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“P’Fight, you’re not concentrating.” Tutor slaps his pencil down on the table. “Why are you even here if you don’t want to learn?”
Fighter finally sets his phone down and looks at Tutor. There’s something behind his eyes that Tutor has seen before, something bold and yearning, something that calls to him, drawing him inevitably closer. Tutor is tired of fighting it, but he’s even more tired of Fighter fighting it. Tutor still can’t tell if his senior actually likes him or if he’s just playing some kind of sadistic game with him.
Fighter opens his mouth, probably to say something that clears up exactly zero percent of the reason why he keeps insisting on paying Tutor to teach him English, when there’s a knock on the door. They both swing their heads to look. There’s another knock almost immediately, louder than the first, and a frantic voice in the hall asking if anyone is home.
Shooting Fighter a bewildered look, Tutor climbs to his feet and moves quickly to the door. He opens it to reveal a woman he’s seen in his building a few times before. She looks about the same age as his mom; her hair is cut in a perfectly symmetrical bob, and she’s wearing nice enough clothes to indicate she probably just came home from an office job. She runs her hands repeatedly through her hair as she babbles a greeting and explains that she lives three doors down and her pet is missing.
“She’s just helpless on her own. I need to find her right away! You haven’t seen her, have you?”
Tutor shakes his head. “I’m sorry, we’ve been in here studying all afternoon. What does she look like?”
“My poor little Achara,” the woman moans, wringing her hands. “She’s grey and very fluffy and oh… what is going to happen to her? She’s never been out on her own before. You don’t think she made it downstairs somehow do you? I have to go look right now before she gets outside!”
The woman rushes off in a panicked whirlwind. Other neighbors are poking their heads out into the hall to see what’s going on. The woman stops to wail an explanation and beg for help.
“Should we help too?” a quiet voice says in Tutor’s ear.
Tutor jumps as Fighter’s breath brushes against the back of his neck. He spins around to find the other boy nearly on top of him.
“Don’t sneak up on me like that, P’. And, yes, of course we should help her. Look how upset she is! Achara is probably really upset too. Poor thing.”
Tutor grabs his keys and locks the door behind Fighter. They join the rest of his neighbors now milling in the hallway.
“Let’s divide into groups and check floor by floor,” Tutor suggests. Everyone else nods, glad to have someone take charge. “P’…?”
“Faye,” the distraught woman supplies. “I live in 502.”
Tutor nods. “Someone should go with P’Faye to check and make sure Achara isn’t in her apartment somewhere. The rest of us will look over the rest of the building and report back here in twenty minutes.”
The woman who lives in 503 grabs Faye’s arm and the two go off to check her apartment. Everyone else chooses a floor and they quickly head in separate directions.
“Looks like we’re stuck with the stairwell,” Tutor says, side-eyeing Fighter. “I’ll go up and you go down?”
Fighter grins his patented I’m about to be your biggest problem grin and seizes Tutor by the wrist. “Why split up? We’ll start at the top and work our way down so we won’t miss any dark corners.” He makes dark corners sound awfully suggestive, and Tutor’s cheeks burn.
“That’s silly, P’,” he says, trying and failing to yank his wrist free. “We’ll cover more ground faster if we divide the work.”
“No way. I’m not letting you get all the credit for finding the fluffy critter without me. We’ll go together.” Fighter starts dragging Tutor toward the stairs. After a few steps, Tutor stops resisting. At no point in their rather contentious relationship has he ever been able to maintain the upper hand — no matter how hard he tries.
“What are we even looking for?” Fighter asks a few minutes later when they’re at the top of the stairwell. “Is Achara a cat? Some kind of stupid lap dog with a ridiculous haircut?”
Tutor bends to point the flashlight of his phone in between a pipe and the wall. Nothing but dust bunnies back there. He straightens and shoots Fighter a dark look. “Obviously she’s a—” But he stops when he realizes that Faye didn’t actually say anything beyond grey and fluffy.
“Ah, see? You don’t know either.” Fighter shakes his head. “We could be looking for a Siberian Husky for all we know.”
“Shut up and help me look,” Tutor snaps. He aims his flashlight at the next landing and makes his way to it, eyes sweeping across each tread as he descends because he’s just realized that maybe Achara is a hamster or a mouse and it would be the most mortifying ordeal in the world to accidentally step on Faye’s obviously beloved pet.
Fighter comes after him, almost on his heels, so close Tutor can feel the warmth of him nearby without having to turn. On the landing, Tutor does turn, pushing a hand into Fighter’s chest to force him back a step. Fighter’s eyes widen a fraction at the contact, but he shuffles back.
“Stop crowding me. You’re supposed to be searching anyway,” Tutor grumbles. He pulls his flashlight back up so he can examine the corners of the landing. Nothing.
“I am searching,” Fighter insists. He pointedly sweeps his gaze up and down the stairs, and then up and down Tutor from head to toe. He grins again. “Maybe Achara is a flying squirrel. She might be clinging to your back.” He moves closer, hands out like he’s going to pat Tutor down.
“P’Fight.” Tutor rolls his eyes and moves swiftly down the stairs to the next landing before Fighter can touch him. But his skin is tingling all over just imagining Fighter’s hands on him. Stop that, he reprimands himself. Don’t even think about it.
They make their way slowly down a few more floors with no sign of anything in the stairwell aside from themselves. Tutor gives up beseeching Fighter to help him search; it’s clear at this point that Fighter is only tagging along in order to continue aggravating him. Why does Fighter all but ignore him while he’s attempting to tutor him in English, but the second they’re meant to be doing something else together he’s all over Tutor with flashing eyes and teasing words?
“Do you even want to be tutored?” he asks abruptly. “You never pay attention to me while I’m teaching.”
Fighter is right behind him again, too close for Tutor to turn and see his expression without ending up somehow pressed against him. He hurries down a few more steps, trying to put some distance between them.
“Of course,” Fighter says. “I’m paying you, aren’t I?” He doesn’t rush behind Tutor this time, finally giving him some breathing room. “Earlier I just had to text my dad something.” He’s quiet for a moment before adding, “He was glad to hear you’re tutoring me. He really wants me to bring my grade up.”
Tutor glances back. For once, Fighter isn’t staring at him. He’s actually got his flashlight on too and he’s peering down the open stairwell at the next floor.
“Oh. Well.” Tutor isn’t sure what to do with this sudden sense of sincerity from his senior. “Maybe when we get back to it, we can try—”
“Look!” Fighter interrupts. He waves his phone excitedly. “I saw something down there. Come on, let’s go!” He takes off down the stairs, phone lighting the way.
“You’re gonna scare her!” Tutor objects, racing after him. “Slow down, P’!”
They turn a corner onto another landing and Fighter comes to an abrupt halt, Tutor crashing into his back before he’s able to stop himself.
“What the—”
“What is that—?”
Tutor peeks around Fighter to catch a glimpse of something skittering away from the light of his phone. It’s too big to be a hamster, not quite big enough to be a dog or a cat. For a split second, Tutor sees it do a scrambling sort of hopping run, a high-pitched noise almost out of hearing accompanying it, and then it’s gone, darting through the propped open door to the second floor.
“Was that a rat?” Fighter asks breathlessly. He holds out his arm to stop Tutor from trying to go around him. “No way! I’m not letting you get bit by that thing.”
“Come off it, P’Fight.” Tutor swats at his arm. “I’m sure that was Achara, not some wild animal with rabies. Calm down.” He pushes past Fighter and pulls open the door wondering why someone left it open in the first place.
He understands as soon as he enters the hallway. The stench of burnt food floods the air, an acrid assault on his senses. Tutor wrinkles his nose, but presses gamely on, searching for a place Achara could have hidden herself. The hallway is fairly straight, though each doorway is in its own little alcove. Tutor ducks into every one, sure that whatever Achara actually is, her legs weren’t long enough for her to get very far in such a short amount of time. Fighter is on his heels again, one hand hovering over Tutor’s shoulder every time he looks into another alcove, as though he’s going to forcibly pull Tutor back from potential danger. It’s sweet in a way, Tutor supposes, like Fighter is actually trying to protect him even if it’s from something utterly non-threatening.
The next alcove has a baby stroller sitting next to three pairs of muddy shoes. Tutor doesn’t see anything with fur, but he hesitates before turning away. He peeks under the stroller. Nothing. Then he nudges aside the netting that’s loosely draped around the stroller to serve as a sunshade.
“Oh,” he breathes.
“What!” Fighter cries at his back. “What is it? Did it bite you?” His hands clench convulsively on Tutor’s shoulders.
“Relax,” Tutor says. He pulls the netting aside further. “See? Look, she’s so cute…”
Achara is curled up in the stroller, her black eyes glinting up at Tutor like chips of polished obsidian. Her fur is a lovely shade of smoke-grey, though it seems lighter underneath, giving her a mottled look. Her nose twitches, but she doesn’t seem like she’s going to jump out of her cozy haven any time soon.
“What is that?” Fighter asks, still holding on to Tutor’s shoulders.
Tutor smiles. “She’s a chinchilla.” He reaches down to rub the tip of his finger over her head. “Oh… She’s so soft.”
Achara burrows deeper into the stroller, tucking herself into a little ball of fur, her nose buried between her paws.
“Well… Grab her,” Fighter says, still sounding nervous.
Tutor straightens. “I’m not sure I should. She might bite me after all. She doesn’t know me.” He glances at Fighter. “One of us should go get P’Faye to retrieve her.”
“No way, you’re not leaving me alone with that thing,” Fighter says. His eyes widen as they dart between Achara and Tutor.
“Then I’ll stay,” Tutor says as patiently as he can. “You go get P’Faye.”
Fighter hesitates, then shakes his head. “What if something happens while I’m gone?”
“P’Fight…” Tutor sighs. He turns fully toward Fighter, brushing his hands off his shoulders. “You’re being ridiculous, you know that, right? We have to get Achara back to her owner. It makes the most sense to have P’Faye come get her, rather than one of us trying to carry her up.”
Fighter frowns. “But—”
“Aren’t you paying me by the hour?” Tutor glances ostentatiously at his watch and then pokes Fighter in the ribs. “Run, P’, or you’ll owe me a lot more.”
Something passes over Fighter’s expression that Tutor can’t even begin to interpret. Growing impatient, he pokes his finger harder into Fighter’s chest, prodding him toward the hallway. Fighter snatches at his hand and tugs him forward with a growl. Caught off-guard, Tutor stumbles forward, and Fighter, obviously not expecting Tutor to be yanked off-balance so easily, fails to catch him. Their feet tangle and they go flailing down to the ground together, Tutor landing on top of Fighter, the breath knocked clean out of his lungs.
For a moment, all Tutor can do is try to breathe. When oxygen returns, he finds himself straddling Fighter on the floor, their faces very close together. Fighter is staring up at him, his cheekbones stained red, his hands raised in an unintentional gesture of surrender. Tutor can feel both of their hearts pounding together like echoing drumbeats, one on top of the other.
Neither of them speaks. Tutor tries, but the words get stuck in his throat. All he can see is Fighter’s eyes staring up at him, framed in those lovely, long eyelashes…
Almost unconsciously, he lowers his head the fraction of an inch it takes to bring their mouths together. Fighter’s eyes slide closed even as his hands come up off the floor to grip Tutor’s arms and hold him place. A second later, Tutor closes his eyes too, melting into the kiss as their lips part and they breathe into each other. Tutor feels as though he’s feverish and drowning at the same time, like the rest of the world is slipping away from him until all that’s left is Fighter.
Suddenly, Fighter pulls back. His hands clamp harder around Tutor’s arms and then he’s pushing Tutor back too, holding him up so that their bodies aren’t touching in quite so many places. Tutor blinks, coming down from whatever madness just had him in its grasp.
And then they’re scrambling away from each other. Tutor gets to his feet and immediately checks to make sure Achara is still tucked into the stroller beside him. Out of the corner of his gaze, he sees Fighter straightening his shirt and flattening his hair.
“So, are you going to—” Tutor starts.
“I’ll go now,” Fighter replies before Tutor can finish. He’s gone before Tutor can even try to catch his eye.
Tutor sighs. And then sinks down into a crouch beside the stroller. He strokes Achara’s soft fur absentmindedly.
“I just don’t understand him…” he tells the chinchilla quietly. “One minute he wants me and the next…?” He sighs again. Achara’s ears flick at him, and Tutor decides to take it as a sign of sympathy.
A few minutes later, Faye and her neighbor come running down the hall.
“Achara! My darling!” Faye cries, instantly scooping the chinchilla up into her arms. “Don’t ever scare mommy like that again, you naughty girl.”
Tutor gets to his feet. He smiles at Faye cooing over Achara before glancing down the hallway.
“Oh, your friend said he had to leave,” the woman from 503 says. She looks kindly at him. “He asked us to tell you. He seemed to be in a rush.”
Tutor deflates slightly. He shouldn’t be surprised by Fighter fleeing yet again after they’ve kissed, but he can’t help the ensuing flood of disappointment washing through him.
“Thank you so much for finding my baby,” Faye says, grabbing Tutor in a one-armed hug, Achara tucked securely under the crook of her elbow. “Let me buy you dinner. Tangmo was just telling me about a new hotpot restaurant down the street.” She squeezes Tutor’s bicep. “Let me treat you.” She smiles at her neighbor. “Both of you.”
Tutor shakes his head. “You don’t have to. I was happy to help.”
But Tangmo grabs his other arm and both women haul him out of the alcove and down the hallway at their sides.
“But your friend just abandoned you, didn’t he?” Tangmo chides with an all too knowing gaze. “Have dinner with us, Nong. We’ll cheer you up.”
When Tutor glances at Faye, her eyes are gleaming with delight. “That’s right. We’re neighbors after all. We can help you too. Tell your new aunties all about your handsome friend.”
Bemused, but not entirely displeased by this turn of events, Tutor accompanies the two women upstairs to get Achara settled back into her cage. And then he goes to dinner with them. It’s not like he can talk to any of his friends at the university about Fighter. But these two…?
Tutor is glad that at least he’s made two new friends tonight. He met an adorable chinchilla that Faye is encouraging him to visit any time he wants. And all three of them have promised to listen whenever he needs to vent about Fighter’s mixed signals.
“Give him some time. He won’t let you go just like that,” Tangmo says, nudging another cup of tea in Tutor’s direction.
“And keep inviting him over in the meantime,” Faye throws in with a wink. “That boy is easy on the eyes.”
Tutor smiles. After all, they’re not wrong.