Chapter Text
Por had never understood why some people seemed to attract attention without trying.
The hallway outside his classroom was crowded as usual, filled with students moving between classes and conversations layered over one another until they blurred into a constant hum. Yet somehow, Teetee always stood out.
Maybe it was because he smiled so easily, or because he seemed to know everyone.
Everywhere Teetee went, someone greeted him. A student from another year waved from across the corridor. A teacher stopped him to ask for help carrying a stack of papers. A junior called his name and immediately brightened when Teetee turned around.
Por watched the exchange while waiting outside his classroom. The younger student spoke animatedly, hands moving so quickly that even from a distance it was obvious he was upset about something. Teetee listened without interrupting. He nodded at the right moments, leaned closer when the student’s voice dropped, and said something Por could not hear. Whatever it was, it worked.
By the time the conversation ended, the junior was laughing.
Por found himself staring a second longer than necessary.
Then the bell rang, the crowd shifted, and Teetee disappeared among them.
Por looked away and returned to his classroom. That should have been the end of it.
It wasn’t.
The problem began quietly.
At first, Por only noticed Teetee in the way anyone might notice someone who appeared everywhere. Near the canteen during lunch. Outside the library after school. In the auditorium, helping a teacher arrange chairs even though there were at least five other students who could have done it.
The sightings accumulated gradually, becoming so commonplace that Por barely registered them anymore.
At least, that was what he told himself.
The truth was that his eyes had started searching automatically. Not intentionally. It was never intentional.
Whenever Por entered a crowded place, his attention seemed to move before his thoughts could catch up. A familiar laugh drifted from somewhere nearby. A flash of a white school shirt appeared among the crowd. A voice carried across the courtyard, bright enough to pull people toward it.
Every time, Por’s attention followed.
It was strange, motley because Por was not the type to be interested in people.
His classmates often described him as reserved, though some less charitable students preferred intimidating. Neither description bothered him much. He simply liked keeping to himself. Friendships came naturally enough, but he had never been the sort of person who needed constant company.
Most days, he was perfectly content spending lunch alone with a book or a pair of earphones. Yet somehow, he knew things about Teetee.
Not important things. Just small details that should not have stayed in his mind but did.
Teetee always bought chocolate milk from the canteen before it sold out. He preferred sitting near windows whenever he could. He greeted the security guard every morning. He had a habit of rubbing the back of his neck whenever he was embarrassed, especially when someone praised him too loudly.
Por could not remember when he had learned those things.
Only that one day, he realized he knew them. The realization should have felt concerning. Instead, it felt oddly natural, as if noticing Teetee quietly becoming part of his routine without asking for permission.
Por usually entered through the side gate just as the first bell echoed across the school grounds. By then, the pathways were already crowded with students moving in loose groups, some still half asleep while others spoke loudly enough to wake the entire neighbourhood.
Por moved through them without much effort. After years of practice, he had become good at slipping through crowds unnoticed. The corridor leading to the main building came into view, and somewhere between the gate and the staircase, his gaze drifted almost automatically toward the second floor of the neighbouring building.
Class 5/4.
Not because he had memorized the classroom number. Not because he knew exactly where Teetee’s class was located. Those details had simply become things he knew along the way.
He continued walking toward the staircase. By the time he reached the third floor, he had already forgotten about the encounter.
Or at least, he thought he had.
Later that morning, during Maths class, his teacher was halfway through explaining a problem when movement outside the classroom window caught his attention. The basketball court sat below. Students from another class were crossing it on their way back from the science labs.
Among them was Teetee.
Por recognized him instantly. Which was ridiculous.
Everyone wore the same uniform. The same white shirt. The same dark trousers. Yet somehow, Por could always pick him out immediately.
Maybe it was the way he walked. Maybe it was because he never seemed rushed. Maybe it was because he smiled at every person who greeted him.
Por didn’t know.
He only knew his eyes found him before his brain did.
“Por.”
His teacher’s voice snapped him back to reality. Several classmates turned to look.
“Answer the question.”
Por stood and answered correctly. The class moved on.
Still, when he sat back down, he found himself glancing toward the window again. The courtyard was empty now.
Teetee was gone.
For some reason, that felt disappointing.
At lunch, Por took his usual seat beneath a tree near the edge of the field. It was one of the quieter spots in school. Far enough from the canteen to avoid the noise. Close enough to feel part of the school without being trapped inside it.
He opened his book. Read two pages. Turned another. Then he paused.
There was laughter again. The familiar kind.
Por looked up.
Across the field, Teetee was carrying an open box of fries from the canteen while somehow holding a conversation with three different people at once. One of his friends reached over and stole a piece or two. Teetee looked personally betrayed. The argument that followed appeared dramatically unnecessary. His friends were clearly enjoying themselves.
Por watched for several moments before returning to his book.
The corner of his mouth twitched.
Some mornings, Teetee would already be outside the classroom, leaning against the railing while talking to his friends. Other mornings, he would be arriving at the last minute, jogging up the stairs with an apologetic grin while someone called out that he was about to be late again.
Por never stopped walking. He never waved or approached. He only glanced up briefly before continuing toward his own classroom. It was simple enough. Look, notice, move on.
That was all.
Or at least, that was what Por believed until one morning when the railing outside Class 5/4 was empty. Students were gathered there as usual, talking and laughing before the first lesson began. Teetee was not among them.
Por slowed slightly.
His eyes lingered for another second, then another, searching without meaning to. Only after he reached the staircase did he realize how ridiculous that was.
Teetee’s absence shouldn’t have mattered. Yet throughout the morning, he found himself wondering where he was.
The answer appeared just before lunch.
Por had been returning a book to the library when he spotted Teetee carrying a stack of papers nearly as tall as his torso. Judging from the way the papers threatened to collapse every few steps, someone had clearly volunteered him for a task he should not have accepted alone.
Two students passed by. Neither offered help.
Teetee merely laughed, adjusted the pile in his arms, and continued down the corridor as though nearly being buried under school papers was a perfectly normal part pf his day. Por watched him disappear around a corner.
For reasons he chose not to examine too closely, the slight sense of unease that had followed him all morning disappeared as well. The thought was concerning enough that he immediately buried it.
————————————
If someone had asked Por how often he thought about Teetee, he would have answered honestly.
Not much.
The answer would have sounded believable even to himself. After all, they weren’t classmates. They had never held a proper conversation beyond the occasional exchange that naturally happened when two students occupied the same space at the same time.
There was no reason for Teetee to occupy so much room in his thoughts. Yet as the weeks passed, Por began noticing a pattern he couldn’t quiet explain.
It started with small things.
The corridor outside Building B was usually crowded before the first bell. Students lingered in groups, finishing homework, exchanging gossip, or trying to enjoy the last few minutes of freedom before classes began. Most mornings, Por crossed the courtyard without paying much attention to the crowd around him.
At least, that had been true before.
Now, somewhere during the walk from the school gate to his classroom, his gaze would drift almost automatically toward the second floor of the neighbouring building.
By the time classes ended, he had convinced himself that he was overthinking things. That confidence lasted until the following week.
The weather had been unusually hot, and even the teachers seemed eager for the final bell to arrive. The moment school ended, students flooded the hallways in a rush of footsteps, voices, and scraping chairs. Por remained in his seat, finishing the last page of his notes before packing his bag.
Por closed his notebook and glanced toward the window. The basketball court below was already occupied. Several students were playing a casual game while others sat along the sidelines, drinking water or shouting unhelpful advice. His eyes found Teetee almost immediately. The discovery should not have surprised him anymore.
By now, it was becoming increasingly clear that he could identify Teetee from an unreasonably distance. He recognized the way Teetee moved before he recognized his face. He recognized the shape of his laughter before he heard his voice. He recognized the way groups of people naturally seemed to gather around him wherever he went.
One of Teetee’s friends attempted a shot and missed so badly that the ball bounced off the backboard and rolled halfway across the court. The reaction was immediate. Teetee doubled over laughing while the rest of the group protested loudly.
Even from the third floor, Por could see the exaggerated disbelief on their faces. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before he could stop it.
“You’re staring.”
Por blinked and looked up from his notebook. His friend had dropped into the seat across from him, following the direction of his gaze toward the basketball court outside.
Por lowered his eyes immediately. “I wasn’t.”
His friend snorted. “You looked out of the window for a full minute.”
“I was thinking.”
“About him?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly. His friend raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but Por ignored him and returned to his notes. A moment later, his friend stood and left, apparently deciding the conversation wasn’t worth pursuing.
Once he was alone again, Por glanced toward the window. The court was farther away than before. Most of the students had already left.
Teetee was still there.
He was arguing passionately about something that was almost certainly not important, one hand waving in the air while his friends argued back with equal enthusiasm. The entire conversation looked dramatic enough to be serious, but Teetee was laughing too hard for Por to believe it was anything more than nonsense.
Por watched for several moments before looking back at his notebook. The words on the page blurred together.
The problem was not that Por kept seeing Teetee. The problem was that he had started expecting to.
By now, certain places carried certain expectations. The basketball court after school. The canteen at lunch. The main corridor before first period. The railing outside of Classroom 5/4 in the morning.
If Teetee wasn’t there, Por noticed. And if Por noticed his absence… well.
That probably meant something.
He just hadn’t figured out what yet.
Five minutes later, Por packed his bag and left the classroom. On his way out of the building, he walked past the court just as Teetee’s laughter rose above the noise of the game again. The game was still going.
Por continued walking. Yet long after the sounds of the court faded behind him, the image remained. It followed him onto the bus ride home. It lingered while he completed his homework. It resurfaced unexpectedly as he prepared for bed, uninvited and strangely difficult to push away.
Only then did Por begin to suspect that this was no longer simple curiosity.
Unfortunately, he was not yet ready to ask himself what it had become instead.
————————————
Teetee had always been good with people.
It was not something he thought about often, mostly because it came as naturally to him as breathing. He knew when to smile, when to joke, when to lighten the mood before silence became awkward. He remembered names easily, noticed when someone looked uncomfortable, and somehow always ended up being the person teachers called on whenever they needed an extra pair of hands.
Most people were easy enough to understand. If someone wanted to talk, they talked. If someone was annoyed, their expression showed it. If someone liked him, they usually made it obvious.
Por was different.
Teetee first noticed him properly during morning assembly. The students were gathered in neat rows under the pale morning sun, though the neatness had started to collapse the moment the teachers stopped looking too closely. Someone behind Teetee was whispering about unfinished homework. Another student two rows away was trying to hide a yawn behind his hand. The whole assembly ground carried the restless energy of teenagers who had been forced to stand still too early in the day. Teetee had turned slightly to answer a friend when his gaze drifted past the line of students beside him.
That was when he saw Por.
Por stood with his class several rows away, quiet and composed in a way that made him seem strangely separate from the noise around him. His expression was calm, almost unreadable, and while the students near him shifted impatiently, he remained still with his hands loosely clasped behind his back.
For some reason, Teetee kept looking. There was nothing dramatic about him. He was not laughing loudly, trying to draw attention or doing anything that should have made him stand out.
Yet, Teetee noticed him away.
Maybe it was because Por looked as though he existed at his own pace, untouched by the chaos that followed everyone else. Maybe it was because he seemed like the kind of person who would rather observe the world than rush to join it. Or maybe… Teetee was simply curious because Por had never once reacted to him the way other students did.
That was the part that bothered him most.
Not in a bad way. It was only enough to make him wonder.
Most students at school knew Teetee, at least knew of him. Even those who were not close to him usually smiled when they passed him in the corridor. Some greeted him easily. Others called his name from across the canteen for no reason other than to see if he would answer.
Por never did any of that.
He did not avoid Teetee exactly, but he also never tried to get closer. Whenever their paths crossed, Por would glance at him briefly, polite and distant, before continuing on as if Teetee were just another student in the hallway.
It should not have mattered.
Teetee told himself that several times. Still, the next time he saw Por, he recognized him immediately.
It happened outside the library. Teetee had been carrying a stack of activity forms for the student committee, his fingers already starting to ache from gripping the papers too tightly. He was halfway down the corridor when Por stepped out of the library with a book tucked against his side.
For a second, they were walking toward each other. Teetee considered smiling. It was his usual response to almost everyone. A simple smile was friendly, easy and safe enough to offer without thinking too much of it.
But Por looked up first. Their eyes met only briefly.
Por’s gaze did not widen. His expression did not change. He gave Teetee a small nod, the kind of polite acknowledgement one student gave another when there was nothing else to say, then continued past him.
Teetee slowed without meaning to. By the time he turned his head, Por had already disappeared into the stairwell. One of Teetee’s friends bumped his shoulder from behind.
“Why did you stop?”
Teetee blinked and adjusted the stack of papers in his arms. “I didn’t.”
“You did.”
“I was thinking.”
“About what?”
Teetee opened his mouth but no answer came quickly enough.
His friend stared at him for a moment, then followed the direction Teetee had been looking. The stairwell was empty by then, which somehow made the entire thing worse.
Teetee cleared his throat and started walking again. “Nothing important.”
His friend laughed as if he did not believe him at all. Teetee ignored it. He was good at ignoring things when he wanted to. Unfortunately, Por did not remain easy to ignore.
After that day, Teetee began noticing him in pieces.
A quiet figure is sitting beneath the tree near the edge of the field during lunch. A familiar profile by the classroom window on the third floor. A student was returning books to the library when most people were rushing toward the canteen.
Por always seemed to be alone, but not lonely in a way people usually meant it. He carried his solitude like something comfortable, something he had chosen rather than something forced upon him.
Teetee found that difficult to understand. He used to noise. He was used to being surrounded. Even when he was tired, people gathered around him as though his presence naturally made the space warmer. Teetee liked people. He liked laughing with them, helping them, and making them feel included.
But sometimes, when he saw Por sitting quietly with a book while the school moved loudly around him, Teetee wondered what it felt like to be that steady. He wondered what Por thought about. He wondered what kind of things made Por smile.
Then, one afternoon, he found out by accident.
Teetee was on the basketball court after school, playing a casual game with his friends while pretending he was not exhausted from the entire day. One of his classmates attempted a dramatic shot from far too great a distance, announced his own victory before the ball even reached the hoop, and then watched it miss so badly that even the opposing team fell silent for half a second.
Teetee could not hold back his laughter. The whole court erupted after him. His friend immediately pointed at him in betrayal, shouting that true friends were supposed to offer emotional support during difficult times. Teetee laughed harder, pressing a hand to his stomach while trying and failing to apologize.
When he finally straightened, still breathless from laughing, something made him look toward the classroom building. The third-floor window was open.
Por was there.
He was standing near the window with his bag already over one shoulder, and although he looked away almost immediately, Teetee was certain he had been watching. More importantly, Teetee was certain he had been smiling. It was small enough that anyone else might have missed it, but Teetee did not.
For the rest of the game, he kept thinking about it. Por could smile like that. The thought should not have pleased him as much as it did. Teetee missed the next pass because of it. The ball hit his hands, slipped, and bounced away while his friends groaned loudly enough for the entire court to hear.
“Teetee, are you daydreaming?”
He laughed and jogged after the ball. “Sorry, sorry. My fault.”
His friends continued teasing him, but Teetee only smiled and let them. When he glanced up at the third floor again, the window was empty. Por had already left.
The court suddenly felt noisier than before.
Teetee caught the ball when someone threw it back to him, but his attention lingered on the empty window longer than it should have.
He did not know Por.
Not really. They were not friends, and they had barely spoken.
Still, as he stood there beneath the fading afternoon light with a basketball warm against his palms, Teetee realized he was curious to know what Por looked like when he smiled without hiding it.
The thought stayed with him long after the game ended.