Work Text:
“Let me.”
Mile lifted Apo’s face with his forefinger and, with the cold cream and a wad of cotton balls, slowly removed the white coconut paste traditionally used to decorate the faces of the dancers of the lakhon nai . Apo relaxed, allowing Mile to work. The intense filming schedule for their upcoming historical film was grueling in its pace. But of all the actors and staff working on the project, Apo had borne the brunt of a brutal pre-production schedule, participating in rehearsals and behind-the-scenes directing, while also attending classes at The Royal Academy of Dance for lessons in traditional dance several times a week. Each session lasted hours as he attempted to learn in a few months what had taken others decades to perfect.
As Mile gently worked the cream through the makeup paste, he saw the weariness in Apo’s face. Always so flawless and supple, his very bones seemed fragile with exhaustion.
“You know what you need?” Mile asked, sweeping the slope of Apo’s delicate nose with the cotton, the cream smoothing away the chalky whiteness to reveal his luminous golden skin underneath.
Apo’s lips quirked up on one side. “What do I need?”
“Fried scorpion.”
“Oh, fuck off,” Apo laughed, disrupting Mile’s work, causing a dollop of face cream to land on the smock Apo had pulled on after removing his dance costume. He often complained that it was itchy and pulled in weird places - he was sensitive to things Mile didn’t bother paying attention to, like fabrics and textures - and he hated his dance costume, like he hated sleeves and the feel of sand left too long against his skin.
“Alcohol infused frog.” Mile continued.
Apo tilted his head, giving him a Are you for real, P’Mai? expression. Mile could practically hear Apo’s words in his head.
“Try again,” Apo prompted.
“Tadpoles.”
“No.”
“Raw beef with uncooked blood.”
"Never."
“Dancing shrimp?”
Apo pretended to consider. “Hmmm…I’ll pass for now.”
“Snake? Crocodile? Monitor Lizard.”
Apo’s eyes flew open. “No. No. And…most definitely no.”
Mile leaned back, scooping more cream onto the cotton balls. “You wound me. I love all those dishes.”
“You would. You’d eat rocks if someone told you they’d boiled them just right.”
Mile’s face split into a grin and he laughed so hard, he nearly dropped the jar. “Don’t be jealous that I’m more daring than you. I love food. You know that.” He worked carefully, removing more of the make-up. It was a privilege to play these roles, to be able to bring their culture to the large screen and show off the beauty of Thailand’s traditions beyond their borders.
But this was the only tiny aspect that sometimes irked Mile - that Apo was forced to cover what was perhaps his most notable feature, besides his gorgeous eyes that shrunk to slits whenever he was happy. The warm brown of his skin deserved the spotlight and Apo deserved to revel in its beauty with as much pride and happiness as his husky little laugh could contain. The paste covered it up and sometimes, that didn’t sit right with Mile.
“That’s not love. You’re just weird,” Apo retorted, his exhaustion all but falling away as he grew more animated. “I’ve never met anyone who’ll eat anything.”
“I’m a proud Thai, born and raised. I love the food of my people.”
“So do I, but no is always an option.” Apo pulled a face, which sent Mile into another round of hysterics. “You know what you should buy me?”
Mile inhaled to stop his laughter, though his smile was still wide. “I’m afraid to ask.”
Now it was Apo’s turn to laugh out loud, drowning the small space of the dressing room in the throaty sound. “You should buy me coconut ice cream. Then I’ll stop insulting your bad taste in food.”
“No you won’t,” Mile practically sniffed as he wiped the last of the paste from Apo’s face and set the jar on the table. “All done.”
Just behind Apo was the mirror of the dressing table, lights illuminating the border. Mile got a glimpse of the back of Apo’s head, his exposed, slim neck that made him seem tiny and vulnerable, until you took in the broad swimmer’s shoulders, wide back and long, glorious height. Apo was wiry, but he was all strength and steel, much like his character.
Apo turned to examine himself, running his fingers over skin that was still overly-shiny from the face cream. He made eye contact with Mile through the glass, holding his gaze, communicating a thousand wordless thoughts that Mile would be hard-pressed to articulate, but understood down to the last syllable.
Apo sighed and finally said, “You always take care of me.”
Mile’s breath grew ragged, but he reigned in his emotions. He’d never been one to give in to mawkish sentiment. “Someone has to,” he teased. “You’re a menace.”
Apo swiveled in his chair to face Mile and gave him a fond smile that warmed him from the very center of his chest to the ends of his fingers and toes, like he’d swallowed a small sun that continued to radiate heat. Apo’s compliments always had that effect on him, and he secretly craved them, seeking ways to coax them out of him.
Apo took his hand and squeezed, and now Mile radiated so brightly, he thought he might collapse and become a supernova.
“Ice cream, na?” Apo even batted his eyelashes. Punk.
“You win, as usual,” Mile said, leaning out of the way before Apo punched him playfully in his excitement. Mile nodded to himself. Energized Apo was his favorite Apo.
Mile would never verbalize any of the quieter thoughts he had about Apo. It seemed like too much and for two such as them, less was always more. They didn’t have to say such things to each other. They simply understood, like they knew when a thunderstorm was coming by the way the air changed. They knew what they felt for each other, even if the name escaped them. Friends? Bros? Besties? How about all of those things and more? Was there a name for this that was big enough to encompass what they mean to each other?
That thing that bound them together didn’t need to be spoken. So much between Mile and Apo simply was , without a label or definition. Mile would always anchor Apo, keep him from spinning away like an unspooled top. And Apo would dare anything for Mile, climb into the sky and bring him the moon itself if he asked.
It meant everything. And it was enough.