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On the short list of flaws that afflict Kan, there is no space for incompetence.
Wat tells him this is because he’s cheating; capping the length of the list so no more than three shortcomings will fit doesn’t actually make it an accurate reflection, but if Kan listened to the haters, he wouldn’t have made it past kindergarten.
Besides, incompetence isn’t really the word to describe him. An incompetent person wouldn’t have been in the highest-scoring division of the school, couldn’t have juggled Basketball captaincy and the prefect armband, would never be regular with deadlines – academic and personal alike.
No, Kan isn’t incompetent. He’s just…a little hopeless.
—
1.
Hopeless like the brand of idiot who accidentally raises his hand to read Romeo and Juliet out loud in class.
Ayan raises his eyebrows.
“Shut up,” Kan hisses.
“Kanlong. What was that?”
“Should I start, Ms. Sani?”
Perhaps catching a premonition, the teacher rubs at her temples. “Go on.”
Kan doesn’t want to. Already the tips of his ears are inching towards combustion and his neck feels alive with pinprick tension, the result of twenty-odd assholes staring.
He clears his throat. “O Romeo, Romeo. Wherefore art thou.” Somebody is snickering. Kan hopes it’s Namo so he can strangle the fucker after class. “Deny thy father and refuse thy name. Or, if thou will – wilt? – uh, wilt not, be but sworn my…love. And I’ll, um. I’ll no longer be a Capulet.”
Sani looks like she’s praying for patience under her breath by the time he stops but it’s tough to confirm. Mercifully, the reason for his hand’s earlier betrayal starts speaking.
Thua is far too composed about reading Romeo. When Kan had briefly, platonically, pictured the other reciting Romeo’s lines, he hadn’t exactly been expecting such composure.
Although all the mushy, long lines for this scene are Juliet’s, so maybe he’d just miscalculated offering Thua up as sacrifice when Sani asked for volunteers.
All too soon, everybody’s gaze is turning to him again. Waiting for Juliet to continue saying some sappy nonsense and Kan to butcher the English words again.
Whatever they’re waiting for, they don’t get it.
“Ms. Sani?” Thua’s hand hovers gently in the air. “Would it be okay if Kan and I swapped roles? I’d like to try reading the tougher portions for practice, if he doesn’t mind.”
Doesn’t mind? He—
Kan would kiss Thua (again: briefly, platonically) if he didn’t know all too well this feeling of being rescued like a sad bug drowning in the washbasin.
Sani’s hurried acquiescence should fan his mortification but Thua is flawlessly starting the next lines and Kan deflates, relief expanding in his chest. Once or twice, a classmate flashes him a fake thumbs-up, still tittering, so his middle finger is working overtime but it doesn’t matter. He can deal with the rest once the bell cues Sani’s departure.
—
He doesn’t deal with anything.
The bell rings and Sani glides out and the classroom buzzes like a hive but Kan only has eyes for the way Thua looks at him, eyes gentle and amused. “You should volunteer to read more often.”
So you can find new ways of saving me each time? Out loud, Kan just groans. His ears are definitely burning now.
“Practice makes perfect,” Thua says sagely before rising to distribute homework.
Kan stays sitting, wondering when he rubbed off so much on his friend.
—
2.
But really, what he means is: hopeless like the fool with a hypothesis who drags everybody into a round of Spin the Bottle to confirm it.
“Are we positive Mek vacuums this carpet?” Akk asks, shifting uneasily on the floor. His wariness is probably justified but Mek doesn’t get the chance to defend himself; Ayan is generously offering up his lap as a replacement seat and they all know how this will go.
Over the ruckus of the ill-curated Spotify playlist and the happy couple’s incessant sniping, Kan leans forward. Places the beer bottle smack centre of their circle. “Remember: if you chicken out, you’re on cleanup duty.” Everybody rolls their eyes but he knows it’s an effective threat. Nobody wants to be stuck cleaning Mek’s giant mansion, least of all after they’re done celebrating midterms.
Like most of his plans, this is carefully engineered. Classmates? Pleasantly buzzed. Resistance to the game? Close to nil; Mek’s sister’s friends are here. And most crucially: the subject of his hypothesis? Sitting bang opposite him in the circle, sandwiched between Mek and Ayan.
Thua doesn’t look thrilled about the game but Wat is already reaching to set the bottle spinning, fumbling it twice before it finally gets into momentum. The anticipation stretches. Everybody watches the bottle; Kan watches Thua. When the first round of excited murmurs starts, he snaps his gaze down—
—to find the cap pointing at Ayan.
“Ooh,” Namo grins.
“Shut up,” at least three peole chorus.
The transfer student doesn’t look bothered, reaching forward to spin it again, but Kan notices the way his fingers are tight in Akk’s hand. He lets it slide; his own heartbeat seems to be matching the bottle’s twirling tempo.
Silently willing it to land on Akk backfires. Kan watches with creeping horror as the bottle cap comes to rest, pointing proudly at the class president.
Thua glances up, wide-eyed. “No. I’m not playing.”
“Oh come on,” Namo whines. “We just went over this. You really want cleanup duty?”
Maybe he does, Kan wants to snap. Maybe he wants to sit out the stupid game I forced him into. All for a hypothesis that is rapidly beginning to prove itself true without any proactive testing anyway.
Kan isn’t sure what his face is doing but he imagines it’s similar to the constipated look on Akk’s. Wat squints between both his friends but he’s lost his window to ask by the time Thua’s eyes find Kan’s.
“Fine,” he says, staring back quietly. Before Kan’s heart can stop beating, his benchmate is turning to Ayan, lightly reaching up to drop a peck to his hair and settling down.
Rule-bending. It brings silence, and then chaos. As the general conversation devolves into a fight (“that didn’t count.” “we all heard the peck, dude.”) Kan waits for his chest to stabilise. He can already see Thua starting to fidget under the prickle of his embarrassment but it doesn’t really matter. Nobody will give him shit right now.
Ayan nudges his best friend’s shoulder once, sweetly, in gratitude, before turning to his boyfriend. “Aww,” he coos. “Were you jealous?”
“Nauseous,” Akk corrects. “Jealous of everybody who doesn’t have to sit next to you.” People snicker, a handful of harmless digs at the two floating around till it’s safe to soldier on.
Kan claps his hands and spins the bottle again, focusing. All in all, it wasn’t so bad, for a one-off event.
—
The problem is it doesn’t stay a one-off event.
“Seriously?” he snaps when the cap has adoringly stopped in front of Thua a fifth time. “This is rigged, come on.”
“The cap?” Ayan clarifies, slow so he can feel the full effect of his stupidity. “The inanimate cap is rigged?”
If Kan was fighting a flush, it would be perfectly justified but he isn’t because he’s right and the bloody cap is rigged. After Ayan, it had been Thua and Jom (a flying kiss), then Wat and Thua (another hair kiss), and then – almost landing on Kan before sliding a bit further – Namo, who got a kiss to his watch, of all things.
“How does that count?” Namo had complained.
“Were you hoping for something else?” Ayan asked curiously. That had shut him up, thankfully, but Kan’s urge for violence is bubbling ever higher with the fifth instance of this nonsense.
“It’s fine,” the girl it earlier landed on says. Leaning across the circle towards a frozen Thua, she does one of those fancy air kisses like they're celebrities, then slides back into her spot, entirely unbothered.
It dispels the tension, somewhat. Thua is – thankfully, blessedly – kicked out of the circle and Kan wastes no time in bowing out too, sulky for a reason that’s rapidly growing clearer.
Alone in Mek’s garden later, he picks out stars and the interwoven threads of his feelings till Akk and Wat come searching. “I think I like Thua,” Kan declares, the hypothesis shining solidly in his mind.
Ever-dependable, ever-supportive, Akk claps his shoulder. “Congrats!”
“On being the last person to find out,” Wat adds. It would sting less if he was being sarcastic but there’s only sincerity in the other’s face.
Kan shoves at them, relieved and mildly terrified at what he’s confronted. They spare him another minute to roll around miserably, then drag him back to the party in a headlock.
—
On the drive home, Thua is quiet. Quieter than usual, whatever.
Kan fixes his gaze on the road and rehearses his apology. So far he has sorry and that was not the plan and I can beat somebody up if you want and do you. want me to make it up to you. None of which feel like they’ll buy him any leniency so he just grips the wheel tighter and purses his lips shut.
“That was.” Thua measures his words. “Easily the worst game you’ve suggested.”
It shouldn’t make him laugh. His snort feels mildly illegal but Thua is doing his half-smile too so maybe they’re fine after all. Kan still mutters out a sorry.
“It could’ve been worse.”
Kan nods. Could have been.
As the traffic light counts down, Thua hesitates. “Then again,” he starts, sending little shockwaves through Kan’s nervous system. “It could’ve been—”
A car honks.
Kan prays for the asshole behind them to hit every possible red light but Thua is already withdrawing. Leaned back in his seat, looking out the window, he resembles the turtle they saw on their first trip to the zoo together, years ago.
The rest of the ride is silent but Kan keeps hearing the phantom end of the sentence: it could’ve been good, too.
—
3.
Finally, one could ask: how hopeless?
To which the answer would be: as hopeless as the loser who sits on his crush’s bed, watching him pack, unable to twist his jaw open and ask if he’ll stay.
Not that he would. Thua, arm-deep in his suitcase, looks completely at ease with the idea of leaving.
Kan tries to remember his father’s extensive lectures on maturity. Something something better person than yesterday? The resolve fizzles out when Thua starts humming. Kan gives up. Tucks himself so he’s comfier against the headboard, tries on what he hopes is a pleasant tone. “Someone’s excited.”
Thua’s smile shouldn’t widen. The sight of it, as always, makes the glacier in Kan’s chest want to melt but the suitcase is right there; open, threatening reminder. Plastic piece of shit.
“Why do you have to go to this camp anyway?” he grumbles. They’ve always spent midterm breaks together, lazily biking around the city or finishing up holiday homework at each other’s place. He doesn’t understand why Thua – reliable, routine-friendly Thua – felt the need to disturb that.
His benchmate shrugs. “Mae thinks it’ll be fun.”
Kan glares at the blue bedsheets. Eating ice cream on the beach is fun, too.
“Are you getting bored? You don’t have to stick around if—”
“Of course I do.” Kan has watched the merciless clock on Thua’s desk tick unnervingly fast for the past two hours, he’s hardly going to walk out now. Now, when there’s a meagre half hour before the other has to leave.
“Are you missing anything?” Kan asks, finally trying to be a better person. He really should’ve helped before this but the sight of Thua’s camp brochure and new shoes had put him in a childish sulk. “Wallet, phone, charger?”
Thua’s smile is no longer the rare sight it used to be a few years ago but Kan soaks it in nonetheless; he’s going to miss it the next two weeks. “Very helpful, thanks Kan.”
Even his quick wink is half-hearted. God, watching Thua leave is really sucking the life out of him. Kan’s torn between making his exit ten minutes from now or waiting till their car is pulling out of Thua’s driveway.
In the end, the latter feels like too heavy a prospect. “I should get going,” he mumbles when the suitcase has been jointly conquered, Kan pushing it closed while Thua struggles to get the zip going. “You know how Mae is about family dinners.”
Thua nods slowly. In the evening’s dimming light, their earlier buoyancy dips a little so they walk down in silence, despite Kan’s insistence that he doesn’t need to be walked out.
“I know,” Thua says, faintly pink. “But I want to.” And what sort of idiot would Kan be to argue with that? The four-minute walk to his car stretches to ten. Kan’s pleasant mood lasts till they reach and then the reality of the situation hits him full-force: how is he supposed to say goodbye? Awkward wave? Risk a quick hug? Shake hands like they’re nine and meeting for the first time again?
Thua interrupts his controlled panic. “Aren’t you going to ask?”
Kan blinks.
Thua, suddenly interested in the sidewalk, shifts his feet. “Earlier, on the call. You said you were coming over to ask me something.”
It comes like a bucket of cold water, the reminder. How had it slipped his mind? Kan half wishes Thua had forgotten; doesn’t know what sort of lie he can possibly invent for this.
This, as in their favourite comic book writer hosting her annual meet and greet. The two of them have gone together every year, clutching merch in their shaking hands, sleeping over afterwards, but the announcement came late this time.
Kan doesn’t know how many others saw it. He sprang for it the instant the notification popped up, booked two spots, stifled his excitement. And then he’d walked into Thua’s bedroom to break the news, only for a fucking suitcase to burn a hole in his plans.
The event is in two days, long after Thua will be making little ceramics at his fancy camp. Telling him about it will only add to his distress, though, which Kan knows he needs as little of as possible. So he rocks back on his heels. “Geography,” he fumbles out. “The Geography project. Uh, Smart Cities, or something. Want to partner with me?”
It’s tough to say if Thua buys it. There’s a little furrow on that smooth forehead but the luxury of spare time has run dry. Thua’s phone vibrates with his mom’s calls to come back up and he gives in, only a whisper of suspicion clouding his face. “I always do,” he mutters, watching Kan get inside the car. “Drive safe.”
Kan waves through the window. Resists the urge to kidnap the other, and flashes him a thumbs-up instead. “If you don’t have a good time there, text me. I’ll come grab you,” he calls out, reversing slowly as the warmth of Thua’s laugh reaches him.
It’s only when he’s halfway back home that he realises he really would’ve liked a goodbye hug better.
—
It’s hard to get out of bed on Meet-N-Greet Day. Most of his thoughtless fuck-ups usually have a steady correction waiting, but Thua is miles away today. Probably painting the little dragon figurine he sculpted last night.
Kan dresses half-heartedly. Curses at the idea that some things don’t have easy-fix solutions, that some things have the audacity of requiring you to be less of a coward so you can have the things that you like with the ones you adore. Kan hates the realisation almost as much as that stupid camp.
The venue’s parking lot is already full by the time he pulls up so he has to park in a separate block, dragging his feet to the auditorium. Twenty minutes late. Kan kisses goodbye to any hope of a front-row spot.
If it was up to him, he’d spend another day lying in bed with his guitar but there’s whispers of new merch he knows Thua would want to buy if he was attending. It’s half the reason he’s trudging through this absurdly long corridor, turning the last corner only to find himself confronted with…a familiar ugly suitcase.
“You’re so late,” Thua says.
Kan stares at him. He stares for a long time, stares till Thua is asking what? self-consciously. That should be my question, Kan wants to say. He should be the one saying things like what are you doing here and why is your stupid suitcase following you but for some reason, all he can manage is, “Did you bring the dragon?”
Wearing his small silver hoops and favourite sweater vest, Thua does not think this is a sign of early-onset madness. “I did,” he says simply. “I got all my camp stuff.” Which answers the suitcase question and not the unspoken one about why he’s here and not in Chiang Mai, crocheting.
His silence doesn’t feel like it’s speaking volumes, but Thua seems to follow along just fine. “I got an email last night.”
“After the sculpting workshop?”
Thua pauses for patience. Kan doesn’t blame him, doesn’t know why he’s acting stupider than usual. “Yes,” he says. “It was the—”
The reminder email for today’s event. Of course. Kan got it too. The organisers had collected everybody’s email ids.
He’s not sure what Thua will ask next so he stays silent, letting his benchmate’s patented polite scrutiny sweep over him. “I saved you a seat,” Thua says, sounding quiet and familiar and unquestionably pleased. “Should we go in now?”
“Yes,” Kan rasps out through his dry mouth. They should go in. Because they’re late and definitely missing fun activities, but mostly because Thua holds punctuality sacrosanct, and he still stood here, waiting for Kan.
It makes his fingers itch, makes him want to reach out and hold Thua’s free hand, but there’s something else he can do right, and he’d like to be less of a coward. They brush shoulders the rest of the way and then he’s pushing in through the doors first, loud and apologetic, grinning bright as everybody looks over.
“Sorry,” he stage-whispers, easily spotting Thua’s backpack resting on two chairs by the front. He makes his way to it, frame drawn up as large as possible, holding everybody’s attention till the smaller figure by his side is barely noticeable.
When they’re finally seated, tingling with light embarrassment, Thua shifts. He’s looking straight at the stage, paying attention, but before Kan can chalk it up to coincidence, the other shifts again; closer, their sides pressed against each other.
He’s no psychic, but when it comes to Thua, he doesn’t really need to be.
—
+1.
Like the rest of the audience, they find themselves meandering to the mall next door after the event.
“You don’t want to go home?” Thua asks when he suggests checking out the arcade. “We could get a headstart on the Geography project.” Kan stares at him. Thua’s pursed lips wobble, failing to seal his amusement. “Okay, then. Air hockey first?”
It’s sweet of him to suggest that. Kan knows Thua is a boy of endless talents but there is not a single quick reflex hiding in his body. He takes it easy on the other till Thua rolls his eyes, asking him to knock it off, further cementing his loss. The score never tilts in Thua’s favour but at least there’s honesty in their game. Or something. Kan isn’t sure.
A full circuit of the other games will take roughly two hours so they stick to their favourites: whack-a-mole, bowling, basketball, car racing. Both of them end up in matching car crashes, almost thrice in a row, and a trio of terrifying ten-year-olds materialises to bully them off the ride. “Try something simpler,” one of them advises.
“Flicking his tiny forehead would be easier,” Kan grumbles, getting led away by Thua. “That—”
“Ice cream break,” Thua interrupts, eyes like little crescents. “Butterscotch?”
Of course he wants butterscotch. It’s the only flavour that doesn't taste so artificial in these arcades. Thua returns with two cones and they eat while kicking their feet on the little bench Kan is sure only kids are meant to perch on.
Not that Kan isn’t one of them. His ice cream escapes the cone in little torrents, tracing sticky lines down his forearm before he can catch them with his tongue. Maybe Wat isn’t wrong; maybe there should be more space on that list of flaws to accommodate ‘Incompetence with Ice Cream Cones’.
Thua doesn’t grin when he voices this. For a bit, the other just sits, peacefully working away at his Choco-Delight. Then, right as Kan has forgotten he even said anything, it comes—
“You’re not incompetent.” Thua tilts to examine his face. Confirming, perhaps. Kan isn’t sure if his odds are looking good with all the ice cream smeared on but Thua nods to himself. Produces a little plastic bowl he must’ve requested, anticipating just this. “Not incompetent. Just…a little hopeless.”
It feels – at first, it feels like goosebumps racing over his skin – but mostly it feels like relief. Like hearing someone say the word that’s been hovering on the tip of your tongue for weeks. It lands like a perfect splash and Kan has to sit there, absorbing the force of everything Thua casually unleashed and actually? Actually, he can’t do this. He’s not strong enough to pump his lungs full of this truth and then just keep it frozen there.
It escapes too easily. “I like you,” he says. “I like you.” Again, before adding, “Thua,” as though the other might believe Kan’s speaking to the thirteen year-old from earlier.
Nothing much shifts. It should, but Thua is looking at him the way he always does and there should be relief at that; that this confession won’t change anything between them but Kan wants more than this strange, loaded silence.
If a gaming arcade is too public a space to have an embarrassing meltdown in, someone should’ve told him sooner. Should’ve told him not to confess without a plan too because now he has and—
Fingers press against his face. “Kan.” Thua is so much closer than he was two seconds ago. He isn’t complaining. Thua taps his face, lightly. “Listening?” He nods. It makes Thua smile. “Good. I like you too.”
Simple. Matter-of-fact, like this was known all along. Through an earthquake of emotions, Kan veers forward slowly, clocks the way Thua’s eyes widen, the tension as he braces for…something, before he lands at his actual destination: his face in the crook of Thua’s neck, frames slotting together comfortably.
“I think I’m having a heart attack,” he says honestly.
Thua’s chest vibrates with shy laughter. “There’s a first aid stall on the first floor.”
Kan clutches at his hand. “No moving,” he states, firm. “No moving for another ten hours.”
Thua’s face curls in towards his hair, and even though he knows realistically that this is just an attempt to stop anybody passing by spotting his flush, Kan is happy. “Ten more seconds,” Thua bargains, voice muffled and quiet and happy.
Kan grins. “Ten more seconds.”
fin
[bonus: thua’s pov. later, the same evening]
“What are you doing?”
Thua doesn’t respond. Logically, he knows Kan won’t actually leave if he’s ignored, least of all when his boyfriend’s hand appears to be stuck in a machine, but honestly? He’s a little hopeless too.
Kan, radiating amusement, walks closer, his legs within Thua’s peripheral view now. “Thua.”
“Don’t,” he mutters, face heating. He’d hoped Kan would take longer in the washroom but of course his luck has run out for the day. “Just—don’t.”
“I’m not saying anything,” Kan lies. “I’m just trying to understand why your arm is. Stuck? In the claw machine slot.”
God. This is a new low. “Take a guess,” he says wryly, braving the embarrassment of making eye contact with the taller boy.
To his credit, Kan doesn’t pause to consider teasing him for even a second. “You were trying to commit arcade fraud?” he asks, delighted. “For me?”
“It’s—don’t, okay. Look, let’s not be loud, okay?” The last thing Thua wants is to be banned from an arcade on one count of claw machine robbery. “And it’s not fraud, the prize is just stuck halfway.” Thua would’ve asked an attendant to help him dislodge it but he’d wanted – foolishly – to have it waiting by the time Kan returned.
Kan seems to pick up on it, going by the way his smile has a softer tone now. Thua is still thinking about how they make a funny sight like this when Kan claps, hitching his pants up higher. “Uh,” he says.
“Just helping you get your arm out,” Kan promises breezily. Then he crouches down, settling right next to Thua, before pushing his hand in through the remaining space.
Fantastic. “Going for the famous ‘we both get our hands stuck’ strategy, I see.”
Kan just smiles wider, fingers slowly massaging Thua’s hand out. “Would that be the worst thing in the world?”
Separated by a precious few inches in the remotest corner of the arcade, Thua looks at his face. Thinks no.
Maybe not the worst.