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Tine should be happy for his boyfriend. Getting to compete in a nationwide music competition is a big deal and can open so many doors for him in the future. It’s a big accomplishment, and to say Tine is anything less than proud is a complete lie. But feeling happiness is much more difficult than pride when loneliness overwhelms most of his senses.
Being apart has never gotten easier for him. During the days, he can better ignore it. He has studying to do, cheerleaders to train. But coming home to an empty apartment, the smell of Sarawat diminishing the longer he’s gone, makes him feel as though he’s been sharply slapped across the face, all of the sadness he’d left at the door earlier that morning rippling back into him.
He cuddles his miniature Sarawat doll, burrowing into his pillow in the hope that he can soak up a bit of the man he loves the most, but it’s futile. After experiencing the real thing, small traces of Sarawat just aren’t enough for him.
Hearing his phone ring, he rolls over to unplug it from his charger and check the contact name. He guesses that it’s his brother checking in on him or Ohm attempting to lift his spirits with the promise of bottomless alcohol. But to his surprise, the picture of the person he’s so badly missing lights up across his screen, and he scrambles to hit the answer button.
“Hello?” he says as he brings the phone to his ear. “I thought you were supposed to be competing tonight?”
Sarawat’s voice rushes into his ear, and he sinks into that feeling, letting it wrap around him like the tight hug that he so desperately craves. “We are, but we’re pretty far down in the lineup for the first round. We’ve got some time before our set.”
“I’m sorry I can’t be there.” He has yet to miss one of his performances, as his boyfriend at least, and it doesn’t feel right that the first one he has to is such an important one. He should be there, front and center, cheering him and the rest of the band on. “But I know you’ll do great.”
“There’s a lot of good groups here,” Sarawat says. It’s subtle, but just beyond the surface of his words, Tine can hear the slightest of nerves in his voice. It’s difficult to pick up on, but for over a year, he’s become an expert in all things Sarawat Guntithanon.
Commenting on it will only lead Sarawat into a spiral of fierce denial, pushing him further over the edge. Distraction will take his mind away from his anxiety, and Tine is more than willing to oblige.
“You know the reason why Scrubb is my favorite band, right? Their songs make me feel more than I feel without them.” A faint hum drifts through the phone, urging him to continue. “No other musician has ever made me feel the way that Scrubb makes me feel. Until I heard you perform. Even when you’re on stage in front of a whole crowd, the way you sing makes me feel like you’re playing just for me. Like you know every one of my feelings and put them into your songs.”
There’s silence on the other end of the line before a breathy laugh falls through the speaker. “I’m always playing for you, no matter who else is around to hear me.” It’s the typical, cheesy line he’s used to hearing from Sarawat. It’s enough for him to know he’s feeling better, and for that, he’s relieved. “Even tonight, I’ll be playing for you.”
“And I’ll still feel it,” Tine assures, wide smile spreading across his cheeks as he brings the Sarawat doll to his mouth to speak into its felt hair. “That’s how good of a musician you are.”
“Careful, you’re starting to sound like me,” he teases.
“Oh, please. No one could ever be as obnoxious as you.”
They both laugh – because they know it’s true – and Sarawat says, “We’ve got to warm up, but I’ll call after the performance.”
“Good. I want to hear all about it,” he says, before adding, “Good luck. You’ll be amazing as always.”
“Thank you, little buffalo. I love you.”
His heart squeezes a bit too hard, nearly knocking the air out of him. After missing him all day, hearing those three little words are simple but effective. They make him yearn for him even more, but he doesn’t tell him so. He instead returns the sentiment with, “I love you too,” before they hang up and part once more.
Back to the silence of the bedroom, he flops onto his back with a sigh, staring up at the ceiling. A few more days, and Sarawat will be back where he belongs. It feels soon and far away at the same time.
Somewhere between crawling under the covers and skimming over his unread emails, an Instagram notification pops up at the top of his screen. Opening it, he’s surprised to find a selfie of Sarawat staring back at him. He rarely takes photos of himself, even more rarely posts them to his public profile.
In this one, he’s smiling without his teeth, his hair styled for the stage. He’s as unfairly handsome as ever, and Tine wishes so badly to reach through the screen and kiss that smile until it grows wide enough to show his teeth. Beneath the photo, likes and comments are already accumulating. What catches his eye, however, is the caption Sarawat’s chosen: I’m wearing the smile you gave me.
How right they’d both been to think that no one would ever be able to be as stupidly romantic – mush, gush, and all of that – as Sarawat. He double taps the picture, and the heart turns the same shade of red as he’s sure his cheeks are. The next few days cannot pass fast enough, but when they finally do, he’ll be eager to see that smile in person.