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“You don’t have to go, just stay like this. We can be friends or whatever.”
Dew had pleaded in a strained voice against his ear, clinging desperately onto Phop’s shoulders as he cried quietly, like Phop might disappear at any moment if Dew doesn’t hold tight enough, and Phop embraces him back just as tightly, to show him that this time, he isn’t going anywhere.
It hurts to hear Dew’s hopeless, broken sobs, the kind of misery that settles deep into his chest, suffocating him with the guilt of having caused so much pain to the person Phop cared about the most. He’d never meant for any of this to happen, had never wanted to break Dew’s heart, but Phop was scared.
Phop had been afraid of what could be done to them if people were to find out. Afraid of getting disowned by his dad, or being sent to the military training camp the school was imposing. They’d both seen what the kids who were forced to go to treatment came back looking like. The bruises in their bodies, the dejection written across their faces… Everyone at school had heard the awful stories about how those boys were treated, and they didn’t cover even a fraction of what people who were… different like them had to go through in the real world.
But above anything else, Phop had been scared, terrified , of the intensity of his feelings for Dew.
Because no matter how much he wanted to, he just couldn't ignore the warmth that bloomed inside his chest whenever they were together. It was something he had never experienced before, an unfamiliar thrum in his heart every time Dew called his name, an unexplainable rush of excitement at the prospect of seeing him every morning and an unfounded disappointment when Dew had to wave him goodbye so they could head to their different classrooms. But Phop knew what this feeling was — he'd be a fool if he didn't — just as well as he knew he shouldn't be feeling it. And yet… he did nothing but watch helplessly as it grew bigger and stronger within him, taking root in his heart and urging him to keep seeking Dew's attention, his proximity, basking on the blessing that it was to have Dew's crinkling eyes and beautiful smile be directed at him . It was as if the entire world had shifted upon Dew's arrival, as if his presence in Phop's life had suddenly turned the dull little Pang Noi he had grown up in into a brighter, more colorful version of itself, and Phop couldn't deny himself of that closeness, even if he knew it wasn't supposed to be happening.
Even if he knew it was impossible for them to ever pursue anything more.
Now though, after everything they'd been through, none of those worries faze him as much anymore. At least, not as long as he gets to have the other boy by his side.
Phop rubs his cheek against Dew's fluffy hair, comforting, slowly bringing one of his hands to the back of his head so he can thread his fingers through the short strands. "It'll be fine, Dew," he mumbles, low and gentle against Dew’s ear, doing his best to muster as much confidence as he can into the words. “There’s no need to worry. I mean it.”
The collar of Phop’s shirt was already damp with Dew's tears, sticking to his skin as the other boy’s cries gradually turned into small, more contained hiccups. Dew tries to clear his throat before speaking, but his voice is still watery when he whispers, genuinely apologetic “I’m sorry for punching you, by the way.”
Phop’s heart soars with a mix of endearment and sadness at the apology he doesn't think he has earned. “It’s alright,” he reassures the other, because it really is. He hadn’t been mad about it the day prior, when the bruise on his cheek was still very fresh and swollen, and he definitely wasn’t mad about it now. In fact, Phop doesn’t think he could ever stay angry at Dew, even at the times in which he had actually wanted to, and for that he could only blame his weak heart.
A short silence follows, Dew's weeping having considerably subsided, when Dew breaks it with a sniff, and the playful smirk Phop has missed so much is present in his voice when he adds, "You kind of deserved it, though."
Phop can’t hold back the content smile that spreads across his face at the sound of Dew’s teasing, or the swirl of happiness in his soul when Dew starts shaking between his arms again — this time not in tears, but in stifled giggles that sound like a symphony to his ears. “I know.”
He takes a step back, just enough space for him to have a good view of Dew's flushed face, but despite the smile decorating his lips, Dew's red rimmed eyes give away his fear, brown irises clouded with uncertainty. Phop uses his thumb to wipe the remaining tear tracks framing Dew's cheeks, letting it linger a tad too long on the softness of his skin, and Dew leans towards the touch, eyes never leaving the safety of Phop’s gaze.
It is Phop who, unintentionally, breaks the contact when the time displayed on his own wristwatch catches his attention, indicating that their classes have already begun back in school, and they should probably head back now if they wanna make it in time for the roll call.
Dew seems to follow his train of thought, and Phop doesn't miss the shuddery breath he releases at the realization, hands flexing against Phop’s shirt nervously. He honestly wouldn’t expect any less of a reaction, taking into account the things he had heard been said behind Dew’s back since yesterday — not only in school, but around the entirety of Pang Noi. The vile words he’d seen scratched across Dew’s desk that morning alone were enough to make his stomach curl into itself, and he can’t imagine how much worse it may feel for Dew, who’s actually the one on the receiving end of those insults. Phop doesn’t let himself entertain the possibility of taking him back to that place now. A few missed classes will at worst earn them some scolding from Mrs. Ratchani, and the sound of that is infinitely less taunting than having to watch Dew handle the malicious whispers around the hallways from people who used to be his friends.
"We don’t have to go back to school today, if you don’t want to," he is quick to offer. "We can just stay here until lunchtime, and I’ll take us when it’s time for the vans to come pick the students up for the training." Phop resumes to stroke Dew's cheek, the tightness in his chest loosening up in the slightest at the way the tension visibly dissipates from Dew's stance, eyes crinkling and the corners of his mouth tugging upwards in relief. "Okay?"
A nod is what Phop gets as an answer, accompanied with wide eyes sparkling with gratitude, and he decides that he can afford to pretend that Pang Noi and all the trouble that awaits them once they return don’t exist for a couple of hours.
For a moment, Phop pretends that they are the only two people in the world. And truly, for him, they could very well be.
Their jackets are splayed on the ground as a makeshift blanket, creating a somewhat comfortable space for them to lay on. Dew props his head on Phop's extended arm, and the latter would be lying if he claimed that the proximity wasn’t doing some dangerous things to his heart. He suspects Dew can hear it, the unrhythmic, overjoyed beating inside Phop’s chest, and judging by the pleased smile on Dew's face, he isn’t the least bothered by it. Not when his own heartbeat is also going unsteady right next to Phop.
He is quiet, though. Unusually so. And the only sound disturbing the silence is the music coming from the earphones they’re sharing, one of Dew’s carefully curated mixtapes playing on his walkman.
Phop was acquaintanced with them; He thought it was cute how much effort Dew would put into making them, and never denied Dew’s offers to listen to whichever new collection of songs he had prepared over the weekend on their path to school. He liked it especially on the rare occasions in which he had to make the journey to school by foot, whenever his brothers borrowed his motorcycle for errands. The walking was bothersome to say the least, having grown too used to the convenience of just driving his way around town, but getting to walk side by side with Dew as they shared earphones, shoulders grazing ever so often as the other talked his ear off about the new novel he had to read for book club or June and Gim’s most recent shenanigans to skip class was by far the best part of Phop’s day.
The atmosphere now is heavier than at those times though, so much having happened in the few months that separated then and now . The mixtape playing is one of the bubbly, cheerful ones Dew would bring to class to put himself in a good mood — perfectly fitting for him , Phop would think — but the music doesn’t seem to be currently working its magic, because there’s still a cloud of gloom hovering over him, dimming the bright light of Dew’s presence to a weak glow, and Phop wishes there was something, anything, he could do to help ease his distress.
He diverts his eyes to the sky, scrunching them up immediately in reflex when his vision is greeted with vibrant blue. There are a few stray, fluffy looking clouds decorating it, the sort of dense ones that keep changing format as they lazily move across the sky. It brings Phop back to his childhood, when it was summer and he and the other kids from the neighborhood would eventually run out of things to play with and would end up just laying in the ground at someone's backyard, trying to see animals or objects in the cloud's shapes and… oh.
An idea comes to his mind.
“Don’t you think that cloud kind of looks like a sheep?” Phop points towards the sky, randomly choosing a cloud that does not, in fact, look like anything remotely close to a sheep and quickly takes a glance at Dew to check his reaction, who is frowning adorably at the remark.
“Hum… I don’t know. Not really…” Dew squints at the cloud in question, tilting his head a little to the side like he is analyzing an art piece. "That’s more of a penguin. Look, it even has a beak and flippers.” He raises his index finger and uses it to outline the cloud's shape, like he is drawing over it, and once he puts emphasis on said beak and flippers, there's actually a small penguin looking right back at Phop.
“See?" Dew turned to him, grinning, and Phop might be having a deja vu.
Phop could be honest, tell Dew that yes, I see it , and he is certain that he would receive a satisfied grin in return, with only a tiny sprinkle of smugness from the other boy for having been right, and Phop would be beyond delighted with his plan's outcome. However, despite how tempting that possibility sounds to him, Phop knows there is a much more effective way of keeping Dew's attention, one that had worked magnificently well when they had been examining those 3D pictures from the school library's book.
So he settles for simply frowning a little in what he hopes is a convincing portrayal of puzzlement. "Hmm, I still only see a sheep." He gestures to another cloud. "How about that one? That's definitely a sheep."
Phop sees from his peripheral vision as Dew purses his lips minutely, then raises an eyebrow at him. "No way, that's a cat!"
"Cats aren't that round."
Dew appears to be almost offended by his claim, scoffing lightheartedly, "It could be a very chubby cat! It's exactly like the one I had back in Chiang Mai, you have no idea how big they can get."
A spark of curiosity ignites within Phop at the new piece of information. "I didn't know you had a cat."
"Oh, I mean, it wasn't technically ours," Dew explains. "Mom never allowed me to have pets. Mainly because we had to move around too often, so she was afraid one might get stressed with the constant change. Back in Chiang Mai though, there was an elderly couple in the apartment complex we lived in that had a gray, really old cat. His name was Aom." Dew stared unfocused at the sky, like he was getting swept in nostalgia. "He would sneak into our apartment through the window all the time, and I actually have no idea how he managed to because he was so old and heavy. But he was really cute… and he kept me company when mom was out at work. He'd always curl into my lap to demand attention so I started to buy some sachets of cat food for when he visited, as a treat. I think we were good friends." Phop feels his own lips curve upwards at the soft longing in Dew's voice as he shares the memory, listening attentively to every word.
It comes easily to him, the vivid picture of a younger Dew sitting cross-legged on his couch with a fluffy cat nestled comfortably on his lap, and Phop has the elusive realization that he'd love to raise a cat with him in a tiny apartment in Chiang Mai.
Phop is eager to learn more about his childhood, to listen to him talk for as long as he wants. He is about to ask if Dew ever got to see Aom again after he moved, wondering whether his old friend was still alive and well, when the other boy's attention suddenly shifts onto another cloud, pointing towards the sky. He figures he can ask more about Aom later.
"That one looks exactly like a whale."
Phop barely glances at the cloud in question before retorting, trying hard to sound serious through barely concealed amusement, "Are you sure it isn't another sheep?"
"Why are you insisting that they're all sheep?" Dew scrunched his nose in adorable feigned annoyance, which he can tell isn't honest from the twitch on the corner of his mouth, and Phop could feel the fondness dripping from his eyes at the sight.
"...Because they're all white and fluffy?"
The reaction he gets melts away any resolve to stay serious, Dew's heart shaped lips stretching into a wide grin as he whines his name, Phooop the way that never failed to charm him, and Phop openly chuckles at his antics while he keeps complaining cutely amidst giggles "You're so unimaginative!"
Dew turns his entire body towards him, beaming under the sunlight as he looks at him with glimmery eyes, and Phop unwittingly mirrors the affection he finds lying unreserved in his gaze. Their faces are close, enough so that Phop could count each one of his short eyelashes or the messy strands of hair falling over his forehead, and uses his index finger to adjust them into place, watching the exact moment Dew's face slowly morphs into something even sweeter, almost pliant, at the tender gesture. A look he had seen before.
He isn't fully expecting it when Dew inches forward to fit his face into the crook of Phop’s neck, one of his hands coming to tug shyly at the front of Phop’s shirt to hug him closer. It leaves him in a blissful daze, having the other boy so near, the kind of happiness usually provided by waking up from a good dream, and he lets his entire being go lax with the feeling, ignoring the way his arm is starting to go numb under Dew’s head or the awkward dig of the walkman between them.
The walkman reminds him of the white noise playing into his ear, and he automatically tunes in to pay attention to the music once again. He barely has time to recognize the song currently playing as it is already nearing its end, before another one readily takes over. The smooth chords of a guitar fill his senses, laced with melancholy even though it isn't necessarily a sad tune, and Phop is overwhelmed with a sense of yearning he can't comprehend.
Where had he heard this song before?
Dew hums the melody quietly against his neck, sending vibrations across the sensitive skin, and that is what makes something click in his mind.
"Isn't this the song you were translating for the contest?"
A small uhum comes from the boy by his side, along with the gentle touch of Dew's fingers drumming on his sternum to the beat.
The song translating contest. It felt like a lifetime had passed since they’d been informed about it by the English teacher during their tutoring. It’s safe to say the whole ordeal had gone straight to the bottom of his list of priorities after the events that took place in their stay in Chiang Mai, but while he hadn't paid any mind to the contest ever since he came back to Pang Noi, he does now that he isn’t trying to push Dew or anything related to him out of his mind anymore. In fact, Phop recalls having been absolutely certain that Dew was going to win as he witnessed the other enthusiastically pull all-nighters to work tirelessly on his assignment with enviable determination, as well as the growing fondness he had felt every time he came whining for Phop to take him out to eat in the middle of the night. Only now does he ponder over the fact that as soon as the tutoring had been over by the end of April, Dew had been right back to Pang Noi, without any gap in schedule for a supposed trip overseas.
Who could have possibly won though, if not him?
"Dew," another hm in acknowledgement. "Who won the contest, by the way?"
He didn't see it, but rather felt the smile on Dew's face from the way his cheeks bunched up softly. "You did."
Phop raises his head, straining his neck far enough in an attempt to face Dew properly. “...But I wasn’t participating." His eyebrows are furrowed in confusion as he searches in Dew’s expression for answers. The other boy avoids his gaze, though, which only makes his frown deepen.
Dew finally looks up at him with a sort of mischievous lopsided smile that tells Phop he knows something that he doesn't. "Wait here," he says, detaching himself from Phop's body and taking off his own earphone before heading to his backpack. Phop is embarrassed to admit it, but he instantly misses the cozy weight of the other boy's body pressed against his.
There are sounds of the shuffling of a zipper followed by some ruffling paper behind him, and soon enough Dew is taking a seat by Phop's side again with a notebook sheet in his hand that he holds confidently while partly shielding its content from the other boy's view. His posture prompts Phop to sit too, making him lazily seek for leverage on Dew's thigh before getting up and settling cross-legged next to him.
Dew takes in a breath. "I wasn't supposed to give it to you this way," he states simply, fiddling with the edges of the paper, as he finally looks up and into Phop's eyes with nothing but sincerity. "But my original plan didn't really work out, and I still want you to have it."
He slips the sheet into Phop's hands, regarding him expectantly as the other reads its substance. Phop recognizes this. It's the lyrics of the song playing on the walkman neatly transcribed in Dew’s lovely handwriting, the one he had been working on for the contest, and Phop unconsciously skims his fingers across the paper, tracing the loops and lines of Dew’s words with his fingertips as he reads them.
Before the sky turns bright
Before feeling the warmth of sunlight
Before the flowers bloom
I’ve never had anyone in my heart
Until your love came
And made me see the brightness
I’ve never had anyone beside me
Until your crazy mercy came
And motivated me
To live in this mad world
It’s a beautiful song, the most beautiful song he has ever heard, and Dew‘s dedicating it to him. The sheet in his hand suddenly feels heavier than a thousand bricks with the weight of the words on the paper, but that particular feeling is momentarily put on hold once Phop catches sight of the name signed under the lyrics.
Krittaphop Saeyang.
…Krittaphop Saeyang?
Phop double checks the name by the end of the page, thinking his mind might be playing tricks on him, but the letters remain the same, an indication of ownership over an assignment he hadn't done. Understanding slowly creeps up on him, mouth parting in disbelief.
“You put my name in it?” He glances at Dew, who is watching him with wide doe eyes, and receives an earnest nod in response.
“Why?” Phop wonders aloud. He already has a clue, they both know it, but he still needs confirmation that his suspicions are true.
"Because it was for you," Dew confesses easily, voice sweet and bare for him to read through, and it was enough to steal the air out of Phop's lungs. "I thought that, when the teacher gave the assignments back, she'd hand it to you and you'd know … about my feelings for you." He paused, ducking his head as he contemplated his following words. "Since I expected- or actually, I hoped you might feel the same way.”
Phop’s attention goes back to the sheet instinctively, taking in the lyrics again. He is overcome with the emotions described through the composition, of a love that makes life seem worth living, a love that fills your world with brightness, and he gets it, of course he does. It's the same feeling that had moved him to offer to go to the treatment in Dew's place, after all. The realization doesn't fail to devastate him nonetheless.
The staying awake late at night perched over his desk, listening to the same song in a loop for hours, just to get the lyrics as accurately as possible… he hadn’t done it because of the contest, it had been for Phop.
And Phop hadn’t been there.
His mouth goes dry. He can barely keep track of his own thoughts with how fast the gears in head are running, so he latches onto the easiest one to articulate.
“What about the trip to New Zealand?”
A sad smile forms in Dew’s lips as he shakes his head. “I didn't get the trip. I got to read the song for the class in your place when the teacher announced you as the winner, but I told her I wasn’t you afterwards. I said you had already gone home and that they should try to contact you," he revealed, without any real regret. "She told me some days later that they tried to reach you a couple of times, but no one ever returned their calls. And considering you weren’t there to get the prize, it was only fair for her to pick someone else.”
“But you should’ve won. You could've gone bungee jumping in New Zealand. Why didn’t you tell her the truth, that it was actually your work? You could have asked Pipe to back you up, he saw you working on it in our room, maybe she would understand—” Phop struggled to keep his voice quiet and steady, in a tone that does not match his growing exasperation, because he didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve Dew's confession after everything he had done. Not when he had left him in the dark as soon as Phop had been confronted with the reality of his own feelings.
Dew scoots even closer until their thighs are pressed against one another and gently puts his head on Phop’s shoulder, which works like a charm to get him to stop talking.
“It was never about the trip, Phop. Tell me, what would be the point of going bungee jumping if you weren't there with me?”
They sit in silence as Phop processes Dew's words. It's overwhelming, the guilt he had been trying to suppress forming a lump in his throat, leaving his chest tight and aching while the feeling of being so loved filled it with joy. He runs his finger over the edge of the paper, wishing he had got to read it sooner.
He wonders what would have happened if he hadn't left that night, if everything would be different now had he refused to give into the looming fear that made him pack his bags and drive back to Pang Noi before sunrise, leaving a sleeping, unaware Dew behind. Would they have worked things out, agreeing to go on dates behind their friends backs after tutoring classes? Would he have read Dew's song in front of the class, and won the trip to New Zealand? Phop imagines hearing the teacher announce him as the winner of the competition, confused out of his mind at the sound of his own name while Dew waved excitedly for him to go to the front of the class, clapping happily among the other students. He pictures himself finding Dew's handwriting in the paper sheet the teacher hands him and instantly smiling, completely enamored as he reads the lyrics, his every movement being followed by Dew's sparkling irises. But Phop thinks he'd end up not going on the trip to New Zealand all the same. He'd much rather spend the rest of his summer vacation in Pang Noi, in Dew's company.
The scenario comforts him just as much as it hurts him, and the guilt tastes bittersweet in his mouth. And the worst part of it is that he doesn't even have to go that far in his wondering to find his fault in all of this. Perhaps if he hadn't avoided the other boy in all his attempts to contact him, answering any of the worried messages he had received on his pager, they wouldn't be going through this mess right now. Maybe they could have managed to keep whatever was going on between them a secret until they finally finished their senior year and left Pang Noi for college, when they'd be able to start again somewhere new.
None of it matters, though. Dew had been right, they can't go back to the way things were, and dwelling on what-ifs wasn't gonna change the past.
But from now on, he'll do the best he can to make up for it, to ensure that the future isn’t as hard on them as the present.
So he swallows the lump in his throat along with the remorse, burying it deep under the surface where it won’t tinge his voice, and reaches for Dew’s hand which is lying limp in his lap, holding it carefully. It is about the same size as his own, perhaps even a little bigger, and yet it feels incredibly delicate in his hold. He caresses the skin with his thumb, hoping the gesture can convey all the apologies left unsaid, the love he can’t quite put into words.
“You know, I’ll take us bungee jumping some day.”
Dew perks up at that. "Really?" he asks, the delighted tilt in his voice revealing his excitement at the proposition.
"Uhum," Phop rests his head on top of Dew's. "Somewhere nice, even cooler than New Zealand. And preferably closer to Thailand, too, because I trust my motorcycle better than any airplane." An amused I see comes from his shoulder, a sound that lightens up his insides, and he chuckles along. “I’ll get a part-time job and save some money after graduation. And when I have enough… let’s go together.”
He keeps running his thumb over Dew’s knuckles, lost in the grounding feeling of warm skin under his fingertips while he waits for an answer, but he doesn't have to wait for long. The weight on his shoulder suddenly disappears, and Dew observes him with transparent trust pouring from his eyes, which turn into crescents when he gives Phop a dazzling smile as he nods without missing a beat. “Okay. We’ll go together.”
Phop releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding as he reciprocates the nod, sealing their promise, and Dew puts his head back on his shoulder, right where it belongs.
The walkman lying abandoned between them has finished playing the tape, and Phop picks up the forgotten earphones to slip them back into both of their ears after motioning for Dew to play the cassette tape again, a request the other happily complies with. He takes a second to fold the paper sheet on his lap in half, making a mental note to tuck it inside one of his books when putting it away to prevent it from crumpling, and as soon as his hands aren't busy with the paper anymore Dew searches for one of them to intertwine their fingers, sighing in content as they stay like this, enjoying the simple comfort of each other's company as bubbly love songs permeate the silence and hope blossoms within their hearts.
The sunlight is starting to feel a little too warm, which means it'll be time for them to leave the dream-like limits of Pha Dang sooner than he'd like, but Phop doesn't dare look at his watch to confirm it, refraining from spoiling the peaceful state of optimism they had fallen into by allowing the anxiety threatening to pool in the pit of his stomach to take over just yet.
Instead, he focuses on Dew's voice humming almost inaudibly to the music they're listening to and he assures himself that it'll be fine, they'll be fine. They will figure something out together. The two of them just have to endure a little longer, until they find a way to finally be free. And he's determined to fight for it, to fight for the two of them.
While the beginning of another song interrupts his train of thought, Dew murmurs an excited oh, I love this one! and Phop is hopeful that they'll make it.
Somewhere along the line, a few years, a decade, or a couple of decades later… whenever the familiar tune of a guitar comes on the radio, Phop always has the subtle urge to change the station — but he never does. The itch is always there, pulling his hand towards the button, willing him to leave that piece of the past behind and to chase away the numb pain, a constant reminder of words he shouldn't have said and promises he never got to fulfill, but he can’t bring himself to do it. Letting it go would mean forgetting, and Phop doesn't ever want to forget.
Which is why he grants his yearning heart a moment to let the song lull him into a happier time, to a bench on a hill and motorcycle rides and plans of a future that never arrived, along with the comforting memory of a smile so bright it could easily outshine the sun itself.
It's so lucid he believes it for an instant, that he has turned back into the young boy he once was, listening to the entrancing melody from a shared walkman instead of an old radio. That he still lives in a world where those sweet lyrics mean something, because the person listening to them with him gives them meaning.
But the song comes to an end way too quickly, leaving him stranded in reality. Phop runs a hand through his hair in a vain effort to clear his mind and turns off the radio, adamant on focusing back on his work.
Long after the music is gone, Phop doesn't realize he's still smiling longingly to himself, humming distractedly to the nostalgic tune.