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The morning draws Err out of his slumber slowly.
Today, she is gentle as she wraps her arms around him, guiding him out of bed and through a routine ingrained enough for him to complete without conscious effort. Open the curtains. Text Mawin. Throw on shorts and slippers. Walk down the hall to the communal kitchen. Make coffee. (Don’t forget the sweetened condensed milk.) Take overnight oats out of the fridge. Think about Mawin. Grunt in solidarity with those who happen to be awake. Bring breakfast back to the room. Eat. Drink. Wait for Mawin’s call.
Err sits at his desk with his breakfast, breathing in the earthy aroma of his coffee, watching with half-lidded eyes as the sun spills golden light into the navy blue sky. He finds in the purple-pink sunrise a good omen. The day will be bracingly cold and, by the strange Western magic of Daylight Savings Time, the night will swallow up that much more of his evening. His morning run, however, unlike yesterday’s and those of the past few weeks, will not begin in darkness.
From his dorm room window, he can see the Charles River as it meanders along. On it, a few boats powered by exhausted members of the university’s crew team cut through the silver waters.
He blows on the surface of his coffee before taking a sip. A run along the river sounds lovely.
The Err of three years ago would balk at the sentiment. Most physical exertion was anathema to him then, and he was, in those days, a strictly nocturnal animal, burning the midnight oil as he studied for this and that. He would have only seen a sunrise if he’d stayed up all night doing homework or, in the summers, laughing and talking with Benz and Mhee. Though getting out of bed is harder some mornings than others, he’s been happy with the change in habits. Or, if not with the habits themselves, with their effects.
His eyes wander to his daily planner, already open to today’s date. He skims the notes he left for himself last night. No classes today, but he’s going to need the full day to study. Thermo has been kicking his ass, and exams will be upon him soon enough. He’s been meaning to connect with a professor about their latest paper, too, and he needs to be proactive about securing his summer internship and…
His thoughts begin to race, kicking off a feverish search for all the answers to every unasked question lurking in his head. There are so many things to do, so many, and he knows he has time but time isn’t always enough. Effort isn’t always enough. Sometimes enough isn’t even enough. And is he enough? With two years of uni behind him and many more successful years of schooling before that, with systems and strategies he can employ and friends with which he can work, is he enough? Just enough? More than enough?
The mounting anxiety, no matter how familiar, makes him tense.
He forces himself to swallow another spoonful of oatmeal. This is why he runs.
His tablet chirps, cutting cleanly through his tangled thoughts. The picture that displays when the screen wakes up brings a smile to his face, just as it always does.
This is why he wakes up so early.
He swipes to answer the call.
Mawin appears in the center of the frame, his hair swept neatly to the side, dressed as usual in an oversized hoodie whose softness Err knows firsthand. His eyes brighten immediately, though they grow more intent as they scan Err’s bare chest, the lines of his shoulders. In front of Mawin is a steaming plate of kai palo. The sight of it makes Err’s mouth water and his heart clench. Overnight oats will fuel him for his run, but they can’t compete with the taste of home.
“That looks delicious,” Err says wistfully. The Thai places near campus never have kai palo on their menus.
His boyfriend’s eyes twinkle. “My dinner?”
“No,” Err answers, playing along and completely serious all at once. “You.”
His lame joke earns him a crooked, toothy smile and a bashful wave. Mawin’s reply, however, is anything but shy.
“I’d rather eat you instead.”
Err can feel the heat of Mawin’s gaze through the screen. Dramatically, he gasps. “Am I being objectified by my own boyfriend?” He covers up his chest, like he hadn’t foregone his shirt for this exact reason. “I’m not just a piece of meat, you know!”
“But I’m hungry,” his boyfriend says, then licks his lips.
“Eat your kai palo, then,” Err tells him before stuffing his own mouth with more oatmeal, ears warm. He hopes the shiver that Mawin’s deep baritone somehow still elicits doesn’t show on camera.
Living abroad has its moments. His contacts list has expanded to include people from around the world. He tries a new restaurant every month with the other international students he knows. His English (and, to his surprise, his Thai) has improved by leaps and bounds. The experience has encouraged the roots of his confidence to grow deeper, down into the core of him. Its trunk is thick and covered in bark rough enough to climb, and its branches reach further up and out than he could ever have imagined at eighteen.
Some days, he believes that he can do anything, could belong anywhere.
But living abroad also has its moments. Moments when the words don’t come to him quickly enough in either language and the loud, winding, streets disorient him and the exact feeling of his mother’s hugs slips his mind and the hours and hours he spends studying get him nowhere and the mutterings he overhears of “foreigners should go back to their own country” make him regret ever leaving Thailand’s shores. Moments when it all seems like too much. When he can’t outrun the stress. When he feels like he’s hopeless and worthless, a stranger to the world.
These calls ground him. Mawin grounds him.
“Have you been taking care of my son?” Mawin asks, eyebrows raised expectantly.
Err rolls his eyes. “Our son. And yes, I have. I even waited so we could water him together.” He rises out of his seat enough to reach for the little Chinese money plant on the windowsill.
“Come here, Junior,” he coos. He smirks at the unsubtle glance Mawin gives his tummy. “You must be thirsty.”
Laughter bubbles out of him when he sees Mawin catch on. He gets up to fill a cup with water from his sink before settling in.
“Drink up, baby,” Err says, making sure the soil is suitably saturated. When he looks up at the screen, Mawin’s soft look of delight sends the butterflies in his stomach into flight.
“What does the rest of your night look like?” Err asks. He double-checks that Junior is still in frame. “Radio station?”
“After some studying,” Mawin confirms. He cuts into an egg, revealing its molten center before popping half of it into his mouth. “I have to prepare more for tomorrow’s show.”
The fact that Mawin’s show is catching on around campus doesn’t surprise Err. He works hard to put it together, his years of learning and experimenting with different styles and formats paying off in the creation of an intriguing and oddly satisfying listen. He’s a good host - inquisitive and kind with a voice as rich as dark chocolate - and he’s found good people to work with.
He is far from the stoic loner he used to be.
Others might be new to his boyfriend’s talents, but Err has marveled at Mawin the entire time they’ve known each other. That, he suspects, will never change.
“I’ll be listening,” Err promises in a sing-song voice. “If I can’t tune in live, I’ll catch it later.”
They chat back and forth about their days: Mawin in retrospect and Err looking ahead. Like this, Err can almost pretend they inhabit the same space, that the distance between them is mere feet rather than the thousands of miles that separate them in reality. Like this, he feels he has everything he wants, the first person to eat his cake and still hold it in his cradled hands.
He wishes that time would slow down enough for them to savor the taste of each other’s company. One more bite of delicate sponge to melt on his tongue. The Boston sky, however, grows ever brighter. He has his run, and Mawin has his studio. There is no time to linger.
“I miss you,” Err says, as he does every time.
And, like always, Mawin responds, “I miss you, too.” Today, he adds, “I am so proud of you.”
His words are water and light and air and warm earth. Everything he needs to grow.
“Good night, Mawin,” Err says with a wave.
In return, an endearing smile. “Good morning, Err.”