I am full and I don’t want to waste food.”
Dylan did not believe him. He stared at the extra food on his plate and at Jun. Then shrugged and began to eat. Who is he to say no to free food?
And because Dylan was too busy with his food, he did not catch the slow smile that curled on Jun’s lips that he deliberately hid behind the guise of drinking water.
They climbed back into the car after Jun paid for the food. The rain subsided into drizzle in the meantime, birds littered the sky and the sun peeked out of the clouds once again. The drive back this time was relaxed and content, with Dylan feeling full and a little sleepy thanks to the climate looking a little drowsy still. Jun stopped in front of his condo and Dylan climbed down, closing the door behind him.
Before he entered the building, he turned to Jun who waited with his window rolled down, watching him with an intent stare that made Dylan uncharacteristically bashful.
“Don’t expect a thanks.” He mumbled weakly.
Jun placed a hand on his heart, tipping his head back and his eyes were mischievous again. With an exaggerated voice, he said, “I would never.”
Dylan cracked a smile, just a slight curl of his lips which he would’ve hid as soon as it formed in normal circumstances, before anyone could see. But this time, he let it show and watched as Jun returned the smile with a shiny glint in his eyes. And felt warmth igniting deep in his chest that had become somewhat familiar around Jun.
If Po wasn't certain before, now he was 100 percent sure that Jun and Dylan are fucking.
The rain had settled into a pleasant drizzle by the time Po freshened up and sat on his usual spot on the floor against the couch, getting ready to work on the final video. He checked his phone for any messages and saw Daou had texted him.
DAOU 07:08 p.m.
I’ll be there by 07:30.
Don’t start without me, bitch.
He had already lined up their go-to series whenever they decided to work together. The title card flashed in black, paused before it could start. Just to annoy Daou, Po took a short video with the series playing from halfway and sent it and chuckled when he received a middle finger and went back to his laptop. All the videos and the pictures he had taken so far had been queued up on the timeline, waiting for some really needed polishing. Instead, he went on to watching his previous videos, since it helped him in sparking new ideas, kind of like brainstorming on his own. Though the videos played and his eyes were fixed on the screen, his mind wandered.
Po was silent, an introvert speaking only when needed or when he’s directed at. Most of the times, his presence would go unnoticed unless he intentionally makes himself known. People had said that he makes the space around him feel calmer, a white sound in the backdrop of loud noises.
Po was silent and he learned silence is where people talk, or more accurately, people show, because people mistake noise for attention and interpret that silence means safe. And so they show.
He had suspicions that there was something going on between the two the first time he saw them behind the lens of his camera, during their first dance practise where Nano paired them up, when Jun said that the only thing we have is the urge to throw the other out of a window, when Jun said that there’s no need for him to get jealous since he’s having eyes on only one person. Po had huffed then.
And had thought that surely, the heated glances they threw at each other, the bickering that felt more like a foreplay than an argument, the subtle touches when they dance that lingered a beat too long for the music must mean something. And it did.
Now that the evidence is staring right at his face, he didn't know how he missed it at all in the first place.
It was cliché really, how Po found out. What’s that about the person forgetting a thing in the boyfriend’s car and the girlfriend finding it by mistake and throwing hands at him.
But in Po’s case, it happened quietly and on a very mundane Tuesday.
The morning had started off as usual. Waking up, getting ready, and waiting for Jun to pick him up. Jun had grinned bright as the sun that day when Po climbed inside the car, and greeted him with a short peck that Po received with a strained smile, that night on the riverside and the heartbreak that followed lingering in his mind still.
The past week had been a hell for him. And he didn't fare well with the happenings. Thame kissing him suddenly then running out with no explanation, fighting with unwarranted jealousy at seeing Thame and Dylan together, and feeling hollowed out everytime he sees Jun and as way out, he slowly started to distance from him.
Turning his head at the last second when Jun leans to kiss him, pulling away first from their hugs, and refusing Jun when he asks to stay the night behind some poorly concealed excuses. Jun noticed. But only nodded at him in understanding.
And so when he saw his strained smile, Jun’s own flickered out and Po felt awful. His mouth felt bitter and stomach twisting in guilt. He had sighed and went to open the glove-box for he had always a stash of gummies to snack on whenever he’s hungry, or in some cases, to keep his mind occupied with something. When he did, a tube of gloss came rolling front. A familiar cherry gloss that Po had seen countless times having been in a closed quarters with its owner.
It was no mistake that it was Dylan's.
Po had paused, but said nothing and his hand passed over it to the packet at the back.
That was the initial spark. And the incident sat on his mind throughout the day. He had also recalled that day where Jun drank from his cup on sleeping with a friend’s ex and that both had drank for having a friends-with-benefits situation
Po kept watch on Jun for any slip-ups, but it never came. Jun had behaved no different than the previous day, or the previous week, or the previous month. And he had shaken his head and cursed himself for ever doubting Jun, had said maybe it was his mind playing games at him, or so had he thought.
Later that day, well an hour into practise, Dylan had excused himself to the restroom. Within a minute or so, Jun had followed him out. The others were too busy to keep track of their friends’ whereabouts, Po was not.
He counted to five minutes before Dylan showed up again. A little ruffled, a little out-of-breath, a little too flushed for it to be just practise. Jun walked in no longer than two minutes. A little mussed up, a little smug, a little too pleased at the world.
Po didn't do anything. He just watched in silence as they took their place and practised their choreo like nothing was wrong. Like it was just a normal day in a normal month where they have to work for together for their project. Or maybe, it was normal for them, if it were happening since the beginning of time.
That evening, Jun waited for him to pack his things, leaning again on the hood of his car, sunglasses in his eyes and a smile on his face. Jun, as always, as it was routine, leaned forward to peck a short kiss against his lips, opened the door for him and dropped him at his home. Muttered a see you tomorrow, babe against his lips once again when Po turned to leave.
It was the same the next morning, and the morning after, and the morning next.
Every day, Jun acted with him like he always did. Showering him with kisses, smiles and babes. Po acted like he always did with him. Smiling at him, closing his eyes whenever Jun leans forward, laughing at his jokes, leaning on his shoulder.
And after that day, he noticed whenever he felt eyes on him. Everytime he reciprocated Jun’s kisses and his affection. And now that he knows that the stares are from Dylan, it only made him lean into the kiss more, his hand reaching to curl in between Jun’s hair. All that boundaries he had drawn previously with Jun for the fear of leading him on with no certainty, slowly seemed to distort.
It was resentment, maybe. That Jun is kind of cheating on him with Dylan that makes him act this way. This way as in, instead of pulling away from Jun’s touch like he initially planned to, initiating some of those as though he’s claiming Jun in front of the guy he’s in a competition with. As though he’s taunting Dylan right in his face that only he gets to kiss Jun openly, without having to use an excuse and sneaking into shadowed corners.
In the back of his mind, Po knows that Dylan couldn’t care less. If it was just a physical thing, Dylan would not care about who Jun goes and smooches with. Po knows that what he’s doing is irrational and that he is only digging a deeper hole for himself but he can’t seem to stop.
Or maybe it was something else.
Maybe it was Po’s way of dealing with his jealousy whenever he sees Thame and Dylan together.
It has been two weeks and yet, Thame still avoided him. Still hiding himself behind Dylan and work and Dylan and music and Dylan and practise.
Maybe Po had kissed Jun because he wanted to get a reaction out of him, or to show him that he is unaffected by the night as was Thame pretending to be. That not only does Thame have Dylan, but that he also have someone, that he have Jun.
But sensibility doesn't stand a chance when it stands against the bitter feeling of envy. The green eyed monster that is known to strike down even the strongest of man. Maybe Po does this out of a phantom feeling that he is second to no one, that he’s winning the competition with Dylan.
Now that he had seen a close-up proof, had seen Jun willing to drive half the town to drop Dylan off, he realised he cannot fault Jun. He cannot accuse Jun of doing something so brazen when Po is doing the exact same thing too, going behind his back for a romantic getaway with his best friend.
It is true that Po feels hurt in knowing Jun and Dylan. But in hindsight, Po could say that he kind of expected it. Not Jun and Dylan fucking. But that Jun wouldn’t be satisfied with him. That Jun’s attention would be strayed elsewhere.
But then again, Po cannot blame Jun. Yes, he did hurt Po, he said he would wait for him, however long it takes, but is fucking Dylan behind everyone’s back. But it’s not like Jun crossed a line. It’s not like Jun blurred the lines of their relationship when there was no relationship to begin with.
Po did say that what they were is more like seeing each other than being with each other. And if Jun is one of Po’s options, doesn't that make him an option in Jun’s case? He cannot blame Jun for reaching for someone else with a foot still on their whatever it was, when Po is doing the same.
Reaching for Thame.
When Po is using Jun to get Thame’s attention on him.
Something that he lacks and is trying hard to get back, something that Dylan gets easier.
Po cannot, will not, blame Jun when neither of them is innocent.
Because, in a way, they both have a void that they're trying to fill with the available person. It just happened to be Jun in Po’s life.
He knows he can’t continue this any longer. This thing with Jun while he’s pining for Thame. He should put an end to this. And sooner too.
Maybe if he’s free of him, Thame would maybe consider. That thought formed, unbidden.
But Po knows that won’t be it. Thame simply won’t decide to get together with him just because he broke up with Jun. There’s also the matter of Thame’s willingness to consider himself before others. That’s a wall he had to scale on his own despite how many ever breakups happen.
Before Po could drown in his misery, a knock sounded at his door and he went to open it, relief flooding the moment he saw whom he considered as his best friend in the uni. Daou pushed him to the side and strode inside like he owns the place, settling beside Po’s place on the floor and making himself comfortable. Po only sighed at his antics. And soon they were sitting side by side, the television running in the background and them both delving into their work. And Po, for the peace of his mind, made himself forget about Thame and Jun and the riverside and the kiss and the uncontrollable things in his life, and just focused his mind on the things that he can control.
Sunday.
The afternoon light spilled into the living room in tiny golden specks, brightening the walls and the floor in a warm yellow. The breeze that swept in through the windows was a pleasant chill that kept the room from becoming too humid. The afternoon traffic was light and only the occasional honking of the vehicles is heard in the distance, birds chirped along the skyline and the faint music from Jun’s phone playing in the background provided a serene setting so that Jun could focus his attention on the paper in front of him.
He was sitting on the hardwood floor, legs folded underneath him and a sketchbook balanced in his lap, his back leaning against the edge of the couch. The scratching of his pencil against the paper and the soft purring of Yuki above him filled the room. Jun sketched a curved line, and tsked when it veered a little to the left. He erased that same mark for the thousandth time and with a sigh, tossed his head back on the couch, mimicking Dylan's posture.
The tension in his body that he carried for the whole week eased slightly when Dylan curled a hand around his neck to ruffle at his hair, his shoulders relaxing for the first time in the past eight days. It was such a horrid week that Jun was glad it was over, what with all the practises and the sleepless nights to meet deadlines to submit his paintings. Every day, Jun and Nano arrived back to their condo with dragging feet and a slouched posture, throwing themselves on the couch as soon as they stepped inside without even an ounce of energy left to change their clothes.
That Friday evening, Nano went to meet his parents since he would be too busy for the upcoming weeks and wouldn’t have time to do so. If only it weren’t for Yuki, Jun would’ve done the same, but he isn’t complaining either, since he got the whole condo to himself for two days and he could do whatever he likes.
And Jun thought what better way to relieve stress than to have sex? And called Dylan over as soon as the cab Nano booked disappeared around the corner.
It had went like this,
Dylan had knocked on the door sometimes later, Jun had opened and was met with a kiss, his hand instinctively cupping Dylan's ass to pull him flush against him, Dylan's wrapping around his neck. Just as Jun had trailed kisses to the pale column of his throat, Dylan had stopped him with a hand on his chest.
Jun had looked up to see Dylan looking down at the tiny space between their legs, and there Yuki was, with one paw placed on Dylan's shin and looking up at Dylan with the widest eyes Jun had ever seen on him, and Dylan had melted at the spot.
He crouched down to let Yuki sniff at his hand, and after some serious consideration, Yuki had rubbed his cheek against the open palm and Dylan had laughed, loud and surprised and radiant, and Jun had stared, his chest feeling strangely warm.
Jun had called Dylan's name, to remind him that there were some unfinished business and Dylan had looked up at him, lips holding the lingering trace of his laughter and Jun forgot why he had called his name. Dylan sat on the floor, near the closed front door, playing with Yuki, scratching near his ears and holding out his finger for Yuki to nip at, little kisses, Dylan had called them. And Jun could do nothing but watch as the kitten he adopted from behind a dumpster and had taken two day to get close to, play pounce with the guy he just met. And just like that, Dylan had pushed Jun right off the favourite humans from Yuki’s list.
“Seriously?” Jun had asked that day in disbelief as Dylan continued to talk with Yuki in the softest voice.
Dylan didn't even spare him a glance when he replied with a, “Five minutes.”
Five minutes had became ten, ten had became twenty and eventually Jun had forgotten the main reason he invited Dylan over as he picked up his sketchbook to draw Yuki playing with Dylan. The faintest feeling of tranquillity washing over him with each stroke of his pencil, the soft purrs of Yuki and with every small chuckle Dylan had let out.
It wasn't a surprise when Dylan knocked on his door the next day with a bag of cat treats for Yuki and didn't even give Jun a chance to process the sight of him early in the morning before he pushed past him and went inside to find the cat.
Jun had crossed his arms and had grumbled, voice rough still with sleep, “Now you're just using me for my cat.”
Dylan had flipped him off. And the day had went like the previous one. Jun pushed to the corner with his sketchbook for company and Dylan playing with Yuki and only calling at Jun whenever he was hungry.
Now, Dylan hummed under his breath as he continued petting Yuki who slept curled in his chest. Dylan was lying on the couch, upside down to be more specific, his head resting on Jun’s shoulder and legs thrown over the backrest of the couch, back plastered to the soft cushion. His hair tickled Jun’s cheek with every little movement.
Jun opened his eyes and turned to his side, Dylan's hand at his hair still massaging at his scalp, as though he’s also a pet and needs petting. This position left their faces far too close and when Jun spoke, Dylan felt it more than he heard it.
“You're getting an awful lot comfortable with him.”
Dylan only cooed at Yuki, the other hand still scratching under Yuki’s chin while Yuki’s purr got louder and louder, nuzzling into the tiny space between the crooks of his and Dylan's neck. “He loves me, Jun.”
Jun looked at Yuki, at his paws lightly kneading at Dylan's collarbone, at how Yuki’s only affection towards him is curling at his chest to fall asleep and a meow whenever Jun comes back home after uni.
“That’s unfair, you know. I was the one who found him, I feed him, I give him a place to sleep, and yet, he was never this clingy to me when he’s awake.” Jun grumbled at the blatant display of favouritism.
But there was no real intent in it when Dylan looked soft like this, With the sunlight framing his profile, his lashes framing the curve of his eyes, casting faint shadows on the skin underneath, his silver waves softly cascading the length of his forehead, a small smile everytime Yuki bumped at his nose, he looked ethereal, almost...beautiful.
A word that Jun had used to describe him lately, a word that started to leave an almost comforting warmth whenever he uses it to describe the grumpy silver head.
Dylan shrugged, as much as he could with the position he’s in. “Skill issues.”
Jun huffed, sitting straight again and returning his attention back to his sketchbook. It was a half-drawn picture of Yuki sleeping on the couch, head tucked inside his paws in a tight ball, looking more like a fluffy white cloud than an actual cat. Now, if only Jun can manage to get the ear right, he can continue next with the surface of the couch and move on, but the universe wasn't on his side today and he had to redraw it for the two thousandth time.
Time flew by as Jun sketched and erased lines and curves, pausing here and there to take a peek at the actual subject sleeping in Dylan's chest and sometimes to glance outside the window and sometimes –Jun would never admit out loud– to stare at the quiet silver head who’s currently at the verge of falling asleep, if his head lolling to bump Jun’s cheek is any indication.
Jun was broken out from his bubble when Dylan's fingers that were rubbing at his scalp, gripped the strands to tip his head back so that Jun was resting his head on Dylan's shoulder, breathing in the sweet scent of cherries and raspberries from Dylan’s cologne with every breath.
“What are you drawing by the way?” Dylan asked, his voice soft and drowsy, turning his head to look at his sketchbook over his shoulder, the tip of his nose brushing the sensitive skin of Jun’s neck at the motion, his hair smushing against Jun’s cheek.
“Yuki.” Jun answered, lifting up his sketchbook for easy access.
“Yuki?” Dylan's brows furrowed, but a hint of a smile was seen in the small curve of his lips.
“Yes.” Jun said. “Why do you ask?”
Their eyes locked and Jun could clearly see the mischief sparkling in Dylan's, present in the way how they crinkled into small crescents, in the way his lips pursed to restrain the laughter before he could deliver the tease. “It’s just...you always draw me.”
Honestly, Jun should’ve expected that. It was a bed he made and he really can’t complain when he’s forced to lie in it.
“I don’t always draw you.” Jun lied.
Dylan clicked his tongue. “Now, there’s no need to lie.” For a better emphasis, Dylan wagged a finger in Jun’s face, Jun nipped at it when it came too close to his mouth. Dylan pulled back with a shriek, flicking him on his forehead as revenge.
“You and I both know you're obsessed with me, Junnie.”
“Shut up or I’ll bite you.” Jun warned, though his mouth betrayed him when it curved into a smile. And Dylan caught onto it.
Dylan cooed at him, with the same soft voice he used on Yuki, and pinched the tip of Jun’s nose. “Oh, Junnie.”
And Jun, in one swift move, grabbed Dylan's wrist and got his teeth on the apple of Dylan's cheek, lightly nipping at the skin and causing Dylan to yelp in surprise.
Yuki, peacefully sleeping amidst the chaos, startled awake at the sound and climbed down from Dylan's chest, looking at them both from a safe distance with what one would assume as disappointment.
Dylan stretched his free hand in his direction, fingers grabbing the air and when Yuki only gave a slow blink, Dylan pouted, turning back to Jun with a whine on his lips. “See, you scared him away, Jun.”
“Good.” Jun said, lips brushing against Dylan's skin in not-quite-a-kiss. “Don’t want him to get attached.”
Dylan tipped his head further back such that Jun’s lips found the underside of his chin. “Awwe, are you jealo–”
Jun bit the soft skin again, earning a chuckle this time as Dylan pushed him away with a hand splayed on his face. Jun nipped at his fingers one last time before he focused back on his drawing. Since Dylan's head was hanging upside down, bracing on his chest, he adjusted on the floor, prompting Dylan to pull back a second before settling back again, this time, his head lying comfortably on Jun’s shoulder.
Silence stretched between them, too familiar to be awkward as Dylan went back to hum the same tune, one hand still looped around the front of Jun’s neck to play with his brown locks, nails slightly scratching like he did before. Minutes passed like that when Dylan spoke once again, voice a little distant in thought.
“You could give your name to the live painting competition.” Dylan mumbled.
Jun hummed in consideratio, careful not to leave a smudge as he erased a line. “You think I should?”
“Just...thought I should let you know about it.” Dylan continued absentmindedly.
“And why is that?”
“You always seem different when you draw something...quiet and relaxed...in your element. Maybe people would get to know you other than the campus flirt.”
Jun paused, turning over the words. When he turned to Dylan, he was still distant in thought, seemingly unaware of the words he just said, going back to mumbling the tune.
“Maybe I should.” Jun murmured.
Dylan yawned, turning in the couch so that his cheek is resting on Jun’s shoulder, lying on his side. “Junnie.”
“What?”
“I am bored.” He mumbled.
Jun answered without looking at him. “Play with Yuki then.”
“He’s eating.”
“Then scroll through your phone.”
Dylan whined, pressing his nose against the skin below Jun’s ear. “I am bored.”
“You already said that.”
Dylan muffled a yawn again, teeth lightly catching the skin nearby. “Doesn't make it any less true.”
Jun turned to look at him, and only then did he notice the dark skin beneath Dylan's eyes, how his eyes were a little droopy and half-lidded, lashes fluttering under the sunlight, fighting to stay awake.
“Haven’t gotten any sleep?”
“Hmm.”
“What happened?”
“Just...stuff. It’s nothing.” Dylan's voice was quiet and Jun felt every exhale on the side of his neck, steady and rhythmic.
Jun made a noncommittal sound and went back to his drawing, knowing that the best way to push for answers from him is to pull back. Dylan whined at the lack of a response, letting out a defeated sigh and nuzzling into the burrow of Jun’s neck to hide his face when he answered. His skin felt warm against Jun’s.
“The chorus just loops in my head whenever I try to sleep.” Dylan confessed, voice muffled against his neck. “The song. It doesn't feel right, the tone, the synth, and the beats. I feel like I am doing something wrong. Something’s missing and everytime I try to fix, some other thing is going wrong. When I finally think I got it right and play it again, I hate it.” Dylan hummed again, the same tune he had been muttering under his breath for the better part of an hour.
Dylan's voice went forlorn yet sarcastic, “It could also be because of my sleep deprived brain. I don't know anything at this point.
Jun hummed in answer. “Understandable.”
“How so?”
“See Yuki’s ears here.” Jun held up the paper for Dylan to see. “I had to redraw it five times in the span of ten minutes because I hated how it looked, and I honestly don’t know if it looks better or worse than the first time.”
Dylan's eyes flicked over the drawing, a small frown on his lips before he said, “I don’t see anything wrong in it.”
“But if you're the artist and it’s your creation, your eyes tend to look for every imperfection first.” Jun said. “And you have to sleep on it for a day for your brain to even start noticing the things that you did good.”
Jun moved so that he could clearly look at Dylan when he said, “So you're not doing anything wrong. It just happens to the best of people.”
Dylan went silent for a minute, eyes holding Jun’s still. Jun could see the moment when the tiredness in it dimmed a little, replaced by something tender and thankful and something else that Jun couldn’t decipher, something that felt heavy and delicate at the same time, something that made him feel warm, heart beating faster.
Then Dylan blinked and it was gone and he opened his mouth to tease. “Aww, Junnie you care about me.”
And Jun played along. “You just make an ugly subject with your dark circles.”
“You're calling me ugly?”
Dylan huffed and bit him on his jaw hard enough to leave a mark on his skin. Jun chuckled, turning his head away to escape but Dylan seemed adamant as he slithered down on the couch, moving to straddle him, thighs bracketing Jun’s as he continued to nip at his face.
“Dylan, stop.” Jun tried to push his face away to no avail.
Laughter ripped out of his chest when Dylan's hand found his sides to tickle him, sneaking beneath his shirt to trace the line of his ribs all the while he continued his assault on Jun’s jaw, trailing down to bite into the sensitive skin at his neck and shoulders.
Tiny bursts of pain flared at wherever Dylan bit him, hard enough to hiss but light enough to feel it tickling instead of actually hurting.
“Say I am beautiful.” Dylan said as he gave Jun a minute to compose himself.
When Jun refused to call him so, Dylan surged forward again with renewed determination, this time, sinking his teeth on Jun’s cheeks and trailing down to the underside of his side. His hands continued the tickling and Jun laughed again, head thrown back –which Dylan took advantage of– and eyes shut close, tears gathering at the corners. The sound was loud enough that Yuki came from wherever he was, probably wondering whether Jun is getting murdered.
Bracing his hands on his midriff, Jun wheezed, his stomach aching. Only when Jun curled in on himself from the pain, eyes stinging with tears and heaving for breath did Dylan stop, giving him room to breathe. Jun inhaled, and winced when his stomach hurt. He looked up to see Dylan smiling at him, eyes glowing despite the dullness he carried a few moments prior, cheeks painted a soft pink with laughter.
Their eyes locked. Jun’s breathing evened out as he stared at Dylan. He watched as Dylan's eyes flicked over his face, dropping down to linger on his lips, his fingers tightened an inch from where they were holding Jun by his waist, nails digging in the flesh. Jun swallowed and watched Dylan's smile wavering, before he glanced up at Jun again, searching his eyes. The remnants of laughter died down the longer Dylan looked at him and Jun felt warm all over, throat dry and he swear he could hear his heart beating in the small space between them. The air felt charged and electric, before lightning strikes, simmering with an underlying current of forbidden and needy.
Then Dylan leaned forward and closed the gap. It wasn't a proper kiss, just a touch of lips. Brief and tender and firm and warm. Breath hitching and hand curling around Dylan's hips to pull him close. The kiss lingered, lips pressed against lips and noses brushing.
Dylan tasted sweet and addictive –warm skin pressed flushed against him and pliant in his hands, a heady rush that travelled through his veins like thick honey. So unlike the sharp edges and pointed words he wears around him.
Dylan pulled back, only leaving an inch of space between them to expel a breath before he kissed Jun again properly. Open mouthed and sliding tongues, though carrying the same something-tender from their previous kiss. Jun cupped a hand around Dylan's jaw, his thumb drawing circles over the fluttering pulse.
This wasn't their first time kissing. But for some reason, this kiss felt like a line they never crossed before with how it was all sweet and soft and how familiar it had gotten. Jun felt it like never before and wanted it like oxygen. He kissed Dylan back with the same force, tilting his head to deepen it, sliding in when Dylan gasped, his hand clutching tighter at the hair on the nape of Jun’s neck.
When they parted, Jun leaned their foreheads together. So close that they’re breathing in the other’s exhales, breath for a breath. Jun traced the arch of Dylan's cheekbone, caressing the skin under his eyes and the soft curve of Dylan's eyelids, the curl of his lashes fluttering against the pad of his thumb. Dylan leaned into the touch, nuzzling like a cat against his palm, seeking warmth, eyes fluttering close and a pleased sigh leaving his lips.
And there was the word again, standing at the tip of his tongue, that Jun bit down.
Beautiful. Dylan looked beautiful and Jun wanted to cherish him.
Instead, Jun pressed a quiet kiss on the tip of Dylan's nose, pulling him closer by the nape of his neck. When he glanced at Dylan, he went cross-eyed, trying to look at the spot Jun kissed, prompting Jun to chuckle at him. Dylan smiled, swallowing the sound with a press of lips.
“I am hungry.” He murmured against his mouth.
Jun clicked his tongue in mock disdain. “I just fed you.”
“That was a bar of chocolate, Junnie. Not a proper meal.” Dylan scrunched his nose, pouting at him.
“You're harder to maintain than Yuki.” Jun sighed, kissing the pout away. The kiss lingered, Jun did not pull back fully
“I am not seeing you complaining.”
Jun pressed one more kiss on Dylan's lips and picked up his phone from beside him to order them something to eat, checking with Dylan if he wants anything else and added a tub of strawberry ice cream after a heavy debate where Jun declared that strawberry is basic and that butter pecan tasted better and Dylan had pouted the whole way until Jun gave up.
After the order confirmation, Dylan went right back to hide his face against Jun’s neck, arms tightening around Jun’s waist and their chests folded together. Dylan melted against him, body going supple and soft. If not for the occasional kisses at his jaw and the yawns muffled against his shoulder, Jun would’ve assumed that Dylan had fallen asleep.
Jun carded a hand through the silver strands, untangling the knots, one hand pressing at the small of Dylan's back. “You're annoyingly clingy today.”
The change was miniscule and if Dylan isn’t practically fused to him, Jun likely wouldn’t have noticed. The puddle that Dylan had become in the past minutes turned rigid, steel-straight. Jun frowned, fingers still buried in the strands. He let his hand fall when Dylan pulled away from him, the previous warmth and mischief hidden behind indifference, his mask pulled back in place.
But when he spoke, his voice was tiny, a quiet noise that Jun had to strain his ears to catch the words. “...Is that bad?”
And Jun looked at Dylan. Properly looked at him. Though his eyes were blank, it held a worried edge underneath. Jun could see it at the minute furrow of his brows, at the tiny downturn on the corner of his mouth. The same look he had worn in the bathroom during the game night, the look he had worn when Jun found him at the park, a hand clutching at his ankle, when Dylan had gasped awake at that night during the thunderstorm, even before when Dylan messaged him and rambled about Thame in that empty hallway with the alcoves.
And Jun realised that never once had Dylan been difficult to read. Even in his most unconcerned state, Dylan felt the most and revealed it the most, if one knows where to look.
Seeing that Dylan's waiting for an answer, Jun kissed him. The kisses that were messy and hard before now turned soft and sweet. Reassuring in the way Jun’s hand curled at Dylan's nape and pulled him closer, other hand tightening at his waist. And playful in the way Jun nipped at his bottom lip, a tug and release and in the way Jun smiled into it. Dylan stayed stiff under him, until Jun licked at his bottom lip and coerced him open and Dylan returned.
They were both breathless when Jun pulled back. Dylan looked surprised, brows pulled in and lips forming a pout. Jun smiled at him, planting a quick kiss on the jutted lip with a loud smack.
“Not when you do it only with me.”
Dylan blinked, still caught in a daze. He seemed to snap back to reality only to swap at Jun’s hands when Jun pinched his cheek, turning his head side to side. He scoffed at Jun despite the steady blush that rose in his cheeks. Jun chuckled, poking Dylan's cheek and Dylan made a complaining sound before hiding his face in the crook of Jun’s neck once again.
The thin sweater did nothing to ward off the chill. Po rubbed his arms in a vain attempt, shivering when another burst of wind blew across the street, ruffling his hair and pricking his skin with goosebumps. The asphalt was dark and still held the lingering wetness from the evening rain, glistening golden under the street lights. The moon was high above on the night sky, a clear white circle standing stark in the dark and lighting the path to the riverside.
It had been nearly a week since the last time Po came here. Since that night where Po stood at the edge of the river, asking the boy he had fallen for about the kiss and whether it meant him anything. The night where he realised wanting a thing doesn't mean you can get to have that thing.
Po stopped when he neared the edge where gravel met grass.
There, at the far side of the bank, sat a lone figure under the drooping branches of a willow tree, neatly hidden behind the shrubbery and the wildflower bush. If he weren’t someone who had found the nooks and corners of the area with the many times he had visited, Po would’ve normally skimmed the place and assumed no one was there. But as it happened, Po knows the place like the back of his hand and his eyes went under the willow branches as if second nature, since it was where he and Thame always found refuge.
Thame didn't turn around when Po stepped near the bank and sat five feet away from him. Po sighed, leaning behind on his hand. The ground felt cold and wet to the touch, with dew and the air still holding the smell of soil –earthy and blunt.
The silence kept them company for a whole of an eternity.
Five distances apart. Po thought.
From the edge of the road to the edge of the riverbank. Since the beginning of time where it all started on the balcony of Pepper’s condo. They were always five distances apart.
“You know, the stars we’re seeing now might not even exist anymore.” Thame broke the silence.
Po looked over at him. Thame was gazing at the sky, leaning against the willow’s bark. The moonlight lit his profile, giving him a sharp, yet more soft look, his dark waves falling over his forehead with the droopy leaves framing him. He looked angelic, melancholic in the way he stared at the sky. Po wished he had his camera to snap the moment.
“What?” Po whispered in the same cadence.
Thame sighed. “Whenever we look at the night sky, we’re actually looking back in time.” A wistful smile curved at his lips. “So some stars might’ve already died and we wouldn’t even know. We could be seeing the light it left years ago.”
“So we’re actually looking in the past?” Po questioned, looking at the stars again with the knowledge that the sky is a reflection of someone’s past that he’s witnessing in his present.
“In a way.” Thame shrugged. Then a moment later, he added, “That kind of comforting.”
“Why?”
“People can be stars.” Thame started, thoughtful and reflecting, the way his voice turns whenever he talks about music, about the things he loves.
Po waited for him to continue.
“Sometimes, we leave light behind, even if we’re not there anymore, in other people’s lives. Or some people do in our lives.” He paused, blinking up at the sky again, as though he’s talking to it. “Leave something bright that it hurts to look at it afterwards.”
Po glanced at him from the corner of his eyes.
He has a gist what Thame means, or rather, whom he means. He thought back to all the other conversations they shared under the same sky. The Dylan used to fill that quietness. The whispered answer I wasn't the one for him, like I thought I was to a question.
His fear of losing someone he loves, his habit of holding onto things that hurts him solely for the fact that it was once his. That he belonged to them the say they belonged to him.
The guy who wears his heart on his sleeves. The guy who loves too easily and get hurts too softly.
It was cowardice, Po knows. If it were anyone else, Po would’ve said it outright. A coward because he can’t let go his past still and doing things he thinks is right, not knowing he’s hurting the people around.
But Thame isn’t anyone and Po isn’t cruel. Not to Thame.
“And it hurts to accept it.” Thame fiddled with the grass blades, trying to braid the near three. “That leaving something behind will only make it harder to let go, because we never know when it ended. Only get to see the remnants of what it once was and it’ll already be too late.”
“Like the stars.” Po echoed his words, because the stars and the riverside are what Thame left behind in his life. And like Thame said, it hurts to look at it.
The distance between them might be five feet, but Po felt the distance like an aching soul, a final grasp of something precious that’s being snatched away, fingers clawing desperately at the air. Now Po only saw the remains of it in the absence of warmth beside and the distant look in Thame’s eyes. The far away one that suggests he’s thinking. And thinking means he’s thinking about the past and Dylan and the present and Jun and whether he did the right thing and Po and never about him.
Po knows it from the many times he saw Thame biting back his words, from the many times he goes silent in that very place, lying beside Po on the cool grass. Po knows it because he had taken his time to file away the small details about him without meaning to. There would be a gap in the things that he knows about Thame one day and the next day it would be filled because Po’s eyes always seemed to track him like a moth to a flame. Subtle in the way even Po himself never realised.
The silence lasted too long in the night. Thick and unfamiliar. Po felt the need to break it, to fill it with something that doesn't feel suffocating. The air was cool still from the rain, carrying a chill that made goosebumps arise on his skin. Po opened his mouth to speak. Something. Anything. But before he could, Thame did,
“I am sorry I made you wait, phi.”
Po startled a little. When he turned to the side, Thame had sat facing him. Po held his breath. Thame continued.
“To give a proper answer.”
He looked sad. Brows pulled in and lips pressed in a straight line. His eyes shone in the moonlight. Po thought he might be crying, but when Thame blinked, his eyes dimmed a little.
Looking at him now, Po felt his heart twisting. Thame, who always brightens the room he walks into, who looks like hope and love and life. To see him being reduced to this pale version of himself, head hung in shame and shoulders sagging under invisible weight.
Po wanted to reach out, to tilt his chin up, to assure him in an embrace, whisper that he doesn't have to do this alone, that he doesn't have to carry the weight of others. Tell him that there’s nothing wrong to want something, that he can let go, because can’t you see that it’s hurting you too? Why do you think that your pain is something that can be neglected?
But it isn’t Po place to say and he knows Thame wouldn’t listen to him either. So he swallowed and gave Thame an answer he was expecting. A truth from him.
“You know what hurts the most?” Po did the same, adjusting so that he’s facing Thame. He looked up at Po’s voice.
“It wasn't you running away, it’s that you just...disappeared. No answer, no reasons, no excuses.” He cleared his throat when his voice went thick with emotion. “I spent nights wondering if that kiss meant anything only to see you all smiling and laughing and existing like you were before the other morning.”
It wasn't the wait that hurt. It was you pretending that it meant nothing that made me feel like maybe I’ve fallen in too deep again without a net.
Now that he started, he felt the dam breaking and all the feeling he had locked up to the back of his mind gushed forward, leaving a fissure in the wall. Pain and grief and guilt and despair twined and came together, making his voice crack. Po had to take a few moments to compose himself. Thame was still waiting for him.
“But it wasn't your fault alone, Thame, was it?” A rueful smile.
Thame frowned. “P’Po...”
Po shook his head, not letting him continue. “No, listen.”
This time, it was Po who felt every word as thorns on his tongue. “I chose to kiss you. I could’ve moved back, pushed you away, or could’ve said something that night, but I didn't.” He shrugged.
When he looked at Thame, he made sure that his voice was soft but firm, that he meant what he was saying. “You don’t have to be sorry for something we both did, Thame.”
Thame went still, eyes blinking in the dark.
“It was my fault as much as it was yours. You don’t have to carry the responsibility for my actions too.”
Po could see the faint line of Thame’s shoulders dropping a fraction from its rigid posture, his frame that was kept on guard throughout the night, relaxed. Thame nodded, though he still looked distressed. “But I should have handled it better. Instead of running away.”
Po did not know what to say so he said the truth. “You should’ve.”
When the silence filled in again, it was a breathable one, unlike the one that sat between them ever since that night like an uninvited person. This one felt more familiar, more that felt like a belonging. Now that Po had let out the things that had kept him awake, he felt lighter, at ease. The stars seemed to shine a little brighter, the river seemed to flow a little smoother, the space around him felt a little more alive.
The grass felt cool beneath his palms and the faint chirping of the crickets was a sweet lullaby. Po closed his eyes and tilted his head back, letting the breeze ruffle his hair and pinken his cheeks, a quiet luxury in the heavy traffic filled city when Thame spoke again.
“Phi?”
Po hummed an answer.
“I don’t want to go back to avoiding you.” Thame confessed. “I don’t want our conversations to be only about work. I don’t want to go back to pretending you were just another teammate.”
Po fell silent. He blinked his eyes open to see Thame fiddling with the grass again. Thame continued with a low voice.
“I don't know if we’re friends. I don't know if we can ever be, but can we atleast try?” A pause. “I miss talking to you.”
“Well, I’d miss talking to me too. I am an excellent conversationalist.”
Thame huffed a quiet laugh that didn't reach his eyes. Po sighed, returning a small smile that felt like the first genuine thing that night. He caught Thame’s eyes, hoping that Thame can see the sincerity behind his words.
“But I’d like that.” Po admitted in a small but it was honest.
They stared at each other, eyes flicking over the other’s face, both like a man drinking in water after he was starved for days and like a man taking small sips because he wants the feeling to last long.
Po noticed the bags beneath Thame’s dark brown eyes, the way how they drooped down a little, the bright roundness of them dulled to a fade. How his neatly styled hair is stuck up at all side, ruffled and messy, the slight frown that seemed to have been etched between his brows. Thame looked worn-out, tired.
He buried his hands in his hoodie pockets then. Po heard the crinkling sound of plastic before Thame threw something at his lap. Po picked up the packet, the bright red of it gleaming in the moonlight.
“What’s this?” Po asked dumbfounded, because surely Thame hadn’t bought him a packet of sour gummies in the middle of the night for him.
“You're favourite.” Thame said simply.
“Where did you get this at this hour?”
“A convenient store nearby.”
Po mumbled a thanks, ripping open the pack to pop in a few. The taste hit him as soon as it touched his tongue, sour at the beginning and ending with a sweet after-taste. It was peaceful once again, with Po munching on his snack and Thame pointing out the constellations he knows. A thought struck him then.
Po frowned. “Wait, how do you know I’ll come here today.”
Thame paused at the sound of his voice. He stared between the packet and at Po, and Po wasn't sure if it’s actually happening or whether it was a trick of the light, but he could see colour rising faintly in Thame cheeks.
“I don’t.” Thame answered, a hand rubbing at his nape and he looked a little shy, mumbling the last part, “Had it with me for some time.”
“Oh.”
They went back to their own after that. Po counting the gummies left before eating them one by one while Thame explained about the myth behind Ursa Major, one of his favourite constellations when he was in middle school.
At the name of the constellation, a memory unfurled in Po’s mind, another hand pointing at the sky, another voice explaining why Ursa Major was his favourite. And Po dismissed the thought once again.
The night moved on and the clouds drifted lazily across the skies, and the shadows that fell upon the grass, cast by the moonlight, drew closer and closer together with the moon’s slow journey across, until they lay entwined, despite their owners remaining five feet apart.