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The first thing That sees when he limps into the safehouse is Sorn’s worried expression. His eyes are wide, and he steps in close to take both of That’s hands in his. Sorn has bandages in a few places, That notices, but nothing that seems too serious at a glance.
“Are you okay?” That asks, trying not to wince at his own bruises as he pulls his hands free. Sorn shakes his head, dismissing That’s concerns before holding That by the face, seemingly checking his bruises. That’s sharp inhale at the gentle contact hurts his ribs, but the warm feeling in his chest lessens the pain.
There’s a quiet part of That that didn’t think he was going to make it out of that place alive. He had accepted that, knowing that all in all his life isn’t worth much, he only hoped that he’d distracted the gunman long enough for Sorn to get away safe, it was the least he could do. Being here now, seeing Sorn hurt but alive, and laughing and smiling, feels all too much like a happy ending he doesn’t deserve.
When the doctor and Tan go to bed and turn out the lights Sorn is half asleep with his legs on That’s lap. Moonlight illuminates the room through windows just enough to see the edges of Sorn’s face. That leans over to shake Sorn’s shoulder. “Go to the sofa already.” He whispers.
Sorn makes a sleepy noise of disagreement but sits up until they’re both side by side on the bed mat with their backs against the wall. “You can take the sofa, it’s probably more comfortable.” Sorn’s sleepy voice cracks in a way that That feels somewhere in the pit of his chest, and it hurts when he clenches his fist in response.
“Didn’t you want to sleep together?” That says, trying for a joke. He feels Sorn tense up beside him and there is no noise but the sounds of crickets in the distance. A few more seconds pass before That speaks up again. “Er, I was just kidding.”
That looks down at his lap and presses his thumb into his opposite palm, twisting his hands together in the ever growing silence. Eventually, he feels the motion of Sorn turning towards him and looks up to meet his eyes in the dim light.
“I’m glad you’re alive.” Sorn says, and takes a quick breath to continue before That can interrupt him. “When I was in the hospital I didn’t want to think you were dead, but I couldn’t go and find you and I was just really worried, you were gone for so long. I just-- yeah. I’m happy you’re okay.” Sorn breathes out a sigh somewhere between relief and exhaustion.
That feels warmth rise to his cheeks and finds himself suddenly grateful for the darkness. He turns away so he doesn’t have to see the look in Sorn’s eyes. “I’m not sure what to say to that.”
Sorn shrugs and lets out a laugh under his breath. “You don’t have to say anything.” He says, and leans back against the wall again. “I just wanted you to know.”
That is never quite sure how to handle Sorn’s unending sincerity. He knows that it’s just how he is, that he’s just a nice kid with good intentions that only ever wants to keep his friends safe, even if he throws himself in danger in the process. Somewhere along the line That found himself too invested, too close, and the concept of Sorn getting hurt twisted in his gut like a knife. What does it mean that Sorn is happy he’s alive? It probably just means what he said, and That is not going to let himself read into any thoughts that might be behind such a sentence.
Even if he won’t let himself think too hard about Sorn’s intentions, there’s also no way that That will allow himself to look the boy in the eye either. He takes a deep breath, staring firmly at his hands. “Why do you--” He stops, he knows he sounds angry, he shouldn’t be angry. He does his best to soften his tone. “Why do you care?”
“What?” Sorn sounds confused, even surprised by the question, and when That finally looks up at him he can see his eyes are wide and his mouth is hanging open.
That replies, in a voice almost too quiet to hear, “Why do you care that I’m alive?”
“Because we’re friends?” He says it like it’s a foregone conclusion, like this is obvious. He says it like they’ve been friends for years and not in this weird in-between acquaintances and something space that That has been feeling.
That turns to him now, tucking his leg in so he can face Sorn fully. “I beat you up before.”
Sorn smiles, inexplicably. “And then you saved me from a man with a gun. Why are you so worried?” He asks, and then, quieter, “Do you not want to be friends?”
He knows that if he takes too long to answer this question that Sorn’s feelings will be hurt, but he also knows if he doesn’t take a minute to think he’s going to say something he regrets. Does he want to be friends with Sorn? He thinks about his other friends, the other guys in the gang, people he knew back when he went to school… nothing about those relationships feels like being with Sorn.
When he thought he was going to die, it wasn’t any of his other friends he thought of, it was Sorn.
That looks back up and sees the worried expression on Sorn’s face like he feared. Sorn’s eyes are wide and his jaw is clenched tight. He realizes now that these feelings, this heart racing rising panic at the thought of hurting Sorn, isn’t really a friend feeling at all, and all those knowing smug looks from Tan make a lot more sense now. That reaches out his hand but freezes before he touches Sorn’s arm, diverts, and holds his own forearm instead.
That nods, finally, before answering the lingering question. “We’re friends… If that’s what you want.”
Sorn smiles, bright and wide and it’s almost as if he had never looked worried at all. He takes That’s hand that had been holding his own forearm and releases his grip. Sorn pulls That’s hand across the small gap between them and holds it tight between both of his own. That watches the spot where Sorn holds his hand, suddenly all too warm and all to aware of how close they are sitting. He can’t look at the smile on Sorn’s face, the horrible sincerity in his eyes.
“You’re really amazing.” Sorn says, That can hear that he’s still smiling. “I can’t believe you saved me and Nam, too.”
That takes a deep breath and tries to loosen the tense muscles in his shoulders. He’s afraid if he waits any longer he’ll second guess himself and freeze up. When he finally looks up Sorn is still smiling, even in the relative darkness it’s so easy to see his guileless optimism. This is something That knows that he wants.
He reaches over with his free hand and cups the side of Sorn’s face, leans in, and kisses him on the lips. Sorn makes a surprised noise and That pulls back, dropping his hand to his lap and pulling away his held hand from Sorn’s grip. “I’m sorry.” He says quickly.
Sorn smiles, shakes his head, and leans forward excitedly to kiss That before pulling back again. “Don’t apologize.”
That nods, swallowing the knot in his throat. “Okay.” He moves just a few inches away and catches his breath. “I’m going to sleep on the sofa. Goodnight.” He leaves the bed mat before Sorn can object or do something to make him want to stay, and he crosses the room a little too fast to look cool about it, especially with his limp. He grabs the folded blanket, lays down and covers himself, staring wide eyed at the ceiling.
He’s not sure how long he lays there, staring at the ceiling, listening for the sounds of Sorn’s breathing across the room, thinking about kissing him. There’s a part of him that’s worried that if he sleeps he’ll wake up again back in that room, hands tied, waiting to die. All the more easy to believe that something that feels so good is just a dream.
“Goodnight, That.” Sorn’s quiet voice carries across the room, still smiling. That finds himself smiling back, pulls the blanket up over his face, and finally closes his eyes.