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Chapter Text

When Thup first appears on scene babbling about ghosts and spirits, Singha knows he is full of shit because Singha’s dad is Thailand's number one shaman and this? All of this? This was nothing like what he grew up with.

Not the murders, that definitely had the mark of ritualistic killings but just because people believed in the occult didn’t make it real.

No, Singha knows Thup is full of shit because Thup thinks Singha is a living breathing talisman. He talks to and about Singha like he is a clean, pure, sacred relic, which is laughable, given his lifestyle and his open disregard for the doctrine but especially because Singha grew up being told that he was fated to bring upheaval to the people around him.

Destined to tip balances, everyone in Singha’s village used to ward against his presence. Singha was never outright punished or blamed for his perceived actions but the number of people looking at him increased when it started to rain at the outdoor festival or when potholes appeared when they were running late. It was just minor inconveniences but always when something doesn’t go according to plan, the joke is ‘because Singha is here’.

So no, in the most protected village in all of Thailand, with the highest concentration of powerful believers, Singha was never a good omen but this … puppy-eyed, scared witness thinks Singha is blessed?

It highlights to Singha how far gone this young one is in his psychosis. He knows how important these beliefs are to people, how real it is to them. The fear, the anxiety, the certainty of death, karma and the insane hope of prayer. Maybe Singha no longer believes, maybe he is slightly mocking in his disregard, but he doesn’t trivialise the strength of belief for those that still do. 

In this business, he has seen just how far belief can warp the mind. Thup thinks Singha can protect him and he isn’t exactly wrong. Singha can absolutely help him defeat evil forces but they are going to be corporeal, and with King’s appearance, most likely corporate.

~

Growing up, Suea was the naughty one and Singha was the obedient rule-follower - he had to be because his fates had proclaimed him at odds with the supernatural and attractor of bad energy.

Neither of them had the sight nor the ability to walk both worlds but Singha was cursed with clumsiness. Despite his carefulness, Singha stepped onto talismans in the forest and dropped offerings on the way to altars. For every misstep he took, villagers would rush to his defense, merit rituals would be conducted to beg forgiveness. Singha spent a lot of his childhood years crying in ceremonies and struggling to clear his mind to meditate while everyone, villagers, Por, Dad, wiped his tears and said that it couldn't be helped; it was just his fate to upset the balance.

And through it all, Suea was there next to him, they were inseparable.

Suea follows their Dad's footsteps but takes training under the number 2 shaman. So Singha packs his bag and follows his brother across the country. Whilst Suea trains in solitude, Singha is getting his first taste of how it feels like to live without the fear of disrespecting the spirits. But still, Singha helps out, he joins Suea and his master shaman as they check in on their followers in the city.

He watched (he can see nothing except a man getting progressively less sleepy and more embarrassed as strangers storm into his house and chant at him) as they 'exorcised demons' from a man who beat up his wife, told him to make merits, absolve him of his sins and turned a deaf ear when he yelled at his wife as they left. Against explicit command from the master, Singha calls the police who come and save the woman mid-beating.

Instead of acknowledging Singha’s righteousness, the shaman scolds Singha for being judgemental, for interfering in karmic cycles (apparently being beaten was her karma coming round for stealing in her previous life according to the ‘shaman’) and making it so their believers might not come to him for help anymore.

It only made Singha more judgemental.

He watched as the master went to poverty-stricken families, taking in their meagre earnings in exchange for bracelet strings and a verse to chant every morning when they can barely feed their newborn. And walking past a corridor of gold statues, heading towards the kitchen filled with food donated and cooked by volunteers, the master turns to Suea and says, "Their fate is fixed, there is nothing we can do to help them, it is enough to give them hope."

And Singha loses it. Because this is against everything their family has ever stood for. Their parents taught them about helping others, about not succumbing to fate, about always trying because something has to change for the karma cycle to end. 

But Suea, silent, bows to his master. When Singha confronts him, Suea hugs his brother and says "Some paths are not meant to be walked together."

It feels like betrayal.

He complains to his dad, who agrees that the gifted are not meant to meddle with human affairs and while his parents have never taken a hand to him, Dad's stance feels like a slap in the face.

He goes to Por, who offers him a small smile and tells him that even the powerful have limitations.

It isn't the spiritual eye-opening ceremony that he grew up with but Singha sees the world in a new light, awash with hypocrisy and lies.

And Singha, hurt, disillusioned, his rage burning with the force of the sun; he stops believing.

Because while Suea was living in the monastery, Singha had been going to classes in the city. Singha’s new crowd debates human issues, societal concerns and philosophical questions. To them, ghosts are a spooky story and anyone who claims to see things that aren’t there are branded insane, not gifted. Sing starts to realise that many more things can be explained by human cruelty, greed, negligence and apathy than by restless spirits.

Gone are the fun-loving sprites that used to meddle with him during meditation, Sing finds out that it was a psychological thing and he has medication to help him focus now. The gigantic boar that chased them wasn’t some forest spirit, Singha had been young and small and boars are moody and territorial. Sing practices martial arts and trains out his clumsiness. He takes psychology and criminal classes and learns how humans behave when desperate or in danger.

Sing turns his back on everything he grew up with but not his parents. He still loves them, still walks, head high, with their values even if he cannot walk alongside them. Neither of his parents are surprised, they read it in his fate after all. He lets his Dad nag him into getting a tattoo of guardians that will look over him; it looks cool and better than a beaded necklace anyway. He allows Por to press a blessed idol into his hands and promises to set it up where he lives.

It is utterly and completely ridiculous but Sing has grown up around this, he knows how seriously his parents take it, he knows it will bring them peace of mind even if it ultimately does nothing in the end. His parents do have to be dramatic about it though as they take a temporary vow of silence and disappear into the forest in an effort to curry favour with the guardians on his arm.

Over the course of twelve years, Sing enters the police force and makes inspector detective because he still wants to help, still wants to break cycles; he just doesn’t call them karmic anymore. With all the recklessness of someone truly believing they are doing the right thing, Sing stops believing in rules because it is just a way for people to control others. King comes along and teaches him that it isn’t just arbitrary rules, it is whole systems of power and hierarchy, fuelled by leveraging relationships.

It turns out it is very difficult to help when there are entire systems abusing individual motivations to keep everything exactly the way they are. So much for karma.

And then Thup appears.

Putting aside the fact that Thup, nonsensically, treats Sing like his personal talisman, none of his accounts make sense. It is yet another strike against the supernatural because one would think that if it truly existed it would play by its own rules. But no. Thup’s ghosts behave nothing like any ghosts Sing has been told about. 

But more importantly, ghosts don’t dress a scene. They don’t make a spectacle out of death, they don’t manipulate their victims bodies post-mortem. If ghosts exist, which Sing argues they don’t, the satisfaction of revenge comes with the finality of death. Ceremonies and rituals, reverence and mockery, those are human things. 

When Sing takes a picture of yet another sigil, he curses his ADHD that prevented him from ever remembering any of his dad’s mandalas even though, to this day, Sing could tell you how many beams were located in the prayer room which he used to count in place of meditating. Thup’s knowledge of the sigils is uncomfortably practical, so while he knows what it is used for and what it means in the context of the murder scene, he is low on ideas of why someone would use it in this manner.

Sing reaches out to his uncles. Despite their beliefs, they have lived secular lives in the city and Lhung Charn is more than capable of having a conversation about human psychology without bringing deities and restless spirits into the discussion. But it is actually Lhung Jet who points out that the rituals have all the markings of black magic instead of the white magic that all of them are used to. It becomes clear to Sing that whatever branch or flavour of occult this is, it is one born from a troubled mind. Sing needs to see past the smoke and mirrors to uncover the motivations behind these deaths and Lhung Charn is a helpful sounding board for profiling someone who would turn to black magic instead of white.

But then Sing makes the terrible mistake of being human and Thup worms his way into Sing’s heart and affections. Although he knows it is the worst move to make and against all his best intentions, Sing kisses Thup. They share breath as survival and desire mix in a heady euphoria of being alive.

The next day, undeniably, a malevolent spirit climbs onto the hood of his car. From the depths of his memory, some forgotten corner of his soul, Sing recollects the verses that he had to sit through as a child. He becomes his parents’ son as he folds his hands and recites them with intent and belief. His tattoo flashes hot and there is an echo of a roar when the ghost screams before disappearing.

Even Sey, his staunchest ally against the supernatural, saw it too. His entire body still squished into the passenger seat by fear of the spirit appearing and disappearing, he is looking at Sing like he has never seen him before even though the words out of his mouth are ones of gratitude. Sey snaps back to reality and he phones Darin, checking in on both him and Thup because the logical side of the brain processes information quickly and he is worried about what it means that the spirit came after them.

Singha needs to call his dad.

That is, if his phone is even on or has juice.

Actually, Singha is going to try calling Por first. 

Chapter Text

Singha turns off the highway and cuts through the countryside through the small towns. It takes a lot longer to get home this way but Singha remembers that the villagers never used the faster tunnel highway route. Something about anguished spirits which Singha could easily dismiss except any wandering spirits are sure to trouble Thup and Singha isn’t about to risk that.

Having been a devout believer the first half of his life only to spend the next half systematically unravelling his beliefs and finding scientific explanations for the unexplainable, Singha can’t say it is easy believing all over again. His well-earned cynical eye won’t let him blindly accept every suggestion of the spiritual but his practical side won’t let him deny what he experienced either.

It had been harrowing, trying to survive the ghosts that had been sent after them. The human masters had actually been easier to deal with. Singha had managed to compile enough evidence to arrest the ringleader, pin him down for the recent murders, uncover the cult that had been performing the rituals for decades. It had been enough to satisfy the top brass, smooth things over with the influential businessmen and clear Thup’s name for good. 

But Thup being Thup, his first act of freedom had been to hold a ritual to break the spiritual leashes on the souls and grant them autonomy. The indignity in death and subservience in the afterlife meant more than one were unable to pass on without revenge. Singha tried and failed to remain calm when one by one, all the perpetrators fell dead in their jail cells, necks broken and eyes bleeding.

It had been fucking embarassing but Singha had to bring an incense stick into the penitentiary of the ringleader, speaking to absolutely nobody despite Thup’s insistent grip on his sleeve that multiple ghosts were present, and request that they not kill the ringleader until he could be brought to justice. Singha stood there as he rationalised with the air about how the families of the victims deserved closure too and how the ringleader deserved to suffer human punishment.

It worked.

And when the ringleader thanked Singha and called him a good man, Singha punched him in the face so hard he broke his nose.

Singha's actions had him immediately taken off the case. Mek had been furious on his behalf, realising that, once again, Singha was being sidelined for promotion and that King was sweeping all the credit but Singha was quite over all of that. The minute King had stepped onto the case, Singha knew this outcome was inevitable, he only cared that he had done his part in making the right people accountable and keeping the innocent safe.

On the upside, his extra enforced paid leave meant he could finally bring Thup to see his parents. He had promised Thup he would when they had the time, initially assumed to be months away as the case was ramping up in paperwork and legalities, but now they have a lot of time on their hands.

Thup had been very excited to find out that they had grown up an hour away from each other, even though he would have still been a child when Singha moved away, mid-teens, to join Suea in his shaman training on another side of the country. Still, he insisted they break up their road trip to stop over at Si Sa Ket so that Thup could bring him to the temple he grew up in and his mother’s grave. Both places Singha has been before but had a much nicer time of it now since he wasn’t mid-investigation. 

Their time in the hotel had also been very nice. Singha glances over where Thup is asleep in the passenger seat, exhausted from their night time activities that had lasted well into the morning. Singha smiles to himself as he navigates the smaller roads. Singha had warned Thup that under no circumstances would he allow any sexy business to happen under his parents’ roof and Thup had taken it as a challenge to indulge in so much pleasure it would last them the week. Singha isn’t complaining, despite the lingering soreness, he very much enjoyed last night although it seems Thup overexerted himself.

Singha takes a left turn onto the homestretch. His heart is filled with an indescribable feeling as his car glides on the road that leads to his village. The view is so achingly familiar and Singha takes a second to regret that he hasn’t returned in almost a decade. His soul resonates in a vaguely-recognisable tune as memories stir up. Next to him, Thup stirs as well.

“We’re here?” He asks sleepily, rubbing a hand over his eyes.

It is just a coincidence, thinks Singha, that Thup woke up the moment they crossed into the village boundary.

“We still have about 30 mins, you can rest more, I’ll wake you up.” His parents’ place is all the way on the opposite outer edge of the village, close to the forest, and he has to slow down to crawling speed as they get through the village.

“Hmmmh,” Thup softly whines in disagreement, “I’ll keep you company, Phi, and you can point out your favourite places to me.”

Singha huffs a smile, “It is just a village, there is nothing special about it. My favourite place is my parents’ place, the village doesn’t exactly hold good memories for me.”

Thup makes an inquiring sound and Singha can feel his body sigh.

“I told you about my fate.” In the same conversation that he told Thup about his parents and then promised to bring him to his Dad. “Well, the villagers didn’t like me, I wasn’t really welcomed anywhere.”

Thup harrumphs in solidarity and Singha can’t fight the amusement that fills him. Thup has weird protective instincts over Singha considering that he is the one needing protection most of the time. He knows from previous experience with King and others that Thup will defend and go to bat for him, just because. It is nice to know that there is someone on Singha’s side this time round, someone who doesn’t care about social balances enough to fake pleasantries; someone just for him. The knowledge makes something in his chest flutter.

The further they go in, the more enraptured Thup gets. His arms uncoil, his hands pressed up against the windows and his neck straining as he looks around.

“Can we unwind the windows, Phi, please?”

“And let the flies in?” He complains.

“Please, please, please?” Thup has hands on Singha’s thigh, shaking it annoyingly.

Singha sighs and puts down the windows, bracing himself for the scent of manure to come through. It isn’t as bad as he remembers but it is still a downgrade from the light fragrance of his car freshener. Thup, on the other hand, seems to love it. His body leaning towards the windows, eyes closed, taking in the gentle breeze.

“I can’t explain it, Phi, but it already feels different. Feels full, here.” Thups murmurs, eyes still closed, the sun shining onto his face as he places a palm over the middle of his chest.

It is probably the lack of pollution in the air that Thup is feeling but even so, Singha tries not to think about the wave of nostalgia that hit him, it makes no sense for Thup to feel that even if Singha did.

There is a figure, up the road, walking in their direction and as he comes into focus, Singha mentally curses. He recognises him and the car is too slow to pretend he can’t see him. The man waves him down, a respectful wai in place. Singha reluctantly stops the car and returns the wai.

“Hello, can I help-” The bag of potatoes on the man’s shoulder rips, the spuds falling to the ground in soft thuds, rolling off the edge of the road onto the grass and Singha resists the urge to wince.

The man takes one look at the fallen potatoes and back up to the car window, “Singha? Luk, is that you?”

Singha completes his wai with a head bow, “Lhung Thod, how are you?”

In the background, Singha faintly registers Thup getting out of the car.

“My boy, you have grown up so well. Welcome back!” The smile on Lhung Thod’s face is very genuine but so was his ire at Singha for accidentally setting his goats free that one time during the petting zoo activities.

Both of them realise at the same time that Thup is picking up the potatoes into a plastic bag he must have grabbed from somewhere in Singha’s car. 

“Luk, thank you, you're so kind.” Thod says to Thup before turning back to Singha, “Your parents must be so happy you’re visiting, your Por told me you’re a bigtime police officer in Bangkok now!”

Singha plasters a smile onto his face, unsure how to continue this conversation, it already lasted longer than he anticipated. Thup saves him by stepping in between Thod and the car to offer the bag of potatoes to him. 

Lhung Thod is one of Dad’s disciples and Singha clocks the exact moment he spots Thup’s heterochromia; his eyes pinch and he drops his smile as he moves his head all around to observe and take in Thup’s aura. Singha sees Thup’s smile falter when he realises what is happening too.

Thod hesitates, making sure he doesn’t touch Thup as he takes the bag from him. Singha frowns.

“Thank you, Luk, and don’t worry, our master is the best in all of Thailand, he’ll help you.”

Did Singha mention that he doesn’t like Lhung Thod? Thup nods politely before climbing back into the car, subdued.

He turns back to Singha, “I see why you are back.”

Singha hates it when they all act like they know everything and honestly, all of Dad’s disciples do this. But he can’t say anything because Thod isn’t wrong this time and Singha doesn’t need yet another lecture from his parents about respect and playing nice with the villagers.

“It’s good to have you back Singha, and him, when everything is over, bring him to my house.” Thod looks past Singha to Thup, “Luk, my wife makes the best goat curry you’ll ever taste! And it is so nutritious it can re-vitalise anything!”

Thod chuckles as both Singha and Thup say their goodbyes and Singha finally can put the car into drive gear.

The quiet in the car lasts all of two minutes.

“He seemed to like you.”

“He’s one of my Dad’s disciples, they all have to pretend to like me.” Singha responds a little scathingly.

“I don’t think it was pretend.” Thup says morosely to his own hands.

Quiet falls once more but it is uncomfortable. Thup is no longer serene and enjoying himself. Instead he is a line of tension, his fingers intertwined, palms pressed together in a show of anxiety that Singha can’t quite understand.

“What’s wrong?”

“P’Sing, don’t be mad at me, okay?”

Thup is gently rocking in his seat that has nothing to do with his car’s suspension or the bumpy road and it is making Singha worry.

“I’ll be mad if you don’t spit it out, how about that?”

“Phi, I’m serious.” Thup mutters and Singha dislikes how quickly he softens when Thup gets like this.

“Uhh, fine. Tell me.”

“Let’s not tell your parents we’re together.” 

Singha blinks in surprise. They haven’t really spoken about this but he did assume that Thup was fine with his parents knowing. Singha isn’t the sort to shout about or show off their relationship but he also isn’t the sort to hold himself back from doing what he wants. It’ll take a bit of effort to not reach for Thup for a week but Singha isn’t the only one in this relationship. If Thup isn’t comfortable with other people knowing then there is not much Singha can do about it.

“Yeah okay,” Singha agrees and Thup unfurls from his hunched over position, having curled into himself when he asked for that boundary, “it’s new after all. They don’t need to know. It’s not that serious.”

“No, P’Singha, I’m serious about you.” Thup says earnestly, his entire body turned towards Singha.

The display does something to Singha’s heart as he struggles to keep his eyes on the road.

“Then?” 

“They might,” Thup is apprehensively wringing his hands again, “They might not want their son to be with someone of my energy.”

Singha scoffs. He probably shouldn’t. Thup seems pretty cut up about this but really, his parents have no room to speak of, “My parents really won’t care. Por was apparently cursed when he and Dad got together.”

“Curses can be lifted, Phi.” Thup says softly, “I was born like this, there is no changing it.”

Thup doesn’t quite fold into himself again but his entire being is forlorn and defeated.

“Don’t look so disheartened, we don’t know what can be done or can’t be done.”

Thup shakes himself a little and smiles widely at Singha, “P’Singha, I’m used to my life now. I would be happy just to make merits with your dad. With such a powerful master, I’m sure the merits will be well-received. Also, I have P’Sing now and you are more powerful than anything else.”

Singha huffs, trying to stave off the blush he can feel in the corners of his smile, “Nonsense.” 

“I just … I'm younger, freelancing isn't stable work and I have bad spiritual energy. I don't want them to be disappointed that we are together.” 

“Okay, I get it,” Singha understands that Thup is not feeling super confident right now and even though Singha doesn't think any of those are issues between them, he still gives in, “We’ll deal with things one at a time.”

“Yes, Phi.” Thup gives Singha one of his megawatt smiles, “Let me win them over first before we tell them.”

Singha laughs at Thup’s enthusiasm and determination and nods his head in agreement. The road turns into the sand gravel driveway of his childhood home. He can already see his parents standing in the distance. Thup breathes in deeply as Singha puts the windows up.

“Their hearing is good as ever, how did they know we were here?”

“They probably knew the minute you crossed the boundary.”

Singha looks inquisitively at Thup and he shrugs, “If I could feel the village protection then with how powerful your dad is, he must sense more.”

“You could feel it?” Thup nods and Singha is going insane because does this mean he feels it too? Despite their crazy case, Singha doesn't have the sight and has stopped seeing the ghosts ever since Thup freed them.

Singha slows the car and brings it to a park, “Alright we’re here. Ready?”

“Yes, Phi.”

They step out of the car. 

Chapter Text

Singha is engulfed into a hug the second he steps out of the car. Even though Singha is taller and broader, his Por’s hugs always feel like a swaddle, his thin arms hold Singha in such a tight embrace that Singha has no choice but to feel whole and settled in them. Dad’s hug, as usual, is brief, with a hand to the back of his head that never fails to make Singha feel about 8 years old. It isn’t a bad feeling; 8-year-old Singha had been happy, carefree and protected.

Thup is hanging back, hands together, a smile on his face as he waits patiently for Singha to introduce him. 

“Dad, Por. This is Thup.” Thup takes a step forward, “Thup, my dad, Master Pharan and my Por, Khem.”

“Por Kru, Khun Khem.” Thup bows politely, “Thank you for agreeing to see me and letting me be a guest. I can see where P’Singha gets his good looks from.”

Por lets out his usual sprinkling laughter while Singha snorts, “Hey, Thup, I’m adopted.”

Thup looks over balefully at Singha, “I know but your parents must have loved you very much for you to turn out this handsome. Love leaves its mark for everyone to see.”

Singha is tempted to hide his face in his hands, he can see from the side of his eye, Dad’s curious look and the held-back amusement in Por’s expression even as he releases an understanding ‘Ohhhhh’ in agreement. 

This whole time Singha had been worried his parents were going to embarrass him when, clearly, he should have worried about Thup. If Thup doesn’t stop smiling at him with that wide-eyed grin of his, his parents are going to be able to tell something is up. Singha hopes his ears aren’t turning red. 

“I’m more than happy to take credit for Singha’s good looks.” Por smiles kindly at Thup, saving the conversation from Singha’s flustered being. 

Thup tears his eyes off Singha, revelling in the knowledge that he has managed to fluster Singha even if it wasn’t his intention. Trying to hide his own reaction, he turns to smile at Khum Khem who blinks slowly as he gets his first good look at Thup’s eye colours.

“You have beautiful eyes.” Khun Khem’s voice is soft but matter of factly and to Thup it is already different from every other time someone has brought up his eyes, “May I?”

Khun Khem lifts a hand, hovering just off to the side. It is so close that Thup can feel the heat radiate from Khun Khem’s palm onto his cheek. Thup is drawn in by Khun Khem’s own eyes, gentle but searching. Something inside Thup is crawling its way into the center of his chest and moving him to close the tiny distance so that flesh connects.

The heat that had been branding him in anticipation disappears in an instant and the image of Khun Khem goes blurry as tears, inexplicably, start to collect. Thup startles, his face jerking out of Khun Khem’s touch.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m like this. I-” Thup scrambles to explain but the gnawing feeling has solidified, heavy, in his lungs. The more he tries to lift it, the more the tears threaten to fall. Claws pierce his insides but instead of tearing him apart, the prickly feeling is keeping him intact, stapling him together, nailing him into place.

Khum Khem’s hand falls to his shoulder, his smile stuttering into something smaller and sadder.

“Life must have been very hard and very lonely …” Thup inhales through his teeth, the sound is sharp and unbearably loud, “I understand what it is like, wanting to be left alone but there is no safety in being by yourself, especially when you are never truly alone.”

Thup stares at Khum Khem in wonder, he wants to agree, to say yes, exactly, to offer thanks and amazement at being so thoroughly read. The feeling of being seen and understood crashes like waves inside him so that when he opens his mouth, all that comes out is a sob. The sound unleashes the floodgates and Thup has no control over the tears that come rushing out. Thup tries to close his mouth, to hold it back but none of his facial muscles cooperate. His entire face spasms, eyebrows furrowed, teeth gritted, his lips wide in a pained facsimile of a smile as he fights the feeling in his chest just to breathe.

The hand on his shoulder pulls firmly and Thup’s head is guided onto Khun Khem’s shoulder, Thup’s tears soaking through his linen shirt in seconds. He feels sad, happy, grateful, horrified, he is uncomfortably exposed, stripped down and bare in a way that he has never had to deal with before. But in Khum Khem’s embrace, he is held and hidden and safe. The only time he has felt this level of relief was with P’Sing, when he had wrestled him off the ledge of the abandoned shopping mall, when Thup had realised that Singha was human. 

Stroking Thup’s back, Khem sends a sharp look at his husband and with a familiarity that showcases their years of being together, no words are required for Peem to understand what Khem wants. Peem reaches out to hold Singha back, who had, at first sob, taken steps towards Thup. Khem focuses on the boy whose snuffles come close to soft whimpers and he manoeuvres a clutching Thup further into the house to sit down while Peem turns to his son.

“Come on Noo, I’ll help you with the bags.”

“What did Por do?” Asks Singha, his eyes still following the pair into the house.

“Nothing.” Peem encourages Singha to start moving back towards the car but Singha doesn’t move, his entire body still tuned towards the pair, and Peem has to remind himself that this son requires more than just instructions.

“Por understands, in a way that no matter how much we want to or try, we will never be able to.”

“Because of his curse?” Singha asks, finally taking his eyes off the pair and onto Peem.

Peem nods in agreement and that is all it takes for Singha to listen to him. Singha starts unloading the car and Peem stares at his son’s side profile. Ever since Khem passed his phone, claiming that Singha needed his help in protecting himself and his office against ghosts, Peem had been in a confused state of emotions. Getting into Master mode had been easy, telling Singha what to look out for, teaching him which mantras to chant, how to touch unclean evidence without marking himself spiritually. He was grateful for being able to help his son in his time of need, less happy that his son was in the position of needing spiritual help at all. 

For a while, Singha’s atheism had shielded him.  Coupled with the protection that Peem and Khem had put together for him, Singha’s abject disbelief had created a very strong but unwelcoming aura for forces that would otherwise target him. Peem had believed his son safe from spiritual forces. It came at the cost of their relationship but sacrificing a bit of closeness with his son for his safety had seemed like a fair exchange to Peem, especially when said son was already growing distant.

Peem has not dared yet to voice his feelings, although he suspects that his love already guessed some of it, but Singha being open again to the spiritual world feels like Peem is getting his son back. It sounds stupid even in his head because it isn’t like Singha had cut contact with them. In fact, between the two, Singha contacts them more frequently, they also visit him in Bangkok regularly. So it makes no sense that Peem feels this way but he does.

It feels like a second, well, third, chance with Singha and Peem is determined not to waste it. But it is worrying because he doesn’t know how much of his relationship with Singha hinges on what he can do for Thup. But he is getting ahead of himself, Peem shakes himself out of his musings and reaches for the duffle bag in the boot.

“We’ve reorganised a lot since you’ve been away. The guest room only has a single bed so one of you will have to sleep on the floor.”

“Not a problem, Dad.”

“We should also postpone the consultation till tomorrow.” 

“Oh?” Singha had been hoping to get it out of the way so Thup can enjoy their holiday together.

“It would be better to do it when he is less emotional.” Singha raises an eyebrow at him and Peem has to acknowledge that many a consultation is done when the participants are at the height of their emotions, pushed to the brink by what they cannot handle on their own. But if his relationship with his son will be impacted by this consultation then he would prefer to have everyone comfortable, “The crying is going to tire him out.”

Singha nods as he follows Peem up the stairs and Peem takes advantage of the silence to ponder if it had always been this easy, that all he had to do was offer explanations instead of ultimatums for Singha to agree with him.

Peem drops the bag at the foot of the bed and points to the cupboard in the corner of the room, “Extra mattresses and pillows are in there.”

“Hmm.” Singha is looking all around the room, no doubt noting all the changes.

“It’s good to have you back home, Singha.”

Singha’s neck turns sharply as he looks at him, there is a look of surprise and contemplation in his eyes that makes Peem feel like a failure of a father. But in a blink of an eye, the expression is gone and Singha tilts his head down to the side, it reminds Peem of all the times Singha got shy as a kid, not wanting to greet new people. A smile slowly climbs onto his face, a lopsided little smile as he looks back up at Peem.

“It is good to be home.”

Peem smiles because it doesn’t sound like a lie this time.

~

Thup is really thankful P’Sing agreed to not tell his parents about them.

His first impression was abysmal, bawling like a baby all over Khun Khem and although he had been so nice and understanding about it, it isn’t what Thup wants them to remember of him. Especially when he stopped crying as abruptly as he had started. Khun Khem had gotten him a glass of water and some tissues and then started telling Thup about his own childhood. Thup listened, transfixed, as Khun Khem recounted the entire history of how ghosts had tried to kill him.

“Every spirit you met, Khun Khem??” Thup had been horrified because that would be so many, the world is full of spirits. In the time between Grandmaster Monk and P’Sing, Thup had been encountering one everyday, sometimes five depending on the area. Most left him alone once they realised he wasn’t some special master and couldn’t transfer merit to them. None had tried to kill him until he had gotten embroiled into the ritual killings case.

“Not every but most - any that Ramphueng could control.”

“Wow, I thought I had it tough but most of the spirits I saw only wanted merits.”

Khun Khem smiles at Thup confusedly, “The spirits ask you for merits? They speak?”

Thup nods his head vigorously, “Most do.”

“You must be able to see all the spirits then.” Khun Khem comments, “I only see anguished spirits, ghosts, those that die a violent or miserable death.”

Thup’s eyes grow wide with shock, “Oh.” He has always avoided those. He had no choice in the police station and when P’Sing was dragging him around for the case but … Thup shivers, that would be horrifying, knowing that every ghost you encounter was going to try and kill you.

Khun Khem continues his story and they migrate to the kitchen as he starts on the dinner preparations. Thup eagerly helps out, excited to be of some use and even more excited to learn that Khun Khem is cooking all of P’Singha’s favourites. By the time Singha comes to join them, Khun Khem has finished his story and has moved on to childhood stories about Singha, much to his pouty displeasure but he doesn’t interrupt.

Despite being away for almost a decade, Singha still knows where everything is kept and with his help, dinner gets cooked smoothly and quickly. At some point, Por Kru comes in with an armful of leafy greens which P’Sing takes from him without a word and starts cleaning and chopping, only for Khun Khem to, without even looking at the plate P’Sing passed him, toss the contents into a wok to stir fry. The sight makes all of Thup’s insides churn, warm and soft and there’s no other word to describe what sees but family.

It is not something Thup has ever had. 

Thup thinks he had a good childhood and Grandmaster Monk had been caring, the closest thing to family and Thup would even venture to call him family but Buddhist monks, especially at the rank that Grandmaster Monk had been, were encouraged to be fully detached from the material world and renounce emotional attachments. Grandmaster Monk had loved Thup as mankind loved humanity, as society took care of each other. It was a great deal better than many other people have experienced but it wasn’t this.

This wordless exchange, this stalwart knowledge that people are where they are meant to be, this trust, this assurance. Maybe he is overthinking, the raised eyebrow that P’Singha is sending his way definitely seems to imply that, but Thup has never experienced this before, never got to witness it this close up, never got to be a part of it. Thup never got to belong.

Even in the temple he grew up in, because of his spiritual energy, Thup was never allowed to take to monkhood. He wasn’t part of the volunteer set, the administrators, the care takers. Thup was just … there. Accepted, certainly. Tolerated, mostly. Despite the number of people who cared for him he was never one of them, which is precisely why, when Grandmaster Monk had passed away, Thup had felt the pressing need to leave. The sense that he had overstayed his welcome, even though no one said a thing to him, was too much to bear.

He is still on the outside of this particular dynamic but it is within reach. He is building his own version of it with P’Sing. P’Singha is his and P’Singha has claimed him in return and as long as Thup doesn’t mess it up, he might even get to be on the inside of this one day. Thup clutches a dish towel as the feeling of determination grows within, he is going to do everything he can to get it.

They sit down to eat and although Thup cannot follow the conversation about the various villagers - who has left, who is new -  Thup is just happy to be included.

“Dad, is this spicy enough for you?” Singha asks, “I saw a bottle of chilli sauce in the fridge, want me to get it for you?”

Por Kru coughs through a mouthful of food, waving Singha off, “No need, this is good.”

“Singha doesn’t take that much spice but he always tries to account for his dad’s preference.” Khun Khem explains kindly, “Singha used to always cook spicy food for his dad.”

Singha scoffs, “When I was little they made me believe I cooked it the best and all I did was pour sauce from a packet.”

“You did do it best.” says Khun Khem the same time that Por Kru adds, “but it was my favourite.”

Singha looks briefly from his Por to his Dad to Thup, “Whatever.” and shoves a spoonful of rice into his mouth.

Shy is a very good look on P’Sing.

After the meal, Thup goes to fetch the gifts he brought from Bangkok, a couple of boxes of chocolate that P’Singha had said were his parents’ favourite and a framed drawing of P’Singha that Thup had been particularly proud of. Por Kru had opened up one of the boxes for sharing while Khun Khem had taken the picture with thanks.

“This is lovely Thup, the shading is impeccable.” Khun Khem comments from behind the drawing.

“Por is the art professor at our local university.” Singha casually drops the bomb on Thup’s head.

“Department head.” Por Kru corrects.

“Why didn’t you tell me your Por was the head of the faculty of Arts at UBU?” Thup does his best to ask calmly instead of hissing at P’Sing, “I would have brought something else as a gift.”

And there goes his attempt at making a good second impression. Thup is a self-taught artist. He had taken community lessons for digital art but most of his certification was done through long-distance learning. He knows his drawings are good and they appeal to the general eye but he isn’t exactly academic-standard.

“Why? He liked it, he said your shading was good.” Singha asks incredulously.

Thup deflates, “Shading is a basic skill, it is literally the first thing you learn … in high school.”

“And you’ll never find someone who appreciates the basics more than a professor.” Khun Khem nods his head definitively over the frame, “Singha told me you are a digital artist so it is really nice to see that you have kept your physical skills.”

Thup sighs internally, Khun Khem really is very kind.