Chapter Text
The air in Bangkok always felt thicker at dusk, heavy with the scent of grilled chicken and wet pavement. That evening, the sun had just dipped below the apartment buildings, and the sky bled orange and violet through the power lines like a half-forgotten watercolor.
Thame, twelve years old and barefoot, crouched behind the kitchen door. He knew he shouldn't be spying, but he told himself he wasn't doing anything wrong... just listening. Watching.
The voices floated in from the front porch. Laughter. His sister's, sharp and quick. And his. Low and light, with a kind of carelessness Thame had never been able to master.
Po.
Thame peeked.
There he was again. Same black tank top. Same khaki shorts. Same lean arms, corded with muscle in that way you could only get from swimming every day. His skin glowed gold in the fading light, and when he leaned against the doorframe with one shoulder, the curve of his waist narrowed so cleanly it made Thame blink twice. A triangle. Wide at the top, pulled in like it was drawn with a ruler.
Thame didn't understand the feeling at first, just that his chest felt tight and his breath caught somewhere in his throat like he'd swallowed too much air. He didn't know what to call the way he liked how Po's hair fell into his eyes, or how his laugh made Sonya beam like she was someone softer than she ever was with anyone else.
"Thame, are you eavesdropping again?" Sonya's voice rang out.
He ducked, cheeks burning, but it was too late. She leaned through the doorframe, raising an eyebrow. Po didn't follow her gaze. He was still talking, still moving his hands when he spoke, laughing at something Thame couldn't hear now.
Thame muttered. "Was just looking for my book."
"Mhm." Sonya said, but didn't press it. She turned back, her voice trailing off into casual chatter again.
Thame didn't move.
Instead, he stayed where he was, crouched in the warm shadows, staring at the boy who had started coming around more often since summer. The boy who always smelled like soap and pool chlorine. The boy who made his sister laugh but never seemed to laugh like that with anyone else.
And right there, at twelve years old, Thame felt something bloom in his chest that he couldn't name. Something soft and aching and entirely his.
It would take him two more years to whisper the truth into his own pillow. But that night, he didn't need words. He just watched Po throw his head back and laugh again.
And he fell.
Months later, Thame woke up one day, realizing how much he loved when Po stayed over. It wasn't just him particularly. Sonya had four more friends sleeping in her room, but Thame's focus stopped at Po.
One morning, Po wore a loose T-shirt with rolled-up sleeves. Seated at the kitchen counter, lazily peeling a boiled egg with one hand, the veins in his forearm bulged when he gripped the spoon. Thame pretended to be looking for cereal but kept glancing over.
When Sonya asked Po and another friend to help rearrange her room. Thame watched from the hallway as Po lifted a small shelf on his own, his biceps flexing through his fitted shirt. There was a tiny smear of dust on Po's cheek, and Thame couldn't stop staring.
Sonya, Po, and a friend of theirs were cramming for an exam at the dining table. Po leaned over his notes, hand writing fast. His veins pulse along the back of his hand as he flipped a page, and Thame, who were meant to be doing his own homework, forgot what subject he was on.
That same evening, Po changed into a shirt that had its sleeves cut off. Thame had to stop himself from drooling over the lean body and the glowy skin he was showing.
The three friends were roasting each other over how bad their in-game skills were in the living room. Thame lay on the couch, taking up only half the space. He had a manga in his hand as he pretended to read. When Sonya's friend turned, and asked Thame what he was reading, Thame had to double check the cover. He had no clue. He hadn't turned a page in the last twenty minutes.
The most important day of Thame's thirteen-year-old life wasn't when he passed pre-algebra, or when Po casually ruffled his hair once in the kitchen.
It was a humid, forgettable summer night... except for one thing that made it unforgettable.
Sonya had been invited to an all-girls birthday party. The kind that required begging their parents for permission, especially from their father, who squinted suspiciously and asked: "No boys, right?"
"Of course not." Sonya said, already texting on her phone. But later that evening, the front door buzzed.
Po showed up.
Not for Thame. Not for their dad. For Sonya. With a duffel bag over his shoulder, hair still damp from a shower, and that unmistakable way he always smelled like something cool and expensive. Thame had just come downstairs for a snack when he froze at the sight. Po, standing at the hallway mirror, fixing his hair with one hand, the other gripping his bag strap.
The hallway light hit his face in a way Thame would remember forever. Jawline sharper than usual. Adam's apple visible when he swallowed. The line of his neck clean and lean beneath his collar.
Thame blinked.
A boy? Going to an all-girls sleepover?
Back then, he couldn't piece it together. Couldn't understand why Sonya's best friend got to go, when even the idea of a boy made their dad suspicious.
Po didn't say much. Just glanced at Sonya, who was still in the hallway fixing her makeup, and smirked like they had a secret between them. He was just a boy, Thame told himself. Just Sonya's best friend.
But he had a bag full of sleepover clothes, painted nails that matched Sonya's, and a shirt so oversized it felt like fashion, not laziness. And as Thame stood there with a half-eaten snack in his hand, one thought lodged itself in his chest like a pin: Po gets to go.
Thame lingered at the bottom of the stairs, just outside the frame of the hallway mirror. The shadows hid him, but his ears stayed sharp.
Sonya, reapplying lip gloss, caught Po's eye in the mirror. "Can you believe my dad?" She said, smirking. "Still asking if boys are gonna be there."
Po rolled his eyes, adjusting the collar of his shirt. "Yeah, good thing I'm not one of those." He said, and winked.
Sonya laughed under her breath. "Obviously."
Thame's stomach flipped.
He didn't fully get the joke. Not then. But it meant something.Ssomething that passed between them like a shared language he didn't speak yet. And the way Po said it easy, relaxed, a little proud, it echoed in Thame's chest.
Po picked up his duffel bag again and brushed past Sonya to the door. His nails flashed under the light. Pale lavender.
"Let's go, Son. We're already fashionably late."
Thame held his breath as the door shut behind them. Only then did he realize he hadn't blinked in almost a full minute.
Thame lay on his side in the dark, one arm curled under his cheek, the other clutching his phone. Not because he was using it, just... holding it, like it might keep him grounded.
He couldn't sleep. Not after that.
The hallway. The mirror. Po's voice, echoing like it had been recorded straight into Thame's spine.
"Good thing I'm not one of those."
Not one of what? Boys? Not one of those boys?
His brain folded in on itself trying to work it out, then reworked it again, and again. It didn't really matter what Po meant. What mattered was the way he said it with this sideways smirk and a flick of his fingers, like it was obvious. Like he wasn't hiding anything.
Thame's chest felt too full.
Not one of those boys. Lavender nail polish. Po at the mirror, brushing his hair with both hands like he knew someone was watching.
And then Sonya's laugh... soft, real. Not her usual razor-sharp sarcasm. Just a laugh she only seemed to save for Po. Thame blinked up at the ceiling. The fan spun in lazy circles. He felt warm and jittery at the same time, like he'd swallowed a secret he couldn't name.
"I think I like him." He whispered to no one, just to the shadows. His heart thudded so hard it almost scared him. But he didn't take it back.
The living room was dim and quiet, except for the soft flicker of the TV screen. Sonya sat cross-legged on one end of the couch, half-scrolling her phone. Their mom sat in the armchair, already drifting in and out of sleep. Fourteen years-old Thame was curled up on the floor, chin resting on his knees, watching the movie without really watching it.
It wasn't about anything important. Some drama his mom picked at random. People with problems in expensive houses. Nothing that felt close to real life. And then, without warning, a scene. Two men. On a rooftop at night. One of them looked scared, the other just stared. Then the second man leaned in.
They kissed.
Not for long. Not even dramatically. Just enough to mean something.
No one in the room said anything. No one gasped. No one laughed. The movie moved on, like it was normal. Like it wasn't the loudest thing Thame had ever seen.
But for him, the room collapsed inward.
His heart galloped into his throat. His eyes blurred. He couldn't tell if anyone was looking at him, so he didn't move. He didn't even breathe. Ten minutes later, he said he was tired and went upstairs.
In his room, Thame closed the door slowly. Then locked it. Then stood in front of the mirror, unsure what he was supposed to be looking for.
His face was the same. Same eyes. Same crooked collar. Same hoodie.
But something inside him felt like it cracked. "I'm gay." He whispered.
It was quieter than he expected. Like telling someone a secret. Only that someone was him.
He stared into his own eyes, trying to find the thing that made it true. Was it the way he blushed whenever Po smiled at him? Was it how his chest locked up when he saw those two men kiss?
"I like men." His voice trembled. Not with fear, but with something like recognition. "I like Po." There it was. His breath fogged the mirror for a second, then faded. And he stood there, silently, waiting to feel different.
Nothing changed. Not really.
His face was still his face. The mirror didn't crack. The world didn't stop spinning.
Nothing was different. But somehow, everything was.
Since last year, he knew he had a thing or two for Sonya's best friend. The way Po smiled. The way he moved. The way his voice dropped when he was half-awake and teasing Sonya on weekend mornings. Thame noticed it all. He felt it all.
Only now... Now he understood the weight of it.
It wasn't just a phase. It wasn't admiration. It wasn't a stupid crush he could outgrow. It had a name. A shape. A truth.
"I like him. I like Po."
And God, it felt incredible. Like unzipping something too tight. Like breathing after holding his lungs full for too long.
But it was also terrifying. Because saying it didn't make it safe. Saying it didn't mean anyone else would understand. Saying it didn't make Po any closer. But it was real now. And that was something.
The next morning, Thame sat at the kitchen table stirring cereal he wasn't eating. The spoon clinked the sides of the bowl like a clock ticking too loud. Sonya breezed past him with yesterday's eyeliner still half-smudged, grabbing a slice of toast and humming something tuneless.
Po wasn't with her. For once, Thame was relieved.
After last night, he couldn't bear the idea of looking Po in the eyes. Not yet. His thoughts still echoed too loudly in his chest. I'm gay. I like men. I like Po.
His reflection had heard it. The ceiling had heard it. But no one else could.
That year moved like slow water.
At school, Thame started seeing people. Like really seeing them. The way some boys sat too close to each other at lunch. The way others said "no homo" after compliments and made him flinch. The way one kid, Jet, wore a rainbow pin on his backpack and didn't care who stared.
Sometimes Thame imagined being that open. But mostly, he just kept his secret warm in his chest, like a coal he wasn't ready to share. And always, always, there was Po.
By the time Thame turned fifteen, the house was quieter.
Po still came around, but not like before. No more long afternoons with him on the couch. No more casual sleepovers or half-eaten snacks shared with Sonya while Thame hovered in doorways pretending not to look.
Po was in college now. He dressed sharper. Grew out his hair just enough to tuck behind one ear. His shoulders were broader. His voice smoother. He wore watches. Said things like "I should head out, I've got class in the morning."
And Sonya? She wore crop tops and chaos. She lived for Friday nights and neon eyeliner, drifting further into parties and Instagram captions that sounded nothing like her.
Po noticed. Thame noticed him noticing.
He saw it in the way Po hesitated before knocking on their door. In the way he laughed less around her, and more around no one at all. Like he was slowly stepping away, and no one but Thame was watching him go.
Some nights, Thame would lie in bed and scroll through Po's old photos. The ones with his arm slung around Sonya, both of them laughing, blurry from movement. And even though it hurt to see them, it hurt worse to notice how few new pictures there were.
It wasn't over between them. Not officially. Not out loud. But something was fading.
And in that quiet, Thame's feelings grew. Not louder, exactly, just deeper. More rooted. No longer just a crush but a quiet devotion that even he didn't fully understand.
The scent of grilled pork lingered in the air, tangled with Sonya's expensive vanilla perfume (the kind that only came out on special nights). The living room glowed under warm yellow bulbs, every surface a little cluttered: soda bottles sweating on the table, a misshapen pink cake with two glittery candles shaped like a two and a zero, a speaker humming something rhythmic and disposable in the background. The kind of sound that made your chest feel empty when the song ended.
Sonya was everywhere.
She twirled in front of the hallway mirror, adjusted her top without shame, re-applied her lipstick while talking; effortlessly multitasking the way she always had, a storm and a spotlight rolled into one. At twenty, Sonya wasn't just legal. She was dangerous. That kind of dangerous that came from knowing you could get into a club without lying, could order your own drinks without anyone checking your ID twice. She was finally stepping into the chaotic womanhood she'd always flirted with. She looked like she belonged on a billboard or in a neon-lit music video.
Thame sat at the kitchen counter, trying to stay out of the whirlwind. Jun was next to him, casually working his way through a bowl of shrimp chips, his hoodie sleeves pushed up, legs swinging. He was watching Sonya with the kind of detached amusement only someone not related to her could have.
"She's in full villain arc now." Jun whispered with a grin.
Thame exhaled through his nose, smirking. "She's been rehearsing since she could walk."
Sonya turned to them, hands on her hips. "Do you guys even realize how hot I look right now? Say it. Compliment me. Shower me in love."
Jun put his hand over his heart. "Queen of sin and slay. We are not worthy."
Thame rolled his eyes, lips twitching. "Try not to get arrested."
"Hot and above the law." Sonya purred, clicking invisible stilettos on the tile floor.
Their mother passed behind them with a wine glass in hand and a knowing smile. "Don't forget your ID, drama queen."
"Already in my purse." Sonya called, lifting the small glittery clutch she'd strategically picked for maximum sparkle.
Then, in a rare moment of softness, she stepped toward Thame and ruffled his hair. "Thanks for being chill. I know you hate attention and now you have to see me go full chaos."
"You've never been low-key." He muttered, but he didn't pull away.
She kissed the top of his head. "And you love it."
At 10 PM, the house exhaled. Their parents disappeared into their room, the soft thud of the door closing like the night folding in around them. The music faded to a hum. Outside, crickets sang.
Jun and Thame retreated to Thame's room like always. They sprawled on the floor, shoulder to shoulder, surrounded by snack wrappers and the glow of Thame's phone playing some dumb YouTube skit neither of them were really watching. They were just there in that warm, liminal space between teenager and not-yet-grown, where things felt both infinite and heartbreakingly temporary.
Jun was doing impressions of their physics teacher, voice high-pitched and nasal, mouth full of chips. Thame was laughing, hard, until he could barely breathe.
Then-
A single honk. Sharp. Clean. Confident. It echoed against the walls of the house and cracked open something inside the moment.
Jun paused mid-bite, turned toward the window. "Yo. That's the club-mobile." He stood up, pushing the curtain aside. The glass fogged slightly from his breath. "Holy shit. Dude, come look at this sexy beauty."
Thame stayed on the floor, stretching his limbs. "It's just a car."
"No, no, no. You don't understand. This thing looks like it was handcrafted by angels. Come see."
Grumbling half-heartedly, Thame hauled himself up, mostly to humor him. He stood next to Jun, tugged the curtain a little further.
At first, all he saw was the car. Sleek and metallic, its curves catching the orange spill of the streetlight like liquid. The kind of car you didn't park, you posed in. Something about it screamed too expensive to exist in this neighborhood.
Jun was rambling about whether it was German or Japanese when the back door of the car opened.
And Thame's whole world stilled.
Po stepped out like he was stepping into a movie scene, wearing soft black trousers and a silky button-down in the faintest shade of pink, rolled up at the sleeves, showing lean forearms and those veins Thame used to stare at when he was younger. His shoulders were broader than before, his waist still impossibly slim. His hair, longer now, curled just behind his ears in gentle waves, the ends catching the streetlight like ink.
He looked... effortless. Expensive. Grown.
But it wasn't just the clothes. It was something in the way he moved. The flick of his wrist when he shut the car door. The way he tilted his head, adjusted his collar, and gave Sonya a one-armed hug that ended with him smoothing her hair back like they were models in a fragrance ad.
Then he did something.
Something small. Something gay.
Maybe it was how he flicked his hand with theatrical flair. Or maybe it was the slight sway in his hips when he turned, or the mock-sassy glance he threw over his shoulder before sliding back into the car. It was effortless, unbothered, lived-in. Like he knew exactly who he was and he wasn't hiding it.
Thame's breath caught in his throat.
Four years. Four years between sixteen and twenty had never felt like so much until now.
He felt like a kid again, gawky and out-of-place in his hoodie and socks, standing there with Jun like a bystander in a life he wasn't invited to. Po looked like he belonged on runways, in clubs, wrapped in arms that weren't Thame's.
It was the first time he realized: He didn't even know if Po was single. Didn't know who he kissed. Didn't know who kissed him. He didn't know when the last time Po thought about Sonya was. Or if he still did. Or if he ever thought about Thame at all.
"Hey." Jun said gently. "You're super quiet."
Thame forced a blink, loosened his grip on the curtain. "Just tired."
But that wasn't it. Not really. He wasn't just tired. He was flustered. Jealous. Insecure. Utterly, hopelessly wrecked.
Po had been beautiful before. But now, he was something worse: impossible. And yet, Thame's chest ached with that same old ache. The car pulled away. The street went silent. And Thame, still staring after it, whispered under his breath like a secret prayer:
"God, why does he have to be so beautiful now?"
Jun didn't say anything at first. Just lingered near the window for a second longer, then let the curtain fall shut with a soft flick. Thame had already retreated back to the floor, back into the half-dark of his room, like nothing had happened. But he was quiet now, too quiet, like he was trying to fold himself into the shadows.
Jun dropped beside him again, crossing his legs, picking at a snack wrapper without looking at him. There was a beat of stillness, soft but heavy, like the air knew what had just passed between them.
Jun chewed the inside of his cheek. Then he said, lightly: "Okay... but seriously, who was that guy?" Thame didn't answer right away. Jun didn't press, just added: "He looked kinda cool. Was that one of Sonya's exes or something?"
Thame shook his head. "No. Just... her best friend."
Jun hummed, like that explained enough. "Ah. The driver vibes. Makes sense."
He leaned back, arms behind him, face turned toward the ceiling, pretending like he wasn't noticing how still Thame had gone. But he'd heard it. That faint hitch in Thame's breath when the guy stepped out of the car. That pause. That kind of silence that wraps around something too delicate to name.
Jun glanced sideways, quickly, just for a second. Thame's face was mostly unreadable. Eyes on the floor, jaw clenched like he was thinking hard about something he'd never say out loud.
So Jun didn't ask. He just leaned closer, tiny smirk appearing on his lips. "He's really hot, though." He said.
It was casual. Weightless.
Thame's eyes flicked up, startled.
Jun looked at him and offered a crooked little smile. "I mean... c'mon. I don't even know the dude and I still kinda want his number."
Thame let out a tiny breath of laughter. Barely audible, but real. And that was it. Jun didn't need the whole story. He already knew enough.
A few weeks passed like a slow blink. The memory of Po stepping out of that car still flickered behind Thame's eyes some nights; sharp collarbones, wide shoulders, that little wave in his hair from the humid Bangkok night. And the way Jun had looked at him after. Not judging, not weird, just... knowing. It never got talked about. But it hung there. Quietly. Like something fragile and half-born.
Now, the house was empty. At least, of adults.
Their parents had left that morning with enough packed bags to signal full trust. A wedding in Chiang Mai. Two days. One night. Sonya had waved them off, all sweetness and angel-face, and then immediately invited seven of her loudest, rowdiest university friends.
By sunset, the backyard was alive. The pool (a small, above-ground one with faded blue plastic lining and a few missing tiles around its concrete border) glinted under fairy lights Sonya had half-heartedly strung up. Plastic chairs, a speaker playing loud Thai pop, a cooler of Leo beers sweating in the heat, and Sonya's friends beautiful, chaotic, already tipsy. Someone had brought a Bluetooth mic and was butchering a Tata Young song.
Thame stayed inside, because of course he did.
He and Jun were elbows-deep in flour and chaos, hunched over a bowl in the kitchen, trying to remember if baking soda and baking powder were the same thing. The air smelled like sugar and burnt something. Jun's phone was playing a quiet playlist, some mix of Tilly Birds and mellow Korean R&B.
"Dude, I think you were supposed to melt the butter first." Jun said, peering into the goop they'd made.
"I did. It just, like... solidified again." Thame said, defeated, wrist aching from mixing.
"You literally made cookie cement."
Then the kitchen door creaked open. A girl stumbled in. Tall, willowy, and sun-flushed in a yellow two-piece that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Her sunglasses were still on despite the fading light, and her beach wrap was trailing behind her like a forgotten cape.
"OMG!" She breathed, dramatic as a soap opera, holding the wall like gravity was optional. "Are you- baking?"
Jun straightened. "Uh... kind of."
She squinted at them, then wobbled toward the counter. "I love cookies." She tried to lean on the table, missed, and half-collapsed onto a chair, laughing at herself.
Thame froze, eyes wide. He glanced at Jun, who looked like someone just turned the difficulty level of the moment to hard mode. His smile was polite, but his eyes screamed "what the hell is going on".
The girl slurred: "You gotta fold it. Not mix. Like. Like gently." She reached over, fingers dusted in pool water and sunscreen, and tried to "fold" the dough with a butter knife.
Jun stepped slightly to the side, caught between being respectful and not wanting a boob accidentally shoved in his face. "You okay, though? You want some water?"
"I want." She said, eyes half-closed. "A cookie."
The door opened again.
And Thame's soul left his body.
Po walked in like he had no idea what he was doing to the room. His hair was damp, curling a little at the ends. Water glistened across his collarbones and shoulders. His swim trunks hung low on his hips, revealing the precise lines of his obliques and that subtle triangle shape Thame had memorized too many times in his head. He was holding a towel casually over one shoulder, like he belonged on the cover of a sports drink ad.
"Fon, come on." Po said, voice warm and amused. "You said you were going for a toilet break, not a kitchen raid."
"I'm helping!" Fon declared proudly, gesturing vaguely at the bowl of dough.
Po looked at the bowl, then at the two boys standing frozen on either side of it. And something shifted in his gaze.
Thame was beet red. His hands shook slightly as he tried to scoop the dough onto the tray, but it slipped off the spoon with a wet plop. He cursed under his breath and licked a bit of dough off his finger, trying to cover the embarrassment, but accidentally locked eyes with Po while doing it.
A moment passed. Po's expression flickered. Barely. But he saw it. That little flinch of panic in Thame's eyes. The stiff shoulders. The blush creeping all the way to his ears.
And Thame knew he'd seen it. Knew, by the way Po's gaze softened just a fraction, something had registered.
Po smiled a little. Not teasing. Not smug. Just... soft. Understanding. "Come on." He said to Fon, offering a hand. She took it like a sleepy child.
Po led her out, towel still draped casually, like he hadn't just walked in and turned Thame's entire bloodstream to static.
The door closed behind them. Jun waited a beat, then turned slowly toward Thame, raising an eyebrow.
"...You good, man?"
Thame didn't answer. He just stared at the cookie dough. His heart felt like it had been unplugged and plugged back in, a faulty wire sparking in his chest.
No. He was not good. He was definitely, definitely not good.
The backyard had slipped into a golden blur.
The sky was deepening from orange to violet, the kind of Bangkok evening that stuck to your skin. Laughter echoed off the neighbors' walls, bass thumping softly from the speaker, and beer bottles clinked against plastic tables. The air was thick with the smell of sunscreen, and that sticky sweetness of summer fruit and cheap mixers.
Thame hovered near the edge of it all, one foot on the patio tiles, the other nervously tapping at the grass. He clutched a half-eaten cookie like it might protect him from human interaction.
Jun was a few feet away, crouched next to the cooler, fishing out a soda. Everyone else was around the pool. A collection of legs dipped in water, bikinis and trunks, cigarette smoke curling in the dusk. Po was out there too, sitting on the low wall by the edge of the yard, a drink in his hand, posture relaxed but his eyes alert, following the laughter like a dog trained for it.
Then came Ton.
Tall, broad-shouldered, freshly buzzed haircut and a grin that said he got away with things just because of it. He was one of Sonya's oldest university friends. Funny, sharp, good at karaoke, and definitely a little drunk.
Ton spotted Thame, and his whole face lit up.
"Hey! You're Sonya's brother, right?" He called, sauntering over with the confidence of someone who'd never been told 'no.'
Thame stiffened. He nodded slowly. "Yeah. Thame."
"Thame." Ton repeated like it was a test word on his tongue. "You're cute."
The backyard didn't freeze, but it shimmered. Just slightly. Just enough.
Thame blinked. "Uh..."
Ton leaned against the patio post beside him, forearm flexing as he propped himself up. "You got a girlfriend?"
That made a few of the girls giggle, half-distracted. Fon muttered something like: "Ton, don't flirt with children" but it was teasing, not serious. She was refilling her drink.
Thame swallowed hard. "No."
Ton smiled, almost sly now. "Yeah? You look like you break hearts."
Thame had no clue what to do with his hands. He laughed nervously, high-pitched, and half-stifled. "I- I don't." His voice cracked a little on the word don't, and it burned his throat.
That was when Thame looked up out of instinct, out of desperation... and saw Po.
Still on the wall. Still calm. But watching.
Not confused. Not angry. Just... quiet. His brows low, his jaw slightly clenched, his eyes fixed on Thame. And something passed between them. Not a spark. Not a promise. But understanding.
Because in that awkward, pink-faced moment, caught between Ton's lazy flirting and his own heartbeat trying to leap out of his chest, Thame couldn't hide it anymore. Not the way he kept glancing at Po like a compass needle. Not the nervous twist of his fingers. Not the way his eyes dropped immediately after meeting Po's, as if contact alone could undo him.
Po sipped his drink, still watching. And across the lawn, Jun saw the whole thing. Saw Thame shrink. Saw Po tilt his head ever so slightly.
And Jun's gaze hardened. He was putting it together. Thame had no idea who noticed more: his best friend, or his sister's best friend. All he knew was his pulse was in his throat and his skin felt a size too small.
The party outside carried on. Now, it was louder, messier, a little slurred around the edges. Someone dropped a glass an hour ago. Someone else started blasting music from their phone after the speaker cut out. Sonya's laugh, always a little unhinged when she drank, echoed from the backyard like a war cry.
Thame closed his bedroom door behind them and flicked off the light. The air inside was cooler. Calmer. Still smelled faintly like baked cookies and sunscreen.
Jun flopped onto the mattress without hesitation, sighing into the pillow. "Drunk people are exhausting."
Thame nodded even though Jun couldn't see it. "I'm glad we're not out there." He slid under the blanket, even though the room wasn't cold. The buzz of the ceiling fan whirred steadily above them. The kind of background noise that made silence feel softer.
Minutes passed. Quiet settled like dust.
Then, softly, like a pebble tossed across a pond... Jun spoke.
"Is he your first crush?"
Thame blinked into the dark. His chest clenched tight before he could stop it.
He didn't ask who. He didn't need to. His voice came out small, like the truth was peeling its way out from under his ribs. "Yeah?"
A faint rustle of fabric was the only noise in the dark. Jun was shifting to face Thame. "I figured."
Thame stared at the ceiling. The shapes there blurred. "How?"
A pause. Then Jun's voice came, honest. Not smug or teasing, just matter-of-fact.
"You stare at him like you're in pain."
Thame let out a weak, embarrassed laugh and buried his face in the pillow.
"And you don't flinch when girls flirt with you." Jun continued, like he was checking things off a quiet list. "But when a guy does? You get weird. Red-faced. Like tonight with Ton. And at school you do that thing with your sleeves when you're nervous. Especially around that senior guy from the library club."
"I don't do that."
"You do."
Silence again. Thame turned over, facing Jun's shape in the dark now, barely visible in the soft city-glow leaking in from the blinds.
"Yeah." Thame whispered. "I'm gay."
It felt strange to say out loud. Stranger still that it didn't shatter anything. That nothing cracked or broke or made a sound. It was just a truth, in the dark, between the sheets, resting on the edge of someone else's breath.
Jun let the silence stretch a little longer. Then said, softly: "I know."
Thame let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
"How?" He asked again. Not about the behavior. Not the signs. Something deeper.
Jun understood. "Because... I'm bisexual."
Thame's eyes flicked wide in the dark.
Jun continued. "So I know how it looks. How it feels. The way you shrink into yourself in sex ed when it's all about straight people. The way you look like you want to disappear when guys joke about boobs or 'hitting it.' But the second Po walks past shirtless, you forget how to chew your food."
Thame groaned, face back in the pillow.
Jun laughed quietly. "It's not a big deal, dude."
"It feels like a big deal." Thame murmured.
"I know. It did for me too."
They were quiet again. But this time it wasn't heavy. It was full. Like the room had more air than it did before.
Thame spoke without looking. "Thanks for asking."
Jun snorted. "I didn't ask. I guessed."
"Still."
Jun nudged him gently with his knee under the blanket. "Sleep. We can deal with the rest tomorrow."
Thame closed his eyes. And for the first time in a long time, the truth didn't keep him up at night. It tucked him in.
The sun was brutal through the blinds. Too yellow. Too loud. Thame pulled the blanket over his face and groaned into his pillow.
Jun was already sitting up, legs crossed at the foot of the bed, scrolling his phone like he hadn't just heard a life-altering confession hours before. Like Thame hadn't peeled himself open in the dark.
"Good morning to you too, drama queen." Jun said without looking up.
Thame peeked one eye out from under the blanket. "Didn't sleep?"
"Slept fine. You kicked me once though. You owe me."
Thame stretched, his joints aching. "You could've gone home."
Jun shrugged. "Nah. Would've missed this awkward post-gay-awakening moment."
"Shut up." Thame muttered, cheeks already warming.
Jun grinned. "I'm kidding. It's not awkward."
Thame sat up slowly, blanket pooling at his waist. His hair was a mess. His thoughts were worse.
"Do I look different?" He asked, half-joking, half-hoping.
Jun looked at him then, not with teasing or smugness, but with an easy, honest expression. "You look lighter."
They sat in silence for a moment, listening to faint music still playing outside. Someone was definitely passed out by the pool.
Jun stood and stretched. "You hungry?"
"A little."
"Cool. Let's see if we have ingredients for those cookies again. Round two."
Thame raised a brow. "You're not gonna tease me about last night?"
Jun looked over his shoulder, deadpan. "Thame. I knew you were gay the moment you got silent after seeing Po step out that car. That's not straight behavior."
Thame threw a pillow at him. Jun dodged it, laughing. And somehow, everything felt lighter. Warmer. The morning after wasn't full of anxiety or awkward stares. It was just two boys, baking cookies, with a secret spoken and held gently between them.
Eighteen came quietly. No fireworks, no revelations, just the gentle awareness that time was slipping forward, whether Thame was ready or not.
Sonya dropped out of university two weeks into the second semester. One day she was talking about student councils and midterms, and the next she was dyeing her hair pink in the bathroom, declaring she wanted to breathe for once. No one questioned her. Her rebellion had always worn lipstick and confidence.
Thame wasn't so bold. His own near-collapse came quietly, in the form of crumpled test papers, the dull ache in his chest when he realized he'd failed the 11th grade, and the way the school counselor looked at him like he was made of glass.
He didn't cry. But something in him cracked, just enough to let the self-doubt leak in.
Sonya didn't offer advice. She shrugged, tossed her new boots on the sofa, and said: "Who even needs high school anymore?" before heading out to another party. Their parents didn't hear her. But Thame did. And it stayed with him.
Po, meanwhile, vanished like he belonged to another world entirely. He was still technically Sonya's best friend. Only now, Sonya talked about him like a myth. He had internships. A new motorcycle. A long-term plan. She didn't say it, but Thame could tell they weren't close anymore.
Thame saw him twice through the window. Once, stepping out of his car in a crisp white shirt, phone pressed to his ear. The second time, laughing briefly at something one of Sonya's friends said before disappearing through the front gate.
He didn't notice Thame either time. But not everything was slipping away.
Jun was still there. Loud, chaotic, and annoyingly persistent. He dragged Thame to the gym every Saturday like it was sacred ritual. The first few weeks were awful. Thame nearly passed out on the treadmill and got embarrassed doing pull-ups in front of strangers.
But weeks turned to months. And then one day, Thame looked in the mirror and didn't immediately want to look away.
His arms had shape now. His jaw was a little sharper. His stomach had faint lines where softness used to be. It wasn't about being hot... not yet, but about feeling like his body finally started to resemble the person he wanted to be.
He still thought about Po. Sometimes at night, sometimes in the early morning light when the world was quiet and full of maybes. But those thoughts weren't wild or painful. Not like before.
Now, they came with a quieter ache. A recognition of time lost, and of Thame slowly catching up. Growing into something real. Into someone who, one day, might be ready to be seen.
The summer heat hung low and heavy over Bangkok, even after sunset. Graduation day had come and gone in a blur of sweaty uniforms, group photos, and the bittersweet chaos of classmates hugging like they'd never see each other again.
Thame had smiled through most of it. He meant it, too.
He'd made it. Against the odds, against himself, really. He'd made it. One extra year, but still. He stood tall in the school's courtyard that afternoon, cap askew, the borrowed gown a little too short at the sleeves from someone who'd graduated on time. Jun had ruffled his hair the second the ceremony ended.
"My man finally made it. I thought I'd be thirty before this happened."
"Shut up." Thame muttered, laughing, shoving him half-heartedly.
Later, they met up with three other guys at a small local restaurant. Nothing fancy, just an open-air place with metal chairs and sticky tabletops. They ordered too many skewers, drank soda from glass bottles, and roasted each other over bad haircuts and old school crushes. It was easy, light, the kind of night Thame wished he could bottle up and keep forever.
By the time the group started to split up, one getting called home by his mom, another suddenly remembering his tutoring job the next morning... Thame felt the weight of it all settle in his chest. This was it. No more school. No more uniforms. No more Po through the window. Just whatever came next.
Jun dropped him off in front of his house like always, the familiar hum of his old car giving a low purr in the quiet street.
"Yo, Thame." Jun said, drumming his fingers on the wheel as Thame unbuckled. "You wanna go clubbing?"
Thame froze with one hand on the door handle. "What?"
"Clubbing." Jun repeated, grinning like he was proposing a crime. "You know... drinks, bad dancing, regret?"
Thame laughed. "We're underaged."
Jun just shrugged, still smirking. "But I know a guy. He's VIP at this place."
"Seriously?"
"Yeah, man. It's a small club though. Probably, like, thirty people max. Nothing crazy."
Thame raised an eyebrow. "And... you're just telling me this now?"
Jun leaned over, resting his arm on the wheel. "Because I knew you'd say yes the second you realized what it actually is."
Thame gave him a look. "What do you mean?"
Jun glanced out the windshield, casual. "It's a man-only place, by the way."
Thame blinked.
"Oh." Is all he said, too fast, too neutral.
Jun's eyes flicked back to him, unreadable in the soft orange glow from the streetlamp. "You in?"
Thame's fingers tightened slightly on the door handle, heart beating somewhere just below his throat. "Mhm."
Hours later, Thame stood in front of the mirror in Jun's cramped bedroom, running a hand through his hair for what felt like the hundredth time. The desk was covered in scattered grooming stuff, Jun's cologne already thick in the air, the scent somewhere between citrus and trouble. A small fan buzzed from the corner, pushing around humid air, and the window was cracked open just enough for the city to hum in the background.
Jun was on the bed, tying his shoes lazily, socks mismatched like always. His phone buzzed every few minutes, probably texts from the guy who promised them entry.
Thame adjusted his shirt collar, stared at his reflection again. He looked good for once, he knew it. Working out with Jun had changed his body slowly, quietly, in ways he hadn't noticed until his old clothes stopped fitting and people at school started doing double takes. Still, it didn't feel like enough. He didn't feel enough.
Jun leaned back against the wall, watching him.
"Hey." He said. "I think you should get over Po."
Thame froze. Jun didn't sound cruel, just honest. The way he got when something sat too long on his chest.
"You like him for years, but... we both know you're too young." Jun said. "And it's impossible, man. I'm sorry. Unless there's a miracle walking around this world, it's not gonna happen."
Thame exhaled through his nose, picking up the hair wax again. He didn't look at Jun. "Maybe... but... I've liked him since I was twelve."
Silence. Jun blinked. "You... what?"
"Since twelve." Thame repeated quietly, rubbing the product into his palms.
"Fucking hell, Thame."
The way Jun said it not disgusted, not mocking, just stunned, made Thame chuckle under his breath. A sad, crooked little laugh. "I was just a kid. I didn't even know what it was at first." Thame said, fingers combing through his hair again. "But every time he came over, I'd sit on the stairs just to watch him laugh with Sonya. Watch his arms when he held stuff. His smile."
Jun gave a long exhale. "You've had it bad."
"Like a disease." Thame muttered, finally meeting Jun's gaze in the mirror.
Jun sat up straighter. "And it never got better?"
Thame shrugged. "I think it did. For a while. When he stopped coming around, I thought I'd forget. But then I saw him again... and it all came back like nothing changed. Worse, even."
Jun stood, walked over, and leaned against the wall next to him. "You ever think you're holding on to him 'cause he's safe?"
Thame frowned. "What do you mean?"
"He's always been this... perfect, untouchable thing." Jun said. "Loving him means you don't have to risk anything. You don't have to actually fall for someone who might love you back. It's like... waiting for a star to fall from the sky instead of reaching for something real."
Thame looked down, thumbs fiddling with his rings. "But what if that star falls?"
Jun snorted. "Then I'll apologize for being a smug bastard and help you write your wedding vows."
Thame smiled, soft and half-sure. "He still means a lot to me."
"I know." Jun said. "Just... don't let that stop you from living, alright? From letting someone else mean something too."
There was a silence. Not heavy. Honest. Thame nodded once, then turned back to the mirror. "Okay."
"Okay." Jun threw a shirt at him. "Let's go, Romeo."
The car slowed as it pulled up to an unassuming building nestled between a karaoke bar and a late-night noodle stand. The neon sign outside flickered a soft purple glow: "Brother's Keep." Not flashy, not crowded, just a small doorway, a bouncer nodding to Dylan without a word.
Dylan stepped out first, his long silver hair falling in soft waves past his shoulders, the pale skin of his face almost glowing under the streetlights. His oversized baggy hoodie and sagging pants gave him that perfect early 2000s hip-hop vibe, with a hint of feminine flair that made Jun's eyes linger a little longer than usual.
Jun nudged Thame. "That's Dylan, the VIP who got us in."
Thame nodded, swallowing a lump in his throat. Dylan's sharp tongue and confident stance radiated a kind of sexy honesty. It was clear he belonged here in this world, in this moment.
Dylan flashed a sly grin at Jun. "Ready to finally get you off the bench?"
Jun smirked, cheeks tinged with a faint blush. Thame caught the flicker of a quiet tension, unspoken but electric, between the two.
Inside, the club was packed tight. About thirty men, maybe a few more, filled the low-lit space with a hum of conversation, laughter, and pulsing beats. The walls throbbed with a deep bass, vibrating through the floor and up Thame's spine.
It was a riot of colors. Neon pinks, blues, purples washing over faces that shone with confidence and freedom. Everyone here was out, proud, living. There were no secrets, no masks. It was raw, unapologetic, and utterly alive.
Thame felt it immediately. A sense of belonging he hadn't dared to imagine. Around him, men danced, flirted, kissed without fear or hesitation. It was a new world, and it was beautiful.
Dylan leaned down and spoke quickly. "No drinks for you two. That's the only way you can stay." His tone was teasing but firm.
Jun raised an eyebrow. "No booze? This is gonna be interesting."
Thame glanced at the small cup of sparkling water Dylan handed him, heart pounding with excitement and nerves. They were in.
The music pulsed, thick and alive, the bass vibrating through the floor and into Thame's chest. Without the haze of alcohol, every sound, every movement felt sharper, more intense. Jun was laughing beside him, throwing playful looks Dylan's way, who was clearly the king of the dance floor tonight.
Dylan slid over to them, the silver strands of his hair shimmering under the club lights. "Ready to actually dance, Thame?" He teased, flashing that sharp grin.
Jun caught Dylan's eye and whispered. "Bathroom break." Before disappearing into the crowd. Dylan's gaze flicked from Jun to Thame with a knowing smirk.
"So, first time?" Dylan asked, stepping closer, his voice low and teasing. "You don't have that 'been here before' look."
Thame's cheeks flushed but he nodded. "Yeah, first club. And I've... never really danced with anyone before."
Dylan chuckled, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Well, you're in good hands. Just follow my lead."
Without waiting, Dylan took Thame's hands, guiding him into the rhythm. His touch was light but sure, his movements smooth and confident. Thame tried to match the steps, heart hammering in his chest as Dylan leaned in just enough for their faces to almost touch.
"Relax." Dylan whispered, voice silky. "Feel the music. And don't think! Just move."
They swayed together, Dylan's fingers gently brushing Thame's waist, his breath warm against Thame's ear as he murmured playful encouragements. It was thrilling, unfamiliar, and completely freeing.
Suddenly, Thame stumbled back, bumping hard into someone. He whipped around, ready to apologize... and froze.
Po.
Po stood there like a vision from a dream. Taller, broader, more mature, with that perfect triangle-shaped torso and shoulders that could've belonged on a statue. His hair was tousled just right, skin glowing under the dim lights, and his outfit was effortlessly magnetic. The kind of look that made every man's head turn.
For a second, neither of them moved. The air thickened with unspoken recognition.
"Thame?" Po's voice was quiet but firm.
"Phi Po." Thame breathed out, heart caught somewhere between shock and awe.
Po stepped closer, eyes narrowing with a mix of concern and disbelief. "Aren't you nineteen?"
Thame nodded, still dazed.
"You shouldn't be here." Po said softly, glancing around. "And it's a gay club."
Thame's eyes flicked around, catching the obvious signs. The open displays of affection, the pride, the freedom everywhere. "Noticed." Thame said with a small shrug, cheeks still burning.
Po's eyes widened for a brief moment before he silently motioned for Thame to follow him.
The balcony was small, just enough for two people to stand comfortably. The music was muffled here, like it was pulsing from underwater. A few cigarette butts lay crushed in a corner. The air was cooler, quiet, the city humming softly below.
Po leaned on the railing, arms crossed, eyes fixed somewhere in the darkness. Thame stood a step behind, unsure whether to look at Po or the floor or just disappear entirely.
"So..." Po began, tilting his head slightly toward him. "Are you...?"
Thame cleared his throat, heart thudding. "Perhaps."
Po glanced at him, one brow slightly raised. "Is that a yes? Or... questioning?"
Thame hesitated, then took a shaky breath. "I had this crush on a guy. Still do. And... him being here tonight doesn't help."
Po straightened up slowly. "He's here?"
Thame nodded, not trusting his voice.
"Oh?" Po leaned against the railing again, casually. "The brunette guy? Your best friend?"
Thame blinked. "What? Ew, no." His laugh came out dry, almost strangled. "It's, uh..."
He didn't know how to finish. Or rather, he did. He just couldn't move his lips. Not until Po turned to face him fully and said: "The pretty one you danced with?"
That made Thame shake his head quickly, eyes wide. "No."
Po gave a small, amused smile. "Okay, then who?"
Thame stared at him, pulse rising in his ears. It was now or never. The last seven years had been lived in quiet ache, in silent pining. And now here he was. Nineteen, sweaty-palmed, and still terrified of this man who knew how to make silence feel like a weight.
"It's you." Thame whispered, as if saying it too loudly would shatter the world.
Po didn't speak. Didn't blink. He just stood there. Still. Silent.
Thame's heart rattled so loud he thought maybe Po could hear it. But even as fear curled in his stomach, there was something else. A strange lightness.
"I- sorry." Thame added quickly. "I didn't mean to... like, I didn't come here for this. I didn't even know you'd be here. I just... Jun dragged me. And then you showed up and now I feel like I can't breathe properly."
Po exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. His voice was gentle. "Since when?"
Thame bit his lip. "Since I was twelve."
Po's head turned slightly, eyes narrowing not in anger, but in surprise. "Twelve?"
Thame gave a weak laugh. "Yeah. I know. Ridiculous. You were like... my sister's cool best friend. The guy who played with me when I was annoying and loud and small. But then you just... Dunno. Kept showing up. Taller. Smarter. Hotter. And I didn't even know what it meant back then. I just knew that when you smiled at me, I felt like I was melting inside."
Po's expression shifted barely, but Thame caught it. The softening in his brow. The way he looked down for a moment, like something heavy sat on his chest now too.
"I used to think it'd go away." Thame went on, voice trembling. "That it was just a phase. A weird, inconvenient crush. But I never liked anyone else the same way. I didn't even try. I mean... I haven't even kissed anyone. Haven't let myself. Every time a guy showed interest, I'd feel like I was cheating on something that never even started."
Po finally looked at him again. Really looked.
"Thame..." He said, softly, the name carried with something that wasn't pity, but it wasn't love either. It was care. Gentle, painful care.
"I know." Thame cut in, forcing a smile. "I'm not telling you this because I expect anything. I know you don't... I mean, you're like, a real adult now. And I'm just this guy you used to see around."
Po didn't interrupt. He let the words sit. He let Thame keep going.
"I just... I needed to say it. Because I've been carrying it for so long, it started to feel like it owned me. Like I couldn't grow up if I didn't let it out."
Po shifted, one hand gripping the railing again, the other running slowly through his hair. He was quiet for a long moment before he finally said. "I kind of figured. At the pool party."
Thame blinked. "Wait, really?"
Po nodded. "You looked like you were going to pass out when I walked into the kitchen. And the way you kept stealing glances when you thought I wasn't looking."
Thame groaned. "Oh God."
Po smiled faintly. "It wasn't a bad thing. I just... I didn't know what to do with it."
"I'm guessing you still don't." Thame said.
Po shrugged. "You're important to me, Thame. You always have been. Even when you were small and annoying."
Thame chuckled.
"I don't... feel that way." Po admitted carefully. "But I see you. You've grown up. You're not a kid anymore. And... damn, you've changed."
Thame blushed at that, unsure if it was a compliment or a polite observation.
"You're handsome now." Po added. "And it's obvious you've worked on yourself, not just physically. You feel different."
"Thanks." Thame muttered, looking down. "I think I needed to hear that."
Another pause. Softer now. The tension in the air had thinned into something else. Not romantic. Not exactly. But honest.
Po pushed off the railing, stepped a little closer, close enough that Thame could feel the warmth of him.
"You want to come back in?" Po asked. "Dance with me?"
Thame blinked up. "What?"
"No pressure." Po added quickly. "Just... as two people who like music. You've been waiting to live your life, right? Might as well start tonight."
Thame's heart squeezed in his chest. He nodded. Po smiled again. Small, but real, and led the way back into the club. Thame followed, a little more certain, a little more whole.
The music wrapped around them like a wave when they stepped back inside. Bass deep in Thame's ribs, laughter and lights painting the small space with dizzying energy. Po didn't take his hand or anything dramatic like that, but he glanced back and waited until Thame caught up, until they found a space just big enough between two groups.
It wasn't dancing in the way Thame had imagined. There was no choreography, no grinding. Just movement. Po kept it loose. Swaying, nodding to the beat, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. At first, Thame could barely move. His limbs were stiff with self-awareness, brain still caught on everything he'd just confessed. But then Po leaned a little closer and said over the music: "You don't have to impress anyone. Just feel it."
So Thame did. Bit by bit. The way Jun had always told him to live a little. The way he always wished he could without fear.
And for a moment, he forgot all about how much he'd said. He forgot about how impossible it had always seemed. He was just a guy in a small club, heart wide open, dancing near the person who had unknowingly shaped his entire adolescence.
Po didn't flirt. He didn't pull Thame closer or say anything that could be mistaken for affection. But he stayed. That mattered.
Eventually, the song changed. Slower now, something melodic, something almost too intimate for where they stood. Po leaned in, mouth near Thame's ear. "I should head out soon." He said."Early shift tomorrow."
Thame nodded, trying not to look too disappointed.
"But I'm glad you came." Po added, tone quiet, sincere. "Really glad."
Before Thame could respond, Po had already begun moving toward the crowd, slipping out with a quick, backward glance. A nod that said take care without needing words.
Thame stood there for a few seconds longer, dazed, until he felt a familiar hand clap his shoulder.
"Holy shit." Jun said, grinning. "Was that Po?"
Thame turned, unable to fight the smile spreading across his face. "Yeah."
"Damn. So... you told him?"
Thame nodded.
Jun's grin softened. "You good?"
"I think so." Thame said. And then, a beat later: "Yeah. I'm good."
Jun slung an arm around his shoulders, steering him toward the quieter side of the club where Dylan stood holding two fizzy sodas like they were champagne flutes.
"What took you so long?" Dylan asked, handing Thame a drink. "Po doesn't usually stick around for anyone."
Thame blinked. "You know him?"
Dylan shrugged. "Everyone who comes here more than once knows him. He's hot, polite, mysterious... you know, the usual recipe."
Jun choked on his drink. "Mysterious is code for emotionally unavailable."
"Tell me I'm wrong." Dylan shot back, playful but sharp as ever.
Thame didn't say anything. Just sipped his drink, smiling to himself.
Eventually, they slipped back into the crowd. The night wore on, songs changed, people drifted in and out. But for Thame, everything had already changed. He didn't dance with anyone else. He didn't need to. He stayed close to Jun and Dylan, sometimes joining their circle, sometimes just watching. Watching the way people existed here; loud, soft, proud, beautiful. Like they didn't owe anyone an explanation.
The night felt like something new and something overdue, all at once.
They didn't stay too late. Around 2:30 AM, Jun yawned dramatically and said: "I'm too old for this." And Dylan rolled his eyes and flicked him in the forehead. But he walked them out anyway, hand lingering on Jun's arm longer than necessary.
When they reached Jun's car, Dylan looked at Thame. "Next time, you better dance with more confidence. Or at least wear something slutty."
Thame laughed, surprisingly not embarrassed. "Next time."
"Good." Dylan said, turning to Jun with a wink. "Drive safe, bodybuilder."
Once they were in the car, windows cracked to let in the cool night air, Jun glanced over at Thame, who was resting his head against the glass, half-smiling.
"You look relieved."
"I am." Thame said quietly. "I didn't think I'd feel this okay."
Jun nodded. "Well, don't thank me yet. I'm taking credit if you two start dating, though."
Thame snorted. "We're not. He doesn't like me like that."
"Not yet."
Thame turned, brow raised. Jun just smiled, eyes back on the road. "You never know, man. You're hot now. Thanks to me."
Thame rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling when they pulled up to Jun's apartment. The same smile stayed on his face when he lay down on Jun's couch, curled up in a blanket, exhausted and full in a way that had nothing to do with food or drink.
He opened his phone, glanced at the empty screen. Then closed it again. He didn't need anything else tonight.
Not yet.