Work Text:
These days, Err often thinks about distances.
He wishes it was only his studies that make him ponder about numbers all the time, memorizing calculations until his braincells can no longer grasp them, but no.
8.522,82 miles.
20-hour flights.
GMT-5 and GMT+7.
47 days until he gets to wake up to Bangkok’s sunsets instead of Boston’s sunrises as jet lag kicks him down.
To say that he’s homesick would be an understatement – Err misses things he never even considered he might miss, like the smell of freshly cut grass in his mom’s backyard, the orange soda sold in that little shop across the street from his school, even the old blankets back in his room.
There’s a pang in his chest when he thinks about these things, a wave of nostalgia that consumes him at 3 AM on a Wednesday, scrolling through his friends’ stories to try and pretend he’s not on the other side of the world.
Err doesn’t regret coming this far, fighting to achieve dreams he didn’t know he had before he gained the courage to know what he wants.
What Err does is miss, all the time.
He misses his mother, all her little quirks he has inherited, the superstitions he can’t help but still follow, her soft smile as she says, like every morning, that she loves him.
He misses his brother, his constant presence and quiet encouragements, his way of always letting Err know he was there for him, whether he won or lost.
He misses his friends, Benz’s loudness and Mhee’s convictions and Mangpor’s seriousness and Ton’s earnestness, how at ease he feels when they’re near, how happy they’ve made him, each filling up a puzzle piece in his brain until he’s no longer a scattered mess, but someone who knows where they belong.
And Mawin.
It’s almost funny, Err thinks, to look at his life in retrospect and see it every time – he’s been missing Mawin long before the other boy walked into his classroom and shifted what Err was so sure of into something new.
They talk every day, long strings of texts Err rereads over and over when the distance is so stifling, it feels like it’s choking him.
Phone calls and messages and traded photos fill the Mawin-shaped empty space next to him, but it’s never enough, no amount of time talking into the late hours of the night as he takes up Mawin’s day sufficing to diminish the distance.
Err’s thoughts are too scrambled for him to stare at the computer any longer, dry eyes blinking slowly as he takes in the hour on the digital clock’s display.
11 PM, it tells him, reminding Err once more that he’s living in the yesterday of Mawin’s present.
Arms crossed over the desk’s surface, he lets himself fall forward until his head rests against his forearms, breathing deeply in and out.
If the concentrates hard enough, Err can almost feel Mawin occupying the vacant chair by his side, staring at Err with eyes that seem to tell him he’s capable of anything he sets his mind to.
Right on time, his phone rings, and a sudden bout of energy runs through Err’s veins.
A photo of Mawin holding a tiny potted plant, taken by Err himself the last time he went home, fills up the screen, Err’s heart feeling lighter and heavier all at once as he accepts the call.
The first thing he notices as the videocall starts is Mawin’s huge pair of headphones, a clear sign that the other decided to call as soon as his radio show finished, something warm unfurling in Err’s chest at the thought.
“I knew you’d still be awake,” Mawin teases, that tilt to the corner of his lips that Err’s endlessly endeared by making itself show.
“I was just catching up for next week’s classes,” Err, claims, but they both know it’s a flimsy excuse at best – it’s a Thursday night, the waning hours full of hopes and plans for the weekend, and the last thing on Err’s mind right now is the scattered notes he’ll have to organize in the morning. “I missed you,” he says in a small voice, still a little shy with being open about his feelings even after three years.
Mawin’s expression softens in that way that instantly makes Err feel at ease. “I missed you too. 46 days until I get to see you again.
It warms Err’s heart to think that Mawin’s counting down the days as well, an old routine between them that still feels as novel as the first time.
“Today were listeners’ submissions, right?” Err watches as Mawin lights up at the mention of his radio show, nodding enthusiastically as he tells Err all about the topics covered in the e-mails and audio recordings he received from his classmates.
Err’s sure he could hear Mawin talk on and on forever, his own personal late-night radio, and the distance feels just that little bit more bearable with Mawin’s voice filtering into his dorm room from the phone speakers.
“I’ve got something for you, before you come home,” Mawin confides, holding up an envelope with his own address written on the side in neat handwriting.
The letters are a little tradition they’ve built over the years Err has been abroad, something to remind them that in more way than they can count, Err and Mawin are still those same boys from math camp, falling in love before they could understand it.
Mawin wanted a friend, Err wanted…
He’s not sure what he wanted then, but he knows now.
Nights falling asleep to Mawin’s voice and mornings waking up to his presence next to Err, telling him it’s a new day to reach for the skies and hold it fully, reach for anything and find it.
Because Err can do it, not a horse in a race, not a number in a scoreboard – just Err, just himself, flawed and determined and knowing, fulfilling dreams that are his own and no one else’s.
That’s what the letters are to him, little pieces of the puzzle that is the confidence Mawin has in him, the confidence he helped Err build bit by bit until he could stand on his own two feet, not free from doubts but able to face them as they come.
Err remembers it vividly, the way his whole face heat up like a furnace as he, about to step through the threshold separating him from his future at the airport, forgot phones exist and blurted out, will you write to me? in a single breath.
Mawin’s lips had split open in that genuine, unguarded smile Err already knew he was going to miss terribly.
You’ll read all of them, right? Mawin asked, sounding sure and tentative in equal parts, and still so Mawin.
As soon as I get them, Err promised, on final hug and the hope of letter following him to Boston as the plane took off.
Err now has a collection of letters from Bangkok, safely guarded in the jewellery box on his desk and sifted through nearly every week, especially as the time to go back home nears like this.
Holding back his grin is impossible and Err wouldn’t even think of trying – if he learned no mathematics at all in three years, at least he’s learned to stay true to himself.
“Can’t wait to read it,” he says, fiddling with one of the many postcards Mawin sent alongside the last envelope, trinkets from a trip to the beach with their friends.
Next time, I’ll bring you with me, the back of it reads.
Mawin smiles cheekily, like he knows something Err doesn’t, too reminiscent of all those times he blatantly flirted with Err before he understood it was flirting. “This one will arrive a little faster than the other ones,” he teases, sliding off his headphones.
“What do you mean?” Err blinks in confusion, Mawin shrugging in reply. “Mawin,” he almost whines, “what are you talking about?”
“You’ll find out soon,” is all the answer he gets, his boyfriend still too good at keeping secrets when Err can’t handle not knowing.
“I’m not talking to you anymore,” he claims, arms crossed over his chest and lips jutted out in a pout Err thought he was too old to still sport.
“It’s really late,” Mawin points out, which Err knows that in Mawin-speak means I’m worried you’re not sleeping enough.
“Are you having lunch with Benz and Mhee?” Mawin nods his reply, propping up his phone against the wall so he can finish gathering his things into the bag Err got for him for his last birthday. “Tell them they owe me at least ten ice cream cones,” he complains, cut off by a yawn.
“I’ll buy you all the ice cream you want when you come back,” Mawin promises, holding out his pinky finger like Err might be able to lace it with his own through the screen. “I chose our playlist for today,” he claims, earbuds in.
They’ve been together for over 3 years now, but Err still gets moments where his face burns as bright as the sun he can see shining behind Mawin as he leaves the show’s studio, blushing madly when Mawin hits him with romantic lines he never hesitates to say.
It’s been too long since they last shared Mawin’s old wire earbuds, and Err’s become familiar with the homesickness that makes his heart seem as heavy as his dropping eyelids.
“I’ll listen to it to fall asleep, then,” he replies, trying his best to not feel shy about it, though Mawin knows him well enough to be aware just how bashful he gets, smiling broadly like he’s just won the ‘make-Err-flustered’ lottery.
“Sweet dreams,” comes as an almost-whisper through the phone, Err resting his chin atop his crossed arms over the desk. “I love you, Err.”
Tiredly, he smiles at the shaky image of his boyfriend walking on the screen. “Eat well,” Err wishes. “I love you too.”
With a small wave from Mawin, the call ends, and Err lets himself fall back against his chair, exhausted and missing Thailand and wishing he could be walking by Mawin’s side down the street to share bowls of khai palo with his friends like they’re still in high school.
As it is, Err drops face first onto his pillow in Boston and dreams of a way to live in two places at once.
---
The week’s last class ends at last, students scurrying out of the lecture room, and Err hastens his steps, bag slung over his shoulder, to catch up with his fellow exchange student Olga as she leaves her Economy study hall.
“Are we going out for burgers tonight?” he asks as soon as he manages to fall into step with her, greeted with a smile and a Friday, finally.
“Sure, that’s what Peter said he wanted. If he doesn’t show up, we’ll just have to camp in his living room next week,” she laughs, looking down at her phone for the thousandth time in the span of a few seconds. “Have I mentioned how much I hate time zones?”
“Only every day,” Err responds, his own hatred for them one he hasn’t been shy to admit either.
“Sorry,” Olga grumbles sheepishly. “I know you have it way worse than I do.”
“You miss your girlfriend,” he nudges at her with an elbow, “Denmark being closer than Thailand doesn’t make that much of a difference when our loved ones still live in another country.”
“At least you get letters, right?” It’s gotten warm enough that Olga rids herself of the scarf around her neck, pointing to the uni’s coffee shop as they make their way out. “Hanna’s an anti-romantic, she’d never send me so much stuff.”
“You think I didn’t see how many gifts she got for you on your last birthday?” Err teases back, shaking his head as she blushes while pretending she’s not blushing at all.
“You didn’t show me what you got in the last one,” she switches back subjects, picking a table at the back of the store for them to scatter their study work across over cups of hot coffee.
All Err needs is a chance to start talking about Mawin and he’ll do so unabashedly, opening his laptop to show Olga all the postcards he received and pictures of the places Mawin’s planning to take him to next.
Yeah, no wonder Mhee and Benz are done with his lovesickness.
---
Even with the curtains drawn closed, sunlight still manages to reach into Err’s room, just enough to bring him out of dreamland.
A small voice in the back of his head tells him to get up and get the day started, no time to lose when he’s already awake with no chances of falling back asleep and could be making a better use of his morning hours by fixing up his room and preparing for the week’s classes.
Another voice, somehow softer and louder all at once and oddly reminiscent of Mawin’s, reminds him that it’s Sunday and his room, his classes, his time, will all still be there for him to worry about tomorrow.
Not everything’s a race, Err, Mawin told him the first time he visited, watching Err get up early on a weekend to run through the assignments he’d have to turn in at the end of term. You deserve to rest too.
So Err allows himself to lie in bed a little longer, clutching his old star pillow in one hand and reaching for the tiny cactus-shaped cushion Mawin got for him on his first try at the claw machine at the pizza place Olga had dragged them to.
It doesn’t help him miss Mawin any less, but the plushie serves as a constant reminder to slow down every once in a while.
With Mawin’s voice telling him to not stress himself out so early on a lazy spring morning and despite thinking he wouldn’t, Err drifts off once more.
When he wakes up again, it’s with the sun hitting him right in the face through a corner of the blinds he forgot to properly secure last night, the digital clock showing him it’s already 10 AM.
Stretching his arms overhead, Err thinks it’s a time as good as any to leave his bed, the duvet too heavy for the warmth slowly returning to Boston.
Old habits still die hard, though, and he’s always been a creature of routine, following his old chronogram to a T like it’s a part of him.
With a done bed, changed clothes and brushed teeth, he approaches his desk, ticking off another day on the calendar.
44 days, he counts down like he’s done every day for the last two months, brain automatically calculating how many class hours he still has left before being done with the semester.
His grumbling stomach pulls Err out of his thoughts, scouring through his sock drawer to finish getting ready for breakfast when there’s a knock on the door.
Confusion has Err’s brows furrowing – even with his room being a well-worn hangout spot for his uni friends, he rarely gets visitors in the morning, most of his dormmates sleeping in until noon whenever they get the chance.
Opening the door, his heart nearly leaps out of his chest, a swarm of butterflies taking a hold of him.
“Special delivery for Mr. Anantachai,” Mawin says in English, backpack in one hand and a letter in the other, that soft smile that’s just so Mawin it hurts plastered to his lips. Err’s mind short-circuits as he takes in the sight before him, from the old shoes to the cord earphones hanging from the collar of his hoodie, blinking rapidly to make sure it’s real.
Mawin’s arms are already open when Err throws himself at him, almost toppling them both and Mawin’s luggage over in the process.
“What, when…?” Err mumbles, burying his face in the fabric of the other’s shirt.
Shoulders shaking with his chuckles, Mawin rubs a hand down Err’s back, holding him just as tightly. “I told you this letter would come faster.”
With a step back, Err rests his hands against Mawin’s cheeks, feeling them lift under the weight of the other boy’s smile. “And the 44 days?” he asks, like his brain still hasn’t managed to catch up with the fact that Mawin’s really here, in Boston, standing in his doorway over a month before Err was meant to knock on his house’s front door.
Grinning so cheeky his nose scrunches up, Mawin shrugs. “Well, they’re still there. And I’m here.”
“I…” Err starts, not sure where the sentence’s going. “You…”
Mawin understands the things he can’t say, can’t yet decipher, leaning down to press his lips to Err’s briefly, just enough that his thoughts can restart, trailing after Mawin to kiss him back, lingering.
Saying he’s missed Mawin wouldn’t even begin to cover the feeling that unfurls in his heart, rising on his toes to lace both arms around Mawin’s neck.
Damn Mawin for growing even taller in the months they’ve been apart.
“Can I come in?” Mawin ponders as they part, showing how heavy his backpack really is.
Err’s too excited to know what to do first, scrambling to let Mawin in and take his bags to the small couch he’s somehow managed to fit into his tiny dorm room. His heart races like he’s ran all the way from Bangkok, taking Mawin by the hand and leading him to settle on his bed, knees knocking together.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” The words come out breathless, the swirl of emotions in his chest leaving Err dizzy, and he’s grateful to be sitting or his weak knees would betray him.
Mawin breaches the short distance between them, picking invisible dust out of Err’s hair, and seeing that elated glint in his eyes in person is too much for Err’s heart each and every time.
It’s equal parts adoring and humorous, like a secret shared just between them, the sides of Mawin that only Err ever gets to see, and he’s too in love with this guy not to fall for it over and over again.
How could anyone, let alone Err, have ever thought Mawin has a serious bone in his body when the other looks at him like this?
“It wouldn’t be a surprise if you knew beforehand, would it?” he jokes, running a thumb over Err’s cheek before his hand falls away. “Your letter,” Mawin offers the envelope, swallowing nervously in a way someone else might’ve missed.
Someone else who isn’t Err, that is – someone who didn’t fall into step with Mawin long before they could realise it, someone who isn’t painfully attuned to Mawin how Err is.
Err takes the letter without a word, leaning away and watching Mawin nearly fall forward to follow him – someone to who Mawin isn’t just as in sync with wouldn’t get something like this.
He takes a moment to run his fingers over the stamp, a little drawing of Cupid with his arrows adorning one side of the envelope, before tearing it open slowly, careful as to not ruin the correspondence inside, and taking it out.
Ears heating up more than the weather ever could allow for, he unfolds the letter to find…
“It’s blank?” Turning to Mawin in bewilderment, Err laughs to himself at the redness of the other’s face.
“Well,” Mawin says, sounding unsure in a way he almost never does. A shy Mawin is a rare sight and Err basks in it like the sunshine that bats down on them through the window. “I saw it in a movie. The couple would send out blank letters if they missed each other.”
For long seconds, Err can do nothing but stare at him, the butterfly wings beating wildly in his gut as he takes in the implications of Mawin’s words.
“I wrote another one too,” Mawin’s quick to add, his cheeks covered in a bright flush “just in case. I can get it for–”
It’s Err’s turn to shut him up with a kiss, hands settling around Mawin’s waist to pull him closer, Mawin holding him by the nape as they reacquaint themselves with the lack of space between them.
Too long without kisses, Err has been, too long without his Mawin and his absurdly romantic ideas of leaving him speechless and the feeling of their fingers intertwining.
“I’d rather hear you tell me all about it,” he whispers, his own attempt at being a romancer cut short by the louder grumbling of his stomach.
Mawin laughs unabashedly as Err hides his face against his shoulder, the fabric of his hoodie soft enough that Err could fall back asleep right then and there. “Let me buy you breakfast and I’ll talk.”
That’s the best idea Mawin’s ever had in his whole life – Err would never say no to listening to him endlessly babble about anything and everything, his radio show finally becoming live.
“Deal,” Err agrees, walking out of the dorm room hand in hand with his boyfriend.
---
These days, Err often thinks about distances.
44 days until he’s on plane back to Bangkok, on a car back to his house.
13 hours since Mawin showed up on his doorstep and had his heart kick-starting.
2 strides over the carpet to fall back onto his bed.
No space between their laced hands.
Propped up against his many cushions, Err quietly observes Mawin move away to unpack his clothes, carefully setting them in Err’s wardrobe for the week, only a few days for them to enjoy this domestic bliss of shared space until Mawin has to return to the other side of the world.
That’s for Saturday’s version of Err to fret over, though, as he’s bound to do – Sunday’s Err gets to live in a bubble with no chores or class or worrier to think about, only him and Mawin and infinite numbers.
Hands shoved into the front pocket of his hoodie, the taller boy stares at him in amusement. “No reviewing for tomorrow’s lecture?” he jokes, one eyebrow raised.
“No,” Err replies, patting the empty spot next to him. “Someone’s taught me to live a little more in the moment.”
Settling by his side, Mawin tugs at his sleeve to get Err to lie down as well. “That person must be very smart,” he gloats with a beaming smile, brighter than the moon hidden by the closed curtains.
“The smartest,* Err agrees, fingertips tracing the curve of Mawin’s cheekbone, the slope of his nose, the line of his eyebrows, all in an effort to memorize him like a formula, blinking behind his closed eyelids. “Thank you,” he says, sinking into Mawin’s embrace like he was made to live within the circle of his arms, inhaling the scent that reminds Err of home and pool sides and the sudden clarity that falling in love with Mawin was the easiest thing he’s ever done.
Err doesn’t need to explain further when Mawin has learned the meaning of all his words, spoken and silent, reads him like Err’s his favourite equation to solve.
“I did it for you,” Mawin confesses in a whisper, voice ringing loudly in Err’s mind as he cards his fingers through Err’s hair. “Did I tell you about the new shop down the street from my house? They sell a lot of striped shirts.”
Shaking his head, Err snuggles more into his side, tiredness taking him over, and lets Mawin lull him to sleep.
Eyes closed and mind fuzzy, he leans up the slightest bit to kiss Mawin for a short moment, forehead resting on his shoulder like it’s the comfiest pillow he could ever want for.
“Love you,” Err mumbles, drifting off as Mawin places an earbud in his ear, the radio show’s music soft at this time of night.
“I love you, Err,” he hears from far away, from right next to him, from the same time zone, no distance.