Chapter Text
Lung, do you have any resources for studying sign language?
Yok chuckles, shaking his head to himself as he reads Anya's message. I learned it so long ago, he texts her back. I'm sure there are better resources now.
A couple of seconds, then he sends another text. There are both foundations and associations that teach classes on it. Some of them might even be for free. The best way is to learn in person.
Yok puts down the phone. Stares for a few seconds, thoughtless.
Something within him is moving.
He looks at his hands. Long fingers. His knuckles have broken and bled from fighting, several times, but that was long ago, and the scars are soft and white and old now.
He turns them over, looks at his palms. When he worked as a mechanic, they got calluses, and the skin grew thick and hard. There is a scar on the palm as well, from a knife, long since healed.
Now, his hands have softened. They are often stained with paint, but not right now.
His phone lights up. Text from Anya. Thank you, lung! Just one more question. Can I practice with you?
Something within Yok is unfastening, coming loose.
Hands for working. Hands for creating. Hands for fighting. Hands for touching. Hands for signing, for communicating.
And although he is not sure exactly what he wants to do for his next art project, he decides it will be something about this. This language that he still has not forgotten. His mother, whom he learned it for.
Yok helps Namo move in with her girlfriend. Except for her art stuff, which she keeps in the shophouse, Namo does not have that many things, and as a result, the move does not take much time.
Yok wonders how much more Namo will complain now about how neither she nor her girlfriend are good at doing the dishes. Then, he sees them secretly exchange smiles when they pass each other carrying boxes. Their smiles are so big and bright and private that even Yok, who is not one to be shy, cannot help but avert his eyes.
When Yok grew up, it would actually get almost cool some days in December. Those times are gone. Bangkok has gotten too hot to attract tourists as it once did, and travelling by airplane has gotten much more expensive. But the tourists that still come, come in December. Souvenir stands pop up like mushrooms. In the restaurants, food is ordered in English and Chinese. At night, clubs and bars fill up and spill out onto the streets.
There are still light displays for December, although the constant competition of new, amazing ways to glitter has slowed down significantly during the last few decades. In the early evening, they light up as Yok drives his e-moto through the streets.
He meets with Gram and his family, Namo and her girlfriend, and a few others, some of them Namo's girlfriend's friends. He looks at Namo and he looks at Gram, and he thinks that they will never leave him. They will always be part of his life. Even if they are not around, they are part of Yok now, part of his history. Just as he is of theirs. The thought makes him tear up. He sees Gram look at him, a little worried, but he waves it off, smiling, and Gram accepts it.
He has not yet had dinner, but sneaks off on his own to smoke his one cigarette, anyway. The nicotine clicks into place in his head, clears his vision. Both soothing and sharpening.
He wants to be part of this world. He wants to make it better. Be a good part of its history. Even if he cannot change everything, he wants to do what he can.
This is what he knows: That what one does, does not have to be big. Does not have to change the entire world at once. Does not even have to change a whole country at once. But it has to be something.
And, as he finishes the cigarette with the mild melancholy of a man who knows he will wait a whole day for his next one, he accepts it. He accepts that he wishes Dan were here.
This has never changed about Yok: Once he makes a decision, he follows through immediately.
He picks up his phone and calls Dan.
They meet at the noodle place again. It feels both neutral and somehow symbolic. Besides, Yok is hungry.
Unlike the last time they met here, the place is crowded, steamy, and noisy. Some of the guests seem like tourists. The air conditioner works hard but cannot hold up against the many people in there, and their warm bowls of broth and noodles.
Dan has already found a table. Not the one Yok sat at when they met, Yok notices. Instead, Dan has gotten them seats by the window. He is reading on a tablet, wearing glasses, which Yok has never seen before. When Dan spots Yok, he puts both tablet and glasses away.
"Hello, phi," Yok says.
"Yok." Dan's smile is familiarly lopsided.
"You're wearing glasses now?" Yok asks.
"Yeah. Reading glasses. Got them last year."
"You look cute in them," Yok says. "Like a teacher."
Dan laughs, rubbing his forehead with the back of his palm.
"Thanks, I guess." He gets out of his chair, gestures for Yok to sit down. "What do you want? I'll order for us."
"Pork and soy meatballs, with clear broth. And an egg."
"Alright. I'll be right back."
Yok watches Dan's broad back as he crosses between the tables. Black t-shirt, tanned neck. The room is loud from music, people talking, the clanging of cutlery and glasses and bowls.
Before Dan reaches the bar desk, someone else gets there first, and Dan has to stand in line. He turns to Yok and shrugs. What can you do. Yok returns the gesture. Then, it is Dan's turn to order.
Yok cannot hear Dan from here. But he can see that there seems to be some kind of trouble. Dan scratches his chin and turns back to Yok again, looking a little lost. Then, his face brightens, as if he's gotten an idea, and his hands move.
Dan signs: No P-O-R-K — apparently Dan remembers the sign for "no" but not for "pork", but, to Yok's surprise, it seems like he does remember fingerspelling well enough to spell it out.
Yok cannot help but crack a smile at Dan, although he accompanies it with a quick grimace of disappointment. Dan looks like he is thinking really hard, and then he actually finds the sign: Chicken?
Of course. Dan liked chicken, and Yok's mother loved Dan. Of course Dan would remember the sign for chicken, with how many times Yok's mother had signed it to him.
Okay, Yok signs, and Dan does thumbs up, turns back to the store clerk, and is, apparently, able to successfully complete his order.
When Dan comes back, Yok says:
"You remember."
"What?"
"Signing."
"Oh. Not really. Just, some signs are still there, I guess."
Yok looks at him, then changes subject:
"How have you been, then? For the last… how long was it since I last saw you? Three weeks?"
"Three and a half."
Yok rests his chin on his knuckle, and repeats, smiling, "Three and a half."
"I'm good. We're approaching the winter holidays for the kids. They finish the semester on December 16th. Then, us teachers work for a few more days until we get some time off, too."
"Do you have any plans for your time off?"
"I'll make a short trip to Chiang Mai to see my parents. They live there now, since a couple of years back. Said they couldn't stand the Bangkok heat anymore. I understand them. But I couldn't leave Bangkok. It's my home, you know?"
"I know exactly what you mean. How are your parents?"
"Good, good. Yeah. Still working."
The food arrives, smelling amazing. It takes a minute or so of eating in mutual silence before either of them speak again.
"Wow, that hits the spot," Dan sighs.
"So good," Yok agrees.
"Do you come here often?" Dan asks.
Yok shakes his head. "I'd never been here before that night I ran into you. I had a customer close by and just checked what was in the neighbourhood."
"Really?" Dan looks at him for a couple of seconds. "What a strange coincidence."
"Yeah. How about you?"
"I come here pretty often, yeah. After work. That day… I don't know. It was so strange, because, just as I said, I had been thinking about you and your mother, and then when I was driving past here, just by chance, I looked inside. And I saw you sitting here. At first I thought it was a trick of the mind."
"I can't believe you recognised me. It's been so long."
Dan scoffs. "You haven't changed that much, you know."
"Maybe not."
"It felt like I had somehow conjured you."
Yok laughs. "Who knows."
"Maybe this is an awful thing to say," Dan says, "but I was surprised to see Gram and Eugene still together."
"Not gonna lie, you're not the only one."
"I remember you didn't really believe in their relationship back then."
"No kidding!" Yok knocks his chopsticks against the rim of the bowl for emphasis. "You know, I still think Gram was secretly in love with Black but unable to admit it to himself."
Dan smiles, shaking his head slightly.
"But, strangely," Yok continues, "it seems like Gram and Eugene work well together in the long run. I'm not sure if they have ever actually been in love, but maybe they don't need that, you know? They are just two very level-headed, positive, empathetic people sharing a life together."
"I can imagine."
"It's not as if passion guarantees a well-functioning relationship, as we both well know."
Dan looks a little uncomfortable, but also amused. "For sure."
A few tables away, a group of women are laughing loudly together.
"So do you still paint, then?" Yok asks.
"I do."
"As UNAR?"
"As Dan." A wry little smile. "A colleague found out I painted a mural for my parents' house, and suddenly I found myself doing a job for the school. But, otherwise, I just paint for myself, these days."
"You know I always loved your paintings."
"Yeah. Thank you. I loved yours too. They're still great."
They talk a little more as they eat. Dan's sister has just had her second child, up in Chiang Mai. He also tells Yok about Anya, that she is doing better now, hopeful for her father getting a hearing aid, excited about learning sign language. "She used to want to be an English translator, but now she wants to be a sign interpreter," Dan says. "She's very young, obviously. But I think it would suit her."
A bell rings as the door to the restaurant opens and closes, and a family of four enters. The smallest of the kids is staring widely at Yok's tattoos. He smiles and waves, and the child gives him an uncertain smile back before turning to her mother.
When Yok looks at Dan again, he can tell Dan has been staring at him, as well.
Yok had not planned to say it. It just happens. He asks:
"Was it only because of Anya? That you came over and talked to me."
Yok says it jokingly, but Dan does not return Yok's smile. Instead, he looks serious, almost sad.
"I'm not sure I would have come up if it hadn't been for her," he says. "But no. It wasn't only because of Anya." He looks at Yok's now empty noodle bowl, and asks: "Do you wanna get out of here? It's a nice evening. We could go for a walk?"
Dan has already paid for their food, so they head out into the mellow darkness of the evening, passing new guests arriving at the door.
"You were saying?" Yok is genuinely curious now. Dan's feelings are generally easy to read — now, he is a little embarrassed, a little awkward, a little uncertain, but not too bad — but Yok always found Dan's intentions and thoughts extremely difficult to figure out. Dan always had really roundabout ways of thinking about things, would overthink into eternity if allowed, and often came to strange conclusions of what to do.
"I was in the same carriage as you on the metro a couple of years ago," Dan says. "But you didn't see me. And I didn't talk to you then."
Yok had no idea. The thought gives him vertigo. He says nothing.
"I started to think about you because of Anya. But then…" Dan takes a deep breath. "I guess I started wondering about you."
Yok glances towards Dan, and Dan looks back, then away again. Yok tenses his hand into a fist, then opens it, then closes it again.
Dan's voice is quiet, sounding almost scared, when he asks:
"Do you ever think about what it could have been like, had we stayed together?"
Yok looks up towards the sky. There are probably stars out, but Yok cannot see them for the light pollution. Instead, he looks at the tiny lamps that hang above the streets. Blue, green, and purple.
There are people out, but it is not crowded.
"I used to," he says, finally. "Not anymore. I realised it would have sucked, I think."
Dan smiles his held-back, lopsided smile. "You're probably right. It would have just gotten worse and worse."
"Exactly." Yok laughs. It surprises him how not-sad he is, even thinking about this. Not sad, not angry. If anything, he is in a pretty good mood right now.
They are walking at a leisurely pace, not towards any particular goal. The night is lukewarm and pleasant. Yok drags in air through his nose. He grew up in a Bangkok that always smelled of fumes, but it does not anymore. Still — the smell of sweet and savory food from all the food stalls, of sewage, of people, of asphalt slowly cooling after a hot day — it smells like home.
"Did you hate me?" Dan asks.
"Not that often," Yok answers. "Not for very long after we actually broke up. Sometimes when we were together, I think."
"Yeah."
"What about you? Did you hate me?"
"No, never." The answer is immediate, but then, there is a pause, before Dan continues: "Myself, sometimes. Never you."
Dan nods towards a smaller side street, and Yok follows him.
They walk in silence for a little bit. They pass by a convenience store, its cold, fluorescent light spilling out into the night. There are less people here.
“I have forgiven you, you know,” Yok says.
Next to Yok, Dan breathes in, and then out again. “Thank you.”
“Have you?”
“Have I what?”
“Forgiven yourself.”
A few seconds pass, then Dan says, “Yes. I finally did.”
“Good.”
Dan asks:
"What about now?"
"What do you mean?"
"What do you think it would be like for us to be together now?"
Yok slows to a stop. He stares at Dan, who has stopped as well. Dan holds his gaze for a few seconds before he turns it away. Then, he looks back.
"I don't know, P'Dan. I guess it could be good." Yok smiles at Dan. "Only one way to find out."
And, like the sun breaking through clouds, Dan smiles back.
Dan has so much grey in his dark brown hair. It makes the vision of him lighter. It is the greyest right by his temple, where it is combed backwards. Strangely coarse against Yok's fingers when, without thinking, he touches it.
He catches himself.
He stills.
His hand still lingers against Dan’s temple, his fingers in Dan’s hair.
Dan's eyes are not watery, not full of tears from the smoke and heat of a burning building. His face is not covered by a mask, not smeared with soot or pearling sweat. Yet, Yok remembers something from that gaze, something from so long ago, some kind of pleading, uncertainty, fear and hope. And he sees — thinks he sees — that, in Dan's eyes, also now. Then, Dan leans forwards.
Dan's kiss is like a first kiss. A soft, hesitant peck, lasting less than two seconds. But, when Dan is about to draw back, Yok grabs his t-shirt and presses their lips together again. Dan makes a small noise into Yok's mouth, and Yok can feel Dan's hands land gently on his back, big and warm.
Yok's hands, in turn, are moving over Dan and learning new things. Dan no longer has the boyish leanness of his twenties. His back is muscled under his t-shirt, but there is also a little give, a little softness as Yok grips his waist.
Yok cannot remember how Dan used to kiss, but that does not matter. This kiss is excellent — slow and soft, exploratory, a kiss that has waited and that now takes its time.
This tastes like something new.
Yok moves to start pushing Dan up against a wall, but Dan breaks their kiss, for real now, does not let Yok continue. Dan's ears are burning red, but his face bears a delighted smirk.
"What?" Yok asks.
"There are people here," Dan says.
Yok looks around. A little further down the street, someone is squatting against a doorstep to smoke a cigarette. Another twenty metres away, a couple comes walking hand in hand, seemingly busy with each other.
"Do you…" Dan starts, his voice little more than a whisper. "Should we go to my place?"
Yok grins. "Oh, bold, Teacher Dan!" He shoves at Dan playfully, and Dan looks both flustered and happy.
Dan had come by public transport, but Yok has his e-moto. They start walking towards it. Dan walks close to Yok, and Yok grabs his hand, interlaces their fingers. Dan takes another deep breath, and squeezes Yok's hand. Yok squeezes back.
They walk in silence again now, neither of them wanting to break the spell. But then, as they get closer to where Yok parked his e-moto, Yok has something he wants to ask:
"Phi. Do you think we can change the world?"
"Of course," Dan answers. "We already did."