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Kneeling on the floorboards of a random motel, Nueng carefully looks at Palm. “Are you okay?”
It’s a ridiculous question. Of course it is. Palm’s just lost his mother, and they had to leave her behind because Nueng is someone who only leaves tragedy in his wake -
But he asks anyway.
Palm looks down, expression complicated. When he looks up, he’s smiling lightly. “Yes.”
That’s a lie. Nueng knows that. But he doesn’t push, because he knows that will be useless. Palm is self sacrificing down to his bones - he will pretend to be okay until his soul splinters into pieces too small to pick back up.
Instead, he nods. “You should go take a shower,” he says. “It may help you feel better.”
“It’s okay,” Palm smiles again, shaking his head. “You can take a shower first. I’ll order a beer to drink. Do you want anything?”
I want you to rely on me, Nueng wants to say. I want you to know it’s okay to cry. “Honestly, I don’t want you to drink,” he says instead. “But if it’ll help you forget and fall asleep, then do it.” Putting as much comfort as he can into his smile, Nueng leans forward just slightly. “I’ll be here for you.”
Palm nods, smile dropping just slightly.
“I’m sorry I can’t drink with you. If I drink, I will only be a burden to you,” Nueng grins, and Palm blinks, breath catching for a moment as his gaze roams over Nueng’s face. “Go take a shower or a bath. It’ll help. Trust me.”
After a moment, Palm nods again, and this time his smile is small but genuine. “Alright.” He stands up, making his way to the bathroom, and Nueng stares at his retreating back, at the tired set of his shoulders.
This grief isn’t Palm’s to have. It should have been Nueng’s. But he’s so utterly useless, and even in this he keeps turning to Palm to carry his burden. It makes Nueng’s skin itch, because it’s not fair, it’s not - Palm deserves better. He doesn’t deserve this - a cramped room and Nueng and a dead mother and nothing but tragedy. He deserves -
“Do you ever think about what your life would be like if you hadn't met me?” Nueng asks, staring at the ceiling -
- and even now, exhausted and grieving and hurting, Palm says, “Worse.” Even now, he says, “I’m glad I met you.”
Even now, when it’s Nueng’s fault that his mother is dead, Palm holds him close - and it feels like a forgiveness Nueng doesn’t deserve. Still, he is selfish to his core, and he holds Palm close, dances to silence and wraps his arms around Palm and listens to the steady beat of his heart. Just for a moment, he accepts the comfort that is not his to take.
Then he climbs out of bed and writes the goodbye note, making sure not to leave tear stains on it. His chest aches with the need to turn around, to burrow under Palm’s skin and make a home there so no one can tear them apart. But -
“It should have been me,” Nueng says to the silent room. “I have to do this.” He’s trying to convince himself - that the way his heart is bleeding itself raw and he hasn’t even left the room - that it’s worth it. Protecting Palm is worth it.
There is no response.