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He knew very well that it is not the right thing to do, not the right thing for him to feel, and not only because of what the scary little yellow book Trin did his best to wipe from his memory said. Whatever it was that Victor wanted from him — it couldn’t happen — but Trin clung to deniability for as long as he could, up until the very moment Victor, nineteen years old, hot-blooded, and so, so brave, said it out loud.
“I’m queer.”
He didn’t even say it to Trin. He said it to his friend, the one who was just one step away from accusing Trin of being involved in murder that he only found out about from the paper early this morning. And the way he said it, so loudly, so boldly, in a way Trin couldn’t even admit in the privacy of his own thoughts, even after spending the the night with his lover. Past lover now, he supposed. He tried to distance himself from the reality of it, to just go with what felt right in the moment, to trust his heart without putting a name to what being so suddenly and deeply infatuated with Tanwa meant.
But Victor said it, said the scary part out loud, and even after Trin and Tiva had broken up their fight, he couldn’t stop thinking about it, couldn’t stop hearing the same words again and again ringing in his ears.
“I’m queer.”
“I’m queer.”
“I’m queer.”
Trin was thinking about it later, as he helped Victor wash the dried blood from his hair and face. The cut on his cheekbone was small, and the one near his hairline was not much deeper, but they both bled a lot. It wasn’t that strange — Trin remembered that there were a lot of blood vessels in the scalp — but he couldn’t help but feel slightly nauseous at the sight of dried red droplets on Victor’s worn-out white shirt.
“It’ll come off easier if you wash it in the cold water,” he said, looking away as Victor toyed with the top button. Saliva in his mouth was thick and bitter. “Give it to me, I’ll try to scrub it off.”
Victor smiled at him, still toying with his buttons, and then started to undo them. He was so flushed, it was obvious even in the darkness of the room bathed in dim blue moonlight, and if he didn’t know better, Trin would have thought that he was a bit tipsy. His own face was burning, and he could only hope that night hid it better.
His shirt must have smelled like him, Trin thought while running the fabric under ice-cold water. Maybe, if Victor was not two steps away from him, he would have allowed himself to press his face into the fabric, just for a moment. Trin tried to convince himself that it is a good thing, that some things were later left unknown, that sometimes, no matter how much you want something, you shouldn’t allow yourself to have it.
Victor was young. Too young, really. He burned too bright, hot enough to burn Trin should he even try to touch this tiny white flame, and Trin knew all too well that he shouldn’t even think about it all, especially with Victor so close.
Blood was coloring the water in pale pink, but in the darkness, it looked as if black ink got spilled into it, just viscous enough to not blend in immediately, to swirl and dance in it for a second before finally dissolving. No matter how hard Trin rubbed the fabric against his knuckles, he couldn’t get rid of the thin rusty outline of the spot where the blood stain used to be. By the time Victor put a hand on his shoulder to stop him, his skin was already raw from scrubbing, and he could barely move his fingers, stiff from how cold the water was.
“It’s okay.”
“Let it dry a bit before putting it on,” Trin said, wringing out the last bits of water out of Victor’s shirt.
Victor chuckled and snatched it from Trin’s hands before putting it on. Wet fabric clung to his skin way too closely, and Trin couldn’t help but look away.
“You’ll catch cold,” he said, because he couldn’t let the silence fill the room. There was too much neither of them was ready to say, and concealing it in the quietness with nothing to hide behind was unbearably hard.
“I won’t. It’s hot outside anyway,” he smiled, and even though it was hot, Trin felt a shiver running down his spine.
Maybe it was for the better. He wasn’t sure if he could stomach looking at Victor, naked from the waist up, his skin glowing even in the depth of night.
“You okay, Phi?” Victor asked. It felt like he also wasn’t too comfortable with staying silent. “You look troubled.”
“I’m okay, don’t think too much about it. I’m just worried that you’ll have problems with your friends because of me,” he said and then, not knowing what else to do, reached into his pocket to grab a cigarette. Victor asked for one, and Trin couldn’t say no. He shared his lighter too.
“Don’t worry too much about it, Phi.” Victor shook his head, exhaling soft white smoke. “I wanted you to come, and Tiva is just a jerk. And about other things… It’s not like I wouldn’t have told them anyway, Phi. Maybe not now, but I would have anyway. It’s not like it’s that big of a deal.”
“It isn’t?”
Victor chuckled and shook his head.
“Not really. Is it that big of a deal for you?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “I figured. You old guys are always all melancholic about it.”
Trin’s first impulse was to deny it. He remembered those three books, each scarier than the last, books that he had to hide so the maid wouldn’t accidentally find them. She didn’t speak any English — no one at home did, apart from him and his uncle, — but just the thought of someone finding these books in his room made him want to throw up. And even though nothing about these books was kind, having even them felt just like keeping that handmade poster Victor shoved in his hands the first day they met.
But Victor already knew it all, didn’t he? If not from the first day, then from that time he saw Tanwa kiss him under the table.
“Old guys, huh?” He asked, raising an eyebrow, and Victor just laughed.
He had a nice laugh, quiet, soft, and boyish. Trin couldn’t help it, but he wanted to hear it more.
“What?” Victor smiled. “I’m just telling the truth. You are kind of a late bloomer, are you not?”
Trin shrugged.
He has never given these things much thought before. Being young, he was focused on his studies. He knew that there were only two ways of dragging his family out of poverty — going to the army following his uncle’s steps, or studying hard enough to at least have hope to make something out of himself. So he studied as hard as he could, scarcely looking away from his textbooks to see the world around.
And then, in France, there was Claire, and he never looked at anyone but her. She was radiant, and when he saw her for the first time, it was as if there was a halo around her, that’s how brightly her eyes burned — with determination, with wit, with lust for life. He never met a woman that brave and that headstrong, and he couldn’t help but long to be in the presence of her light, to hear her voice, to talk to her, to hold her, for him to be hers and for her to be his.
Maybe it would’ve been different if he hadn’t met her back then, or if she didn’t return his feelings. Maybe then he would have looked the other way and noticed someone else. But Claire’s light was blinding.
Maybe he really was a late bloomer. Maybe he missed the signs that would’ve been obvious for him otherwise. Was there any merit to pondering about it now?
“I don’t know,” he said, letting out a small puff of smoke. “I loved a woman before, so I had no reason to think about someone but her.”
“Back in France?” Victor asked.
“M-m.”
“If you loved her, why didn’t you bring her here with you? You could have gotten married. Did she want to stay?”
Back then, on the dark moonless night by the Seine, she asked him to marry her. It was early spring, and even though snow in the city always melted early, the wind was still cold and chilly. He didn’t say anything back then, and she understood him all too well, even when he hugged her close, trying to share some of his warmth, but nothing could thaw the icy sadness in her eyes.
“She’s gone,” he said, shaking off the ashes to the side.
He still remembered it all like it was yesterday. Maybe his memories of her would start getting cloudy at some point, start to get warped around the edges, and turn from vivid pictures to black-and-white photos that he could hardly recognize. But it’s only been a year, a little more than that, and there was still a wound in his heart where he carved a place for her. It wasn’t bleeding anymore, but it was still there, open and raw.
Victor put a hand on his shoulders and moved closer. His shirt was still too wet, but Trin allowed it.
“I’m sorry,” Victor said, slowly stroking up and down Trin’s back. “I didn’t know.”
Trin shook his head.
“Don’t apologize. I’ve never told you, have I?” He smiled at the boy next to him. It felt bitter and sweet at the same time to be reminded of the past but also to finally share it with someone who could understand. “So yeah, I guess I am a late bloomer.”
Victor’s hand was heavy, but its weight was comforting and warm.
“It’s fine, Phi. There is nothing wrong with that, you know?” he said. The cigarette between his fingers burned almost to the filter.
“Not many people would agree with you,” Trin noticed, but Victor just laughed out loud and shook his head.
“You think so?”
“You don’t?”
Victor shrugged, and for a moment his face got dreamy, just like it did that morning when they watched the sunrise together on the bridge above the canal. It was as if before him was something only he could see. Maybe it was the future. If so, the future he saw must have been beautiful, just like the sky that day.
“I’d like to think that there are way more kind people than cruel ones in this world, Phi. That love is more innate to the human heart than hatred.”
Trin smiled.
“You really should be a writer, Victor,” he said softly, and the boy smiled back at him.
“It’s true, though, Phi. Have you ever told anyone?”
Trin shook his head no.
“One of my friends figured it out.”
“And what did he say?” Victor asked.
“That he’ll always be there for me.”
Victor smiled brightly and chuckled. Even in the dim light of the moon, his eyes shone from deep within, their shine so hopeful and bright, Trin had to look away. His face was burning, and he felt the blush slowly spreading down to his neck and chest.
“See?” he said. “People are a lot kinder than you expect them to be. Especially if they love you.”
“Have you told anyone?” Trin asked. The place where Victor’s hand lay across his back was burning.
“Yeah. My mom knows, and my dad does. And some friends from school know. And I guess guys from university know now too, don’t they?” he explained, and the ease with which he said it left Trin breathless.
His own family — his mother, his brother, uncle Lert, aunt Dhevi — would he ever let any of them know this part of himself? Right now, he couldn’t even fathom it. Trin wouldn’t allow himself to even dream of it, of being embraced by all of them just the way he is.
“And they don’t care?”
“Maybe they do. But they know that it’s my life, and they don’t want me to live miserably just to fulfill every expectation,” he said. “My mom is kind of afraid that I’ll repeat her choices and end up with an old man, though.”
“Old man, huh?” Trin raised his eyebrow, and then Victor was close, so close that Trin could feel his warm breath on his skin.
It was way too close already. He should’ve pulled away, but he didn’t.
“I don’t really mind it, Phi,” Victor whispered, and then they got even closer, with Victor’s whole body pressed right against Trin’s side. “You know how I feel, don’t you?”
“M-m,” Trin said, his voice barely above the murmur.
Victor’s hand reached for his face, and Trin let him. For a second that felt endless, they just looked each other in the eyes, basking in the quiet moment that was there just for them and them alone.
His thoughts flashed to the other man, a man who’s shaken his world upside down, but he shut them down. No matter what he felt, no matter what he was still feeling deep down, it was over, and he had no plans of going back. Tanwa wanted to run away — from pain, from memories, from responsibility — and well, he did just that, and Trin had no intentions of stopping him. But Victor was here right now, warm and waiting, and he let Trin take care of him, letting him wash the blood first off his face, then off his hair, then off his shirt.
The thing Victor saw, whatever it might have been, that radiant future that he was too old to even dream of anymore — Trin wanted to see it too.
So, when Victor moved towards him, Trin didn’t do anything to stop him. Trin’s hands found their way into Victor’s still damp hair.
Victor looked at his lips, then at his eyes, then back at his lips, and something about it made Trin’s heart skip a beat. Without thinking twice, he leaned in and pressed his lips to Victor’s, dry and chapped but so eager to open for him.
He could think about whether it was a right or wrong thing to do later. Maybe tomorrow, or next week, or next month. Right now, he only wanted Victor to kiss him until they both were left breathless, to feel Victor’s body next to his, to look into his eyes, and to hear every little sound he could make.
“I love you, Phi,” Victor whispered between kisses, and even though Trin didn’t have it in him to answer, he felt these words shake him to his core.