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The world's ending, Niran knows it without a doubt.
Okay, so maybe not the whole world — maybe just Niran's hopes and dreams getting slashed into pieces, his terrible biology exam score staring back at him like it's also sure he's a failure.
Please let a teenage boy be dramatic about his grades, yeah?
He wants to rip up the test paper into tiny scraps, but before he can exact his revenge on the dreaded sheet, something catches his eye.
It's a bright orange little note, almost garish in how vibrant it is, peeking out of the pages of his calculus notebook, and Niran already knows who it came from even before the handwriting on it can be read.
Without meaning to, and Niran knows he's lying to himself, Cheewa running through his mind unbidden, he pictures the younger boy with his collection of post it notes and the pen Niran bought for him weeks ago, the one with a rocket at the end, hiding the message in his schoolwork.
Did Cheewa hesitate for a moment, picking out the right post it colour to describe his feelings?
Niran wonders just how Cheewa always knows what he wants to say, and laughs to himself at the realisation that the younger boy might have a sixth sense for exactly what Niran needs to hear.
You got this!
Three little words, followed by a myriad of exclamation marks and surrounded by enough star drawings to match the observatory's ceiling.
Niran's got a box under his bed where he keeps the things that make him happiest, safe from prying eyes and only for him to know of, notes and letters and movie tickets soon to be joined by the post it tightly grasped between his fingers.
Briefly, he wonders if Cheewa would be opposed to having a box all of his own, hide where it's just the two of them and Niran can endlessly linger in the happiness he brings.
The thought vanishes as quickly as it appears — depriving the rest of the world of knowing someone like Cheewa exists would be a sin, even if it means Niran has to share him with people who will never deserve his starlight.
Cheewa shines too brightly to ever be dimmed, Niran glows with it too.
The bell rings with a shrill sound, and Niran's out of his seat in a heartbeat, bag slung over his shoulder and Thara's calls for him fading into the background as he rushes out of the classroom.
The destination he runs to never changes, even if the place he reaches does.
Parncheewa, as expected, is sitting at the back of the library, taking up the same seat he always does, the one by the window that makes him look even taller than he already is, what with the chair's weirdly long legs.
Did you know it's the best spot to read at in the whole school?
Cheewa's voice echoes in his head, the memory of it still fresh, the younger boy's lips moving while Niran only nods along, more preoccupied with the way Cheewa's bangs had grown long enough to fall over his eyes.
Niran won't pretend he wasn't at least a little bummed out when Cheewa showed up with a new haircut days later, if only for the missed opportunity to be the one to fix the stray hairs that kept getting in the way of his reading.
For a few seconds, he only stands by the shelves, watching as Cheewa flips through the pages, the title hidden behind his hand and the sunshine beating down on the side of his face, making him look both real and ethereal all at once, as if a star has come down from the skies and taken the shape of a human to make Niran's life dazzling.
Please let a teenage boy be dramatic about his embarrassingly obvious crush, alright?
Very few people come to the library at this time, the ones who do scattering around the near the entrance, so there's no one around to catch Niran making a fool out of himself when he tries to be nonchalant and causes several volumes to drop out of the shelf.
Cheewa lifts his gaze away from the book at hand, his whole demeanour brightening up as soon as he sees Niran, opening up space on the chair next to him so the older boy will join him.
Niran would be lying if he said he doesn't immediately feel himself relax a little bit, even as his heart races madly.
Maybe that's just the effect Cheewa has on him — reminding Niran that there's always peace to return to, even when he fails.
"P'Niran!" he exclaims, but something in Niran's expression must show that there's still worry gnawing at the back of his mind, because Cheewa's brows furrow behind the thing frames. "Are you okay?"
Niran lets his shoulders drop, head hanging low as he gathers up the fallen books in his arms, settling them on the table as he falls back onto the vacant chair, staring up at the ceiling with a sigh.
Of course Cheewa sees right through any façade he might create, knowing Niran inside out and beyond, like studying Niran himself is as interesting as taking in the night sky.
Opening his bag, he pulls out the crumpled test paper, sitting it in front of Cheewa to analyse just how badly he's ruined his chances at remaining in the judo club.
The silence as Cheewa peers down at his grade seems to stretch infinitely, like each passing second lasts hours in the vacuum of Niran's chest, until the younger boy turns to him with tears gathering in his eyes and Niran's heart breaks just that little bit more over it.
"Oh, Phi…" Cheewa mumbles, wasting no time in tackling him into a hug. "I'm so sorry."
"I'm so dumb," Niran mutters despite not wanting to, something about Cheewa making him want to be sincere with his feelings in ways he'd never be with anyone else.
"No, no!" He moves back, holding Niran by the shoulders as if he can somehow make the self-deprecating thoughts go away if he shakes the older boy hard enough. "You're not! You're smart, P'Niran, we just need to study more. I'm sure the librarian can help us find something to use for your next test-"
Cheewa's already on his feet when Niran pulls him back down onto the chair by the wrist, feeling Cheewa's pulse race underneath his fingertips.
"Not now," he pleads, pushing Cheewa's glasses into place. "Just stay with me for a bit."
Cheewa's stance mellows like it always does when they're alone, as if he's not afraid anymore that there are people whispering behind his back, realities ready to hurt him when he lets his guard down. "Of course," he responds, brushing a stray eyelash away from Niran's cheek.
Niran wants to learn from him, the things no textbook and failed exams can teach him — how to be brave enough to face anything that comes his way, not because there's no fear, but because he's no longer alone.
So he lets his head rest on Cheewa's shoulder, pushing the book back into his grasp just so he can watch as the younger boy underlines words he finds particularly interesting with a pencil, the terminology of all these astronomical concepts flying right over his head but still reaching his heart nonetheless.
Niran's never really been interested in space and its mysteries before meeting Cheewa, too much in his mind to worry for what lies beyond the atmosphere, the sun and the planets in their dance that seems to do little to change the gloominess of Niran's days.
He didn't know then, when Cheewa entered his life, that something could be as groundbreaking as a meteor strike while rippling into everything like planetary alignments.
That Niran himself could be spun out of his axis and find himself caught into an unpredictable orbit.
Maybe this star he gravitates around is meant for all to know but only Niran to have as his centre.
Cheewa has made him awfully mushy. Niran wouldn't change it for the world.
The world will eventually catch up with him, remind Niran there's more to it than the skipping beats in his chest, and he'll have to devour biology study cards for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Real life won't stop because he wants it to.
For now, though, he can pretend there's no one else, nothing else, but Cheewa and him and the sunshine making the astronomy book almost unreadable.
"Do you think I can still do it?" he asks when the quietness of the library permeates every wisp of air that flows around them, only the distant sounds of other students running in the courtyard outside reaching them now. Cheewa's eyebrows rise in a silent question, and Niran revels in how he's able to understand him just as much as Cheewa knows him. "Go to Mars," he giggles, feeling Cheewa's shoulders shake alongside his as he presses them together, feeling the other's gaze focus on him. "Not flunk biology too. That'd be nice."
"I know you can. You're the smartest person I've ever met," Cheewa claims, and with such confidence in his tone, Niran's inclined, for a moment he'll hold close to his heart later, to believe him.
"I'm pretty sure you're the only one who thinks that," he mutters, pressing his finger to Cheewa's lips when it looks like he's about to argue. "But it's alright. If it's true to you, then it's true to me, too."
Cheewa's face glows with a blush bright enough to rival the warmth that seeps onto Niran's cheeks, his fingers fiddling with the wire frame of his glasses like always.
It hits Niran then that there are very few things in his life, no matter how short it's been so far, that he's certain of — Cheewa, though, with all his mannerisms and his endless talking and glasses that slip down the bridge of his nose without a fault, has never been a doubt.
Parncheewa, with sparkly eyes filled with shooting stars and cheeks blooming pink like flowers in the spring. Parncheewa, who trusts that Niran can always be the best version of himself, even when Niran's already lost any resemblance of faith.
If Niran's certain of anything, it's of Cheewa.
He can't even remember what's made him sad in the first place, not when Cheewa's there to tell him everything will be alright.
"Phi…" he whispers, equal parts sure and hesitant, and Niran wants to laugh at how similar they are even when their differences show.
This shyness that flutters over eyelashes and fingers that lock together under tabletops is as familiar to Niran as the little flecks of light that reflect in Cheewa's gaze.
The mix of emotions compressing against his ribs threatens to turn Niran into a supernova, the bitterness of not being enough coated in something so sweet, so golden, he doesn't even mind biting into it. It hurts and then it becomes easier to breathe, the pain just that little more bearable if there's someone there who will listen, who will care.
No, not someone — Cheewa.
It can only be Cheewa.
He's already leaning up before his brain can register it, lips landing somewhere to the corner of Cheewa's mouth, not a kiss and not not-a-kiss either, something in between that still makes his palms sweat and ears ring.
The tips of Cheewa's ears are bright red, and Niran's sure that his own don't look much different, exhaling shakily as he tries to pull away, not managing to go far when Cheewa's hands cup his face.
Niran can't look directly into his eyes yet can't look away just as much, stuck in this one fraction of a second before the meteor collides, a brief kiss still felt on his lips when Cheewa's long gone, face hidden in the crook of Niran's neck.
"You can do it, Phi," Cheewa parrots himself, arms wound tightly enough around Niran's waist that the air in his lungs nearly runs out.
Telling him not to will never be an option, though, not when Niran hugs him just as firmly. "Thanks to you."
Later, they'll rent as many textbooks as they can carry and highlight passages of everything Niran's managed to note down from the blackboard. Cheewa will ask him questions about topics he hasn't even studied yet and get even happier than Niran when he gets the answers right.
They'll share a bowl of strawberry ice cream as a treat for the effort and Cheewa will hug him tightly enough to get his feet off the ground when Niran aces the test, spinning him around with his damned height that towers over everyone.
That's all later, when Niran manages to get his heart under control.
The world might as well end.
Niran's perfectly content staying right here forever.