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They're drinking again at Man's apartment. Now that Sarawat and Tine are officially together, their friend groups have fully merged, a conglomerate of bad decisions and 69 jokes. Tine has had two beers and his brain feels a little fuzzy in the best way, like everything is being filtered through a diffused yellow light. He's in the kitchenette, theoretically refilling a bowl of shrimp chips for the group but mostly just eating them himself, when Sarawat slides up behind him. Sarawat's hands come to rest easily on Tine's hips, his chin on Tine's shoulder.
"You having fun?" Sarawat asks.
Tine nods. "Yeah. You?"
"Your friends are noisy," Sarawat says. His hair tickles Tine's neck.
"So are yours."
Sarawat pushes in closer, so that when he hums, non-committal, Tine can feel the vibration of it against his neck and it sends a shiver up his spine. Sarawat's body is solid and warm behind him, familiar against Tine's. Last night, they'd kissed against the door to Tine's dorm until both of their lips were swollen, and then Sarawat had gotten down on his knees right there. Tine had knocked his head against the door hard enough to give himself a bruise when he came. These are dangerous things to think about in someone else's kitchen.
Tine nudges back against Sarawat. "Quit being handsy," he says, even though it's the last thing he wants.
"I can't help it," Sarawat says, mouth close to Tine's ear. "I want to touch you all the time." He gives Tine's right hip a squeeze, then backs away, leaving the kitchen just as Phuak and Fong enter.
"What's up with your face?" Phuak asks, swiping the bag of shrimp chips from Tine's grasp.
Tine touches his face. His cheeks are hot and he's smiling dumbly, dazed and a little turned on from Sarawat's flirting.
Fong tilts his head to the side, evaluating Tine's expression. "He's definitely thinking gay thoughts."
"Shut up," Tine says, flicking a chip at Fong. He's not wrong, but Tine resents being teased for it. "You don't know that."
"I don't want you on my team for cards if you're going to be making googly eyes at Sarawat the whole time," Phuak says.
"Try and stop me," Tine says, because he knows he can't help it. He seems to catch Sarawat's eye no matter where he is in the room, a flower turning toward the warmth of the sun. The rush of affection he feels when their eyes meet is automatic at this point. So yes, he will be making googly eyes at Sarawat the whole time. Phuak can suck it up.
Sarawat leaves on the first day of break for a trip to the beach with his family. He'd invited Tine, but Tine's mother had complained about him not coming around enough anymore and when was the last time that both Tine and Type were home? So Tine turned down Sarawat's offer (holding firm when Sarawat broke out the puppy dog eyes and clung to Tine's arm) and dragged himself home to his childhood bedroom for break.
He misses Sarawat almost immediately. It surprised him, how quickly he'd felt Sarawat's absence, almost as though he'd forgotten that there was a time in his life before Sarawat. He misses the sound of Sarawat humming softly under his breath while studying, the way his ankle hooks around Tine's when they're out eating.
Sarawat texts him periodically, each message inevitably featuring a typo. He sends Tine a picture of himself, the bare skin of his collar tinged pink with an emerging burn. Only someone like Sarawat could manage to look sullen on a resort beach. In the next picture he sends, Phukong is behind Sarawat, doing bunny ears behind Sarawat's head. Tine saves both of these to his phone and texts back a picture of his own.
Sarawat: send a boob pictur
Tine: saraleo >:(!
Tine makes it to the end of the week before he gives in, calling Sarawat that night. He presses his phone to his ear and waits for Sarawat's low voice to pick up, "Hi nuisance."
He can hear the sound of a door opening and closing in the background. Tine imagines him standing on the balcony of a bungalow, hair tousled in the night air, and it makes his chest ache. "Hi," Tine says. "How are you?"
"Tired. My shoulders are peeling," Sarawat complains.
"You should've worn more sunscreen," Tine tells him.
"You should've applied it for me."
"Maybe I should've," Tine admits. "I miss you."
Sarawat laughs softly, a puff of air against his phone. It's a reversal of their usual pattern, the one where Sarawat makes declarations of love and Tine trips over his words trying to make sense of his own feelings. "I miss you too."
"I miss your voice," Tine says. He feels the urge suddenly to tug his blanket over his head, to hide away where it's only him and Sarawat. "Sing for me?"
"I didn't bring my guitar," Sarawat says.
"I'm surprised, I thought it was surgically attached to you," Tine teases. He waits for Sarawat's huff of protest, then says, "I don't care. I just want to hear you sing."
"Scrubb?" Sarawat asks.
"Your choice."
Sarawat's voice is quiet, breathier than usual to avoid being overheard, but it's warm and familiar in Tine's ears. He doesn't recognize the lyrics, something sweetly sentimental. A love song. Tine expected nothing less. His heart clenches as he listens and for a moment, Tine is stupidly glad that no one else has ever heard Sarawat like this.
"What song was that?" Tine asks when Sarawat is finished.
"You don't know Polycat?" Sarawat asks. "I forgot you only listen to one band."
"Two bands," Tine points out. "Scrubb and Ctrl S. Number one fan."
With his eyes shut, Tine can easily imagine Sarawat's smile.
In the last five minutes, Tine has made it through about two lines of his contracts reading. Part of this is because Sarawat is lying on the other end of the bed, stroking absently at the bare skin of Tine's ankle, but mostly, it's because his contracts reading is dull.
"Hey Wat," Tine says, kicking lightly at Sarawat's hand. "Let's trade readings."
Sarawat looks up from his textbook and cocks an eyebrow at Tine. "Would you rather read about price elasticity?"
Tine doesn't know what those words mean, but they don't sound any more exciting than what he's attempting to read. He lets his textbook fall shut, shifting down until he's lying next to Sarawat.
"What made you choose law anyway?" Sarawat asks. He tilts his head towards Tine, bangs flopping down in front of his eyes. Tine pushes Sarawat's hair back, letting his palm linger against Sarawat's forehead.
"It seemed like a good career path," Tine says. He remembers surveying the booths at the university fair when he was a high schooler, looking out at a sea of faculties and thinking it was too much pressure to decide what he wanted to do for the rest of his life. "The seniors seemed nice and- I don't know. Don't make fun of me, okay?"
Sarawat nods, but Tine can tell from the quirk of his mouth that Sarawat is fully prepared to laugh at him anyway.
"I guess I've always wanted to help people. I think I want to be a judge in family court." Tine heaves a dramatic sigh. "If contracts doesn't kill me first."
"I think that's nice," Sarawat says. His smile has softened. He reaches out, letting his fingers graze a fastened button on Tine's school shirt. "You would look good as a judge."
Tine can feel Sarawat's fingers moving against his chest, as deft as though he was moving his fingers across the frets of his guitar. "We're supposed to be studying," he reminds Sarawat.
"So?"
"Sarawat Guntithanon," Tine says, pitching his voice low and stern. Sarawat's hands brush against the exposed skin of Tine's chest, sliding down from Tine's ribs to cup his hipbone. "You are charged with the crime of being horny? How do you plead?"
"Guilty, your honor," Sarawat says with a sly grin.
He kisses Tine, mouth soft but the pressure of it firm, wanting. Before they'd started dating, Tine had spent a lot of time looking at Sarawat's mouth. Too much time, if he's being honest with himself, to maintain any illusions of this being totally normal and heterosexual behavior. It's just that Sarawat has one of the prettiest mouths Tine has ever seen, the perfect bow of his upper lip and the pout of his lower lip, even better when his lips are kiss-swollen and red.
They make out like this for a while. Sarawat's hands are gentle and exploratory, smoothing along Tine's waist and then up to hold Tine's head in place as he deepens the kiss. Tine touches the lines of muscle along Sarawat's abdomen, daring to dip lower when Sarawat groans appreciatively against Tine's mouth.
Tine has completely forgotten about contracts readings and price elasticity and productivity altogether, until Sarawat pushes Tine back flat against the bed and-
"Ow, fuck," Tine curses.
"What?" Sarawat asks, immediately concerned.
Tine uses the arm he has wrapped around Sarawat's neck for leverage, pushing himself half off the bed until he can grab the textbook that had stabbed him somewhere in the left kidney. "Fucking contracts," Tine complains.
Finals week hits Tine like a truck. He spends hours at the library with Fong and Phuak and Ohm, poring over their notes from legal history and quizzing each other with their senior's old exams. A guilty voice in the back of his mind pipes up that if Tine had spent more time studying his textbooks and less time studying the contours of Sarawat's body, he might not be in the position. But his friends are all single and equally fucked, so maybe it wouldn't have mattered anyway.
Tine is slumped over Ohm's shoulder when they finally leave the library, eyes half-shut so that he doesn't understand why there are a chorus of whistles until he lifts his head.
Sarawat is waiting at the curb, leaning up against his car. Maybe it's the sleep deprivation or the fact that his brain has spent the last four hours working harder than it's worked in a long time, but when Tine sees him, he forgets to breathe for a moment. Sarawat looks so effortlessly cool, even in his sweatpants and sandals, hair curling in the humidity, and Tine feels stupidly proud. That's his boyfriend.
"Your chariot awaits," Ohm says, shoving Tine forward on the sidewalk. The three of them head off in the other direction.
"How'd you know I would be done now?" Tine asks when he's standing in front of Sarawat, hitching the strap of his backpack up on his shoulder.
Sarawat nudges Tine with his knee. "You texted me that you were almost done, dumbass."
Oh, right. "You didn't have to come pick me up," Tine says.
"I was already out," Sarawat says, because he still does his thing sometimes where he feels the need to pretend like his nice gestures are purely coincidental or only borne of convenience, when Tine knows that he does them because he cares. Tine doesn't call him out on it. "Do you want to go home?"
"Can we eat?" Tine asks. "I'm starving."
They end up at a restaurant near campus that serves some of the best khao man gai Tine's ever had. The aunties here love Tine and are always quick to slip him an extra portion, but since the first time Tine brought Sarawat with him, they've joined Team Sarawat's Wives. The middle-aged woman who drops off their food even winks at Sarawat before leaving the table.
"Watch out, I might get jealous," Tine teases.
"Definitely my type," Sarawat says, nodding. "I've always liked a woman that can cook."
"More than 185 centimeter chic law students?"
Sarawat looks up from his drink, his expression oddly serious. "Tine, there is no one I like more than you."
There's a grain of rice stuck to Sarawat's upper lip, which should ruin the effect of his words, but Tine still has to duck his head down and look at his tea instead. He knows that if he looks at Sarawat, Tine's expression will reveal the thing he is thinking that is too early in their relationship to think, the thing that feels increasingly frantic as of late, constantly poised at the tip of his tongue. He takes a sip of tea, busying his mouth.
"You're blushing," Sarawat points out.
"Who's blushing?" Tine asks. "You're blushing."
I like you so much, he thinks. I like you more than Scrubb. He smiles, and Sarawat smiles back.