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In a fit of mild insanity, or maybe mild drunkenness, Wai invites Korn out for a drink. It's a small step, but Wai supposes he owes Pran — and, as loathe as he may be to admit it, Pat — that much, at least. Korn, for his part, accepts. Wai is only a little surprised. They meet at the bar and trade small talk and small jabs, arms pressed together for a moment before Korn pulls away, and it's. Nice? Normal? Distinctly less fraught than any other interaction they've ever had? Wai chews on the feeling for the few days before Pat and Pran come back from their elopement and open a whole new can of worms.
It's fine. They can work together. They're friends(?) now and even if they aren't, Pran is his best friend and Pat is Korn's and Wai is so pathetically grateful not to be shut out again that he'd do basically anything Pran asked. He's made his peace with Pat and Pat-and-Pran and these days he almost buys into their Romeo and Romeo bullshit. Maybe. A little bit. Either way, he and Korn are working together for the forseeable future to cover for their goofy, romantic asses and there's no reason to maintain the little knot of animosity that clings to his soul like a burr. He just can't quite help it.
Korn must feel it too, because they still tussle every once in a while. Not like they used to, no bloody lips or bruised knuckles, but there's nothing like the rush of getting up into one another's faces, the threat of incipient violence that won't actually happen hanging in the air. It's a little bit addictive, the snarling and the shoving, posturing like they're still operating out of bone-deep hatred and not just blowing off steam after being trapped in close quarters for too long, or sometimes playacting for feud purposes. So what if Wai texts Korn an hour after storming off from a fight, now. So what if it's kind of the highlight of his week. It's just that little bit of a grudge he can't quite give up, that's all.
*
Summer break of their second year finds Wai smiling and bobbing while Pran's mother rechecks their luggage for the third time, fluttering between the house and the car like an anxious moth. She has no idea they're meeting up with Pat and Korn at their destination, two weeks of fun and sun and not worrying about someone catching their stupid best friends necking in only nominally private spaces. Wai really is very fond of Auntie Dissaya when it's all said and done, but right now he can't wait to escape her.
"It's fine, mom," Pran says again. "I'll call you when we get there, promise." It takes another ten minutes but eventually they're disentangled and on the road. Pran's phone rings almost the second they leave and Wai tunes his conversation with Pat out with the ease of habit. Any irritation he used to feel about it has worn down and drained away, leaving something fond and just a little bit wistful behind. Pran's happy, so Wai's happy. It's as simple as that.
By the time they get to their rented two bedroom beach bungalow, Wai is tired and cramped from driving, limbs stiff. He collapses onto the bed in his room with a groan and he's still there when Korn and Pat come clattering in. "Did you die?" Korn asks when he comes in to dump his luggage and Wai replies with a muffled grunt. It's not that long of a drive, comparatively speaking, but Wai's never done well with sitting still for more than fifteen minutes at a time. The big lecture hall classes are torture.
Korn pokes him in the side with inquisitive fingers and Wai shifts away with a half-hearted snarl. He can't see the glint in Korn's eye with his face in the duvet so he's taken entirely off guard when Korn pounces on him in the next moment, tickling with both hands. Wai howls and thrashes, bucking up against Korn's weight on his hips. "Whoa," he hears Pat drawl over Korn's horrible cackle, "Am I interrupting something here?"
"Fuck you," Wai says, to Pat or Korn or both.
"No thanks," Pat says, Wai's words bouncing off him harmlessly, and wanders away to keep sucking Pran's face or whatever he was doing.
"Get off," Wai says, twisting uselessly, arms flailing as he attempts to get at Korn. The pressure on top of him increases for a moment as Korn leans down over him, chest pressing against Wai's back.
"This is a nice view," he says into Wai's ear, and then, "Oof," as Wai finally gets an elbow up into his ribs. Hubris. From there it devolves into a frenetic whirl of limbs and laughter, Wai's initial fury bleeding off into something softer and nearly good-natured. The sheets are a mess by the time their impromptu wrestling match ends with them both winded and disheveled, panting on opposite ends of the bed.
"Nice try, asshole," Wai says, sneer marred by how out of breath he is.
"Jackass," Korn says, with even less heat, a flash of something Wai doesn't quite catch in his eyes, and then they're laughing again, tipping onto their sides. It feels... good. Comfortable. Wai wheezes out one last laugh and then stills, listening to Korn subside beside him. They'll fight again later, when Korn squirts water into Wai's face, after making fun of the soft bow headband holding Wai's hair out of his face during his nighttime skincare routine but, for now, they're quiet. The silence stretches, taffy-like, honeyed strands of sunlight filtering in through the blinds. Wai breathes and breathes, shoulders relaxing, heart slowing.
It jacks right back up in the next second when Wai turns his head and Korn is right there, watching him, gaze thoughtful beneath his caterpillar brows. Wai sits up to hide his start, clears his throat as he turns toward the window. "How was the drive?" he says, the question weak to his own ears, but Korn doesn't call him on it.
"Boring," Korn says, sliding his hands up behind his head, arms folding into the space Wai just vacated."You heard half of it."
True. Wai shrugs in acknowledgment, stretching his arms up over his head. They should go spend at least a little time out on the beach before the sun starts setting. "Come on," he says, rolling to his feet. He waits until he's halfway out the door before he adds, "Race you to the water," and bolts for entryway.
*
They settle into a rhythm. Mornings are for the beach, Wai nagging everyone about SPF and sun protection, the hottest parts of the afternoon are ridden out in town or the bungalow, and evenings are for bonfires. Korn is a more considerate roommate than Wai expected, unethical tickle attacks aside, and eventually the instinctive bristle at having him all up in Wai's space fades. It's not that bad, waking up back-to-back, scuffling for space in the bungalow's tiny kitchen to make breakfast. Korn can't cook anything but eggs but he's good at them, any style. Wai learns not to leave anything else to him the hard way.
Wai feels a bit like a child sent on an errand when Pat presses a wad of cash into his hand for the week's groceries before dragging Pran off to wherever, but he shrugs and goes. Korn tags along, disappearing and reappearing to drop things in the shopping cart like a porpoise surfacing for air. Wai looks at his choices and shrugs; it's not his money they're spending so Korn can get whatever he wants. He goes swimming off into the store again as Wai heads for the checkout and doesn't come back until Wai's halfway to the car, trotting up after him a small bag and a grin. Wai look at him suspiciously but Korn helps load the groceries without being asked, and Wai lets it go.
He forgets about it until Korn presents his purchase to him proudly later that night, revealing the headband with a flourish. It's the same terrycloth material as the one Wai already has, but pastel yellow with soft, triangle ears attached to the top. "It suits you," Korn says, eyebrows lifting the way they do when he's trying to take the piss out of Wai. "You'll look cute."
Wai plucks the bit of cloth out of Korn's hands to inspect it and Korn flinches a bit, like he's expecting Wai to go after him. Wai's decked him for less, that's true, but Wai is ignoring the way cute is lingering in the air in favor of the headband. It's rather nice, actually, the material smooth beneath his fingers. Prank or not, it's clearly more expensive than the one he's using now. So, "Thanks," he says, and pulls it on over his head, adjusting it to sit properly at his hairline.
Korn stares at him, startled, mouth half-open on a retort with nowhere to go. The tips of his ears go red as Wai looks at him expectantly, waiting for the inevitable joke. It doesn't come and Wai tilts his head quizically before shrugging and pushing past him into the bathroom. Whatever. He's not about to turn down something useful just because it has cat ears on it. It doesn't even look that silly, he decides, looking at himself in the mirror while he starts running the water.
Back in the bedroom, Korn's jaw closes with an audible click.
*
Wai goes home for the rest of break, cooking meals and cleaning so his mother doesn't have to when she get home from work, thin and tired but smiling. His phone chimes constantly, the LINE chat consisting of the 'Secret Six' or whatever stupid thing Korn's taken to calling them an endless flurry of activity. There's a bit more coordinating to do while Wai isn't there to cover for Pran, and Wai scrolls through the chatter without interrupting. They'll be fine.
How's your mom? pops up and Wai taps on the notification, expecting it to be Pran. He pauses for a moment when he realizes it's not, Korn's name blinking at him from the top of the chat window. Huh.
Fine, he types back after a bit, startled again when the dots signaling typing pop up immediately, before Wai quite finishes writing, How are the dynamic duo doing?
Pat's driving me crazy, Korn says, followed by a sticker of a screaming bear. Ah, Wai thinks. That makes sense. He just needs to vent.
The coversation is mundane, but then it repeats itself the next night and the next, bedtime ruminations about Pat and Pran, about the cat Korn saw in a shop window the other day, about everything and nothing. It gets to be comforting, a little ritual before Wai goes to sleep, tapping out a drowsy good night before he drifts off, seeing whatever sleeping animal sticker Korn sent back in the morning. Korn tells Wai about his older brothers and Wai tells him about his mom, learning and sharing more than he ever thought he'd want to. It's another routine that's easy to fall into, sharing secrets in the dark, and somewhere along the way Wai's last little bit of reticence melts away.
Then, See you next week, Korn says one night and Wai realizes with a start that summer break is almost over.
*
The first thing Wai does during third year is get into a fight. It's not a real fight; it's starting a fake brawl with Korn to cover for their dumbass best friends. At least, it's fake until Wai gets sucker punched by an engineering student he's not even sure he's seen before, and then it's a free for all. By the time everyone's running from security, Wai's got a sore jaw and a new chip on his shoulder.
Korn's hands go up the second he sees Wai coming, cornered in a stairwell but making no attempt to run. "Sorry, sorry," he says, wincing a bit at Wai's glower. "He's new, and uh, enthusiastic about the rivalry."
Wai growls, mostly because he can't really say shit about that, but he's still — annoyed? Upset? Disconcerted, maybe. They haven't had a real fight in over a year. He settles for, "Keep them on a tighter leash," and manages not to flinch when Korn leans in to inspect the contusion on his face.
"I will — does it hurt?" Korn's hands flutter up like he wants to touch, but thinks better of it at the last second.
"I've had worse," Wai says, habitual bravado suddenly off-kilter. Korn's still looking at him, frowning. The light streaming in from above starts feeling suffocating. The look in Korn's eyes is turning, sharpening in a way Wai feels twisting in his gut, heart vibrating like a struck bell. Oh. Oh, no.
They haven't acknowledged their late night chats in person, something about it too new and tender to look directly at. Korn's mouth opens and Wai turns away, breath catching, somehow sure he's not ready to hear whatever Korn is about to say. "I'll see you later," Wai says, and scurries away like he wasn't the one who came after Korn in the first place.
*
The thing is, Korn is gentle with him, careful in a way Wai would never have thought he was capable of. Korn texts him that night like any other night, and doesn't bring up either the fight or Wai running away like a frightened rabbit. The pure ordinariness of the conversation eases something Wai didn't know had tensed and he feels almost foolish before he remembers that wide open look in Korn's eyes.
It doesn't go away, but Wai can feel Korn stepping around it as gingerly as Wai is, not pretending that he isn't looking but that he doesn't know Wai sees him looking. It's like an itch that's impossible to scratch, and he can't even snap at Korn about it because he's being so, so careful. Pran starts asking Wai if something's up and every no feels a little more like a lie. Was it like this, for Pran and Pat? Inescapable and incomprehensible and terrifyingly easy? Nothing means nothing?
Wai starts feeling like he's drowning a few months in, between senior projects and rugby and his job and his scholarship, the meticulously maintained circles he's dancing in with Korn. Pran notices, even with half his brainpower dedicated to his boyfriend and, because he's a better person than Wai's ever been and Wai is weaker to him than anyone else, eventually forces the whole thing out of Wai at a late night study session.
"I don't know what to do," Wai admits, staring at his half-finished house model, fingers sticky with glue.
Pran hums thoughtfully, exacto knife still in his hand. "Well, how do you feel?"
"Fuck if I know," Wai says, heartfelt. He's afraid, he's hopeful, he's desirous, he's in denial. He's a mess.
"Maybe," Pran says, in the extremely reasonable tone that means Wai is going to hate whatever he says next, "you should just talk to him."
Wai's answer is automatic. "No," he says, and scowls at the look he knows Pran is giving him without seeing it.
"Okay," Pran says, but Wai hears the We'll see as clearly as if he'd said it.
Joke's on him. When it comes to things like this, Wai's a champion at holding his feelings in until they burst. Pran would know that best if Wai had ever told him, having experienced it first hand, but Wai never has and never will. Some things are better left unsaid, and maybe this thing with Korn is the same. If no one says it, nothing has to change. If no one says it, no one has to lose. With Wai's track record, it's just safer to stay silent.
*
So it goes on like that, for a while. They graduate. Pran goes to Singapore. Wai and Korn buy a bar together, and Wai pretends it's a totally normal thing for friends to do. Pran comes back from Singapore on a break and throws out Wai's wardrobe of oversized button-ups and shapeless pants in favor of tailored suits and fitted knits. Korn looks, and Wai pretends not to see. It's fine.
The apartment above the bar isn't large, but it's the most space Wai's ever had to himself. Or, as much to himself as can be counted when Korn crashes there a minimum of every other weekend. He makes breakfast, so Wai's not complaining. There are enough different ways to cook omelets that Wai doesn't get tired of them, and he's always exhausted by Sunday.
"Look at you," Korn murmurs, hands cradling Wai's damp face, "Poor baby." Wai can't quite manage his usual bristle, either at the pet name or at Korn's stupid hands interfering with his moisturizer application. He settles for a partial sneer, more than halfway to nodding off, head listing in Korn's gentle grip. "Even your ears are drooping," Korn continues, reaching up carefully to flick at the terrycloth ears adorning Wai's headband.
"Shut up," Wai mutters, swaying dangerously, and Korn laughs, easing Wai into his side, arm around his shoulders to keep him upright as he starts shuffling them toward the bedroom.
"Sure, Mister Meow-Meow," Korn says, clearly enjoying himself. "Whatever you say. It's time for beddy-bye."
"I'm killing you in the morning," Wai says, but makes no attempt to break away, allowing Korn to shepherd him to the bed and tuck him in with a flourish. "Dead," he says, and Korn laughs again, pressing an affectionate kiss to Wai's brow.
"Go to sleep," he says. "I'll finish the accounts for you."
Wai make a noise that could be a thank you or could be another death threat, eyes already closed, body curling toward the empty half of the bed. Korn smiles and turns the light off on his way out.
*
"I still think you should just talk about it," Pran says, voice echoing just enough for Wai to tell that he's on speakerphone. "He's clearly waiting for you."
Wai shake his head even though Pran can't see it, but Pran probably knows he's doing it anyway. "It's fine how it is now."
"Is it, though?" Pran's tone is dry enough to scorch.
"The bar's doing great," Wai says, on the defensive. "And one of the girls at the firm asked for my number yesterday."
"You going to give it to her?"
"...No."
"Mmhm. So," Pran starts, and Wai cuts him off before he can deliver the killing blow.
"So it's fine," he says, and Pran sighs without saying anything else.
It is fine, it's still fine. The circles they're dancing in have gotten tighter and tighter and some days Wai is afraid one wrong step will bring it all tumbling down on his head, but he's also too stubborn to let it. Korn has his own toothbrush in Wai's bathroom, his own drawer in Wai's dresser, his own side of Wai's bed. Their lives touch at so many points that they couldn't be disentangled so much as ripped in half. And that, Wai thinks, is what he has to protect.
*
By the time it all comes to a head, Wai's prepared to swallow his tongue for the rest of his life. Pran's international phone call silences have gotten pointed enough to pierce, but Wai pretends he's not bleeding. Korn touches his hands too often and Wai lets him. Wai lets Korn do a lot of things that he shouldn't, which is how they end up here: caught face to face after hours in the narrow confines behind the bar, Korn's hands fitted to the curve of Wai's waist like they belong there.
"Hey," he says, voice soft and eyes dark, pupils blown wide in the dim light. Wai's head is swimming like he's had more than half a beer all night and he should move away, leave, anything. The problem is that he doesn't want to. He's never wanted to, if he's honest, not even the first time. "Can I kiss you," Korn says, and Wai nods without giving himself permission to do it, and then Korn's mouth is on his, gentle but urgent.
Wai breathes it in, kisses back, suddenly ravenous, starving, desperate. His hands come up to clutch at Korn's jaw, his neck, not sure if he's terrified or thrilled or both. Wai can taste the shot Korn had just before close, heady and alcoholic, lighting up his nerves. The kiss is neither short nor long, hovering in the liminal space between too much and not enough, leaves them hip to hip, heart to heart, swept up like sea glass strewn on the beach. Wai feels like he just stepped off a cliff only to find he had wings all along.
"I've been waiting to do that," Korn says, forehead pressed against Wai's, breath warm on his lips. Wai swallows.
"I know," he says, eyes still closed, dazed, "I'm sorry."
"I'm just happy you finally let me," Korn says, turns to brush his lips over Wai's cheek.
"I'll let you," Wai says. His head is still spinning but almost in reverse, a wobbling top righting itself and fuck you to gravity. Was it supposed to be this easy? "Whenever you want, I'll — I don't know what I was so afraid of, but I'll —"
"It's okay," Korn says, eases back enough to look at Wai properly when his eyes open. "I waited."
"You did, you did, I'm so sorry, I —"
"Stop apologizing —"
"No, I was. Part of me was waiting for you to forget, to move on, but I —"
"Impossible," Korn says gravely, and Wai laughs despite himself, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.
"I didn't really want you to," he says, and Korn kisses him again, a little harder.
"We can take our time talking about it," Korn says, relaxed in a way Wai realizes he hasn't seen in ages, another twinge of guilt Korn kisses out of his mouth. "I was never going to let you go to start with."
Wai coughs out another laugh, tucks his face into Korn's shoulder, breathes breathes breathes. "Yeah," he says, thinking about summer at beach, sunlight through the blinds, and the sound of waves outside. "We have time."