Chapter Text
Hate that i made you love me — Ariana Grande playing..
Nothing beats a week-long getaway with your closest friends.
The shared Airbnb, the inside jokes that never got old, the late-night talks that stretched until sunrise, the laughter that echoed through every wall—it was the kind of trip you’d still be talking about years later, unprompted, in the middle of some boring Tuesday.
After months of planning and endless rescheduling, the group—Auau, Por, Save, Thomas, Kong, Patji, and Ryujin—had finally made it happen. Seaside, shared Airbnb, seven people.
One whole week of freedom from the suffocating, screen-addicted rhythm of city life.
Everything was going to be perfect.
Would have been perfect.
As long as they hadn’t let Auau buy the tickets.
Because right now, the seven of them were on a boat sailing toward absolutely nowhere, cutting through dark open water at nine in the evening, because Auau had, somehow, magnificently, bought the wrong ticket and the wrong itinerary pack.
“I’m gonna get seasick,” Pat mumbled, one hand pressed flat against his stomach, the other gripping the railing.
Ryu appeared beside him instantly. “You okay? Breathe. Look at the horizon—”
“There is no horizon, Ryu, it’s pitch black.”
“Then look at me.”
“…tha— that’s not helping.”
Meanwhile, Kong elbowed Auau in the ribs, both of them peering out at the vast, ink-dark stretch of water surrounding them on all sides. No lights. No shore. Just wind and waves and the low groan of the boat engine.
“Bro,” Kong said slowly. “Are you sure we’re not being kidnapped right now?”
Auau rubbed the back of his neck. “You know what…” A long pause. “I’m actually not that sure.”
“WHAT.”
“I mean — I’m mostly sure—”
“AUAU.”
“Like sixty percent sure—”
“THAT IS NOT REASSURING—”
“Sixty-five! Sixty-five percent—“
“SIX SEVENNNNN!!!” Thomas laughed from behind and immediately got smacked by Kong. “Ouch,” he rubbed his arm.
Save wandered over from the other side of the boat, camera hanging uselessly around his neck, looking mildly devastated. “Are we there yet?” he asked, soft and genuinely hopeful.
“I can’t capture anything. It’s too dark. I’ve taken forty-seven photos and they’re all just… black.”
“Do you know pitch blackness is also considered as art? I once went to a modern art museum and a whole canvas was just painted.. black.” Thomas spoke again.
“Thomas, why don’t you focus on playing your tomodachi life?” Kong smiled.
From inside the covered part of the boat—far, far away from the open air and the spray and any direct contact with the sea—came a voice, muffled by a light blue hoodie that Por had pulled up over half his face like a disgruntled caterpillar.
“IF IT WASN’T FOR AUAU AND HIS PLANNING, WE WOULD’VE BEEN SOMEWHERE BETTER BY NOW!”
Auau spun around. “I CAN HEAR YOU!”
“THAT’S LITERALLY THE WHOLE POINT, YOU DUMBASS!” Por’s head emerged from the hoodie just enough to glare. “How does someone even buy the wrong ticket? Do you just— close your eyes and click? Random number generator? Dart board?!”
“I— I was— it was a confusing website—“
“I— I— I—” Por mimicked, merciless. “Go die.”
“POR!”
“WHAT.”
Auau stood up, properly offended now, pointing a finger across the boat. “Why are you being so mean and moody for— Oh my god, you’re hangry.” He sat back down with realization.
“NO FUCKING SHIT! I have been hungry since the airport! We were supposed to land three hours ago and have dinner and instead we are on a boat going to NARNIA—”
“I’M GONNA PUKE! I’M PUKING! I’M ACTUALLY PUKING!!”
Every head turned. Patji had gone a spectacular shade of green.
Ryujin moved so fast he nearly knocked Save into the water, appearing at Patji’s side with a plastic bag that he had, apparently, prepared in advance.
The sound that followed made everyone simultaneously groan, gag, and turn away.
Kong patted Save’s solemnly on the shoulder. “We’re gonna be okay.”
“Are we though.”
“Nope.”
☀️🌊💐
The port was quiet, but the streets beyond it weren’t. Fairy lights threaded through the trees and along the shop fronts, casting everything in that particular gold.
Music drifted from somewhere around a corner—live, by the sound of it, acoustic and lively. Laughter rolled out from an open-air restaurant still buzzing with the last of the evening crowd.
The seven of them stood at the edge of it all, luggage in hand, still slightly sea-battered, and went collectively, wordlessly quiet.
“Okay,” Kong said finally. “Okay. I’ll allow it.”
“It’s actually really pretty,” Save murmured, already raising his camera.
“Don’t.” Por put a hand over the lens without looking at him. “We find the Airbnb first. I need a bed, a shower, and food, in that order, or I will actually combust.”
“Combustion noted,” Auau said. “Let’s move.”
The Airbnb was a ten-minute walk down a winding side street—a wide, wooden two-storey house with a porch that smelled like salt and old wood, and a landlady who’d left the key under the mat with a handwritten note that said welcome, make yourselves at home, don’t touch the bonsai.
“Patji don’t touch the bonsai, oh my god—“ Kong pulled Patji’s wrist away from the plant.
They were barely through the door before the room claims began.
“Which room do you want, Pat?” Ryu looked around.
Patji caught Ryujin’s wrist the second they hit the staircase. “That one,” he said, pointing to the corner room at the end of the hall. “The one with the window.”
“You sure—“
“Come on before Kong takes it!” Patji dragged Ryu upstairs.
“HEY—” Kong, who had absolutely been eyeing the same door, turned to Por with an accusatory look.
Por shrugged—because he had long already located the biggest room on the ground floor and quietly put his bag inside it. “Don’t look at me, I'm too hungry to comfort you right now.” He walked into the room.
Kong, denied the corner room and outwitted on the ground floor, ended up sharing with Por and Thomas—a development that pleased Thomas, and made Por look like he was already reconsidering every life decision that had led him here.
Save and Auau took the last room without ceremony.
Out at the living room, the others were still settling when Por reappeared in the hallway, jacket already back on, wallet in hand.
“I’m going out,” he announced.
“Where?” Kong called down.
“Snacks.” The word came out like a personal declaration of war. “I need actual food. If I survive on that sad granola bar from the airport any longer I’m going to kill someone and that someone is Auau.”
Auau raised his hands in defeat, “i’m not stopping you, bro.”
“Get me chips!” Ryujin yelled.
“Get me something sweet!” Patji added.
“Get me—”
The door closed behind Por before anyone could finish the sentence.
☀️🌊💐
The town at midnight was quieter than it had been an hour ago, but not quiet. A few restaurants still had their lights on. Some music still played somewhere. The fairy lights above the street swayed slightly in the breeze.
Por walked fast, hands in his pockets, scanning left and right with the single-minded focus of a man in search of a convenience store.
There was no convenience store.
He turned down one street. Then another. Then a third that looped him back around to somewhere he’d already been. He passed a closed pharmacy, a shuttered souvenir shop, a bakery with its grate down and its lights off.
Are you kidding me.
He turned in a full circle in the middle of the empty street, jaw tight, stomach making its displeasure known for the fourteenth time that hour.
Who doesn’t have a convenience store. What kind of town—
He didn’t hear it coming.
One second he was standing there, and the next something large and warm and extremely enthusiastic hit him squarely in the chest, and Por went stumbling back two steps before landing hard on his back on the pavement.
There was a dog on him.
A golden retriever. Big, fluffy, deliriously happy—currently standing with both front paws on Por’s chest and licking his face.
“Wha— get off— GET OFF—”
The dog licked his cheek.
“I will not be licked right now—” Por tried to push him off and the dog interpreted this as an invitation to wag harder. “This is— stop— your paw is on my—”
The dog sneezed directly into his face.
“ABSOLUTELY NOT—”
“BOKBEAR! BOKBEAR, COME HERE!”
Footsteps, fast, and then a figure came jogging around the corner and pulled up short when he spotted Por on the ground, one hand over his face, a golden retriever sitting triumphantly on his stomach.
The guy bent forward, hands on his knees, catching his breath. He had an easy face—open, friendly, the kind that looked like it defaulted to smiling even when slightly out of breath.
He looked at Por. He looked at Bokbear. He pressed his lips together very hard.
“I am so sorry,” he said, and he did sound sorry, though his eyes were doing something that was not quite sorry. “He just— he got away from me at the corner and I— hey, are you okay?”
Por sat up, shoved Bokbear gently off, and stood with what remained of his dignity, which was not much.
“That dog,” he said, voice dangerously level, “needs a leash.”
“No he doesn’t? Everyone here practically knows him, he’s like the town’s dog—”
“Well if he doesn’t need a dog then you would need one. Because either way, you” Por continued, stepping forward and pointing at the guy.
“You need to watch your animal. You can’t just let a dog the size of a small horse go charging at people in the middle of the street— why are you smiling?”
The guy shook his head and bit back his smile. “I’m not, ma’am.”
He was absolutely smiling.
“He’s never actually that friendly with strangers, that’s the thing. He never does this. You must be something special.”
“Don’t.”
“I’m just saying—”
“I said don’t.”
The guy blinked at him. And then—helplessly, because he clearly had no self-preservation instincts whatsoever—his gaze moved over Por properly. Soft hair, furrowed brows, puffed cheek.
Cute. He was cute. But Poe also had the general aura of someone deeply unhappy to be in a place that did not have air conditioning and twenty-four hour delivery.
Tourist, his brain supplied. Rich one.
Something in his expression shifted—calculating. The faint, internal sound of opportunity.
Caching caching 💰💰
“Are you new here?” he asked instead. “I haven’t seen you before. Visiting?”
“That is none of your business—”
“There’s not many of us, I know pretty much everyone’s face. Which means you’re either new or a tourist, and by the way you’re dressed I’m guessing—”
“What about the way I dress?” Por narrowed his eyes, annoyed.
“Pretty. Way too pretty for someone who would be local here.”
Por frowned. What the fuck?
“That— Don't ever think that has any impact on your first bad impression. Saying that does not mean you get to keep talking to me.”
The guy smiled. Genuinely, unbothered, like Por’s sharpness was weather he’d dressed for.
“Fair enough,” he said easily. “I’m Tee, by the way.”
Por stared at him.
“You’re not going to tell me your name?”
“No.”
“Okay.” Tee crouched down and clipped a lead onto BokBear’s collar, scratching the dog behind the ears once before standing back up. “What are you looking for? At midnight, walking around alone— you lost?”
“No—“
His stomach grumbled, right on cue, loud enough for both of them to hear.
The silence that followed was enormous. Por’s jaw tightened. He looked away.
Tee, to his enormous credit, did not laugh. He made a sound that was maybe seventy percent not a laugh and turned it very quickly into a small, neutral cough.
“Alright, city boy,” he said. “Chillax.”
Por’s head snapped back. “What— don’t tell me to chill, I am absolutely chill—”
“Yes you are Elsa wannabe.”
“???”
“You’ve been yelling since we met.”
“I HAVE NOT BEEN—” Por stopped. Breathed. Closed his eyes for exactly one second. “I am calm,” he said, quieter, in a tone that suggested the opposite. “I am perfectly, completely calm. I simply want food. And a store. That is all.”
Tee watched him for a moment. Then he turned and started walking. “Follow me.”
Por didn’t move. “I’m not following a stranger.”
“You seriously don’t trust me? Do I look like someone who would kidnap you?”
“Well you never know. Just because you seem decent doesn’t mean you’re not a serial killer. A lot of serial killers probably seem decent too when you first meet them. Did you know that Ted Bundy was actually really charming?”
Tee blinked.
“How fucking messed up is that? Imagine you’re walking along one day and you meet this really cute, charming guy, and you’re like, oh my God, he’s perfect, and then you’re over at his place and you find a trophy dungeon in the basement with skin suits and Barbie dolls with the eyes ripped out and—”
“Jesus,” Tee cut in. “You’re such a chatter box for a grumpy city boy. Okay, trust me or not, but I’m no Ted Bunny. Plus you're not going to find anything open on your own.”
Tee grinned. “I know every corner of this town. There’s nothing past this street at this hour.” A small shrug. “Come on. Let Bokbear be the witness.”
Bokbear wagged.
Por looked at the empty street. Then at Tee. Then, against every principle he had, at Bokbear, who was sitting very patiently and looking up at him with round, shiny eyes.
He exhaled through his nose. “If this ends up being a horror movie,” he said, “I will find you in my ghost body.”
“Agreed,” Tee said, already facing forward again, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth that Por couldn’t see.
Por followed him.
☀️🌊💐
Food. Actual Food.
The omurice appeared in front of him and Por had inhaled half of it before he’d even properly sat down.
He was mid-bite when he looked up and stopped.
Tee was leaned against the counter, chin resting in his palm, watching him with a wide smile.
Por lowered his fork. “The hell are you looking at?”
“Nothing.” Tee’s smile didn’t move. “Just never seen anyone enjoy my food that much.”
“I’m hungry.” Por went back to eating. “I would’ve eaten cardboard at this point. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
Tee laughed softly and pushed off the counter, moving to lean against the opposite side with his arms folded instead—still watching.
“So what brings you here anyway?” he asked. “Our island’s not really a tourist spot. There are much better ones around us. People don’t usually end up here by choice.”
“Trust me, I know.” Por stabbed a piece of egg. “I wouldn’t be here if I had any say in it. One of my idiot friends bought the wrong itinerary pack. Wrong tickets, wrong island, wrong everything. And now seven of us are stuck on this pitch-black rock that looks like the opening scene of a cult documentary.”
Tee pressed his fist to his mouth, shoulders shaking.
“It’s not funny,” Por said flatly.
“The way you said it was a little funny.”
“It wasn’t.”
“A little.”
Por pointed his fork at him. Tee raised both hands in surrender, still smiling.
“I mean—” Tee tilted his head. “What did you expect, arriving at ten PM?”
“I expected to arrive at six, at the correct island—”
“Okay, okay.” Tee’s eyes were warm, fond in a way he wasn’t bothering to hide. “Calm down, princess.”
Por’s fork stilled. “Don’t call me that.”
“Then tell me your name.”
“…No.”
“Then I have to call you something.”
“Find something else.” Por resumed eating. “You seem creative enough. And I’m a boy, by the way.”
Tee tilted his head. “Who said boys can’t be princesses?”
“They just…” Por frowned, like he was genuinely searching for the logic. “They just can’t.”
“You look like one.”
“…”
“You act like one—”
“I’m done and leaving this conversation.” Por pushed the plate away and stood. “How much does everything cost?”
“It’s on the house.” Tee winked.
Por looked around—at the worn colored wooden counters, the handwritten menu board, the single overhead light doing its best. “On your house?” he said, deadpan. “Price, Tee.”
“Come back tomorrow.” Tee waved a hand. “I turn the wifi off for transactions at night.”
“That’s— “ Por exhaled hard through his nose. “That’s not a real reason.”
Tee shrugged. “It is my shop.”
“Fine.” Por sighed again. “Fine. Tomorrow.”
He pushed back from the counter and turned to leave—and nearly tripped over BokBear, who had materialized silently in the exact center of the doorway and was now sitting there with his tail sweeping the floor and his eyes round with hope.
Tee folded his arms. “You should pat him before you go.”
“I really shouldn’t—”
“He’ll follow you back to your Airbnb otherwise. He’s done it before.”
Por stared down at BokBear. BokBear wagged once, patient and enormous and completely immovable.
Por groaned from somewhere deep in his chest—and then crouched down and patted the dog’s head, once, twice, with the stiff careful sway.
“Okay,” he told BokBear, standing back up. “Bye. Don’t follow me.”
BokBear’s tail went into overdrive.
Por stepped carefully over him and walked out into the night without looking back.
“See you tomorrow, Princess!”
Por’s middle finger went up without him even breaking stride. “Fuck off clown!”
Behind him, Tee pressed a finger to his lips over a grin.
Tee watched until Por’s figure disappeared around the corner—jacket sharp under the fairy lights, shoulders stiff, steps clipped until he caught his foot on a loose cobblestone and stumbled, caught himself, then glanced back like he was checking if anyone had seen.
Tee looked away just in time. He waited a second. Then he looked back. Por had already rounded the corner.
Tee exhaled a slow breath through his nose and dropped his gaze to BokBear, who was still sitting in the doorway, staring in the direction Por had gone with the devoted, mournful eyes.
“How come you never look at me like that?” Tee squatted down beside him. “You already like him, don’t you. Hm?”
BokBear’s tail swept the ground once.
Tee scratched behind his ear slowly, gaze drifting back to the empty street.
“Yeah,” Tee said, quieter. “I think I do too.”
He stayed like that for a moment longer than he needed to, elbow resting on his knee, eyes on the corner Por had disappeared around.
The corner of Tee’s mouth pulled up on its own.
He stood, dusting off his hands, and looked down at BokBear.
“Seems like this summer’s going to be a little different than usual.” He tilted his head, considering. “Don’t you think?”
BokBear looked up at him and tilted his head.
Tee smiled. He clicked his tongue and turned back toward the shop. “Let’s go home.”
BokBear padded after him. The light above the door clicked off.