Chapter Text
Po wasnt afraid of storms, not really.
Because Earn was always there. Maybe as his silent supporter or just being himself.
They had met in high school, then to uni and everything was fine. They were together everywhere. Po supported him when he launched his brand, hell, he even made his own contributions to it.
But as soon as Earn tasted a bit of success, he left. Just like that. No "I'm sorry" or any sign that he was in guilt.
There is no indication that he actually meant what he said during those five years.
So Po tried to move on, even though his love life was still unstable. He tried to drown himself in his work, only talking to Baifern when things felt a bit too much to keep inside.
But that didn't shake away the emptiness; it made him stronger, or so he thought, that he would be able to see Earn again. He wouldn't break down.
So when Baifern asked him to attend the reunion, he did go. But boy was he wrong.
Earn seemed calm. Nonchalant. As if they had meant nothing.
It felt odd because, for Po, two years ago, this man was everything.
They had made so many promises, confessed every secret, but now, it was nothing.
There was still someone, though.
Thame.
Seeing him that night felt comfortable. Maybe because it was how soothing Thame's voice was, or how he was just calm like that.
Po did not remember ever talking to him in high school. If they did, it might have been just small comments in the hallways or maybe for some classmate thing. Thame was just another name in the yearbook. But when they did talk, it felt as if they had known each other their whole lives.
It wasn’t anything dramatic, just subtle, quiet. Like entering a warm room after being in the cold for a while.
It was the way Thame didn't push Po to move on from Earn, unlike most people who called Po dumb for still being consumed by his feelings over a guy who left him for a taste of success. Thame listened to him not out of pity nor judgment. Just presence. Like it mattered.
Even though Thame wasn't even in the story. He didn’t try to insert himself in the story. Never acted like he knew the pain. Just listened as if Po’s voice mattered. Like Earn was just a stupid chapter in Po’s life which should’ve been ripped out.
And here was Po now, losing his mind over a not-so-stranger at 3 am in the night.
He found his Instagram through a friend’s story and clicked on it without any second thought. His posts were very- Thame. Music. Poetry. Nature. And kids drawing on whiteboards. Not his kids, obviously, he was a teacher.
He stared at the follow button for a good five minutes before finally pressing it. And to balance out the awkwardness, a "hi :3" because an emoji would be a bit too millennial, and hi would be a bit too formal.
The reply came soon after, a "hey".
So now they were both stuck. One is confused, and the other is losing his mind.
They started texting each other after that.
Just late-night texts about how their day went, or the occasional snaps of food and random things. It felt calm. Comfortable. It had become a routine.
Po would wake up with a soft good morning :) and Thame would go to sleep with a calm night night .
"Wanna facetime?" Thame asked one day while they were texting each other about how their day went.
Po stared at the message for a beat too long. His heart stilled. Then, "Sure." Po replied.
Without even realising, Po's hand went to his hair, smoothening it out just so it would stop sticking out in odd places, checked his face in the front camera once, twice. The lighting looked awful, so he turned the lamp away just so it wouldn't look too much. And just as he was setting up his pillows behind him, his phone started to ring. He took a deep breath and picked up the phone.
The phone lit up with Thame’s face.
He looked very calm, somehow natural. He didnt look as if he was the school teacher Thame whom he met that day but the person who used to greet him with a good morning every day without fail. He was still wearing his glasses, but he had this boyish look that he had back then in high school. He was in his kitchen, perhaps, observing the microwave behind him.
"Hey," Thame said. His voice was soft through the bad speaker of his mobile phone.
"Hi," Po replied.
He gave a small smile. "Had dinner?" He asked.
Po nodded. "Yeah. Just did. You?"
"Me too. Just finishing." He said with a small chuckle.
"How was your day?" Thame asked.
"Just work stuff. The usual. Music video preparations."
"Being a creative director sounds tiring. But glamorous, surrounded by handsome boy group members all day." Thame laughed.
"Is that jealousy I hear?" Po chuckled.
Thame grinned. "No, no. Just amusement. My students never shut up about this idol group, Mars? You know them?"
Po smirked. “I work for Mars.”
Thame paused. Then, “You work for Mars?”
"Is that surprising?"
"No- well, yes. I knew you were cool but like i didn’t knew you were chart-topping cool." Thame laughed.
Po chuckled. "So, you're a fan? I can get you their autographs."
Thame leaned back, mock offended, "No, even though my students blast their discography instead of Beethoven in my classes and I have their lyrics now engraved in my mind, I'm not a fan."
"That's cool."
Thame scratched the back of his neck, "Well, it's not easy to teach kids the piano and acoustics when all they care about is dance lines and pop."
Po let out a small laugh.
And they fell into a comfortable silence.
"You still write songs?" Po asked out of nowhere.
Thame looked up, caught off guard.
"Oh, yeah. Sometimes. When I'm not surrounded by a bunch of kids who make me pull my hair out. I do."
Po chuckled. “I remember you used to write them in history classes.”
“Wait, how do you know that?”
Po leaned back, smug, “You were the only one who was actually writing in that class. Nobody took history notes like your life depended on it.”
Thame groaned and rubbed a hand over his face, “Oh my god.”
"You think you were slick?” Po said. “You used to sit there, scribbling in your notebook like you were solving some ancient ruins. Meanwhile, the teacher used to rant about revolutions, and you were busy composing lyrics.” He grinned.
Thame now clearly flustered, “Okay, no, who even listened to that teacher anyway?”
“Mhm, makes sense. What did you even write about, though?” Po asked.
Thame froze. How could he tell him that every single word in that one journal was dedicated to the person on the screen in front of him? There wasn’t one character that was not made for Po.
He looked at him, still the same soft eyes, the same boy who used to sit two rows ahead, completely unaware of the chaos he left behind in Thame’s head. The boy he wrote about when he didn’t know how to feel. The boy who unknowingly became every chorus, every ‘what if’.
So he just shrugged it off with a small laugh, “Nothing worth remembering.”
But god, he remembered everything. Every word. Every feeling.
“Just 16-year-old me who looked as if he was going through 6 breakups and 4 divorces.” He joked, which earned him a laugh from Est. That laugh which made his eyes turn up into small crescents.
They both went quiet for a moment. The silence wasn’t awkward, just comfortable. Thame leaned his cheek against his palm and blinked at the screen. The soft kitchen lights casted a gold halo around his face.
“I should go to sleep. Early classes tomorrow.” Thame said eventually. “I’m trying to be a responsible adult.”
“Right, go be a responsible adult,” Po said.
There was a pause. Then, “It felt nice talking to you today.” Po said.
“Yeah. Me too.” Thame smiled warmly.
“Good night, Thame.”
“Good night, Po.”
The screen went dark again and Po was left staring at his reflection for too long, heart a bit louder than before.