Chapter Text
☁️
The classroom smells like sun-warmed dust and paper.
It is the kind of smell that settles in quietly, like it has always been there, like it belongs more than the students do. TeeTee notices it the moment he steps in, the way he notices most things before people. The faint sweetness of old books. The chalk…no, not chalk, whiteboard marker, but his brain insists on calling it chalk anyway…lingering sharp in the air. The hum of the ceiling fan slicing the afternoon into soft, rhythmic pieces.
He pauses at the doorway half a second too long.
Someone behind him clicks their tongue.
“Are you going in or…?”
TeeTee blinks, nods quickly and steps forward. His sneakers squeak against the tiled floor, a tiny protest, high-pitched and embarrassed. He winces at the sound, shoulders tightening, then relaxes when no one seems to care.
He chooses a seat by the window.
Always the window.
It is not for the view, not exactly. It is for the predictable movement. The trees outside sway in a pattern that doesn’t surprise him. Leaves flicker in green gradients, light filtering through them like diluted honey. There is a basketball court just beyond and the bat-bat-bat of the ball hitting concrete repeats like a metronome.
Inside the classroom, everything is less certain. Voices overlap. Laughter spikes unpredictably. Chairs scrape at different pitches.
Outside, things follow rules.
He sets his notebook down, aligning it carefully with the edge of the desk. Pen parallel. Phone tucked just beneath, screen face-down. His fingers tap once, twice, three times against the wood.
Then stillness.
He exhales.
Philosophy.
He is not entirely sure why he picked this elective. It had sounded… interesting. Or maybe the word is necessary. Something about understanding the way people think. The way they feel.
TeeTee understands patterns. He understands systems. But people…
People are like sunlight through leaves.
Beautiful and fragmented and always moving.
He opens his notebook.
The professor arrives in a gust of energy.
He does not walk so much as arrive, like a storm that has decided to take human form. His hair is already dishevelled, as if he has been arguing with the wind on his way here. His shirt is half-tucked, his glasses slightly crooked.
“Love,” he says, before even putting his bag down.
The class quiets in that immediate, curious way.
TeeTee’s pen hovers.
The professor turns, eyes bright, almost wild. “We are not starting with logic today. Logic is overrated. Today, we start with love.”
A ripple of laughter.
But the professor does not laugh.
He slams his palm lightly against the desk, not angry, just… emphatic.
“When you’re in love with someone,” he begins, voice rising, “that person becomes the lighthouse of your universe.”
TeeTee’s pen moves before he decides to write.
lighthouse of your universe
The words feel important. They settle into the page like something that wants to stay.
The professor paces.
“Everything orbits them. Everything. Food tastes different. Music sounds different. The sky…” He gestures wildly toward the window. “…the sky is no longer just the sky. It is something you wish they were seeing with you.”
TeeTee glances outside.
The sky is a soft, impossible blue, edged with drifting clouds like brushed cotton.
He tries to imagine someone else standing beside him, looking at it too.
The thought feels… strange.
Not unpleasant.
Just unfamiliar.
A student near the front raises his hand, half-laughing. “So you’re saying you can’t enjoy things alone? Like—what if you’re on vacation and you see something amazing? That doesn’t count?”
The professor spins toward him.
“Oh, it counts,” he says, softer now. “But it counts less.”
The room stills.
“You recognise beauty,” the professor continues, “but beauty dims when it is not shared with the one who matters. They illuminate it. They give it weight. Without them, it is just… light without meaning.”
TeeTee presses his pen harder against the page.
The ink darkens.
They illuminate.
He underlines it once.
Then twice.
His chest feels … tight … full.
“Does that mean you’re in love?” the same student presses, grinning.
The professor pauses.
Then smiles, gentler this time.
“Of course not,” he says. “Not completely. But it means you are beginning to understand what love could be.”
The class continues like usual after that.
☁️
The bell rings.
Students shift immediately, chairs scraping, voices rising again.
TeeTee stays seated.
He stares at the words in his notebook.
lighthouse of your universe
He traces the letters lightly with his finger.
Outside, the basketball hits the ground.
Bat. Bat. Bat.
The rhythm feels louder now.
Or maybe everything else is quieter.
“Excuse me.”
The voice comes from his left.
Warm.
Steady.
Not loud, but it lands clearly, like a stone placed carefully in water.
TeeTee looks up.
And the world…
The world does something strange.
It does not stop.
That would be too dramatic.
But it tilts.
Just slightly.
Just enough.
The person standing beside his desk is wearing a simple white shirt, sleeves rolled neatly to the elbows. There is a lanyard around his neck, a stack of papers tucked under one arm. His hair falls softly across his forehead and it looks so … natural.
His eyes are kind.
That is the first thing TeeTee notices.
Not their shape. Not their colour.
Just…kind.
“Are you in this class?” he asks, smiling a little.
TeeTee blinks.
“Yes.”
Too fast.
Too quiet.
He clears his throat. “Yes. I—yes.”
The other man’s smile deepens, just slightly, like he’s trying not to make it too obvious.
“I’m Por,” he says. “P’Por, technically. I’m the TA.”
TeeTee nods.
His brain catches on the P’…older. One year, maybe two.
“Tee,” he replies automatically. Then, after a beat, “TeeTee is okay.”
Why did he say that?
He doesn’t usually offer nicknames.
Por tilts his head, considering.
“TeeTee,” he repeats, testing it gently.
It sounds different in his voice.
Softer.
Like it belongs there.
“Okay,” Por says. “I’ll remember that.”
TeeTee nods again.
He is nodding too much.
He stops.
Por glances at the notebook on the desk.
“You write fast,” he says.
TeeTee follows his gaze.
The page is filled. More than he realised. Words scattered, some underlined, some circled.
He feels heat creep up his neck.
“I—just notes.”
“They’re good notes,” Por says simply.
And TeeTee can feel that he is not exaggerating it. Nor teasing him. He’s just… simply stating it.
TeeTee’s fingers curl slightly against the edge of the desk.
“Thank you.”
A quiet pause.
Comfortable in a way that surprises him.
Por shifts the papers in his arm. “If you ever need help with the material, you can ask me. I usually stay after class for a bit.”
TeeTee nods.
“Okay.”
Another pause.
Por seems like he might say something else.
He doesn’t.
Instead, he smiles again, small and easy, and steps back.
“I’ll see you next class, TeeTee.”
Then he leaves.
Just like that. There was no dramatic exit. Nor any lingering glances.
A simple turning away, merging into the flow of students, disappearing through the door.
And yet….
And yet the classroom feels different.
TeeTee looks down at his notebook again.
lighthouse of your universe
His pen hovers.
Then, without quite knowing why, he writes something beneath it.
They make everything more.
The words sit there. Quiet and certain.
Outside, the basketball continues its steady rhythm.
Bat. Bat. Bat.
The sunlight has shifted, creeping further across the floor. It touches the edge of his shoe now, warm through the thin fabric. He wiggles his toes slightly, feeling the heat spread.
He thinks…
No.
He doesn’t think.
He notices.
The way Por had said his name.
The way his voice didn’t overlap or rush.
The way the moment had felt… clear.
Like a line drawn neatly through noise.
TeeTee closes his notebook carefully and aligns it again with the desk.
His fingers tap once, twice, three times.
Then still.
He stands.
The hallway outside is louder, brighter, filled with movement. Someone laughs too loudly. Someone else is arguing about lunch plans. A phone rings with a shrill melody.
TeeTee moves through it all like water slipping between stones.
But something is different.
The noise doesn’t press as hard.
The edges feel… softer.
He steps outside the building.
The air is warmer here, touched with the faint scent of grass and something sweet…flowers, maybe, from somewhere he cannot see. The sky is still that impossible blue.
He looks at it again.
And this time… the thought comes uninvited.
He should be here.
TeeTee stops walking.
The thought echoes.
He frowns slightly.
He?
He presses his lips together.
It doesn’t make sense.
He just met him.
They barely spoke.
This is… illogical.
He resumes walking.
The gravel crunches softly beneath his shoes.
But the thought lingers.
Like a thread catching on something.
Like light that refuses to fade.
He should be here.
TeeTee exhales slowly.
The professor’s voice drifts back into his mind.
Beauty means less when they don’t witness it with you.
He looks up at the sky again.
It is still beautiful.
That has not changed.
But…
There is something else now.
A quiet, almost imperceptible shift.
As if the blue has gained a second layer.
As if the light has found a direction.
As if…
No.
He doesn’t have the words for it yet.
But he feels it. Soft and warm and uncertain.
Like the first step onto a path he didn’t know existed.
Somewhere behind him, a basketball hits the ground.
Bat.
And again.
Bat.
And again.
Bat.
The rhythm continues.
Steady.
But TeeTee’s heartbeat doesn’t quite match it anymore.
It has found its own tempo.
Uneven and curious.
He presses his notebook a little closer to his chest as he walks. Holding onto something he hasn’t fully understood yet.
The sun follows him down the path.
Or maybe he follows the sun.
It’s hard to tell.
Either way, the day feels brighter than it did an hour ago.
And TeeTee…
TeeTee, who notices everything…
realises, quietly,
that something has begun.
☁️
The sky, TeeTee decides, is unreliable.
Not because it changes. Change is fine. Change has patterns. Even clouds have patterns if you look long enough, if you track their edges like you’re tracing the outline of a thought.
No, the sky is unreliable because it keeps meaning things.
And TeeTee does not like things that mean things without permission.
He sits cross-legged on his dorm bed, back pressed against the cool wall, phone tilted towards the window so it can catch the exact gradient of late afternoon. The blue is softer today, diluted at the edges where it meets the buildings, like someone washed it too many times.
Click.
Another photo.
Click.
He squints at the screen, adjusts the angle slightly.
Click.
Perfect.
Or…not perfect. But it is right enough.
He uploads it immediately without any filter. He does not trust filters. They lie.
Caption: 17:42 - the blue is quieter today
He hesitates, then adds a small cloud emoji.
Posts it.
His account is mostly this. Sky, sky, sky, sky. Sometimes trees. Once, a very symmetrical puddle. People follow him for reasons he does not fully understand. A few hundred now. Some comment things like this feels like breathing or how do you see colours like this?
TeeTee does not know how to answer those.
He sees what is there.
Isn’t that what everyone does?
He places the phone down carefully on his blanket, aligning it with the stitched seam. The fabric is soft beneath his fingertips, slightly worn at the edges where he rubs it absentmindedly when thinking.
Which he is doing now.
Thinking.
About…
No.
Not about.
Around.
Circling.
Like the professor said. Orbiting.
His gaze drifts to his desk.
The notebook is there, closed, but not forgotten. It feels louder than everything else in the room.
lighthouse of your universe
The words sit inside it, quiet but persistent.
TeeTee presses his lips together.
He swings his legs off the bed and walks over, each step measured, each foot landing fully before the next moves. The floor is cool. He notices the exact moment the temperature shifts from the rug to the tile.
He opens the notebook.
The page is exactly where he left it.
Of course it is.
Paper does not rearrange itself.
That would be chaos.
He traces the words again.
Then flips to a new page.
At the top, he writes:
What is this?
He pauses.
Then, beneath it:
Possibilities:
- Biological response (hormonal?)
- Psychological projection
- Environmental trigger (light, sound, temperature?)
- Philosophical construct (as per lecture)
- Error
He stares at the list.
Then adds:
- Unknown
That feels more accurate.
He nods once.
Satisfied temporarily.
His phone buzzes.
He looks at it immediately like he always does. Notifications are small interruptions, but they follow rules. They come from somewhere. They can be categorised.
It is a message.
From: Korn 🌿
TeeTee’s shoulders relax slightly.
Korn is safe.
Korn is… understood.
He opens the chat.
Korn 🌿:
u alive or did philosophy eat u
TeeTee blinks.
He types.
TeeTee:
I am alive. Philosophy did not eat me. It presented a hypothesis.
There is a pause.
Then:
Korn 🌿:
that sounds worse
TeeTee considers this.
Then:
TeeTee:
It might be.
Three dots appear. Disappear. Reappear.
Korn 🌿:
im coming back to the dorm in 10
u better still be human
TeeTee looks down at his hands.
Flexes his fingers.
They respond normally.
He types:
TeeTee:
I will check again in 10 minutes.
He puts the phone down.
Then picks it up again.
Opens a browser.
Search bar.
He hesitates.
Then types:
what does it mean when you keep thinking about someone you just met
Enter.
Results flood the screen.
He reads quickly. No, he is not skimming…never skimming. He reads every word, but his brain moves fast, sorting, categorising, discarding.
infatuation
attraction
dopamine response
novelty bias
He clicks another link.
A sudden interest in someone can be due to emotional resonance or subconscious recognition of traits you find comforting…
TeeTee frowns slightly.
Comforting?
He thinks about the TA…Por.
About the way his voice had been… steady.
The way it did not overlap.
The way it did not demand.
His fingers tap lightly against the phone.
That could be classified as comforting.
He scrolls.
You may find yourself imagining interactions or future scenarios…
He pauses.
Slowly looks up from the phone.
The room is quiet.
The fan hums.
Somewhere down the hall, someone laughs. It is sharp and sudden and then gone.
TeeTee looks back at the screen.
Then locks it.
Places it face-down.
He does not like that line.
He does not like being predictable.
He stands abruptly.
Movement helps.
Movement resets.
He walks to the window.
Outside, the basketball court is active again.
Bat…bat…bat.
Different rhythm this time. Faster. Less even.
He watches for a moment.
Then…
There.
At the edge of the court.
Just passing by.
White shirt.
Sleeves rolled.
TeeTee stills.
Por.
He is carrying something…papers again, maybe. Talking to someone walking beside him, though TeeTee cannot hear the words. He does not need to.
He watches the way the TA listens.
That is the thing.
He listens with his whole face.
Slight tilt of the head.
Eyes focused.
Just… there.
TeeTee’s chest tightens again.
That same strange fullness.
He presses his palm lightly against the glass.
The window is warm from the sun.
The TA laughs at something.
TeeTee cannot hear it.
But he can see it.
The way his shoulders loosen.
The way his mouth curves.
The way the moment expands around him, like it has been given more space to exist.
And then…
He’s gone.
Turned a corner.
Out of sight.
Just like that.
The space he leaves behind feels… noticeable.
Like a sentence missing a word.
TeeTee exhales slowly.
His hand is still on the glass.
He removes it.
Looks at his palm.
Nothing has changed.
Everything has changed.
He turns away from the window.
Paces once across the room.
Then back.
Stops.
Goes to his desk.
Opens the notebook again.
Under Possibilities, he adds:
- Lighthouse effect (unverified)
He stares at it.
Then underlines it.
Once.
Carefully.
The door bursts open.
“Okay, report,” Korn announces, stepping inside with a plastic bag of something that smells faintly like fried garlic and chilli. “Are you still in this dimension?”
TeeTee turns.
Korn kicks off his shoes without looking, somehow landing them neatly by the door anyway. He always does that. Controlled chaos. TeeTee does not understand how.
“I am here,” TeeTee says.
Korn narrows his eyes, studying him.
“You look like you’ve been thinking.”
“I have been.”
“That’s never good.”
“It is neutral.”
Korn snorts, dropping onto his own bed. “No, it’s not. Thinking is where you get yourself into trouble.”
TeeTee considers that.
It is not entirely incorrect.
“I encountered a variable,” he says.
Korn freezes mid-bite.
“A what?”
“A variable.”
“Like… maths?”
“No. Human.”
Korn slowly lowers his food.
“Oh,” he says. “Oh no.”
TeeTee blinks.
“Why ‘oh no’?”
Korn points at him with a chopstick. “Because last time you called someone a variable, you tried to map their entire personality using a spreadsheet.”
“It was effective.”
“You colour-coded their moods, Tee.”
“That improved accuracy.”
Korn groans, flopping back dramatically. “Please tell me you’re not doing that again.”
TeeTee hesitates.
“…Not yet.”
Korn sits up again immediately.
“Who is it?”
TeeTee looks at the notebook.
Then at the window.
Then back at Korn.
“A teaching assistant,” he says.
Korn’s expression shifts.
Not teasing now.
Interested.
“Oh?”
“He is—” TeeTee pauses.
Words line up in his mind, then rearrange.
“Consistent,” he settles on.
Korn raises an eyebrow.
“That’s your selling point?”
“It is important.”
“Anything else?”
TeeTee thinks.
Then…“He says my name correctly.”
Korn softens.
“That is important.”
TeeTee nods.
Silence settles between them, comfortable and familiar.
Korn takes another bite, chewing thoughtfully.
“So,” he says after a moment, “what’s the problem?”
TeeTee looks down at his hands.
Flexes his fingers again.
“The sky changed,” he says.
Korn blinks.
“…Right.”
“When I saw him.”
Korn stares at him.
TeeTee continues, earnest and precise.
“It is still blue. The wavelength of light has not altered. But the perception…” He gestures vaguely. “…shifted.”
Korn watches him for a long second.
Then smiles… knowing.
“Tee,” he says gently, “I think you have a crush.”
TeeTee stills.
The word lands.
Crush.
He repeats it internally.
Rolls it around.
Tests its edges.
“It does not feel like compression,” he says.
Korn chokes on his drink.
“That’s—not—” He coughs, laughing. “Not that kind of crush.”
TeeTee frowns.
“Then the terminology is misleading.”
“Yeah,” Korn says, still grinning. “Welcome to human emotions. Nothing is labelled properly.”
TeeTee considers this.
Then nods slowly.
“That is inefficient.”
“Very.”
Silence again.
Then TeeTee asks, quietly:
“Does it… go away?”
Korn tilts his head.
“Sometimes,” he says. “Sometimes it grows.”
TeeTee looks at his notebook.
At the words waiting there.
At the list that is no longer sufficient.
He presses his lips together.
“Okay,” he says.
Korn watches him.
“You’re taking this suspiciously well.”
TeeTee shrugs slightly.
“I will observe.”
Korn smiles again.
“Of course you will.”
Night comes softly.
The sky shifts from blue to violet to something deeper, something that feels like it has weight. TeeTee takes more photos. Posts them. Watches the likes trickle in.
But his mind…
His mind keeps returning.
To the white shirt.
To the steady voice.
To the way the moment had felt clear.
He lies on his bed later, staring at the ceiling.
The fan spins.
The shadows move in slow circles.
He closes his eyes.
And immediately—
There is a version of the afternoon.
Not real.
Not memory.
Something in between.
The TA is standing beside him at the window.
Not speaking.
Just… there.
Looking at the sky.
Sharing the same frame.
The same light.
TeeTee opens his eyes abruptly.
Sits up.
Heart uneven.
“That is new,” he murmurs.
Across the room, Korn hums softly in his sleep.
TeeTee swings his legs off the bed.
Walks to the desk.
Opens the notebook.
Under everything, he writes:
If this is the lighthouse—
He stops.
The sentence feels too big.
Too unfinished.
He closes the notebook instead.
Presses his palm flat against the cover.
As if to keep the thoughts from spilling out too quickly.
Outside, somewhere far away, a basketball hits the ground one last time before the night swallows the sound.
Bat.
And then…
Quiet.
TeeTee stands there in the dim light, something soft and uncertain blooming quietly in his chest.
It is not overwhelming. Not yet.
It is also not frightening.
Just… present.
Like a small, steady glow.
Waiting.
For him to understand it.
☁️
The nickname arrives quietly.
Not with a grand decision, not with a ceremony of thought, but in the small, precise way most of TeeTee’s conclusions arrive…like a line connecting two points that had always been there.
He is in the library when it happens.
Of course he is.
The library feels like a place where things can be named.
It smells different from the classroom. Less dust, more paper. Less sun, more stillness. The air-conditioning hums in a steady, low register, almost like a held breath. Rows and rows of shelves stretch into quiet symmetry, books aligned in disciplined spines, each one containing something already thought, already felt, already attempted.
TeeTee likes that.
It means he is not the first to not understand something.
He stands on a small wooden stepping stool, one foot slightly angled outward for balance, fingers brushing along the edges of book spines as he slides one back into its place. He volunteers here three afternoons a week. It was not difficult to start. He had simply asked, “Do you need assistance?” and the librarian had blinked at him, surprised, then smiled in a way that felt like approval.
Here, there are rules.
Dewey Decimal. Alphabetical order. Quiet voices. What is borrowed is always returned.
Predictable.
Safe.
He shifts slightly, reaching higher.
The book in his hand reads: Existentialism and Romantic Love.
He had read three chapters.
He did not like Chapter Two.
It contradicted itself.
His fingers press the book into place.
Firm.
Aligned.
Satisfied.
Below him, footsteps pass.
Soft. Muffled by carpet.
A group of students, voices hushed but still layered…overlapping threads TeeTee does not try to untangle.
He focuses on the shelf.
On the exact spacing between books.
On—
The stool jerks.
Just a fraction.
But enough.
The world tilts.
TeeTee’s body reacts a half-second too late. His balance shifts, weight pulling him backwards, gravity reaching with quiet inevitability—
And then—
Hands.
Just there.
At his waist.
Fingertips first.
Warm.
Through the thin fabric of his shirt.
Pressure…not tight, not restrictive, but steady and anchoring.
The kind of touch that does not startle so much as it interrupts a fall that hasn’t finished happening yet.
TeeTee freezes.
The world holds its breath with him.
“Careful.”
The voice is low.
Close.
Not loud enough to echo.
Just enough to reach him.
It lands in his chest before it reaches his ears.
TeeTee’s fingers tighten around the edge of the shelf.
The stool steadies.
The hands are still there.
Warm.
Present.
Real.
His brain moves quickly, cataloguing.
Temperature: warm, not hot.
Pressure: controlled, minimal force.
Placement: waist, lateral support.
Duration: approximately—
The hands are gone.
So quickly it almost feels like they were imagined.
But the warmth lingers.
Like an afterimage.
TeeTee exhales.
Slowly.
He looks down.
There is a group of students moving past, backs turned, conversations continuing uninterrupted. One of them laughs softly. Another adjusts the strap of their bag.
And then—
There.
White shirt.
Sleeves folded neatly at the cuffs.
A familiar line of shoulders.
Walking away without turning.
Not looking back.
The silhouette is unmistakable.
TeeTee’s chest tightens into that familiar pull.
Like something recognising something.
He swallows.
The lighthouse, his mind supplies, quietly.
He stills.
The word sits there.
Strange.
Accurate.
Embarrassing.
He does not say it out loud.
He does not write it down on his notebook again.
But it stays.
The lighthouse.
Because that is what it feels like.
Not blinding.
Just… something fixed.
Something that makes the rest of the world orient itself.
He watches as the TA…Por…the lighthouse disappears between the shelves, swallowed by the geometry of books and quiet.
He did not look up.
He may not recognise him.
The thought settles in TeeTee’s mind.
He considers it.
Turns it over.
Tests it.
And finds—
It does not hurt.
It does not sting.
It simply… is.
A fact.
And TeeTee likes facts.
He nods once to himself.
Then steps down from the stool carefully, placing both feet flat against the ground before letting go of the shelf.
The book is aligned.
The shelf is complete.
The moment…
Filed.
☁️
Later, on the basketball court, the world is louder.
It smells like sun-warmed concrete and faint rubber. The air feels thicker here, heavier with movement and noise. The bat—bat—bat of the ball is sharper outside, less muffled, echoing faintly between buildings.
TeeTee is holding a crate.
It is not heavy, but it requires balance. The balls inside shift slightly with every step, soft thuds against one another.
Korn walks beside him, spinning one basketball on his finger in a way that seems unnecessarily complicated.
“You could just carry it,” TeeTee says.
“Where’s the fun in that?”
“It is efficient.”
Korn grins. “Efficiency is overrated.”
TeeTee does not respond.
He adjusts his grip on the crate.
Across the court, a group of students is still playing, laughter cutting through the rhythm of the game. Someone misses a shot. Someone else groans dramatically.
A ball slips loose.
It rolls.
Slow at first, then faster, picking up momentum as it crosses the boundary of the court, heading towards the walkway.
“Hey, can you grab that?” someone calls.
TeeTee shifts his weight.
Calculates the distance.
Prepares to move—
And then stops.
Because the ball has already reached someone.
It bumps lightly against a shoe.
Stops.
TeeTee looks up.
White shirt.
Folded cuffs.
The lighthouse.
The name slips into place again, easier this time.
Por bends slightly, picks up the ball in one smooth motion. There is no hesitation, no awkward adjustment. His fingers settle against the surface like they belong there.
He glances towards the court.
Towards the group calling out.
Towards—
Not TeeTee.
Not quite.
The angle is wrong.
The distance is just enough.
TeeTee stands very still.
Por shifts the ball in his hand.
Then, without much ceremony, he throws it.
But it is not a careless throw.
It arcs.
Clean.
Precise.
A small, perfect curve through the air.
The ball hits the backboard lightly—
And drops through the hoop.
Silence.
Then—
Cheers.
Loud. Immediate. Bright.
“P’Por!” someone shouts. “Show off!”
Por laughs, lifting his hands slightly in mock surrender. His friends gather around him, nudging his shoulder, teasing, talking over each other in easy familiarity.
He fits there.
Effortlessly.
Like the centre of a constellation that does not need to try.
TeeTee watches.
The crate in his hands feels lighter somehow.
Or heavier.
He is not sure.
Beside him, Korn goes very still.
Then slowly turns his head.
Looks at TeeTee.
Then at Por.
Then back at TeeTee.
A grin spreads across his face.
“Oh,” he says softly. “Oh, that’s him.”
TeeTee does not respond.
Korn leans closer, voice dropping conspiratorially.
“That’s your—” he pauses, searching TeeTee’s expression, “—what did you call him? Your variable?”
TeeTee hesitates.
Then, very quietly:
“The lighthouse.”
Korn stops short.
Then makes a strangled sound that is somewhere between delight and disbelief.
“Your what?”
TeeTee’s ears warm.
He can feel it.
A slow, spreading heat that starts at the edges and creeps inward.
“It is contextually accurate,” he says, staring very intently at the crate.
Korn presses his lips together, clearly fighting something.
“That is the cheesiest thing you’ve ever said.”
“It is not cheese,” TeeTee replies. “It is metaphor.”
“That’s worse.”
TeeTee shifts his weight.
His gaze flickers, just once, back towards Por.
The laughter.
The easy movement.
The way people gather around him without effort.
His chest does that thing again.
That quiet, expanding feeling.
Korn follows his gaze.
Then softens.
“He seems nice,” he says.
“Yes.”
Immediate and certain.
Korn smiles.
“Okay,” he says. “Okay.”
TeeTee nods.
The crate is still in his hands.
The balls inside shift slightly.
The world continues.
But something is being written quietly, somewhere beneath all of it.
☁️
The days pass steadily.
Like pages turning at their own pace.
TeeTee notices.
He always notices.
The library again.
Por at a table, leaning over a student’s paper, explaining something with a pen in hand. His voice is low and… patient. He waits for the student to understand. Does not rush. Does not interrupt.
The lighthouse.
A corridor.
Por walking past, carrying books, nodding at someone who calls his name. His smile is smaller here. More private.
The lighthouse.
The cafeteria.
Por laughing again, head tipped back slightly, sunlight catching in his hair.
The lighthouse.
Each time, TeeTee does not approach.
Each time, Por does not notice.
Each time, something settles a little deeper… clearer.
☁️
Two weeks later, the library is quieter than usual.
Late afternoon.
The light filters through the high windows in long, slanting lines, dust motes drifting lazily through the beams like tiny, suspended planets.
TeeTee carries a stack of books.
Six.
No—seven.
He adjusts them slightly.
The edges are not aligned.
He fixes that.
Better.
He turns the corner between shelves.
And—
Collision.
Soft.
Sudden.
The books slip.
Gravity takes them.
They fall.
But TeeTee does not.
Because—
Hands.
Again.
At his waist.
Firm this time.
Closer.
Much closer.
The space between them collapses into something immediate and warm and present.
The books hit the floor with dull, uneven thuds.
But TeeTee hears none of it.
Because…
The lighthouse is right there.
Close enough that TeeTee can see the details he did not notice before.
The faint brown rings in his irises, like ripples spreading outward.
The way the light catches along the edge of his cheekbone.
The softness of his breath…there, between them, warm but not overwhelming.
And the scent…Something gentle.
Lavender, maybe.
Clean and quiet.
It does not hurt his head.
It does not push him away.
It just… exists.
Por blinks.
Then immediately loosens his grip, stepping back just enough to give space, hands lifting slightly as if to show he means no harm.
“I’m so sorry,” he says quickly. “Are you okay?”
TeeTee stands very still.
The absence of warmth is immediate.
Noticeable and confusing.
He nods.
“Yes.”
Too fast.
Again.
He steadies himself.
“I am okay.”
Por exhales, relief softening his shoulders.
“Good. I didn’t see you turn the corner.”
“I did not account for your trajectory,” TeeTee replies.
Por pauses.
Then…smiles.
Small.
Surprised.
“That’s… fair.”
They both look down at the books.
Still scattered.
Still waiting.
Por crouches first.
“I’ll help,” he says.
TeeTee hesitates.
Then follows.
The books are scattered between them.
Seven of them. TeeTee counts again, just to be certain.
Seven is a manageable number.
Seven can be reordered.
Seven can be solved.
He crouches carefully, placing his weight evenly, knees angled just enough so he does not brush too close again. The air between them still holds that faint trace of lavender, soft and unobtrusive, like a memory that has decided not to leave yet.
Their hands reach for the same book.
Pause.
Hover.
Then both pull back slightly at the same time.
“You first,” Por says.
“No, you—”
They stop.
Blink.
Por laughs softly.
“Okay,” he says. “We can do this one at a time.”
TeeTee nods.
“Yes.”
They gather the books slowly.
Carefully without rushing.
Not overlapping too much.
But aware.
Very aware.
Of the space between them.
Of the moments where their fingers almost brush.
Of the quiet that is not uncomfortable.
Just… full.
Por glances at the top book.
Existentialism and Romantic Love.
He raises an eyebrow slightly.
“Philosophy?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“You like it?”
TeeTee considers.
“No.”
Por laughs again.
“Honest answer.”
“It is contradictory.”
“That’s kind of its thing.”
“That is inefficient.”
He hums lightly.
“Second shelf, right? Philosophy section?”
“Yes,” TeeTee replies, fingers tightening slightly around another book. “Left side. Third row.”
Por glances up, a flicker of something like impressed amusement in his eyes.
“Of course it is,” he says.
Por tilts his head, studying him.
There is something curious in his gaze now.
Something attentive.
“I think I remember you,” he says slowly. “From class.”
TeeTee stills.
“You take notes really fast.”
TeeTee’s fingers tighten slightly on the book.
“Yes.”
A pause.
Por smiles.
“Your name is…TeeTee, right?”
The world shifts.
Just slightly.
Just enough.
“Yes,” TeeTee says.
Softer this time.
Por nods.
“Right. I thought so.”
Another pause.
And TeeTee—
TeeTee looks at him.
Really looks.
At the person who has been—
the lighthouse.
The word flickers through his mind again, quieter now, less embarrassing, more… certain.
And for the first time—
The lighthouse is looking back.
“What were you reading?” Por asks gently, gesturing to the books still on the ground.
TeeTee opens his mouth.
Closes it.
Opens it again.
“I was trying to understand—”
He stops.
Because the sentence feels too large.
Too unfinished.
Por waits.
Does not interrupt.
Does not fill the silence.
Just… stays.
And TeeTee feels something shift again.
That same quiet, expanding warmth.
That same strange clarity.
“I was trying to understand,” he says slowly, “what it means when beauty changes depending on who is there to see it.”
Por’s expression softens.
Something in his eyes…
Probably recognition.
“Oh,” he says quietly.
And the space between them seems to hold that word like it matters.
A beat passes.
Then another.
And neither of them moves.
The light shifts slightly through the window, catching in the air between them.
And TeeTee thinks—
very quietly,
very carefully—
that he might be standing a little closer to the shore than he was before.
☁️
The books settle into a quieter order between them.
Not quite aligned yet, not quite complete, but no longer scattered…like a thought mid-formation, still searching for its final shape.
Por brushes a stray strand of hair away from his forehead, balancing two books easily in one hand while the other steadies the stack TeeTee is rebuilding. The movement is unhurried. Nothing about him seems rushed, even though the world outside the shelves continues with its usual pace.
“You were saying,” Por prompts gently, voice low enough to belong to the library’s hush, “about beauty changing.”
TeeTee stills.
Right.
He had been saying something.
His brain, however, has not moved on. It is still looping (quietly, insistently) around a different axis.
He remembers me.
The fact sits there, glowing faintly like something important that has not yet been categorised.
TeeTee presses his fingers a little tighter around the book in his hands.
“Yes,” he says, after a beat that might be slightly too long. “I was trying to understand the condition under which perception alters.”
Por nods, as if this is the most natural phrasing in the world.
“And what did you find so far?”
TeeTee blinks.
That is…a good question.
He looks towards the cover of the book again, as if the answer might have been printed there in smaller text.
“I found,” he says slowly, “that most explanations are inconsistent.”
Por smiles, but it is not amused. It is interested.
“In what way?”
TeeTee shifts his weight slightly.
The carpet beneath his knees is soft. He presses his fingertips into it briefly, grounding himself.
“They rely on subjective descriptors,” he explains. “Words like ‘feeling’ or ‘connection’ that do not have fixed parameters. Which makes replication difficult.”
Por lets out a quiet breath that could almost be a laugh, but softer.
“That sounds frustrating.”
“It is inefficient,” TeeTee agrees.
Por lets out a quiet laugh. “That does make it harder.”
“It makes it inefficient.”
“I don’t think feelings are meant to be efficient.”
“That is unfortunate.”
Por looks at him then.
Really looks.
Not in a way that feels invasive.
Just… present.
Curious.
“You’re in which major?” he asks.
“Economics,” TeeTee replies. “With a minor in applied mathematics.”
Por nods.
“That makes sense.”
TeeTee tilts his head slightly.
“Why?”
“You talk like someone who likes systems,” Por says. “Patterns. Things that can be mapped.”
TeeTee feels something shift in his chest.
Accurate classification.
“Yes,” he says.
A beat.
Por smiles again.
Soft.
“You’re good at noticing things, aren’t you?”
TeeTee hesitates.
“Yes.”
“That’s a nice skill.”
It lands strangely.
Nice.
Not useful.
Not impressive.
Nice.
TeeTee is not used to that word being applied to his way of thinking.
He files it away anyway.
A pause.
Por adjusts the stack of books in his hand, then glances at the title TeeTee is holding now.
“Philosophy and Love: From Plato to Popular Culture,” he reads softly. “That one’s… dense.”
“I noticed.”
“You chose it anyway?”
TeeTee hesitates.
Then nods.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
The question lands lightly.
TeeTee’s first instinct is to say I don’t know.
But that would be inaccurate.
He knows.
He just does not know how to phrase it in a way that will make sense outside of his own head.
He exhales.
“The lecture,” he says. “About the lighthouse.”
Por’s eyes flicker with recognition.
“Ah,” he murmurs. “That one.”
“He said that beauty means less without a specific person present,” TeeTee continues. “I wanted to verify that claim.”
Por watches him.
Attentive and not interrupting.
TeeTee becomes aware, suddenly, of the way he is speaking.
So measured and so precise.
Possibly…
Too much?
The thought slips in quietly.
You’re not a good conversation partner.
It is not a new thought.
It has been told to him before, in different ways.
Too serious.
Too literal.
Too quiet.
Too… something.
His grip on the book tightens.
Por tilts his head slightly.
“And?” he asks, softer now. “Did you find an answer?”
TeeTee looks at him.
Really looks.
At the way his gaze does not waver.
At the way his expression holds….
Waiting.
Something in TeeTee’s chest shifts again.
He swallows.
“I found variables,” he says.
Por smiles again.
“I figured you might.”
Another pause.
This one feels—
Different.
Suspended.
TeeTee’s thoughts begin to spiral in tight, quiet loops.
He remembers you.
He is asking questions.
You are answering them.
This is happening.
There is a part of him that had been content before.
Observing from a distance.
Collecting data.
Watching the lighthouse from the shore.
That had been…
Safe.
Predictable.
Contained.
But this…
This is something else.
This is the lighthouse turning.
Seeing him.
And TeeTee does not have a formula for that.
He becomes aware of his own silence.
Too long again?
He should say something.
Ask something.
That is what people do.
Conversations are exchanges.
Input, output.
Balance.
He searches his mind quickly.
Finds…
Nothing.
Or too many things.
Which is worse.
Por shifts slightly, placing one of the books onto the stack TeeTee is holding.
“Do you always volunteer here?” he asks.
The question is gentle.
An offering.
A bridge.
TeeTee nods.
“Yes. Three afternoons a week.”
“How long?”
“Three months. Two weeks. And…” TeeTee pauses, calculating, “…four days.”
Por blinks.
Then laughs softly.
“Right,” he says. “I should have expected that level of accuracy.”
TeeTee is not sure if that is a compliment.
He nods anyway.
“I prefer exactness.”
“I can tell.”
Another book is added to the pile.
Por doesn’t rush.
He doesn’t fill every silence.
He lets them sit.
Which is…
Unusual.
TeeTee’s mind shifts again, adjusting.
New variable.
He had been content observing.
Observation is safe.
Observation does not require response.
This…
This requires participation.
“You like it?” Por continues.
“Yes.”
Immediate.
Then, after a second, “It is structured.”
Por’s smile deepens just a fraction.
“That makes sense.”
TeeTee blinks.
“You understand?”
“I think so,” Por says. “Libraries are… quieter than most places. Things stay where they’re supposed to.”
TeeTee’s chest tightens again.
Not uncomfortably.
He feels recognised.
“Yes,” he says.
Por glances around the shelves, then back at him.
“I used to come here a lot in my first year,” he says. “Mostly to hide.”
TeeTee tilts his head slightly.
“From what?”
Por laughs softly.
“Everything, I think.”
TeeTee processes that.
Files it.
Considers.
“Did it work?”
“Sometimes.”
TeeTee nods.
That seems consistent.
Another pause.
TeeTee feels it again…that subtle pressure of expectation. Not from Por. Not externally.
From himself.
Try.
The word surfaces quietly.
He wants to.
That is new.
He has not always wanted to try.
Listening had been enough before.
Observing.
Understanding from a distance.
But now he wants to participate.
Even if he is not good at it.
Even if the rules are unclear.
He shifts the books slightly in his arms.
Then, carefully…“Do you still come here to hide?”
Por looks at him.
Really looks.
There is a flicker of something…surprise, maybe. Or interest.
“Not as much,” he says. “Now I mostly come because I like it.”
TeeTee nods.
“That is a positive development.”
Por huffs out a quiet laugh.
“I guess it is.”
Their eyes meet again.
And this time—
TeeTee does not look away.
He notices it, distantly.
The steadiness.
The absence of that usual instinct to retreat.
Instead, he studies.
The curve of Por’s mouth.
The slight upward pull at the corners when he smiles.
The way his lips move when he speaks…precise and unhurried.
Observation, TeeTee tells himself.
This is observation.
But there is something else layered beneath it.
Something warmer.
Something that does not feel like data.
Por shifts his weight slightly.
“You take photos, right?” he asks.
TeeTee freezes.
“How did you—?”
“I’ve seen your posts,” Por says. “The sky ones. Username sky_canvas?”
The world tilts again.
“You—” TeeTee starts, then stops.
His brain attempts to process this new information.
He has seen them.
He knows.
“I follow the university tag sometimes,” Por continues, easy, unaware of the internal recalibration happening in front of him. “Yours stand out.”
TeeTee’s ears burn.
He can feel it again, that spreading warmth….very intense.
“They are just images,” he says.
Por shakes his head slightly.
“No,” he says. “They’re not just images.”
TeeTee stills.
Por’s voice softens.
“They feel like… you’re noticing something other people miss.”
The words land carefully.
TeeTee’s grip on the books tightens again.
“I am noticing what is there,” he says.
Por smiles.
“Exactly.”
Another pause.
This one stretches a little longer.
TeeTee’s thoughts spiral again.
This is… something.
He recalls the comments.
The ones under his posts.
this feels like breathing
how do you see colours like this?
He had never known what to do with those.
But this—
This feels different.
This feels like being understood in real time.
Which is—
Rare.
His mind flickers briefly to Korn’s voice.
You get flirted with a lot and don’t even notice.
TeeTee had never fully believed that.
Or rather…he had not found it relevant.
Flirting, as a concept, had always seemed… excessive.
Unnecessary embellishment.
But this—
This does not feel like that.
There is no pressure.
No expectation.
No insistence.
Just—
Space.
An opening.
An option.
Something he can step into or not.
Consent, but softer.
Woven into the way Por speaks.
Into the way he waits.
Into the way he does not push when TeeTee pauses.
TeeTee realises, slowly, that he is… comfortable.
More than comfortable.
He is—
Interested.
The thought startles him slightly.
He shifts the books again.
“They are not filtered,” he says, because that feels like something he should clarify.
Por nods.
“I know.”
“You can tell?”
“Yeah,” Por says. “They look honest.”
TeeTee processes that.
Honest.
He adds it to the list.
Another label.
Another variable.
“Thank you, P’Por” he says, quietly.
Por’s smile softens again.
“You’re welcome.”
The moment lingers.
Soft.
Unrushed.
Then Por glances at the stack in TeeTee’s arms.
“Where do these go?” he asks.
TeeTee looks down.
Then gestures slightly with his chin.
“Third shelf. Left side.”
Por nods.
“Okay.”
They stand.
Walk together.
The books are placed.
One by one.
Aligned.
Complete.
When the last one slides into place, there is a small, quiet satisfaction.
A task finished.
A moment…
Not finished.
Por turns slightly towards him.
“Well,” he says, “I’m glad we crashed into each other.”
TeeTee blinks.
Processes.
Then…“Yes.”
A beat.
“I am also glad.”
Por smiles.
And there is something in it now…
Warmer.
A little brighter.
“See you in class, TeeTee.”
TeeTee nods.
“Yes.”
Por steps back.
Then turns.
And walks away.
This time…
TeeTee watches him as more than an observer. As someone who has been seen.
And something in him shifts to accommodate that.
☁️
The dorm door opens quietly.
Then—
Closes.
Then—
Opens again, more forcefully.
Because TeeTee has misjudged the angle.
Korn looks up from his bed just in time to see—
“Tee—?”
TeeTee drops his bag.
Walks two steps.
And dives.
Face-first.
Into his bed.
The mattress absorbs the impact with a soft whump.
Korn follows him with his eyes.
Slowly lowers his phone.
“…Okay,” he says carefully. “Should I be concerned?”
There is a muffled sound from the pillow.
Not words.
Just—
Sound.
Korn waits.
One second.
Two.
Three.
“Tee,” he says gently, “did the lighthouse—”
“Yes.”
Immediate.
Muffled.
Korn sits up straighter.
“Oh.”
Another pause.
Then…“Oh.”
He swings his legs off the bed, leaning forward slightly.
“Do you want to… elaborate?”
Silence.
Then TeeTee rolls over.
Hair slightly dishevelled.
Eyes wide.
Cheeks faintly flushed.
“He has seen my sky,” he says.
Korn blinks.
“…Your what?”
“My posts.”
Korn stares.
Then grins, slow and delighted.
“Oh, you are gone.”
“I am not gone,” TeeTee says, sitting up abruptly. “I am present.”
“Yeah,” Korn says. “Presently losing your mind.”
“I am not—” TeeTee stops.
Considers.
“…I might be recalibrating.”
Korn laughs softly.
“That sounds about right.”
TeeTee presses his lips together.
Then, quieter, “He spoke to me.”
“I gathered.”
“He asked questions.”
Korn nods.
“Good questions?”
“Yes.”
“That’s a good sign.”
TeeTee looks down at his hands.
Flexes his fingers.
“He waited,” he adds.
Korn’s expression softens.
“Yeah,” he says. “That’s a very good sign.”
Silence settles between them.
Comfortable.
Warm.
TeeTee exhales slowly.
“I think,” he says, “I want to try.”
Korn tilts his head.
“With him?”
“Yes.”
Korn smiles.
“Okay.”
No teasing.
No pushing.
Okay.
TeeTee nods.
That is enough.
☁️
Later that night, the sky is darker.
Deeper.
A stretch of ink scattered with quiet, distant stars.
TeeTee stands by the window.
Phone in hand.
He waits.
For the right moment.
For the right angle.
For the exact way the light settles into something he can keep.
Click.
He looks at the image.
The darkness.
The small points of brightness.
The space between.
He uploads it.
Caption:
22:11 - some lights don’t disappear when the sky changes
He hesitates.
Then adds a song.
พูดไปเหอะ by YENTED
Posts it.
Sets the phone down.
And for a moment…
Just a moment…
He lets himself stand there.
Looking up.
And thinking…
quietly,
softly…
of a lighthouse that had turned,
just enough,
to find him.
☁️