Work Text:
Kneeling on the hardwood floor, White gently laid his books inside, hoping they would make it unscathed from the plane. He’d been here once before, packing all he knew into some simple boxes, all his toys, books, memories. He thought it would hurt less this time. Boxes were strewn about, room in disarray as the clock ticked well into midnight. He was almost done, he didn’t have as much to pack this time, and he wouldn’t be leaving for another week anyway. He pushed his glasses up as he looked around.
He’d spent ten years in this room, tailoring it to him, spent countless nights studying, and on his worst days he cried here, face pushed into his pillow. He came to love it here, his first friend from Russia stayed over here, his first kiss, he asked out his first girlfriend here. His chest hurt, almost like he couldn’t breath. Yet, he was relieved too, almost ecstatic, because he was finally returning home. To his childhood house, not that he could visit anyway, his first bike, his first school, and P’. He glanced at his closet, brown eyes dejected, a single black shirt stood out among his bright shirts. It didn’t smell like Black anymore.
Like the flowers that grew in their backyard, the mud Black was always covered in, like his favorite cologne P’ swore he didn’t wear. There was nothing in the world that White missed more than Black. Born barely three minutes earlier, he viewed himself as White’s sworn protector, kept him safe from school yard bullies, often took the blame for him, and promised to always fight for him. They were two halves of a whole and he never imagined a life without him. A tear fell and he rubbed it away, he hadn’t cried for Black in years. It reminds him of when he first moved here, and would cry non-stop. Sobbing well into the night as his father tried in vain to console him. He cried from his mother, for Todd, his old bike, their shared room, and P’ most of all. Eventually he was all out of tears and found a perfect distraction in the Russian language and his school work.
Now, he was finally returning to Thailand after ten long years, something he begged for years ago, and what was waiting for him? Knowing Black he probably ran the first chance he got, his mother wouldn’t speak to him, he tried contacting her before, and he knows his father wouldn’t tell him even if he knew. They never talked about it now, an open wound they refused to acknowledge. In a little over a week he would finally be back in Thailand, but would it be worth it? To return to nothing he once loved and a new life? White always knew he was going to be a diplomat like his father, there wasn’t anything else for him, but-
His phone rang and a shiver ran up his spine. He looked away from his closet and reached over, barely managing to grab his phone.
He answered and a pleasant voice spoke. As they talked, White kept packing, refusing to look at his closet as all his memories and hard work are stacked inside cardboard boxes to be sent to Thailand.