Chapter Text
“So, how do we do this?” Type asks.
“I don’t know, man. We need to come up with a solid plan,” Tharn replies.
“You’ve lived in Bangkok your whole life. Are you telling me you’ve never drank?” Type asks with a look of surprise on his face.
“I have, but I’ve never bought it myself,” Tharn replies sheepishly.
“So, how do you buy your cigarettes?” Type asks.
“It’s cigarettes. No one has asked me for an ID to buy cigarettes,” Tharn replies.
Even though Tharn and Type seemed like gutsy risk takers, it couldn’t be farther from the truth. When it came to breaking rules, they were scared shitless. They’d rather die than admit that to each other, though. All in all, they were law abiding unicorns. Underage people buying alcohol was not unheard of, but somewhere in their minds, they knew they could get in trouble if they got caught; and that is the thought that spurred them on to come up with an elaborate ruse to illegally acquire some alcohol.
After a moment of contemplation, Tharn looks up at Type and exclaims, “You’re older! So, you can go buy it!”
“Are you serious, Tharn? I might be older, but I look like a child next to you,” Type replies, exasperated.
Tharn furrows his eyebrows in shock and looks up at Type.
“But I’m 18! You are a whole year older than I am!” Tharn says.
“Not a WHOLE year. You make me sound like a grandfather!” Type exclaims.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” Tharn says laughing at Type’s reaction to being called old.
“Whatever, since I’m older, we are going with my plan. Learn to respect your elders,” Type says, in a mock-stern voice.
“Okay, P’Khub. Whatever you say, Khub,” Tharn says, making exaggerated wais at Type.
“Umm… Maybe if we brush your hair back,” Type says, as he furiously tries to push Tharn’s hair back with his palms, but it springs back unto his face every time, and all he achieves is making the front of Tharn’s hair look like he was tossed around in a tornado.
“Okay, we need some wax to hold that back,” Type says as he doubled over laughing at what he did to Tharn’s hair.
Tharn sits back accepting his fate.
“Okay, so we need to get some hair product to hold your hair away from your face, some adult clothes. Maybe a briefcase?” Type adds as he strokes his chin thoughtfully.
“Wait, why a briefcase?” Tharn asks, confused.
“I don’t know, maybe you’re coming back from the office and needed a nightcap? I’m just trying to paint a picture here so we can be as convincingly adult as possible,” Type replies.
“Okay, let’s rethink that briefcase and go with the other suggestions you made,” Tharn says, laughing.
“Fine, let’s put an outfit together,” Type suggests as he walks towards his closet, motioning Tharn to check his closet.
Type looks into his and moves his University uniforms that are hung up to one side as he starts to look through the piles of clothes. He tries pulling out a few, but only comes up with a whole bunch of jerseys and shorts. The only pairs of pants he owns are all faded denims and those do not scream adult. He gives up on his clothes and turns towards Tharn to see if he had any luck to see him holding up a black Iron Maiden shirt with a big skull on the front and laughs out loud.
“I’m guessing you’re having as much luck as I am in the wardrobe department?” Type asks.
“I only have band T-shirts, the shirts I wear for my performances and distressed jeans in here,” Tharn says with a defeated look.
“Yeah, I only have jerseys and shorts in mine,” Type says.
“So, I guess we have to go buy some adult clothes. What do you suggest?” Tharn asks.
“A suit!” Replies Type immediately.
“You’re thinking about the briefcase thing again, Type. We decided to not go with that. Remember?” Tharn says with a glint of mirth in his eyes.
“Oh, yeah. Maybe a trouser and a shirt?” Type suggests.
“Yes, that’s more like it,” Tharn agrees.
They decide to hit up a small market right outside the campus gates to gather all the material. They go to a small boutique and pick up a shirt, brown trousers and a boring looking tie for good measure. Tharn looks at Type with questioning eyes as he puts the tie down on the counter, but he lets it go because he had already shot down his suit and briefcase suggestions. Then, they walk to a departmental store where they pick up hair wax, a comb, mixers and some snacks. With their spoils in hand, they walk back to the dorm with optimism towards the success of their plan.
“It’s missing something,” Tharn says, as he looks down at the clothes laid out on Type’s bed as he stands with his arms crossed and his chin resting on his knuckles.
“What do you mean? This is everything we need,” Type says.
“Just give me half an hour. I’ll be right back,” Tharn says, as he picks up his car keys and walks out the door, leaving behind a confused Type.
“Are you finally going to buy that briefcase?” Type asks with a laugh.
“You’ll see,” Tharn shouts behind the closed door.
Tharn gets into his car and drives to the nearest mall to the campus. He hurriedly parks at the first spot he sees and rides up the elevator. As he walks determinedly towards the shops, he suddenly catches it in his periphery. He turns around and stops.
‘Perfect,’ he thinks, as he stares at an overcoat in the display.
He walks into the store and is greeted by a smartly dressed lady with a smile on her face.
“How can I help you, Sir? Are you looking for anything in particular?” She asks, with the same smile in her face that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Ummm… I want a coat,” Tharn says, with a hint of doubt in his voice.
“We have a vast collection of coats, Sir. Do you have any particular style in mind?” She inquires.
“I want a big coat,” Tharn replies, trying to wrack his brain for more words to describe the coat he has in mind. He is at a loss because he’s never had to buy a coat in his life because he lives in Thailand. He wonders how this shop does any business because all they seem to sell are mostly coats.
‘Who is buying coats in Thailand?’ He thinks to himself suddenly realising HE is the one buying a coat IN Thailand.
“Umm… A big coat? You mean an overcoat?” The lady asks.
“Is that a big coat?” Tharn asks with utmost sincerity.
“Yes, Sir. It will come down to your knees,” she says with a light laugh.
“Okay, that’s fine,” he says.
“Do you have a colour or cut in mind?” She asks.
“I want a big coat with many deep pockets and says ‘I go to the office’,” he replies.
“Okay, so you want something professional looking,” she says.
“Yes,” Tharn replies.
“Okay, please follow me,” she says as she walks to the right side of the store, with a rack of coats hung up.
She pulls out a couple to show Tharn the length of each and Tharn inspects the pockets of each one. He finally lands on a tan coloured trench coat with two deep pockets on the inside, also being on the longer side compared to the overcoats.
“Would you like to try it on for size?” She asks him.
“Okay,” Tharn says as he puts his arms through the sleeves as she holds it up for him and finds that it’s a perfect fit.
“I want it to be bigger,” he says.
“This is your size, Sir. Anything bigger will not look flattering,” she says.
“I want it to be bigger, I don’t really care about how it looks on me,” Tharn says.
The lady gets him a size up and Tharn is still not satisfied with it. So after trying every size, he finally decides to go for the biggest one the store had in stock. Not because he was satisfied, but because it was the biggest size they had.
She walks to the register with the coat and rings it up.
“That will be 47,000 Baht, Sir. Will you be paying by card?” She asks.
Tharn’s eyes are the size of dinner plates.
“For a coat??!!?” He half screams.
The lady just smiles at him, like she sees this happen on the regular. That’s when his eyes fall on the name of the shop behind her. Burberry, it reads, in large, illuminated, golden letters.
‘Ah, that makes sense,’ he thinks to himself.
“I’ll pay by card,” he says as he hands her his credit card, apologising to his father in his head.
Tharn walks into the room with the coat in hand, already having chucked away the large paper bag with the ostentatious logo on it. He places the coat on the bed next to the shirt and trousers.
“Now, the look is complete,” he says waving his hands in the air like a magician.
“You genius, you!” Type says as he leans down to look at the coat and stumbles upon the tag still attached to the inside of the coat.
“OH MY GOD! 47,000 Baht! For A Coat!!!!” He screams at the coat. Tharn mentally slaps himself for forgetting to cut the tag off.
“I know. I said the same thing to the lady when I found out how much it costs,” Tharn replied in an equally loud voice.
“Did you just buy a 47,000 Baht coat to go buy booze worth a thousand Baht?” He screams, realising his voice has reached a pitch that only dogs can hear at this point.
“No, I was in a hurry and it’s an investment piece. I will wear this a lot, all the time, everywhere, till the day I die. And even then, I will be buried in this very coat,” he says, trying to convince himself more than Type.
“Okay, so you should have bought the briefcase too to carry around your personal AC since you seem to have forgotten that we live in Thailand,” Type says.
“Why are they even selling coats in Thailand?” Type thinks out loud. Tharn smiles at having the same thought earlier.
Tharn, in a bid to distract Type from the coat, rips off his T-shirt in one fell swoop. Type suddenly snaps his head to look at Tharn and freezes.
“W..Wh..What are you doing?” He says in a squeaky voice not being able to form thoughts being face to face with Tharn’s well built, firm, gorgeous, devastating pectorals for the first time.
“I’m trying to wear the clothes,” Tharn says, as he gingerly reaches for the shirt. However, that only causes his chest to move even closer to Type’s face. Meanwhile, Type sits there unmoving, with his jaw slack and eyes bulging as they are fixated on Tharn’s gorgeous pecs coming closer and closer to his face.
Tharn is very confused at Type’s focused gaze as he tries to push away the thought that he might be checking him out, because Type is straight. He thinks he’s just being appreciative of the hard work that Tharn puts into his body by climbing those damn stairs multiple times a day.
Type sits mesmerised thinking how this man has a body like that, while he himself has the body of a prepubescent boy, when he’s the one who is supposed to be the athlete.
Tharn quickly pulls the shirt, putting it on and turning his back to Type to button it up. He quickly slips on the trousers too and then turns around to show Type. Type snaps his mouth shut and gives Tharn a once over.
“Okay, now for the hair, I was thinking this…” Tharn says, as he shows Type a picture of Chris Evans as Captain America.
“Hmm… Lets see what I can do,” Type says as he scrutinises the picture.
Tharn is trying to hold back the tears as Type combs his hair back, scratching his scalp, pulling at his roots over and over again without mercy. Tharn tries to focus on the adorable scowl of concentration on Type’s face to distract himself from the pain. After what seems like hours of torture, Type finally pulls the comb away from Tharn’s assaulted scalp and gauges his handiwork.
“I think this is as close as I can get,” Type says.
“Okay, let me go take a look,” Tharn says as he pushes himself off the floor to walk to the bathroom and look at himself in the tiny mirror. He’s taken aback at how well Type has done his hair.
“Wow, Type. If Sports Science doesn’t work out, I guess you have an alternate career path already set for you. You know, as long as your customers have no feeling in their scalp,” he says, laughing at Type, eyes still glistening with the tears of pain.
“Shut up. Put the coat on,” Type retorts. Tharn does as he is told and ties up the belt of the coat around his waist.
“So, how do I look?” Tharn asks. Type narrows his eyes at him in the coat that is too big for Tharn’s frame and contemplates for a few seconds.
“Like an office worker. Just one who is washed up, homeless and who lost his job a few months ago. Probably due to alcoholism. And also a bit like, if I meet you at a dark alley, you might flash me,” Type says laughing.
“Oh, that’s why that lady was giving me that look when I kept asking her to get me a bigger size!” Tharn says, as he hurriedly unties the belt.
“Okay, what about now?’ He asks again.
“It’s fine. It’s fine. You’ll pass. At least your hair looks good, though,” Type adds with a wide grin.
“But my scalp clearly doesn’t,” Tharn says. As he’s about to walk out the door, he realises how he’s dressed at the moment and really doesn’t want to be seen like this, so the best strategy he comes up with is to wear his sunglasses as he walks out. Type looks at him putting the sunglasses on with confusion.
“It’s night time, Tharn,” he says.
“Look at me. I look like this,” Tharn replies as he pulls up the collar of his coat to obscure his face even more. Type just nods and follows him out into the hallway, keeping some distance between them because he really doesn’t want people to think he’s associated with him in any way for the sake of anonymity and also because he looks like THAT.
They make it out of the dorm building without running into anyone but just as they thought they got away with it, two guys suddenly appear from around the corner, scrutinising Tharn. As Tharn passes underneath the streetlight, one of them suddenly calls out to him.
“Oi, Tharn! Is that you?” He asks. Tharn keeps his face forward and suddenly starts power-walking towards the gate. Type follows him from a safe distance, biting his wrist trying to stifle his laughter.
On exiting the campus, Type quickens his pace to fall into step with Tharn and looks at him trying to hold back his laughter.
“Don’t,” warns Tharn as he walks with determination. And that does it, Type bursts out laughing and Tharn can’t help but follow in his laughter.
“We’re going on an adventure!” Exclaims Tharn as they make their way to the store.
“Then, I’m Samwise because I get shit done,” replies Type without missing a beat.
“Excuse me! How? I’m the one doing all the lying and heavy lifting. You’re more like…. Gandalf. You send me on a quest and then disappear for most of it,” Tharn quips.
“Oh, on second thought, I don’t mind that at all. I’ve always wondered how I would look with a beautiful beard, holding a majestic staff in my hand,” Type says, squinting into the distance.
That puts an image in Tharn’s head that is completely different to what Type is imagining. He stuttered as his mind conjured up an image of Type with a beautiful girl in one arm; and a giant dick in the other hand. That image makes him guffaw at the absurdity of his mind.
They turn the corner and spot the liquor store and Tharn turns around, taking off his glasses and handing them to Type.
“So, we can do this, right?” He asks Type, straightening his collar.
“Yes, Tharn. We’ve had quite the journey getting to this point. This is the last leg. Don’t stumble,” Type says as he sees Tharn’s eyes suddenly water.
“Was my pep talk that touching?” Type asks.
“No, it’s not that. My scalp is still stinging from when you assaulted it with the comb,” Tharn says as he fans his eyes dry.
“No, don’t do that! We can use this. It makes you look more sad. Like, you’re really down in the dumps about you being fired. It gives weight to the backstory of the character we have created tonight. Our beautiful mess,” Type says as he mock-wipes a fake tear.
“So, what do you want to call our beautiful disaster of a creation?” Tharn asks.
“Jerry. He’s Jerry,” Type replies in a beat. Tharn bursts out laughing.
“Why Jerry?” Tharn asks.
“I don’t know. After everything we’ve gone through to create him, he feels like a Jerry,” Type says with mock-determination.
“Okay, ‘Hi, I’m Jerry. I’m sad. Alcohol, please!’,” Tharn says extending his hand, palm up to Type. Type bursts out laughing, wiping real tears from his face this time around.
“Okay. But, what do I do if he asks me for an ID?” Tharn asks with genuine concern.
“I don’t know, just picture me combing your hair out of its roots again and that will make you automatically tear up, which will make them sympathise with your apparent sad situation, and before you know it, we have BOOZE!” Type exclaims as if it’s fool proof.
“Okay… tear up. Okay. Look sad,” Tharn repeats to himself, nodding his head.
“Here goes nothing,” Tharn says as he walks towards the shop confidently.
At least he thinks he’s walking confidently because what Type sees is him stumbling towards the shop on shaky legs and a hunched back.
‘He really looks like sad Jerry,’ Type thinks as he laughs to himself.
Type watches him walk into the door and moves closer to the shop so he can look inside better.
Tharn is hot.
Tharn is sweating bullets under the very big coat.
Tharn’s knees will not stop shaking.
He walks on unsteady legs to the refrigerator and pulls out two six packs of beer. He walks to the counter trying to channel sad Jerry and thinking about Type dragging that damn comb over his already abused scalp and, sure enough, like his scalp remembers the sting; the tears start pooling in his eyes. He clears his throat to catch the attendant’s attention, who turns to look at him.
“Ca..n,” Tharn begins to say but his voice cracks out of the stress of being caught.
The attendant looks at him with pity in his eyes and asks, “What can I get for you, buddy?”
Realising that the attendant mistook his nervousness for crying, he decided to take advantage of it and continues in his broken voice.
“Can I have two b...bottles of whiskey…” the attendant turns around to grab the bottles of whiskey and as he’s about to turn back, Tharn finishes his sentence with, “ An… and… two bottles of vodka,” as he sighs brokenly.
The attendant whistles as he places the bottles on the table.
“Rough night?” He asks with concern.
“Rough couple of months,” Tharn replies with a sniffle.
“It’s okay man. We all go through it sometime. Life’s a bitch,” he adds.
“Yeah, she is,” Tharn says with a sigh.
“Lady problems?” The attendant asks. Tharn’s mind fumbles at that question and before he can stop himself, his mouth leaves the station without his brain on board and he hears himself saying, “Yes. She left me. We were supposed to be on our honeymoon in Paris.”
‘Tharn, you need to stop,’ he thinks but his mouth seems to have plans of its own.
“She left me for my best-friend. I was so devastated to lose my friend and my fiance in one go that I had a breakdown and got fired,” Tharn says.
‘Tharn, it’s time to stop. If you say anything more, it’s going to be too much,’ he says to himself. But the nervousness of getting caught, mixed with the feeling of confidence at this man eating up his story is making it hard for him to halt his babbling. Before he can add anything more to it, the attendant rings up his order.
“It’s all going to be okay, man. You’ll get through it,” he says with a reassuring smile.
Tharn reaches for his wallet inside one of the big pockets and as he’s about to pull it out, he remembers that it was a gift from his mom and it was blatantly branded so he maneuvers the bills out of the wallet, thanking his stars for the amount of space inside the pocket of this ridiculously overpriced coat. As he moves to pay, the attendant slides two whiskey glasses towards him with two miniatures of a high-end whiskey.
“Here’s something from my side. Always remember that people care about you and that you matter,” he says sincerely.
Tharn feels really bad at this point but he’s gone too far to turn back now so he just thanks him, trying to bring the tears back into his eyes, which do return, not because of the sting anymore, but because of the guilt he is feeling right now. He picks up the packets and walks out of the shop with his head being weighed down by the guilt unwittingly staying in character even after he has exited the shop.
With his head bowed down, he sees a ball that’s shaking next to the door, against the wall and he’s very confused. As his eyes focus, he sees that it’s Type with his hands clamped around his mouth as he breathes heavily to control his laughter. Looking at that sight, Tharn almost starts laughing himself but he realises he’s still in view of the attendant so he quickly turns and walks away in the same direction he came from and as soon as he turns the corner, he hunches over laughing in relief and a little bit of guilt. Type catches up with him and puts his hand on his shoulder.
“So, Jerry, Janice left you? Was it Chad? Chad from accounting?” Type asks as he laughs.
“Shut up, Type. I feel terrible. He gave us free glasses and alcohol,” Tharn says.
“Don’t laugh at his gullibility,” Tharn tries to say with a stern voice which breaks as a giggle escapes him.
“Yeah, he was very gullible. He’s going to be robbed blind one day,” Type says.
“Thank god we have a conscience,” Type adds as he starts putting the bottles into the deep pockets of Tharn’s big coat.
“Type, do you hear the hypocrisy in that sentence?” Tharn asks with a laugh.
“Hey, we paid him. And we will come back after sufficient time has passed and maybe you can tell him about your new girlfriend, Jolene,” Type says as he doubles over laughing. Tharn bends down to laugh too as the bottles in his pocket clink against each other really loudly.
“Oh, we seem to have run into a problem,” Tharn says looking at Type.
“What problem?” Type asks.
Tharn walks a few paces to demonstrate the noise that is emanating from his very big coat and turns around to look at Type.
“I sound like a crystal chandelier in the wind,” Tharn says with a smile.
Type falls to his knees at that, his waist already aching from how much he has laughed today. He looks up at Tharn who is walking back towards him.
“I guess you’ll have to waddle back then,” Type says.
As they approach the campus gate, Tharn’s movement suddenly becomes slower and more deliberate. Type reaches into his pocket, takes out the sunglasses, puts it on Tharn’s face then unfolds the collar of the coat, tucking Tharn’s face in. He gives Tharn’s chest a pat and walks back, pulls out his phone and takes a picture.
“For posterity’s sake,” Type says as he laughs and walks ahead. Tharn pulls a face and follows him.
Type looks back every few steps to make sure Tharn is still behind him. When he turns around, he sees how ridiculous Tharn looks right now, dressed in a big trench coat pulled around his face, wearing sunglasses at night and waddling like a duck taking its first steps. He decides that a picture does not do justice to this beautiful moment unfolding in front of his eyes. He wants to remember this. He wants his children to remember this. He wants his children’s children to remember this. Type begins to quicken his pace, stops at a distance, and turns around to face Tharn again. Tharn looks up at him, trying to figure out why Type suddenly started walking fast when he spots his camera pointed at him. Type motions for him to continue walking towards him.
“I’m going to put you in a lot of pain when I reach there. In 3-4 business days at this pace,” Tharn says loud enough for Type to hear, who is vigorously shaking, trying to keep the camera steady and failing spectacularly.
They finally manage to reach the dorm entrance after what seemed like 10 years. Type puts his head into the entrance to check if anybody is around, relieved to find the lobby empty.
“It’s clear,” Type says.
“I’ll go call the elevator, you follow me,” Type adds. Tharn nods and waddles up the stairs to enter the lobby. They get in the elevator together as Type pushes the button to close the door.
“How heavy is that coat?” Type asks.
“I think you should thank me for buying this overpriced coat because the amount of weight it is holding right now is a testament to its impeccable quality,” Tharn says with a chuckle.
They finally make it to their floor and Tharn realises it’s the first time he’s ever been on this elevator in the 2 months that he’s lived here. As soon as they exit the elevator and walk across the hallway, the door to their room seems to be bathed in heavenly light as the final checkpoint of their adventure. Type runs ahead to unlock the door as Tharn victoriously waddles towards and finally into their room.
Type flops onto his bed and Tharn walks towards the chest of drawers between the beds. He proceeds to pull bottle after bottle out of his coat like a magician while singing the musical intro of The Final Countdown. After he sets down the final bottle, he bows and Type stands on his bed and gives him a standing ovation.
“High five of the highest order,” Tharn says in his best British accent while extending his palm up at Type.
Type moves forward and slaps Tharns palm with his own in the most satisfying high fives that he has ever shared with another human being on this planet.