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In Saifah’s first year of middle school, he’d hit his first of many growth spurts. He’d long since grown accustomed to the nicknames, the intrigued looks from the aunties and uncles and the longing, sometimes jealous, looks from his classmates. It had never really bothered him (even when strangers on the street asked him where his family was from, it didn’t bother him, really). His friends were by no means leagues shorter than him, and his father was near his height, so Saifah was in good company. There are far more benefits to height than disadvantages, anyway -- like reaching the tops of shelves, or changing a lightbulb without a ladder, or saving a kitten from a tree (the last one hasn’t happened yet, but Saifah is prepared in any case).
Most importantly, Saifah likes being tall and he’s proud of it. It had never been a problem until he came along.
Zon is, in his weakest moments, everything Saifah is not; he is panicked, angry, and just confusing . Logic flies out the window when Zon gets it into his head that anxiety better serves the situation, and unfortunately for everyone who may be involved, Zon often leaves that window wide open. On the day he first met Zon, a mere month into Zon’s first year of university and his second, he’d discovered Tutor and Zon in a friendly argument. Zon had been flailing about and flapping his arms, utter exasperation drenching his scrunched face, but Tutor didn’t seem all too concerned. When he got closer to the two, Saifah’s wayward mind began to think that this new boy’s face was a bit too cute to be shriveled like he had been doused with icy water.
Zon had seemed larger than himself, in both his rapid, exaggerated movements and his wildly expressive face. So, when Saifah strode closer to him, he was shocked to see that Zon was just rather… short. Well, compared to him at least. Saifah had been around short girls, younger students, and his little cousins, but he was sure Zon was the first person to ever surprise him and make him aware of their differences in height. If he sidled closer to the boy to measure him in relation to himself, then no one had to be the wiser -- least of all Zon, who was so wrapped up in explaining the world of his new sci-fi novel that he hardly noticed Saifah had approached.
Tutor shot Saifah an amused glance, and as if daring him to watch, asked their poor nong, “Zon, how will you account for gravity?” Zon paused and blinked, then suddenly launched himself into a new tirade, fists clenched and cheeks aflame.
Oh, Saifah thought, a slow smirk growing on his lips, I need him in my life.
All one-hundred and seventy-four centimeters of him.
Months later, when the dust had settled and, too, when Zon had settled himself snugly into Saifah’s life, Saifah began to note a few things.
For one, Zon feels suffocated under covers and blankets, but is just fine with Saifah’s arms around him when he sleeps.
Two, they both still enjoy playing the guitar together.
And three, when Zon is barefoot and Saifah is dressed, he reaches Saifah’s shoulder just so. Saifah isn’t too proud to admit that it sends a thrill through his heart. He can’t help it; Zon is so numbingly adorable after his morning showers, so soft and sweet and flushed. For not the first time, Saifah contemplates skipping his engineering class just to spend an extra hour cooing over his boyfriend.
Zon grins, shaking his wet hair out with his hands. “You’re late for class, Mr. Saifah,” he says, flicking water toward him.
Saifah steps closer, uncaring of his shoes treading on the clean floor. “How could I concentrate in class when you look so irresistible? You told me I was the only one you’d give into, Mr. Zon.”
As always, Zon’s brain takes a moment to understand. When he does, he reacts just as Saifah hoped he would: eyes comically wide, mouth bubbling like a fish, and neck blooming as pink as his lips. “Shut up, Sai,” he shouts, pushing him toward the door. “Go away!”
Saifah giggles, letting Zon manhandle him until he stops in the doorway. “You know this is my room, right?”
“As if! This is my room!” Zon shouts. “I’ve lived here longer than anyone !”
He’s still pushing Saifah insistently, but Saifah’s hold on the doorframe is stronger. “My backpack,” he calls. “I can’t learn without my backpack!”
Zon’s hands leave his back, and Saifah turns just in time for the backpack to hit his chest. He groans, rubbing at his stomach and pouting at Zon. Zon at least has the decency to look a touch guilty, but he still huffs and stares Saifah down.
Saifah loves this. Everything is a challenge to Zon.
He slings his backpack over his shoulder and leans against the doorway. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, a snicker on his lips. “I know you shorties need to overcompensate somehow.”
“I’m not short,” Zon says, jabbing his pointer finger into his boyfriend’s chest. Saifah leans forward so he’s closer to Zon’s eyes, and says,
“You’re just tall.”
“-- you’re just tall,” Zon finishes. Saifah’s heard it a million times now. He grins and drops a light kiss to Zon’s forehead. Zon fidgets a bit but Saifah knows he’s pleased. His dimples leave nothing to the imagination.
“I’ll see you at the canteen today?” Zon asks, almost shy. “For lunch?”
Zon and his mood disorder, Saifah thinks. He nods, grinning. “Of course. You don’t even have to ask.”
Zon smiles, a quiet little thing, before he reaches up on his toes to plant a kiss on Saifah’s cheek. It takes all of Saifah’s willpower not to ask for more. “I love you,” he sings, taking a step into the hallway.
“I love you, too,” Zon sings back. Then, taking advantage of Saifah’s lingering gaze, sticks his tongue out and lightly slaps his own butt. He snickers and shuts the door firmly in Saifah’s face; his laughter carries through the wall and he sounds all too smug. Saifah turns and leaves, shaking his head fondly. He’s hopeful everyday in their future will begin like this.
Zon only has two classes today, and both are held in the afternoon. He has a free morning that Saifah would rather spend together than apart, but lunch will have to do. He’s truthfully thankful for any time he can spend with his Zon. The morning passes as easily as the sun each morning, with little to do in class but scribble in the margins of his notebook, and soon his class is dismissed. His classmates roll and shake their shoulders, groaning in exhaustion, but Saifah has never felt more giddy. After too much time apart, he and his Zon will be reunited once again. It’s been ages.
While their relationship is by no means a secret, not many of his classmates know; Saifah is content to remain as aloof as he was in the past. He knows where his real friendships and relationships lie and it’s certainly not in classroom B1 of the engineering building. There’s a reason, after all, why his trio of friends remained just a trio for so long. Day is a playboy, Tutor is a scholar, and Saifah is unapproachable. For as long as Saifah could remember, this had rung true. Yet, somewhere along the way, Zon opened Saifah up to his true self.
Zon changed a lot in Saifah’s life. All was for the better.
By the time he arrives at the CommArts canteen, Zon is already in line with his friend, Zen. He does little to hide his exaggerated yawns, as if he woken just moments ago instead of three hours. Saifah drops his bag and books off at his usual table, ignoring Tutor and Day’s greetings, and rushes to where Zon is precariously juggling both his lunch and Saifah’s. “Let me, my Zon,” Saifah says, swooping in and taking his plate from Zon’s hands. He grabs Zon’s backpack, too, for good measure (a feat that is a bit more difficult, as Zon ties his backpack tight to his body, just one buckle short of a parachute). Zen shoots him one of his usual deapans, but doesn’t say anything.
“Hey, Sai,” Zon says, immediately attaching himself to Saifah’s free arm, smiling his cute, little box smile up at him. Zen excuses himself with one last look toward the couple and moves to sit next to Day and Tutor, where Hwahwa has since joined them.
“Did you have a good morning without me, Zon?” Saifah asks. Zon pouts.
“Of course I did,” he says, eyes twinkling despite his jutted lip. “I cherish all time spent away from you, you needy buffalo.”
Saifah shakes his hand and motions for Zon to follow him back to their table. Zon loosens his grip on Saifah’s arm, but only just; although he had been wary of public displays of affection in the past, he doesn’t pay much attention to the onlookers now. Most days, his peers don’t fuss over the two. Girls will coo and snap pictures and remember the music show and, rarely, a boy or two will look on with ill-shrouded jealousy, but beyond that… it’s just normal. As it should be.
(After all, P’Tharn and P’Type are quite popular on campus already, and Tee and Fuse are in the running for cutest couple. Saifah may have secretly entered himself and Zon into the competition as well, but Zon is still blissfully unaware.)
Before Saifah can take another step, an unfamiliar boy steps in front of them. The boy’s gaze is trained on Zon, who shifts uncomfortably and looks away. He’s tall, but less than Saifah by at least nine centimeters, lanky but confident, with dark eyes and even darker bags underneath. He carries himself with a sort of sour air, and whether it’s by his appearance or the way Saifah can feel Zon’s energy drain just at the sight of him, Saifah knows this boy is looking for trouble.
“Good afternoon, Ai’Tia,” the boy says. Zon bristles but nods back at him. He drops Saifah’s arm from his grasp and wai’s, albeit reluctantly.
“Hello, P’Tanet,” he says timidly, so unlike himself that it startles Saifah out of his confused stupor. “Um, Saifah, this is P’Tanet. He’s the student assistant for one of my classes.”
“How’s it going?” Tanet asks Saifah, but his eyes are still focused on poor Zon. “Professor Auntie asked me to give you this,” he says, passing a small envelope to Zon.
“Oh,” Zon says, taking the note cautiously. Saifah doesn’t miss the way his fingers dance nervously across the worn paper. “What is this?”
“How should I know, shorty?” Tanet says, snickering from the side of his mouth. He looks like a damn horse, Saifah thinks. “Must be about your shit grades. Still can’t get that pea brain to work?”
“Hey,” Saifah cuts in, taking a step forward and squaring up on Tanet. “Watch your mouth. What are you trying to do here, huh?”
Tanet moves back and rolls his eyes. He crosses his arms across his chest, pointing an accusing finger at Zon. “I’m not trying to do anything,” he says. “I’m helping Zon by delivering him a letter, and this is the thanks I get?”
Zon cuts in, stepping in front of Zon to frantically wai Tanet. “Thank you, P’. I appreciate it. We’ll, uh, just be on our way. Thank you again, P’.”
He jostles Saifah from his glare and pulls him away from Tanet, but Saifah is unwilling to move; he wants to smash this boy’s face in for speaking to his Zon so poorly, for holding a position of authority and abusing it, and for stealing Zon’s smile only to replace it with dread and worry. Saifah has spent the past few months building Zon’s confidence in himself and his ability as a performer, a writer, a student… the very idea that someone else has been working to do the opposite right under Saifah’s nose has his blood boiling.
But Zon is still pulling on his forearm, and he’s becoming more desperate by the second, so Saifah relinquishes his scowl and lets himself be dragged off toward their friends. Tanet tuts and stalks away, but not without gathering himself to his full height and sneering at those who look at him oddly.
Tutor sends Saifah an inquisitive look, but Saifah shoos him away with a shake of his head, and before Zon can take him another step further, Saifah redirects them to hide behind a wall a few paces away. Saifah has a million questions on his tongue: who is P’Tanet? Why was he looking at Zon that way? Is he bullying Zon? Why did Zon freeze so suddenly? But Saifah can’t focus enough on his thoughts right now, not when Zon is edging himself closer and closer to the far corner of the wall, and Saifah knows his escape tactics by heart now, so he gently takes hold of Zon’s shoulder. Zon is looking up at him with wide, doe eyes, his thick eyebrows pulled together in distress, and there is a high flush on his cheeks that Saifah only wants to see when it’s because of him , not some bully kid with something to prove. He has so much to say, but he just settles on, “Are you okay, Zon?”
Zon brushes him off with a nervous chuckle. “Of course,” he says. He holds up the note with fidgeting fingers. “I just hope my parents don’t kill me when they see this.”
Saifah frowns down at him. “You don’t even know what’s in the note. Do you want to open it now?” He knows Zon’s track record with school isn’t superb per se, but with Saifah and Tutor’s extra help, he’s come to enjoy his classes -- that’s why Saifah can’t understand just why his professor would send him a disciplinary note.
Zon looks like he’d rather swallow a thousand slugs than open the letter. He thrusts it at Saifah’s chest, closes his eyes and looks away. “You do it for me.”
Saifah carefully takes the letter from his hand and opens it. Zon can’t help but sneak a few peeks, especially when Saifah grows quiet as he reads. His eyebrows raise in wonder and Zon sighs, immediately defeated. He kicks at the dirt with his shoes like a dejected, small child. “It’s bad, isn’t it? P’Tanet was right. I’m just a short, stupid idiot. There’s no helping it.”
He wants to continue, but Saifah cuts him off quickly before he can spiral. “Read it aloud for me, Zon.”
When he’s finished reading -- twice, Saifah thinks -- he looks up at his boyfriend with the same look of wonder Saifah had before. “She wants to congratulate me on my recent academic success?”
Their food, which they had neglected long ago on the bench beside them, grows ever colder as Saifah shows no signs of ending his embrace with Zon, crooning in his ear about how proud he is, how happy Zon’s made him, and how Zon is so smart, smarter than his other classmates, and definitely smarter than P’Tanet. When he finally pulls away from Zon’s warm hug, Zon still can’t meet his eyes. Saifah tugs teasingly on the end of Zon’s tie, a bit wrinkled now from their tight grasp, until Zon looks up. Worry lines still crease his pretty face and he’s squirming in place, his wide eyes darting to and fro. “My Zon,” Saifah starts, trailing off. He’s a bit unsure of where Zon’s mind is. Despite knowing Zon for a year and loving him for almost as long, his Zon is still perfectly himself: sometimes hard to read and often easy to misunderstand. Saifah wouldn’t have him any other way. “Is there something else you’re thinking about?”
He knows this question is usually a good start to unravelling the web of troubles in Zon’s mind.
“I’m thinking about what P’Tanet said,” Zon says softly. Saifah is surprised for a moment by Zon’s quiet obedience. He forgets sometimes that while he’s working hard to understand his boyfriend, Zon is trying just as hard to meet him halfway. “Sai, I’m not short, am I?”
Saifah is stunned.
So stunned, in fact, that he can’t help the incredulous chuckle that escapes him. “Zon, you’re not short.”
“Shorter than you,” Zon says.
“But taller than the girls,” Saifah points out, but it feels like he’s talking to a wall. Zon stares resolutely at the ground beneath him, so indignant and sore, that Saifah sees in Zon a person he hasn’t met for some time: the melancholic, dispirited junior who was too frightened to even shop alone.
His heart cracks.
“My baby.” Saifah pulls Zon into a hug, and to his surprise, Zon doesn’t resist. He relaxes in Saifah’s hold and takes a deep breath. He can feel from the tremors of Zon’s shoulders that he’s holding back tears, but his precious Zon, so brave, so resolute, needs to feel strong even in his most vulnerable moments. “You are perfect to me. I don’t care what anyone else says. You are my Zon.”
“I like…” Zon starts. He bites back a watery breath. “I like when you sit down and I can look into your eyes.”
“Oh,” Saifah says, rather stupidly -- okay , he can admit it. In the months they’ve dated, Saifah’s kept his enthusiasm for their height difference a secret, only quietly thrilling in tippy-toe kisses, oversized clothing, and tall shelves. Zon is not as open with his sentiments as Saifah is, so he had absolutely no idea that perhaps their preferences aligned. Were it not for the tender boy in his arms, Saifah might’ve jumped for joy.
“And I like when you wrap around me at night, because it makes me feel safe and warm.” Zon’s voice is muffled against the fabric of his engineering shirt, but he doesn’t relent. “I like when you pick me up. I even like when you tease me about being a shortie.”
Zon pulls away to look up at him. His eyes are pink around the edges but he seems more sure of himself. He sniffles. “I like that you’re tall and I’m short. Kind of. Just shorter than you.”
Saifah smiles and pinches Zon’s cheek between his fingers. “I like it, too.”
“But,” Zon says, “I don’t like when other people think I’m short. Especially P’Tanet.”
Saifah moves his hand from Zon’s cheek to his shoulder and looks deep into his eyes, pleading with Zon to hear him clearly. “I don’t know much about Tanet, but he’s a damn jerk. There’s no reason for your senior to act like that.”
Zon’s sad eyes sparkle for a moment. “You acted like that with me, y’know, in the beginning.”
Saifah snorts. “Yeah, and I’m a damn jerk, too.”
“You were ,” Zon mutters beneath his breath. He sighs and tugs on the lobe of his ear, a harmless habit he’d picked up to combat his anxiety after Saifah reprimanded him for always running away when his nerves took over. Saifah praises him by smoothing his hair down and Zon looks off bashfully, pink now dusting his high cheekbones. “Maybe I’m lacking in height but I’m not stupid,” he says after a moment’s silence.
Somewhere along the way, the note from Zon’s professor had fallen to the ground. Saifah stoops down to pick it up. “This letter speaks for itself, my Zon,” he says, placing it gently back into Zon’s hands. He closes Zon’s fingers around the paper and smiles kindly, the smile he saves especially for his boyfriend. “You’re not stupid and you never were. Don’t let an asshole like Tanet make you doubt yourself, because I won’t stand for it.”
Saifah clasps his hands over Zon’s, crumpling the note between them. He needs to be as close to Zon as possible, as always, as he hopes to be for the rest of their forever. “Be as proud of yourself as I am of you, because I’d love you just the same if you were taller than me or if you failed a class. Remember that I will always be here for you and to protect you.”
The leaves rustle overhead and the sun shines through to waft warmly over Zon’s face. Saifah’s gaze catches on a stray lock of Zon’s hair, usually combed so neatly atop his head, now curling across his forehead like the root of a flower. His cheeks are still a dusty red, and his lips nearly the same. His tan skin revels in the balm of the sun’s rays, but it’s his eyes that transfix Saifah in the moment. He’s staring up at him in ill-concealed wonder, the same look he gives Saifah when he wakes late on a weekend to find Saifah already awake, sitting at their desk and strumming his guitar as softly as the birds sing outside.
Zon looks radiant.
“You’ve… never been so serious before,” Zon whispers, voice as light as the air around them. Saifah smiles and looks away, a bit of red blotching his own cheeks now.
“I guess you bring it out of me,” he says. The stress and nerves seem to have all but disappeared from Zon’s mind, replaced with a soft incredulity, so Saifah clears his throat and bends to pick up their food. “Do you want to sit with our friends or by ourselves today?”
Zon shakes his head and tucks the note into his pants pocket for safe-keeping. Just as Saifah takes a step away, Zon reaches out to gently grab Saifah’s sleeve, stopping him in his tracks. Saifah looks back at him in concern.
“Thank you,” Zon says quietly. “I love you, Mr. Saifah.”
If Saifah had a free hand, he’d kiss his Zon senseless.
“Let’s eat together!” Zon sends him a lingering grin before dashing off in the direction of the canteen, to a little corner against the wall of the Comm Arts building. By the time Saifah arrives, Zon is fidgeting in his seat and complaining of his rumbling stomach. Saifah sets their food down and shrugs Zon’s backpack to rest at his feet. He slides onto the bench next to Zon and slings his arm over Zon’s shoulder, pulling him in close. Zon stifles a smile.
Yeah, Saifah thinks, being tall is great .