Archive of Our Own

Just before three in the morning, Wan asks, “What time are you guys leaving?” over his headset. His character is lagging behind Team’s, weighted down by the treasure he’s unwisely chosen to horde.

Team says, “Seven-ish,” and then, “Do you have any ore left?“

“No,” Wan says in that voice that says he does but he doesn’t want to share any. Then, before Team can call him out on it, Wan adds, “You should go to sleep. You’re going to be wrecked and then Win will spend the whole trip worrying about you.”

Team exhales through his nose and says, “He’ll have to deal,” with a little acid.

Wan is quiet.

The path their characters need to walk to get to the next section of the map begins to narrow. It leads them along a sheer cliff’s edge, and their characters have to inch along a rock face sideways while the wind makes them wobble.

“You don’t need the gold bars,” Team says. “We can get more at the next mine.”

“Of course you’d say that,” Wan says. “You don’t need gold. You upgraded all your weapons to the top while I was working all week.”

Wan’s voice is mild, which makes the sting at the end cut all the deeper.

Too late, Team realizes the treasure item he chose to mention and cringes in advance.

Sure enough—

“And leave my gold alone,” Wan says cheerfully. “You’ve got enough of my brother’s already.”

There it is.

Team’s thumb jams the arrow key too hard and his character’s foot slips off the edge. It’s not enough momentum to make him fall and die, but it is enough to rattle his concentration.

“Hia Wan, stop,” he says.

Then the light switches on, and Team’s character does fall.

“No!”

Forty-five minutes of progress flash through Team’s mind, most of it tedious obnoxious work more than fun. Tearing off his headset, Team scowls over his shoulder at Win while Wan howls in exaggerated agony through the earpieces.

Win raises both eyebrows, unimpressed. “I’m getting you an armful of watches for your birthday,” he says. “Did you not notice what time it is?”

The fact that Win could buy that many watches every day for a year and barely see a financial dent only exacerbates the sting Wan just inflicted.

“You said you were going to be done at midnight,” Win reminds him.

He’s never dressed especially well, especially for someone with as much money as he has. Hardly anything he owns is designer, and he barely knows half the brands Team does—and Team cares even less about fashion. He bought the oversized red T-shirt he’s wearing from some dingy tourist shop in London, and he’s cut and stretched out the collar so it hangs from more than sits on his shoulders. Worse, there’s some stupid English pun on it that Team doesn’t understand. And his black warmup pants are the same pair he’s been wearing since university, worn soft and thin over the years.

Wan’s jokes about gold-digging have always been stupid; no one would look at the way Win dresses and assume he has access to a ludicrous amount of money. Team fell in love with Win, not his wealth.

But Wan keeps it up, like it’s some in-joke between them. Like hiding Team’s true motivations from his younger brother is a favor to Team.

“We have to be up in three hours,” Win continues. He leans his shoulder on the doorframe, his posture exuding annoyance. “Now we’re both going to be exhausted.”

Team counters, “You could have just gone to sleep,” and then, “Have you been waiting for me this whole time?”

Win sets his jaw as if Team struck him.

And yes, it was mean. Sure, fine. But it’s three in the morning. If Win didn’t want to fight, he would have left Team alone. He knows Team hates being patronized, and he did it anyway. He has to control everything? Team’s not going to make it easy for him. If Team wants to play video games all night, who’s Win to parent him?

A few more seconds pass, then Win nods. “Fine,” he says coolly. “Do what you want.” He leaves the light on and the doorway empty.

He did that on purpose, Team is sure. It’s just another tactic: if Win leaves before the argument is over—as if he’s above it, as if Team’s just being childish—he’s the better person. It’s just another way to patronize Team and sweep the legs out from under him when Win’s the one losing.

Remembering Wan, Team puts his headset back on and asks, “How much of that did you hear?”

Quietly, Wan says, “Go to sleep, Team,” and disconnects.

•

Two cars arrive outside the house at six on the dot. Team didn’t sleep even after he finally crawled into bed, and he doubts Win did either. They put their bags in the back of Dean’s car, but as Win puts a foot into the backseat, Team says, “I’m gonna go catch up with Manaow and P’Pruk,” and pretends he doesn’t notice when Win frowns.

The instant he closes the back door behind him, Manaow turns in her seat and asks, “Are you two fighting?” in a low, conspiratorial voice.

“Manaow, sweetheart,” Pruk says, making meaningful eyes at her. “It’s early.”

She waves a hand at his face without looking.

“It’s none of your business,” Team tells her. “Good morning, P’Pruk,” he adds, putting his hands together respectfully. He meets Pruk’s eyes in the rearview mirror and suppresses a yawn.

He naps shallowly for most of the drive, the overcast sky lending the perfect atmosphere for his dour mood. Pruk and Manaow talk in the front seat, occasionally punctuated by Manaow’s bright laugh that she quickly cuts off—presumably so she doesn’t disturb Team’s rest.

Eventually, Team sits up and unlocks his phone. Win hasn’t written to him, but Pharm has.

’Morning! I made some breakfast snacks for the drive, but you can have them when we get there. I’ll save you some.’

The unspoken, Why aren’t you driving with us? evokes an oozing sort of guilt in Team’s gut. Of course Pharm made them food. Now Team’s annoyed and guilty and hungry.

A crackling noise brings his attention up, and Manaow extends the yellow chip bag farther into the backseat with a playful smile. “I know you don’t eat these much anymore, but….”

Team takes the bag with a small smile. “Thanks.”

She ruffles his hair affectionately like he’s the family Labrador, then says to Pruk, “He’s awake—can I turn on music now?”

“Go ahead,” Pruk says, fond.

Team rolls his eyes. He sends a quick, ’Thanks,’ to Pharm and then opens his mail app. Waiting at the top is a message from Coach Bank timestamped an hour ago. He sees the words “financial assistance” in the preview text and closes the app.

Manaow is singing and dancing in the front seat, her arms swaying over her head while Pruk gamely bobs his chin.

Team opens a mobile game he plays with Mew sometimes, but of course Mew’s not on this early. In an effort to busy his mind with something pointless, Team wanders around the dystopian landscape of the game, indiscriminately murdering zombies as the actual countryside grows greener and wilder outside the car window.

•

The trip is mainly for Pruk’s benefit. As the first of them to graduate from university and enter the working world, he’s been the one who missed their friend group the most. Probably next in line is Win, just by virtue of him spending two years abroad and only seeing them through social media posts and the occasional meet-up individually on his breaks. He’s only been back for a few months, and this is the first time the six of them have been able to meet up.

This occurs to Team only as Pruk pulls his car into a rough-hewn parking spot in the gravel beside Dean’s, and Team sees Win smiling as he unlocks the front door to one of the three cabins they’ve rented for the weekend. Once out of the car, Pruk launches his arms over his head with a long, satisfied stretch, and Manaow sighs, “Ahhh, it’s so much cooler up here! When can we go to the lake?”

Team watches Dean grab Pharm’s suitcase and his own out of the back of his car before Pharm can reach either one. Pharm gives his fiancé an expansive eye-roll as Dean winks and heads for their cabin. Team takes the opportunity to approach Pharm, a little sheepish now that he’s had time to wake up and calm down.

Pharm gives him an arched eyebrow and a smile. “Good afternoon,” he says. “P’Win wouldn’t say what’s going on with you two.”

“Nothing’s going on,” Team lies. He takes Pharm’s chin between his fingers and tips his head up. “Are you mad I spent the drive with Manaow instead of you?” he croons.

“He was moody and boring the whole way!” Manaow shouts from the porch of Pruk’s and her cabin. “You get him on the drive back!“

Team flips her off.

Pharm leans his head to the side, frees his chin from Team’s grasp, and hands him a reusable container from where he’s been holding it behind his back. “I think we’ll be eating lunch soon,” he says, “but you’re probably hungry enough for two meals by now.”

Team doesn’t even know what’s in it, but he folds Pharm into a tight hug and tells him sincerely, “I love you, Pharm.”

The uncomplicated bond between a man and his friend who loves to cook is one unsung but profoundly important.

When they separate, Pharm pats his shoulder and jogs over to the cabin he’ll be sharing with Dean. Win seems to have brought both his and Team’s bags into their cabin already, so Team takes a bracing breath and makes the long trudge up the short path.

It’s small in the cabin, just the one room, but it’s tastefully furnished the way all properties owned by Win’s family are. Win’s unpacking his suitcase on the bed already, Team’s lonely by the front door, and he doesn’t look up from it even when Team sits on the mattress and looks up at him dolefully.

Earlier, under the early morning cloud cover, Win just looked pale. Now, with golden sunlight streaming in through the window, it’s like he smudged ash under his eyes. Because ever since he got back from England, Win hasn’t been able to sleep without Team next to him. It’s a psychological thing, maybe, or something his jet lag kicked off and he hasn’t been able to shake. Whatever it is, Team doesn’t understand it, and after living with sleep deprivation for years, he wouldn’t wish it on anyone.

…Especially Win.

“I’m sorry,” Team says. Letting Win wait up for him last night so he could play games with Wan was mean, and taking a cheap shot at him for daring to complain about it later was even meaner.

Win glances at him, blank, then drops a shirt on top of the stack on the bed.

Team flops onto his back and paws at Win’s hip. “I’m said I’m sorry, hia. I was just tired and grumpy.” He doesn’t clarify whether he means last night or this morning, because it was true in both cases. “I’ve just been really stressed out and playing with Hia Wan when he’s free can be relaxing.”

A pair of socks and a bottle of sunblock join the stack, and then Win sighs and says, “It’s fine.”

Normally he’d probably make some wry comment about anyone thinking Wan is a source of relaxation, and the fact that he doesn’t means Team cut him deeper than he realized.

When the suitcase is empty, Win moves it to the floor and sits on the other side of the stack, reaching over it to push his fingers through Team’s hair and scratch his scalp. Team sighs and closes his eyes, relieved.

“Did you sleep on the way here?” Win asks.

Team nods. “Kind of. You?”

Win says, “No. We were talking.”

Of course. Win wouldn’t be rude to Dean and Pharm the way Team was to Manaow and Pruk.

Keeping his eyes closed, Team closes his hand around Win’s wrist and tugs. “Lie down.”

“Can’t,” Win says. “Dean and I are gonna go to the market and stock up. You can come if you want.”

The thought of watching Win pay even more for their trip than he already has just makes Team’s guilt resurface. “I’ll hang out here,” he says. In an effort to be of some kind of help, he says, “I’ll put your stuff away.”

Win leans down and kisses his forehead. “Thanks, baby,” he says, then strokes his thumb over Team’s temple.

After Win leaves, Team opens the email from Coach Bank and skims the financial support options the club can help arrange for him.

Win is more than capable of supporting both of them on the salary his father pays him—not even mentioning his future inheritance. Back when Team visited Win in England—a trip Win paid for—Win told him, “I can help. I want you to succeed, and seeing you doing what you love will be more than enough for me.” They were in Win’s living room looking through real estate listings back in Bangkok, listings whose prices were way beyond Team’s expectations.

The idea of Win also paying for Team’s training and fees on top of the majority of the cost of a house curdled in his gut. So Team replied, “There’re other things I can do to make the money,” and gave a few examples, like government stipends and assistance from the club he planned to join after graduation.

Win kissed the top of his head and said, “I really don’t mind,” in that quiet, rock-steady voice of his. “Why split your focus if you don’t need to? Just concentrate on swimming.”

Thinking on it now, it’s probably not the kind of conversation boyfriends their age have. Looking at real estate, dividing assets—or combining them, in their case, with what little Team has in comparison. But Team has known for a long time now that Win wants to marry him. It’s never been said out loud, but it’s been implicit for a while. There’s no other way Team would have built up the nerve in London to ask, “Where should we live when you come back?” and the way Win lit up and couldn’t summon a single word in reply for a full five seconds kind of confirmed he’d wanted them to live together and just hadn’t asked yet.

Win probably would have asked Team to marry him by now if it were legal. There’s no telling when that day will arrive, but Team also knows he’ll say yes when Win asks.

Or rush to ask Win first.

His commitment to Win has nothing to do with Win’s money. The security of it, the promise of a comfortable life—those are nice things, and it’s a relief to know he’ll have them, yes, but it’s not why. Even if it’s going to look like that to everyone else. His competitors who have to work side gigs before and after practices, his club mates who aren’t dating hotel chain heirs who can afford to completely support them—

Team drops his phone on the bed and picks up the stack of Win’s clothes.

•

The rest of the day is lighter in tone than how it began. They visit the lake as a group after lunch and then cook barbecued pork and beef for dinner on the grill outside Pharm and Dean’s cabin. Team sneaks a few skewers of vegetables and gives one to Win when no one’s looking. As they sit around the fire, the sky rumbles to announce the forecasted thunderstorm, and Manaow says, “Time to go in!” with both hands cupped protectively over her head.

“Coward,” Team tells her.

“Watery makeup is only sexy with good editing, Team!” she shouts over her shoulder.

Pruk follows her, but Pharm and Win still have food to eat, so Team and Dean stay with them.

While Win tells a story from his two years in England—something Team was there to experience—Team lets his mind wander back to the email.

Coach Bank included some examples of how Team can work with the club to earn the money he needs to support his own career. Bullet points of things like “promotional rights” and “digital content/marketing opportunities” and “motivational speaking” made him realize that not only will his time be divided, he’ll be working to swim more than actually swimming.

It’ll be like school again. Except unlike school, where his swimming and his academics were separated and his scholarship was protected as long as he put in the bare minimum effort, his swimming and his career are inextricably linked, and damage to one will directly affect the other.

He refreshes his inbox on his phone and watches as a new email materializes.

It’s from his manager.

‘Sorry to bring you frustrating news, but the client’s double-booked and needs to push back the shooting again to next month. Let us know your availability on the 14th, 15th, or 16th.’

Before Team can stop himself, he pushes out a frustrated breath, interrupting Win’s story.

Pharm asks, “Is everything okay?” while thumbing red sauce from his lip.

Team says, “Yeah, sorry,” and leans sideways to show Win the screen.

It’s the first major sponsorship Team’s landed since graduating, and this is the third time the shooting’s been postponed. He’s on the last financial dregs he received from his last advertisement, and he has no other immediate prospects lined up. He was counting on this one to keep him solvent until his competition next month.

Win skims the message, his expression comically solemn for a guy holding a half-devoured beef skewer between his index fingertips. When he reaches the bottom of the email, he makes a mild noise of sympathy, licks one finger clean, and wraps his arm around Team’s shoulders to give him a gentle hug. “Don’t worry,” he says quietly. “I’ve got you.”

Dean and Pharm are kind enough to talk to each other while embarrassment spreads like grease over Team’s skin. Dean’s working for his father’s company, and Pharm already has investors for his restaurant lined up. Pruk’s long been coaching a kids’ swimming club, so really, only Manaow was struggling like Team until a few of her comedy videos on social media got spiked into the tens of thousands of likes, and now she has makeup companies sending her free samples and courting her to make advertisements for them.

Now it’s just Team trying to find a raft of his own instead of grabbing onto Win’s. In the few months they’ve lived together, Win’s paid on average eighty percent of their living expenses. He works with his family’s accountant, he says, so it’s easiest that way. Team wired him what he could spare, but with every day that passes, it feels incrementally less and less like their home and more and more like an indefinite sleepover at Win’s house.

Win doesn’t move his arm—and, in fact, curls it even more securely around Team’s shoulders. Maybe because Team hasn’t said anything to him in return.

A new conversation begins, and Team wonders if Win’s upset that he didn’t get to finish his story. He doesn’t even remember what it was about, so he can’t prompt Win to finish it.

While Dean’s speaking, Pharm glances at Team to check in with him, but Team just averts his eyes.

The weight of Win’s arm around him is usually a comfort. Now it’s an anchor rapidly turning the already insidious thought of, You need him, spiraling even deeper into, You’re using him.

It’s a thought he’s avoided for years, but it’s always lurked dark and sinister behind his mind, stretched wide like a net ready to ensnare his every thought.

Win’s generosity with Team has always been boundless—his time, his affection, his loyalty, and of course, his money. He stayed up late in London to talk Team through his worries, flew home more than he should have because Team said he needed him, and now he’s paying for Team’s living expenses and housing expenses all so Team can chase an unstable career with no promise of success.

Convenient, someone like him.

No.

Team’s mind, snared in a violently torrential miasma, almost whites out. He stands up without warning, startling Win’s arm off his shoulders, and says, “I need to take a walk.” The space around them is open and manicured with nowhere to hide, so Team quickly heads for the narrow path cut through the forest that leads to the lake.

“Team?” Win calls.

He keeps walking, ignoring Pharm’s worried eyes and Dean’s frown.

He just needs time. His lungs feel tight. The guilt is like oil in his windpipe.

I’m not using him. I love him. I can make this work without him. I don’t need his help.

Team’s almost made it to his escape, almost through the mouth of the trail when he hears Win’s footsteps approaching. Knowing simultaneously that it’s too harsh and that it’s why it’ll be effective, Team turns and yells, “Just leave me alone to think for five minutes!” into Win’s shocked face.

He doesn’t wait for Win to think of a way to respond and runs full-tilt into the forest.

•

The beach at the lakefront is thankfully empty. Team’s eyes have adjusted to the murky dark enough that he can walk without tripping, and he can see faint squares of lights from other cabins across the water, so the storm hasn’t arrived quite yet. He sits on the shore in the sand as lightning cleaves the sky in the distance and throws an instant of flashing white across the great gray canvas.

Team puts his head on his knees.

I’m not using him. I love him. I’m not using him.

The thunder rises in volume as it rolls in closer.

But he’d never ask me to pay more. He’d never tell me it’s a burden on him. He’d never say, so I’ll never know.

Dry-eyed and parched in the throat, Team takes a focused breath and lifts his head.

Dean is next to him.

“Shit!”

Dean watches, nonchalant, as Team lurches backward and lands on his elbows in the sand. “It’s going to rain soon,” Dean says. He picks up an umbrella next to him and waves it. “Ready to head back yet?”

Team glances at the considerably more ominous sky and says, “Yeah, sure.”

Win’s probably not going to be very excited to see him after he yelled at him for no reason. And after what happened last night…and this morning….

But Dean’s already standing up and aiming his phone’s flashlight onto the ground to lead the way back, so Team follows him. As they head for the forest path, their sandals sliding on the soft terrain, Team asks, “Why did you follow me?”

Dean points the tip of the umbrella at the mottled sky without turning around, then adds, “Also, you freaked Win out when you yelled at him. I told him I’d go after you instead since you made it pretty clear you don’t want to see him.”

Team frowns as the first drops land on his hair as they step under the cover of trees. “That’s not…”

What? True?

It is, though.

And yet, at the same time, perversely, Team wishes it had been Win who followed him.

Team missed him every second of every day when Win was gone. No video call was substantial enough, no reunion was long enough. Every parting hug at the airport, whether Bangkok or Heathrow, made his lungs hurt. The few times he cried, Win never said a word about it. He just held on tighter and kissed Team’s ear or Team’s hair and whispered, “Just hang on a little longer,” with, I won’t leave you again, unsaid between them. When Team met him at the airport for Win’s final return home, he actually jumped into Win’s arms.

Rubbing his neck, Team tries to swallow around a bitter lump in his throat. This time last year, he was writing Win postcards as if they were in a whole different time period. Anything to fill the time he spent hating the distance, hating the space next to him at night, hating the artificial tang to Win’s voice on his computer’s speakers.

After only a few steps down the first fork in the path, Team realizes, “Wait, it was the other one.”

Dean stops. “Are you sure?”

Team says, “Yeah, I didn’t see any of this when I got here.”

Also, he tripped on a branch while he was running and he doesn’t see it now, but he doesn’t mention that part.

And what an ideal time for the sky to open up.

With rain pounding through the leaves and the path too narrow for the umbrella to use without catching, they hurry back to the fork, Dean’s flashlight bouncing off the trunks and the wet rocks on the path. They walk a decent way down the other path before Team realizes this is wrong, too.

“I don’t see the branch,” Team says to himself, mostly to fill the tense air.

Dean says, “What branch?”

“Uh, I tripped over one on the way. The other path didn’t have it either.”

Dean stops again and gives him a look of pure exasperation. “It did,” he says. “I moved it.”

Thunder splits the sky directly overhead.

Team lets Dean take the lead back to the fork, but as he’s letting Dean pass him, the wet soil under Team’s feet vanishes in a crumbling soupy mess. Team shouts as he drops with it. The closest thing he can grab on the way down is a wiry tree root jutting out of the ground. Dean’s hand closes tight around his other wrist.

“I’m going to pull you up,” Dean says, “don’t move.”

Team says, “Okay, okay,” and then realizes with horror that his chest is against the steep slope, and only the root and Dean are keeping him from free-falling. “P’Dean, please.”

Dean sets his phone down on the ground with the flashlight piercing the canopy above and grabs hold of the only tree within reach. As he braces his heels in the soil, for one tense second, the rain pounds around them, and Team thinks, Is that the same tree this root is from?

“P’Dean, wait—”

The moment Dean leans back, the tree gives way completely, tearing the ground under its roots and unbalancing Dean. To his credit, his grip on Team only tightens, and as the mudslide begins in earnest, the two of them tumble down with a slurry of wet soil, rocks, and other natural debris.

Panic lights up every nerve in Team’s brain, such that the fall seems to last hours when realistically it was only seconds. By some incredible stroke of luck, when the falling stops and the ground underneath him is level again, Team’s body feels undamaged apart from the general discomfort of falling down a ravine. Sprawled nearby, Dean asks, “Are you okay?” as he pushes himself up to his knees.

Team sits up and looks up at the thick chunk missing from the slope, like the inverse of a waterfall. “Yeah,” he says, “I’m fine.”

The tree they uprooted hangs almost perfectly horizontal on the bases of two other trees above them. The light from Dean’s phone is nowhere to be seen until another swell of rain causes a smaller mudslide and the phone tumbles down from where it’d been submerged in wet soil. Dean reaches out to grab it and spends the next several seconds cleaning it off with the bottom of his dirt-caked shirt.

Team leans on a tree nearby, eyes closed, heart hammering.

It becomes clear that there’s no safe way to ascend the way they fell, and Dean’s phone signal refuses to show them where on the map they are. Team’s phone is back on his chair, so Dean sends Pharm a video of their area, and Pharm quickly writes back to say they’ll call for help. To conserve the 23% of his battery remaining, Dean turns off the flashlight.

Then they find a cleared spot between a mess of trees to sit in while they wait. A sparse few drops make their way down to them, but the leaves overhead provide a decent amount of cover.

Dean is quiet by nature, but Team can’t stand the silence, so he clears his throat and says, “I’m really sorry, P’Dean. I’ve really fucked today up.” He wipes his mud-slathered palms on his shorts and stares at Dean’s sandaled feet. It’s incredible that they stayed on. Team’s have straps at least, but Dean’s seem to have stayed on purely out of a fear of disappointing Dean.

“Since we’ll be here for a while,” Dean says, “why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”

Team wonders wearily if it’s because Dean’s the one asking, or if it’s because he’s just so exhausted and worn down that he’d tell anyone he fell into a ravine with. It’s probably because it’s Dean—he’s mellowed out immensely since he graduated from university and started planning his wedding with Pharm. And he still has that capable aura that made him such a good president of the swim club.

So Team pours out all of it in a disorganized mess, and Dean exerts supernatural patience as he listens and asks questions to piece it all together in a more coherent order. In the middle of it, Pharm writes to say they’re heading out toward the fork in the path with the park rangers.

“It’s not his fault,” Team finishes, “I just don’t know what to do.”

“Have you talked to him about any of this?” Dean asks.

Team thinks about lying to make himself sound better, but he doesn’t want to lie to Dean and risk losing some of his hard-won respect, so he shakes his head.

“You know you have to, right?”

Team rests his forehead on the heels of his palms. “He can’t help,” he says. “It’s my problem.”

“Not if him supporting you is bothering you so much it’s creating a rift in your relationship.” Dean reaches out and swats at Team’s knee. “Money is one of the most common things couples fight over. Get used to talking about it.”

Team makes a low noise of distress. “I know. But it’s so…awkward.” He takes a few steadying breaths, then lifts his head. “What do you and Pharm do?” he asks.

Dean eyes him narrowly. It’s like the look he’d give his juniors when they lied to him about stretching before practice. With the same reluctance he always shows when people ask him personal questions about Pharm, Dean says, “We figured out our own system. We talked it over and met with a financial advisor. Pharm has his own inheritance and his own obligations to his family, so we’re going to sign documentation to protect his assets before we get married, and I’m going to help out with the accounting for the restaurant once it’s up and running. We want everything to be clear going in so there’s no confusion or…feelings of imbalance.”

Team says, “Oh,” and suddenly, a memory rises to the forefront of his mind. Years ago, back in school, Del had been telling them about a celebrity couple going through a messy divorce, and Win made several offhanded comments about the absolute necessity of ironclad prenuptial agreements. He hadn’t even been dating Team yet, so it had zero relevance to them as a couple at the time, but it wedged itself in Team’s memory nonetheless.

He should mention it to Win at some point, so Win knows that Team remembers the things he says.

“Do you know what about Win supporting you bothers you?” Dean asks. “It always seemed like you two were planning on this, so I didn’t realize you’d never talked about it.” He lifts a shoulder. “Though, I guess with Win being the way he is….”

Team nods miserably and pulls his sleeves over his hands. Win’s first impulse is to nurture, and it’s difficult to refuse when it makes him so happy to be useful to the people he loves. Harder still when Team doesn’t even want to refuse. He swipes the rain trickling down his forehead, but the damp cloth hardly absorbs a single drop. “It’s just…if he’s supporting me and I don’t do a side gig, won’t that make it unfair?”

“To who? Your competitors?”

Team nods. It hurts to hear, so that must be close to the reason, if not exactly it. “I’ll be able to focus more than they will. I’ll probably sleep more, be less stressed out, not have to think about stuff the club needs from me so I can keep swimming. If Hia Win weren’t around, I wouldn’t be nearly so well off, so…shouldn’t I do a side gig to make it fair? It’s not my money, it’s Hia Win’s, so it feels like I’m cheating.”

Dean regards him with interest for a second, then lifts a shoulder. “All right, so your alternatives are to get a job on the side or go with one of your coach’s financial assistance options?”

Team nods. “Isn’t that more fair than letting Hia Win cover everything?” he presses.

Dean sits with that for a few seconds, then his mouth quirks. “Do you know how much I’m investing in Pharm’s restaurant?” he asks.

Team blinks at him. “Uh. I thought he got investors?”

Dean points to himself.

“Just you?”

“I decided I would back in university,” Dean says. “Once I started working for my father, I started putting money aside every month.” He holds eye contact with Team, his expression neutral as usual, but with an undercurrent of softness that’s ever-present when the subject is Pharm. “I think you’ll be fine for money once you settle into your career, Team. This won’t be a permanent situation, and financially, Win and I were born at an unfair advantage. We’re both aware of that, even if you haven’t heard it from Win directly. That’s why Pharm and I talked about money early, and we decided that the money I give him is an investment, not a gift. It makes him more comfortable, and that’s what’s most important to me.”

Team feels a miserable jab in his gut. “Hia Win wouldn’t see the money he gives me as an investment. He doesn’t even keep track of what he spends on me.” Last month, when Team’s payment app kept crashing at the checkout counter, Win offered to buy him the sneakers he’d been about to buy himself. Later that night, when Team offered to pay him back the money he’d spent, Win almost seemed surprised, as if he’d forgotten it’d happened at all.

“Win’s always been like that, if it makes you feel any better,” Dean says. He checks his phone, sends a quick message back to Pharm, then asks Team, “Has he done anything to make you feel like you have to do anything for him in return?”

Team promptly says, “No,” because it’s a logical follow-up question, and Dean doesn’t live with them, so how would he know how silly it sounds?

But Dean doesn’t seem surprised—not by the answer nor by the vehemence with which Team says it.

“More people struggle with money than people who won’t,” Dean says. “Just because you’re dating one of the few who isn’t doesn’t mean you have to let him help you.”

Team nods.

“That being said,” Dean adds, “if he wants to, and if you want him to, there’s nothing wrong with that, and you know he’ll be happy to do it.”

Team doesn’t know what to say in return, and Dean doesn’t say anything more, which seems to be a cue for Team to figure the rest out on his own. The silence between them emphasizes the sound of the raindrops speckling the canopy of leaves above them. Somewhere nearby, a creek trickles on, growing gradually heavier with the rain adding volume.

“Talk to him tomorrow,” Dean says, “after you both get some rest. He needs to know you feel like this, and you need to get into the habit of talking to him instead of trying to plummet to your death to avoid it.”

“He’s gonna be so angry,” Team says, looking at the wreckage they made of the ravine slope.

Dean makes a quiet noise of amusement. “He’ll just be relieved you’re not hurt.”

“Uh.”

Team hesitates and squirms in the damp soil. Dean’s not the president of the swim club anymore, and it’s been almost a year since Team himself graduated; there’s probably no harm in telling him now. “He’s different when he thinks I’ve done something stupid,” he says. It’s not quite what he means, but he’s not telling Dean, He’s different when I do something that puts me in danger and makes him worry about me.

Dean seems to hear the hint of a story in Team’s voice, so he only raises both eyebrows in response.

Team says, “When I was still a first year, I snuck into the pool after hours one night and almost drowned,” and enjoys the long, hard stare he gets in return. It’s been a secret between him and Win for so long, and Team has always wondered how Dean would react if he heard the story.

“Team,” Dean says, strained.

It’s not exactly funny, but it is kind of exhilarating to say it knowing that Dean can’t do anything to punish him for it now.

Finally, Dean says, “And Win was the one who let you sneak in?”

Team balks. “What? No. He never let me get away with anything back then. I mean…not before that night, I guess.” Of course, Win did later erase the CCTV footage to protect Team from any repercussions beyond Win’s own anger, but Team’s not going to tell Dean the entire story.

Dean’s stare intensifies.

“He saw the lights on, so he thought he’d forgotten to turn them off, and….” Team thinks about it sometimes, how traumatic it must have been for Win. “I was tired, my leg cramped up. He pulled me out.” Win’s eyes had been redder than his were. “He was so pissed off.” Terrified. “I said something kind of stupid about needing the practice, so he punched me and started yelling….” ’You almost died in front of me, you get it?!’

He’s worrying again now, no doubt.

“I’m going to make you swim a hundred laps in the lake tomorrow,” Dean says, pointing menacingly at him.

Team coughs to smother a laugh.

“P’Dean! Team!”

Manaow. Of course her voice would carry the farthest.

Team launches to his feet, but Dean catches the edge of his shirt and holds him in place. “Let them get closer,” he says, “or you’ll get lost. You don’t even have your phone.” He’s nice enough not to point out that Team running into the woods created this issue. Or maybe he just knows he doesn’t have to.

As Dean turns on the flashlight on his phone and waves it, Team shouts, “We’re here!” and surprises himself with how rough his voice sounds.

“Team!” Manaow shouts again, recognizing him. “It’s Team! We see you! Hang on!”

Multiple flashlight beams spear through the trees and grow stronger as the group approaches, incandescent white light that illuminates rough bark and sickly green moss. Dean keeps his grip on Team’s shirt even when one beam catches Team’s face and temporarily blinds him.

“Team!”

He can’t see anything but the light, but he’d know Win’s voice at any cadence, at any volume. He knows the sound of Win terrified for him especially well, and Team’s throat closes up with a surge of guilt as he tries to identify the direction it came from.

Something heavy drops into the wet mulch, and a few quick strides later, Win slams into him, locking his arms around Team’s back and shoulders. As Win’s breath shudders against Team’s ear, his hand sinks deep into Team’s hair, cradling his head. “Baby.”

All of it combined triggers a visceral reminder of that night, years ago, when Win pulled him out of the pool, when Win screamed at him for nearly getting himself killed, when Win punched him and cried and bought him medicine and food and took him home and fed him and slept with Team curled protected in his arms—

Even the concept of money feels vulgar in the face of so much devotion, and Team just wants Win. He wants Win to be happy and safe and feel like he’s appreciated and—

Team grips the back of Win’s soaked jacket and sobs into his cold shoulder.

The flashlight beam on his face finally lowers, and distantly he can hear Manaow and Pharm and Pruk shouting out to Dean, along with some unfamiliar voices Team couldn’t care less about at the moment. Several flashlight beams crisscross around them like a web, and Team realizes that the something heavy Win dropped was a flashlight, now illuminating their feet.

“Couldn’t find you anywhere,” Win whispers. “They wanted to wait ’til morning, but I wasn’t going to stop until I found you.” He’s shaking like he did back then when the stench of chlorine hung thick between them, Team in his swim trunks and Win in his drenched school uniform.

“I’m here,” Team rasps. “I’m sorry.”

Win draws back and reaches up to frame his icy fingers around Team’s tear-hot face. “Why did you run off like that? What’s been going on with you?” Win’s stricken look sears itself into Team’s memory, but the broken fragility of his voice is even worse.

“I’m sorry,” Team repeats. “For last night, and today. I just—” The entirety of it feels too expansive to put into words despite his long talk with Dean. All that’s left are the emotions it evoked, and the weight of his guilt crushing his lungs. “I—”

Dean claps Team on the back and says, “Wait until tomorrow,” as he passes them on his way to Pharm and the others.

Win frowns over his shoulder at Dean, then confronts Team with an even more complicated expression. “What’s he talking about?” he demands.

Team takes a rough breath and drops his head from Win’s hands onto Win’s shoulder. He takes hold of Win’s jacket in his fists and closes his eyes. “I’ll tell you tomorrow, hia, I promise.” And, just because he can’t say it enough: “I’m sorry.”

•

Two rangers and three park staff were involved in the search, and neither Win nor Pharm is even slightly sheepish about the fuss they raised. They are extremely effusive in their gratitude, though, which is somehow even more embarrassing for Team to suffer through. He can’t bring himself to meet the eyes of anyone, simply offering up a very respectful wai to everyone involved and apologizing when he feels the weight of multiple stares fall on him.

The staff drive them back to their cabins, and there’s collective relief when Pruk says, “Well, it’s almost two, so…maybe let’s sleep in tomorrow.”

They all agree, but before they split up to retreat from the rain into their separate cabins, Pharm and Manaow give Team a quick, urgent hug, and Pharm murmurs, “I’m glad you’re okay,” into his ear.

To Team’s surprise, Dean tousles his hair roughly and says, “Get some rest,” before heading off with an alarming amount of dignity for someone absolutely drenched in mud.

Win’s hand never once leaves Team’s back, not even after they’re inside. He only withdraws—and even then only slightly—when Team peels his sodden shirt off with a wince at how it sticks to his skin, cold and clammy.

“We can talk about it in the morning,” Win says again. There’s a red flush of exertion on his face, and the mud smeared up the length of his leg and side suggest that he slid down the ravine.

Team says meekly, “You should shower first, hia.”

Win shakes his head before he’s even finished speaking. “You’re filthy, and you were out there longer,” he says. “Go get warm.”

The fact that he doesn’t suggest a joint shower either sincerely or jokingly only reinforces how tired he is, so Team goes without a word. His body craves the warmth, but the temptation to sleep is stronger than the temptation to stay under the hot spray, so he makes it quick.

Two in the morning…after a sleepless night last night….

When Team reenters the main room, he finds Win sitting at the kitchen table with his phone in his hands. While Team was in the shower, he took his shirt off and wrapped a solid white quilt around his shoulders to keep himself warm. Focused on Win’s inked biceps rather than his tense face, Team says, “Your turn.”

Whatever Win’s doing on his phone must not be especially important, because he nods and puts it down on the table at once. He leaves the quilt draped neatly over the back of the sofa and crosses the room to the bathroom.

Team hovers by the end of the bed and watches him, wanting to touch him, to apologize again, to do anything that’ll clear the air of the scentless stench of discomfort. Win pauses in the doorframe and turns around to face Team, the towel held listlessly at his side. “Can I just ask you one thing tonight? I don’t think I’ll sleep unless I ask.”

Team nods. “Sure, hia. Anything.”

Win rubs the heel of his hand over his eyebrow where a bead of rainwater or sweat had gathered. His eyes fix somewhere on the bedspread as he asks, “Is this something you want to work through?”

Team stops breathing. After a sharp inhale, he asks, “What do you mean?”

Win closes his eyes and visibly tamps down on a yawn before opening them again. His eyes are a little glazed with exhaustion. “I was in London for a long time,” he says. “Maybe…we changed more than we realized. Maybe this is different now, and I don’t want to make you feel like you have to—”

The implications of what he’s building up to aren’t difficult to parse. In two quick strides, Team has him in his arms, squeezing him so hard he can feel and hear the breath pressed from Win’s lungs.

Win’s muscles lock up, and then he’s trying to push him back. “Team, you just showered—”

“I don’t give a shit,” Team says into his shoulder. “Don’t say stuff like that. I love you.”

Every day without him was waking up to the worst day of his week, every week.

Win’s hand presses gently against his bare lower back. “All right, all right,” he says. “I just—had to check. You’ve been…a lot harder to read for me recently than you usually are.”

He manages to pry Team loose, and then he offers a facsimile of a smile before he closes the door behind him. Team rubs his biceps, already cold again.

In the morning, he tells himself. In the morning.

He pulls on an old T-shirt and shorts and leaves the soft track pants Win likes sleeping in on the foot of the bed. He’s afraid he’ll fall asleep if he lies down, so he doesn’t. Instead, he sits with his back against the wall, his pillow clutched in his arms. The rain lashes the windows, walls, and roof, and results in different sounds. The vertical blinds over the window have been shut and Team’s phone is sitting on the kitchen table, unplugged and probably dead by now. He can’t summon the energy to stand up, unearth the cord from his suitcase, and plug it in.

Win’s not angry with him; Team almost wishes he were.

After Win’s showered and dressed for bed, Team takes the towel from his hands and says, “Sit.”

Win exhales and does as he’s told. While Team kneels behind him, Win picks at the fraying fabric on the knees of his pants. He’s worn them for years, not even exclusively for sleeping in, and they’re not much longer for this world. They look cheap, too, but Win loves them.

As Team begins smoothing the towel in slow strokes over Win’s gleaming black hair, he feels something stick and obstruct his windpipe.

He’s halfway to real tears when Win reaches back and takes his wrist. “Hey.”

Team lets a thick sniffle answer him.

Win takes the towel and puts it aside, then turns and takes Team into his arms, looking like he wanted to from the start. Team hates the idea of letting Win fix this for him, but he can’t tell what he wants right now beyond Win, so he tucks his face against his boyfriend’s neck and tries not to cry.

“You’re really making it difficult for me to leave this until morning,” Win says. He rubs his hand slowly up and down Team’s spine with a tangible level of fondness Team can feel.

Quietly, Team asks, “Does three count as morning?”

Win lets out an amused breath. “Sure,” he says. “Neither of us is going to sleep at this rate anyway.”

“Again,” Team adds.

“Mm.”

They sit facing each other, legs crossed, knees touching. In a burst of inspiration, Team rests his hands palm up on his ankles and Win quirks a smile at him before sliding his fingers over Team’s palms and holding on tight.

“It’ll give your hair time to dry,” Team says, inanely.

Win shakes his head, exhausted and hurt and yet still somehow managing to find a tiny smirk for Team’s stupid joke.

That’s what gives Team the courage to tell him, “I’ve been…really scared.”

Win’s face becomes serious at once, and his hands tighten on Team’s. “About what?”

Team opens his mouth to repeat what he told Dean in the ravine, but what he said then isn’t exactly what he feels now. So instead he says, “Money?” and waits for Win’s inevitable dismissal.

It doesn’t happen.

Instead, Win says, “Okay,” and waits, unblinking.

It’s a little like the toe of one’s shoe catching on a step, and it takes Team a few seconds to collect enough sense to add, “I don’t want to take advantage of you,” in an almost unbroken string of sound. And, because his brain insists he’ll forget if he doesn’t say it right now, “Hia Wan keeps calling me a gold digger, and I know it’s just a joke, and I know he doesn’t really mean it, and that that’s just his sense of humor, but—”

Win’s expression flattens. “Team, don’t listen to my brother, he’s—”

“He didn’t start it, though!” Team insists. “It’s just—it was just something I was already worried about, and then he kept making these jokes, and it just made me worry about it more, and I don’t want to take advantage of you. I know you want to support me, and I know how lucky I am that you can, and I’m not even saying I don’t want you to, it’s just—”

Win’s head tilts to one side, his eyes clear and his expression nothing moreso than curious.

It’s his lack of understanding that breaks Team. With an agonized noise, Team yanks Win’s arms around his back and leans into a hug. “I feel like I’m using you, and I hate it,” he says, voice thick.

For the second time tonight, Win threads his fingers into Team’s hair and holds his head to his shoulder. He hooks his other arm around Team’s lower back and with a few awkward readjustments, Team’s comfortably seated on Win’s thighs and Win’s kissing the exposed line of Team’s neck. Small, calming kisses, always on the same spot, just over his pulse. “How long have you felt like this?” Win whispers.

Team almost says, Always, but that isn’t true. When Win was his senior at school, it made sense to accept treats from him, especially after he found out about Win’s familial wealth. Spending money never seemed to bother Win, so Team giddily accepted bag after bag of Lay’s, lunches, dinners, and even the occasional breakfast. Even after they started dating, it was fun to go on dates he couldn’t have afforded on his own. Further into their relationship, it felt more important to emphasize his gratitude, but accepting never felt uncomfortable.

Then Win graduated and—

“Since you went to London,” Team whispers.

Suddenly, Win’s gifts weren’t simple anymore. He bought Team meals on top of round-trip flights overseas, and Win offered those with the same casual affection with which he used to toss bags of potato chips on Team’s dorm bed.

Win breathes in deep as he absorbs this, and then he nods and presses a longer, softer kiss just under Team’s ear. “Baby,” he says, gently, “why didn’t you tell me?”

The answer is there even though Team’s never even thought about it. “Because I wanted to see you,” he says, voice cracking. He tightens his arms around Win’s shoulders. “I couldn’t have afforded to fly over there so often, and when you came home, you had to be with your family, so—”

“Team,” Win says, a shimmer of delight in his voice, “are you saying you wanted me all to yourself?”

“Yes,” Team snaps, “obviously! I love you, dumbass!”

Win laughs, the sound of it startlingly loud. With a soothing, “Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” he pets the back of Team’s head.

Both of them rest in the pause, Team allowing his eyes to slide open just enough to take in the familiar ink on Win’s shoulder. He’s long since memorized it; he could draw it in his sleep. The one on his own arm has a matching pattern, one he drew himself and had a friend fix in Photoshop to show the tattoo artist.

Win came home for that, too.

“Listen, I could wait for better timing to say this,” Win says, his thumb sweeping broad strokes between Team’s shoulder blades, “but you already know I want to marry you once it’s legal.”

Team closes his eyes and smiles. “Yeah, I figured that out a while ago,” he says. “I’ve been waiting to see a ring hidden in a head of cauliflower.”

Win smacks the spot he was soothing without any real sting to it. ”Smartass.”

Team bites his shoulder affectionately.

With a snicker, Win tips him backward, and as they stretch out next to each other, Team’s hand immediately reaches for Win’s.

“When we get home,” Win says, “we’ll go over all of this together. I’ll show you what I’m spending, and we can figure out what you can afford to add until you’re making a more regular income. The more you win in competition, though, the more you’ll earn, so that’s why I thought it’d be easier for you to let me handle the finances while you focus on training. Later, we can level things out between us.”

Team licks his lips and nods. Win’s eyes are steady now, fixed on Team without a trace of the pain that’s lingered there over the past couple of days. The relief that courses through Team’s veins is absolute and raw.

“So,” Team says, hopeful, “it’s like you’re investing in me?”

“In us,” Win says, “and our future.”

The heat that that brings to Team’s eyes surprises him, but he manages a tight smile before the first tear slips loose. Win smiles back and kisses their interlocked fingers.

“I love you, sweetheart,” Win says. “And if my brother calls you a gold digger again, I’ll have him murdered.”

Team laughs and ducks closer, resting his forehead on Win’s and savoring the warmth.

•

At their late breakfast, Team opens the mobile version of the game he plays with Wan. Win sits on the bench beside him and drops a kiss on his bare shoulder, repeating his sweet offer to murder his family for Team.

Team smirks and says, “I’ll handle it,” as he changes his character’s name to Gold Member.

Art by Kat