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Peem and Phum had been studying in silence at the library for the past two hours, with Phum sighing dramatically and with increasing frequency over the last thirty minutes.
“Are you bored or something?” Peem asks.
“Shh. I’m studying,” Phum shushes him. Peem opens his mouth in disbelief and goes back to the sketch of different tree types he has to do for class. Another half hour passes, with Phum sighing and glancing up at Peem every now and again and Peem trying and failing to ignore him. Ever since they kissed at the festival, something had shifted between them. Even if neither of them could define it yet. Peem is unsure how to read Phum’s behavior, but he’s about ready to ball up his sketch and throw it at Phum.
“Draw me,” Phum says suddenly. It’s less of a request and more of a demand, sugarcoated with his puppy-dog eyes. Peem’s hand freezes mid stroke on his sketch pad, more ink bleeding out of the pen than he intended.
“What?”
“I want you to draw me,” Phum says.
“I don’t do portraits,” Peem frowns.
Phum matches his expression, his eyebrows pulling together. “Why not?”
Peem tightens his grip on the pencil. “Because I just don’t.”
Phum hums, and Peem knows that a joke is coming.
“I think you’re just afraid you won’t do my handsome face justice,” Phum says. He leans forward, and Peem rolls his eyes. Taking the blunt end of the pencil, he taps Phum’s forehead.
“You. Are. So. Full. Of. Shit,” he says, grinning despite himself.
Phum pulls away and rubs the spot the pencil touched. He’s pouting, his bottom lip pushed out, and Peem can’t help but notice how kissable he looks. He shakes his head, blinking away the thought.
“What?” Phum asks.
“Nothing,” Peem says, turning his gaze back to the sketch in front of him. “I’m not going to draw you.”
~ ~ ~
“What are you doing today?” Phum asks.
“Painting,” Peem replies, putting the phone on speaker as he packs his art supplies.
“At the university?”
“Mm-hm.”
“I‘ll take you,” Phum says.
“I can go by myself.”
“But I want to go with you,” Phum replies.
“No, I’m going to be there all day,” Peem says. “You’ll be a distraction, and I’ve got a deadline to meet.”
“I promise I won’t bother you.”
“No.”
“Please?”
“No.”
“Pleeeease, Peem?”
Peem sighs. “Fine. But you better let me get my work done.”
A few hours later, Peem studies the painting in front of him. It’s starting to look somewhat presentable. It’s different from his usual style. Instead of a canvas covered in the calm blues and greens of the ocean, he’s painted a nighttime sky and indigo water. Reflections of orange and red fireworks ripple across the water’s surface, splashes of vibrant color bringing the scene to life. Phum’s been sleeping against the wall for the past hour, using Peem’s book bag as a makeshift pillow. Somehow, he’s still distracting Peem. But Peem’s not upset by it. And he doesn’t want to think too much about why.
~ ~ ~
Phum has invited himself over again, already helping Aunt Pui in the coffee shop when Peem walks through the door after class. Peem needs to shower and wash the sticky heat of the day off his skin, and Phum insists on waiting for him. It doesn’t help that he’s practically pushed up the stairs by Aunt Pui.
Once they get to his room, Peem drops his bag on the desk chair and turns to Phum. “You are such a nuisance.”
“I show up to help your hard-working aunt and this is how you thank me?” Phum crosses his arms and huffs. Peem turns around and starts unpacking his bag so Phum can’t see the smile tugging at his lips. It’s sweet, seeing Phum in an apron bussing tables and attempting latte art. But Phum doesn’t need to know that.
“I’m going to go shower,” Peem announces, grabbing fresh clothes and locking himself in the bathroom before Phum can try to follow him there too. Somehow, he still can’t escape.
“Peem, can I look at your sketchbook?” Phum asks, his voice muffled through the closed door.
“Sure,” Peem says, knowing it’s the one he just brought home from school. It’s filled with haphazard notes from class and random assignments. Nothing major. Still, it’s little pieces of him taken from the safety of his mind and put out into the open, and he’s glad he’s not in the room while Phum looks at it.
Peem’s halfway through washing his hair when the realization hits him.
It’s not just sketches from class in that notebook.
He finishes his shower in record time and bursts into the bedroom still drying his hair. Phum’s lounging in the desk chair, sketchbook in hand, shit-eating grin on his face.
“Well hello there, Mr. I don’t do portraits,” Phum greets him. Peem tosses the towel he had on his head at Phum. “I—you,” Peem stutters, “Give me that.”
He lunges for the sketchbook and trips over the book bag that’s been moved to the floor. Phum pulls the notebook away, and Peem winds up leaning over him, bracing himself with his hands on the edge of the desk, their faces inches apart. It’s impossible to ignore Phum’s warm eyes and bright smile from this distance. It would be so easy to lean in a little more…Phum’s eyes dart around Peem's face, and Peem wonders if he’s thinking the same thing. Or maybe he thinks Peem is too close. He leaps back, his face warm as a blush creeps onto his cheeks.
“You have drawn me,” Phum says, his gaze back on the sketchbook. Peem is sure his face is bright red now. It’s true. He’s drawn Phum. A lot. More times than he cares to admit.
It started after the festival when they kissed for the first time. Peem couldn’t stop thinking about it. How infuriating and satisfying it felt. The way the moonlight reflected off Phum’s stupidly handsome face. How soft his lips were. How much he wanted to kiss him again and again, despite insisting that he definitely did not have feelings for Phum. And when Phum didn’t bring up the kiss in the days that followed, Peem wasn’t sure what to do.
So he started drawing. The sketch was supposed to be of the lifeguard tower at the beach. But his thoughts kept drifting to Phum, and the next thing he knew, Phum was staring back up at him from the page. It was a rough likeness, because Peem really doesn’t do portraits often. People are complicated. Drawing them is even more complicated. Still, he couldn’t help but feel at ease drawing Phum. In person, his heart would race, but his hands were always steady while drawing.
After the first attempt, he sketched Phum often. In black pen along the margins of his notes. In splashes of watercolor across a full page. Shaded pencil drawings of his eyes. The more time he spent with Phum, the more he drew, and the better the sketches became. There were even a few he was quite proud of. Still, he wasn’t ever planning on showing them to Phum.
But now Phum has seen them all.
The initial shock has worn off, and a tiny voice comes whispers in Peem’s mind. Does Phum like the drawings? Does he think they’re weird?
“How did…why?” Phum asks, the words as unsteady as Peem feels.
“What?”
Phum looks away, and Peem notices a blush on his ears. “The drawings…why did you make them of me?”
It’s a complicated question, and Peem’s not sure how to answer. Or if he even knows the answer himself. He does know that when he looks at Phum, he doesn't want to look away. That when they're apart, he hopes it isn't for long.
“You did ask me to draw you,” he finally says.
“And you said you wouldn’t,” Phum reminds him. “But I’m too handsome to resist, right?”
Peem considers taking the bait and brushing the whole thing off with a joke, but something flutters in his chest and tells him not to.
“Yes, you are,” Peem says, meeting Phum’s eyes. Now it’s Phum’s turn to blush. Peem continues, almost dizzy with the thought of revealing his deepest thoughts to Phum. “You are handsome. And you gave me roses. And you kissed me. And you make cute lattes. And I don’t know if any of it means anything to you. But despite how hard I’ve tried to pretend otherwise, it clearly means something to me.”
He pauses, his heart about to escape his chest. Phum sets the sketchbook down on the desk and stands, closing the space between them. Peem focuses on breathing. In. Out. In. Out. Phum leans in, grabbing Peem’s chin. His gaze drops to Peem’s lips, eyes dark and heavy with emotion. It’s the same look from the night of the festival.
It’s all Peem needs. He wraps his arms around Phum’s waist, pulling their bodies together. The movement causes Phum’s lips to part in surprise, and Peem takes the opportunity. He kisses Phum, and Phum responds, his hands moving from Peem’s jaw to his hair as he deepens the kiss. Phum feels the beat spread throughout his body. It’s fire that doesn’t burn, and it’s intoxicating. When they pull apart, Phum smiles, resting his forehead against Peem’s.
“It means something to me too,” he says, breathless. Phum steps away, and Peem follows him, as if tugged by a magnetic pull. Phum picks up the notebook and flips to one of the early sketches Peem did. “You should really have me model for you though. My nose is all wrong, and my hair definitely doesn’t look like that.”
Peem scoffs. “You’re just lucky I didn’t give you devil horns.”
“There’s always next time,” Phum replies with a wink. Peem rolls his eyes, but he fails at hiding his smile. Phum wants him to continue drawing his portraits. Butterflies erupt in his stomach, and he fights the urge to kiss Phum again.
“No, I think I’ve drawn you enough. Your ego is already too big,” Peem says.
Phum pouts, turning on his puppy-dog plead.
“Peem,” he whines, drawing out the vowels. He flips to a fresh page and thrusts the notebook at Peem. “Draw me.”
“I don’t feel like it,” Peem says, finding ease their familiar game even as his knees tremble and his heart hammers, still lost in the memory of Phum pressed against him.
“Please draw me,” Phum insists.
“I already drew you so much. Don’t be greedy.”
“But I didn’t know about them so they don’t count,” Phum counters.
“Posing for a portrait means you have to sit still for hours,” Peem says.
Phum leans forward, planting a quick kiss on Peem’s cheek before he can even register what’s happening. “Then I’ll just stock up on kisses ahead of time,” Phum grins. Peem sighs, but it’s impossible to deny Phum.
“Pass me a pencil,” Peem says, holding out his palm. Phum grabs a whole handful of pens and pencils and markers off of Peem’s desk, practically bouncing with joy.
“You have to give me a kiss before I can hand them over,” Phum says.
“I only need one pencil, Phum,” Peem shakes his head.
“Too late, I grabbed seven, so I need seven kisses to unlock them,” Phum argues.
Peem crosses his arms. “You’re ridiculous.”
Phum puffs his cheeks, tapping one with his spare hand, eyes bright with mischief. Peem has plenty of other drawing materials in the desk, at his easel, and in his book bag. Still, when it comes to Phum, he’s all too happy to oblige.
Peem grabs Phum’s jaw, pecks both cheeks three times, and then flicks his forehead. “That’s all you get. Now sit down and let me draw you in peace.”
“Thank you, Peem,” Phum grins, and Peem isn’t sure he’ll be able to capture that smile on paper. But he’s hopeful he’ll have a lifetime to try.