Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Por had landed in Paris at 6:43 in the evening. He remembered because pilots remembered things like that. 

Times, numbers, weather conditions, runway assignments, fuel calculations. The exact minute rubber met concrete after hours spent suspended between one country and another. 

Charles de Gaulle Airport.

At 6:43 pm in 19°C with light rain. 

The plane had a smooth landing. Everything according to schedule, everything exactly where it was supposed to be. 

Por wished he could say the same about himself. 

By the time the crew shuttle stopped in front of their hotel, dusk had already begun settling over Paris. Por stepped out first, one hand wrapped around the handle of his suitcase while his flight bag hung heavily from his shoulder. The rain had thinned into something barely there, fine droplets floating beneath the streetlights. He was still in uniform, though considerably less put together than he had been twelve hours earlier. 

His blazer was folded over one arm, his tie sat slightly loosened at the throat. The first few buttons of his collar had become tempting enemies somewhere around hour seven. All Por wanted was a shower, food he did not have to chew too much, and enough sleep to temporarily forget which country he was in. 

Around him… Paris was doing everything Paris was apparently famous for. The rain had softened into a fine mist. Streetlamps glowed warmly against cream-coloured buildings. Water collected between uneven stones and turned the pavement into scattered mirrors. Balconies spilling flowers despite the cold.

A couple hurried beneath the same umbrella. Someone cycled past with a baguette sticking ridiculously out of a canvas bag. Somewhere down the street, music drifted from an open doorway. 

Por looked at all of it and thought... 

Pretty…

That was it. Pretty. Nice. Very Paris. 

He had been doing that a lot lately. Looking at things he knew were supposed to make him feel something and acknowledging them as though ticking boxes on a mental checklist. 

Beautiful sunset ✅

Good meal ✅

New city ✅

Successful flight ✅

Everything registered but nothing lingered. 

His phone buzzed as he pulled his suitcase onto the pavement. A message from his mom came as soon as he landed as usual. He replied to her one-handedly. 

Por smiled faintly at his mother’s enthusiasm. His mother knew him too well. His colleagues had said the same thing during the flight.

It’s Paris,Por. 

Don’t waste yout layover sleeping. 

Go see the Eiffel Tower. 

Fall in love or something. 

Por had laughed because that was what people expected him to do. Another message arrived before he could even reply. 

Por glanced at the city around him. Maybe tomorrow…

Tonight he was barely capable of keeping his eyes open. He wanted a shower, room service and most importantly eight uninterrupted sleep. He slipped his phone into his pocket and turned toward the hotel entrance. 

Click.

Por stopped in his tracks. 

A second click came almost immediately afterward. He looked toward the sound. Across the narrow pavement, a man stood several meters away beneath the awning of the building next door. Not a phone but a camera.

A camera that was raised and pointed directly…

Por frowned. At him?

The stranger lowered it. And Por’s irritation was interrupted, very conveniently, by the realization that the man was ridiculously attractive. Not merely good looking. 

The sort of attractiveness that made Por’s brain register details before he could stop himself. 

He looked roughly Por’s age, perhaps slightly younger. Dark brown hair fell loosely over his forehead, slightly messy from the damp air, beige jacket layered over a black shirt, comfortable trousers, sneakers that looked like they had already walked several kilometers today. 

There was something effortlessly sharp about his features without making him look unapproachable. A small silver hoop caught the light at one ear. Then another piece of silver higher along the cartilage. 

A thin chain rested against the black shirt beneath his jacket. Several silver rings wrapped around long fingers still curled around his camera. There might be a bracelet beneath the cuff too. 

Por did not usually pay particular attention to jewellery. He did now, he supposed. 

It suited him… very much. 

The silver against black, the piercings, the casual jacket, the camera strap hanging around his neck. 

Handsome… charming-looking…

And judging by the completely unbothered expression on his face, apparently photographing a stranger without permission… 

Probably troublesome too. 

Por dragged his attention back toward the camera. “Excuse me.”

The man blinked. Por automatically switched to English. “Did you just take my picture?”

For half a second, the stranger looked caught. Then his mouth curved. That was unfortunate too. 

Because… he had a nice smile too, a captivating one. 

“Maybe.”

Por stared at him incredulously. “Maybe?”

The man’s English carried an accent Por could not immediately place. He lowered the camera fully. “I was going to say no, but I don’t think you would believe me.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Then honesty was the better strategy.”

“You shouldn’t photograph people without asking.”

The stranger nodded immediately. “You’re right. Sorry.”

That came sincerely enough that some of Por’s irritation disappeared before he wanted it to. The man glanced at his camera. “I can delete it.”

“Please.”

“Sure.”

His thumb moved across several buttons. Por should have left it there because he apparently made his point. The photograph would be deleted. 

Hotel… shower… food… sleep.

Instead, as the stranger studied his camera screen, Por heard himself ask…

“Was it bad?”

The stranger looked up in question. Por immediately regretted speaking. 

“What?”

“The picture.”

There was a pause but then, annoyingly, amusement slowly appeared in the stranger’s eyes. 

Oh no. 

Por knew that look. 

“Are you asking because you want me to delete it…” the man asked, “or because  you’re worried you didn’t look good?”

Por’s face went blank. “Just delete it.”

The stranger laughed with a surprisingly bright and easy sound. Por disliked how much it suited him. 

“I already did.”

He turned the camera around briefly as proof. Por caught a glimpse of several photographs, buildings, wet streets, a cafe window, blurred headlights, but no picture of himself. 

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Por adjusted his grip on his suitcase. The stranger looked behind him. “Though, for my defense, you walked into my photograph.”

Por stopped. “I walked into your photograph?”

“Yes.”

“I was walking toward my hotel.”

“And I was photographing your hotel.’

“Then that’s your problem.”

“Technically…” The stranger gestured toward the spot where Por had been standing. “You crashed into my picture.”

Por stared at him. The stranger’s eyes finally dropped toward Por’s uniform. His smile changed almost imperceptibly. “Ah.”

Por raised an eyebrow. “Ah?”

“Poor choice of words.”

Por followed his gaze to the wings pinned above his shirt pocket. “Very poor.”

“Emergency landing?”

“Worse.”

“Hard landing?”

“Still worse.”

“Runway excursion?”

Por stared at him. The stranger, however, looked extremely pleased with himself. Something in Por finally gave in. Por looked to the side briefly.

Under his breath, he muttered in Thai, “บ้า.”

“ได้ยินนะครับ.”

Por froze because the sentence had come back instantly. In Thai. 

Por slowly looked back at him. The stranger was staring at him. There was a beat of silence. 

Then…

“You’re Thai?”

They spoke at exactly the same time. Another pause, then the stranger pointed at Por.  

“I asked first.”

“You absolutely did not.”

“I was faster.”

“You spoke at the same time as me.”

“Still felt faster.”

Por stared and, despite himself… he laughed softly. Just one startled sound escaping before he could swallow it. The stranger’s expression softened for the briefest second. Then his grin returned instantly. 

“So?”

Por switched fully into Thai, and something about the conversation instantly felt easier. “Yes, I’m Thai.”

“I gathered that from you insulting me in Thai.”

“I wasn’t insulting you.”

“You called me crazy.”

“An observation.”

The stranger put one hand over his chest. “We’ve known each other for five minutes.”

“And you’ve already photographed me without permission.”

“Accidentally.”

“You kept the photograph long enough for me to notice.”

“You looked good in it.”

Por paused at the compliment so did the stranger. But unlike Por, he apparently possessed no instinct for retreat. He simply smiled. 

“What? You asked.”

Por looked away first. Annoying… Very annoying…

Annoyingly attractive. 

Which was even more irritating. 

“You’re travelling?” Por asked, mostly because he needed to move the conversation somewhere safer. 

“Holiday.”

The camera made sense then. 

“And you?”

The stranger’s gaze flicked once more toward his uniform. Por looked at him flatly. “Seriously?”

He laughed. “Right. Stupid question.”

“Very.”

“Long flight?”

“Krung Thep (Bangkok).”

There it was again. Something flickered in the man’s expression. Recognition, perhaps. 

“Krung Thep (Bangkok)?”

Por narrowed his eyes. “Why did you say it like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like that.”

“That’s very specific.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I don’t.”

“You made a face.”

“I have a face and it makes expressions.”

Por stared as the stranger smiled innocently. There was absolutely nothing innocent about him. Por decided he was too tired for this. 

“Good night.”

Before he could turn fully toward the hotel, the stranger called again. “Wait.”

Por looked back. The man reached into a brown paper bag tucked beneath his arm and held something toward him. 

A croissant.

Por looked from the pastry to him. “What is that?”

“A croissant.”

“I know what a croissant is.”

“Just checking.”

“Why are you giving it to me?”

“You had a long flight. You must be hungry.”

Por nearly felt offended. “Do I look that bad?”

“No.”

The answer came too quickly. The stranger seemed to realize it too, because something almost sheepishly flashed across his face before he recovered. “You looked tired.”

“That’s better.”

“And hungry.”

“Worse again.”

“Take it.”

Por looked at the croissant, then at the stranger. “Is accepting food from a strange man in foreign countries generally recommended?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“But we’re both Thai, so I’m only moderately strange now.”

“That’s not how safety works.”

“It should be.”

Por should have refused. Instead, his stomach betrayed him with a small, inconvenient pull of hunger. He had not eaten properly since he descended. The stranger lifted the pastry slightly. “I bought two.”

Por sighed and accepted it. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Captain.”

Por glanced at his uniform. “First officer.”

The stranger’s eyebrows lifted. Again… that tiny flicker. Por caught it this time. 

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You keep doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Looking like you’re about to say something and then saying nothing.”

“Maybe I’m mysterious.”

“Maybe you’re just annoying.”

“That too.”

Por shook his head and then realized something. “You know my occupation, but I didn’t even know your name.”

The stranger smiled and held out his hand. “Teetee.”

Por blinked but still shook his hand before releasing. “Teetee?”

A hand flew dramatically to Teetee’s chest. “That reaction was hurtful.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Your face did.”

“You’ve known me for five minutes and can read my face now?”

“I told you. I notice things.”

Apparently he did. Por looked at the silver rings around the fingers holding the camera again before catching himself. 

“Por.”

“Hm?”

“My name.”

Teetee looked at him properly and repeated, “Por.”

Something strange happened to the way Teetee said it. Nothing obvious but it was softer somehow. Por blamed exhaustion for noticing. He turned again.

“Good night, Teetee.’

“Good night, First Officer Por.”

Por made it three steps. 

“Por.”

He sighed before looking back. “What now?”

Teetee pointed toward the ground beside him. “Look down.”

Por frowned but he still did. A shallow puddle stretched along the edge of the pavement. The hotel lights reflected inside it in long streaks of gold. Windows shimmered upside down. Passing pedestrians existed twice as once above them and once beneath Por’s feet. 

He had not noticed. 

“The streets are better after rain,” Teetee said. “Everything doubles.”

Por stared for another second. “Huh.”

“You didn’t see it?”

“I was looking for the hotel.”

Teetee slowly looked upward. Por followed his gaze as his eyes locked on the hotel’s enormous illuminated sign glowed directly above his head. 

Silence once again filled the void between them. 

Por pointed at him. “Don’t.”

Teetee pressed his lips together. “I’m not saying anything.”

“Your face is.”

That finally broke him. Teetee laughed whole-heartedly. 

Por walked into the hotel before he could start laughing too. 

🛬🛬🛬🛬🛬🛬🛬🛬🛬🛬🛬🛬🛬🛬🛬

Por saw him again the next morning. Paris had a population of more than two million people. Por knew this because he looked it up after. 

Two million.

And somehow, apparently, the city had decided there was only one man available for him to run into. 

Por had woken earlier than expected. His body still thought it was somewhere over Asia, so at seven in the morning he found himself staring at the ceiling while his colleagues slept peacefully in neighbouring rooms. 

He could have stayed inside. He almost did but then he remembered his mother’s message. 

Go out. 

And, more annoyingly…

The streets are better after rain.

So, Por got dressed, wearing a casually outfit without his uniform this time. Just dark trousers, a sweater beneath his coat and comfortable shoes. 

He bought coffee from somewhere near the hotel, walked without much purpose, and eventually ended up near the Seine. He was watching a group of tourists argue over a map when a familiar voice called him. 

“First Officer Por!”

Por closed his eyes. 

No.

He turned around and low and behold. Teetee was sitting along the stone embankment with his camera beside him and two paper cups in his hands. Today the silver jewellery was somehow even more obvious. 

Several rings, a bracelet, the same thin necklace disappearing beneath the collar of a loose dark sweater. His ear piercings caught against the pale morning light when he tilted his head. 

Por hated that he noticed immediately. 

Teetee grinned. “You again.”

Por walked closer. “That’s my line.”

“It’s not a very nice line.”

“We met once.”

“And now twice.”

“Unfortunately.”

“That’s not what your face says.”

“What does my face supposedly say?”

Teetee considered and stared into his face intently which made Por feel heat start to rise on his ears. “That you’re happy to see me.”

Por took a sip of his coffee. “My face has never said anything that incorrect.”

“Cold.”

“Accurate.”

Teetee stood from his sitting spot and held out one of the cups. “Coffee?”

“I already have one.”

“Mine’s better.”

“You don’t know what I ordered.”

“What did you order?”

Por told him and Teetee immediately shook his head like he was disappointed at Por’s choice. “Mine’s definitely better.”

Por looked at the cup. “What did you get?”

“Hot chocolate.”

“That’s not coffee.”

“Exactly. Better.”

Por stared at him but Teetee just smiled. There was something almost unfair about how easily everything seemed to amuse him. 

“What are you doing here?” Por asked. 

“Walking.”

“You were sitting.”

“I took a break.”

“From?”

“Walking.”

Por nodded slowly. “Very productive holiday.”

“I know.”

Teetee picked up his camera. “Where are you going?”

Por glanced downriver. “Nowhere, actually.”

Teetee’s face brightened up at the response. “Perfect.”

“How is that perfect?”

“I’m going nowhere too.”

“That’s not usually how travelling works.”

“Sure it is.”

Teetee started walking and after several steps, he glanced back. Por was still standing where he had been. “Coming?”

Por raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t invite me.”

“Would you like a formal invitation?”

“No.”

“Then come on.”

“I barely know you.”

Teetee began walking backward. “Then fix that.”

Por looked down at his coffee. This was ridiculous. 

He did not know Teetee. He had met him outside a hotel less than twelve hours earlier. Teetee photographed strangers. Made terrible aviation jokes. Accepted insults like compliments. 

And had the sort of smile that probably caused problems professionally. 

Por should have said goodbye. 

Instead… against his better judgment…

He followed anyway. 

📸📸📸📸📸📸📸📸📸📸📸📸📸📸📸

They spent nearly four hours going nowhere. Teetee turned out to be terrible at following maps. 

Or perhaps… deliberately terrible. 

Por had not decided yet. 

They passed through streets Por could not name, stopped at a bakery because Teetee liked the smell coming through its doorway, wandered into a tiny bookshop despite neither of them being able to read most of the books, and somehow ended up watching a street performer for twenty minutes. 

Teetee talked to everyone. Not in an obnoxious way though. He simply seemed incapable of treating strangers like scenery. 

An elderly couple struggled with directions near an intersection, and Teetee stopped to help despite his French being barely better than theirs. 

“You don’t know where they’re going,” Por said after the couple left. 

“I help them find it on the map.”

“You nearly sent us in the wrong direction twice this morning.”

“Different situation.”

“How?”

“I care whether they arrive.”

Por stared at him. Teetee laughed and nudged his shoulder. “I’m joking.”

“Later, Teetee stopped so abruptly Por nearly walked into him. “What?”

Teetee crouched. A tiny dog stood beside its owner near a cafe table. “Bonjour.”

Por stared at the interaction. “Are you talking to the dog?”

“He’s French.”

“Obviously.”

“Need to respect local culture.”

The dog immediately leaned into Teetee’s hand when its owner gave permission. Teetee looked ridiculously delighted. Por stood several feet away watching him. The silver rings around Teetee’s fingers flashed as he scratched beneath the dog’s chin. 

His smile changed around animals. It was softer, almost boyish. Something warm pulled unexpectedly inside Por’s chest. 

He looked away. 

This was becoming dangerous for him. Not the dog. 

Teetee… definitely Teetee.

When he looked back, Teetee was already watching him. “What?”

Por’s shoulders straightened. “Nothing.”

Teetee’s smile widened. “Now you’re doing it.”

“Doing what?”

“Looking like you’re thinking something and saying nothing.”

“I learned from you.”

“I’m honored.”

“Don’t be.”

They kept walking. It should not have been particularly memorable. That was the strange part. 

Nothing extraordinary happened. No spectacular attraction. No once-in-a-lifetime experience. They ate pastries on a bench, Teetee complained about raisins with an intensity Por found unreasonable. Por corrected his pronunciation of a Thai place name just to irritate him. 

Teetee took photographs constantly. Nothing missed his sights; buildings, windows, dogs, food, people’s shadows, a bicycle leaning against a wall, a pigeon. 

“Why pigeons?” Por asked.

“Why not?”

“It’s a pigeon.”

“It’s Parisian.”

“It’s still an ordinary pigeon.”

“It has culture.”

Por laughed and Teetee immediately lifted the camera. 

Click.

Por’s smile vanished. “Teetee.”

“What?”

“You took my picture.”

“You were laughing.”

“That doesn’t give you permission.”

“Right.”

Teetee sounded dejected and immediately lowered the camera. “Sorry.”

Por expected another joke but none came. Teetee looked down at the screen. “I’ll delete it.”

Something about the easy acceptance made Por hesitate. “Wait.”

Teetee looked up. 

“Let me see.”

“You sure?”

Por held out his hand. Teetee gave him the camera. Por looked at it and went quiet. He was caught mid-laugh. Head slightly lowered, eyes creased, one hand still lifted because he had apparently been gesturing at Teetee while arguing about the pigeon. 

There was nothing particularly remarkable about the photograph. Except Por could not remember the last time he had seen himself look like that. Not posing for a crew picture, not smiling because someone held up a phone, not giving the polite expression people leaned to wear around cameras.  

He looked… for lack of a better word… happy. 

Actually happy. 

“Bad?” Teetee asked. 

Por looked up as he noticed there was no teasing note in Teetee’s voice. 

“No.”

“Want me to delete it?”

Por looked at the picture again. “No.”

Teetee blinked. 

“Keep it.”

“Okay.”

He took the camera back carefully and smiled, satisfied. “I like it.”

Por’s heart did something deeply unnecessary. He shoved his hands into his coat pockets. “You’re still annoying.”

“That’s unrelated.”

🛬🛬🛬🛬🛬🛬🛬🛬🛬🛬🛬🛬🛬🛬🛬 

The third time happened the following afternoon. Por had agreed to meet two of his colleagues for lunch. 

They had cancelled. 

One had gone shopping, and the other had apparently acquired a migraine after staying out far too late the night before. 

Por found himself alone again. Not that he minds it. He could have just returned to the hotel. Instead, he took the Metro toward Montmartre. 

Why?

He did not know himself. 

Maybe… because he had seen it online, because his mother would ask, because apparently that was what people did in Paris. 

Or perhaps… someone’s behaviour had rubbed it off on him.  

The entire place was crowded. There were artists and tourists everywhere. People taking pictures, couples walking hand in hand. Por had just stepped away from a  souvenir shop when…

“Por?”

He knew the voice almost immediately. Por stopped and slowly turned. Teetee stood several meters away. With his camera hanging from his neck, a paper bag tucked under one arm, silver rings, black jacket, and… 

That smile. 

For several seconds, neither seemed to believe what fate had planned for them. 

Then Por pointed at him. “No.”

Teetee burst out laughing like he could not believe what was actually happening. “What?”

“This is weird…”

“You think I’m haunting you?”

“Paris is enormous.”

“Maybe you have excellent taste in neighbourhoods.”

“Are you following me?”

There was a pause. A tiny one, barely anything. Then Teetee placed one hand over his chest. “I’m hurt.”

Por narrowed his eyes. “That wasn’t an answer.”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“I was here first.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I haven’t seen you until now.”

“Maybe I’m very stealthy.”

“That is not helping your case.”

Teetee laughed. Por should have been suspicious. Instead, absurdly, he was pleased. He had been walking around for nearly an hour. Everything looked generally interesting. Nothing had felt particularly interesting enough to impress him. 

And then Teetee appeared. Suddenly Por was aware of the cold air again, the noise, the smell of coffee and bread. The ridiculous hat Teetee was currently picking up from a stall. 

“No.”

Teetee turned toward him with a black beret sitting on his head. “What?”

“Take it off.”

“You hate French culture.”

“I hate what you’re doing to it.”

Teetee picked up another one and before Por could retreat, Teetee placed it onto his head. Por froze then Teetee stepped backward and stared. Por immediately became suspicious. “What?”

Teetee’s lips pressed together. 

“What?” Por asked again. 

“Nothing.”

“You look like you’re about to laugh.”

“I’m not.”

“Your face is.”

Teetee’s mouth twitched, betraying his own words. Por reached for the beret. In an instant, Teetee lifted the camera. 

Click.

“Teetee!”

That did it. Teetee laughter surrounds them, bright and warm. Por lunged for the camera but Teetee dodged in time. 

“Delete it.”

“Nope.”

“You promised!”

“I promise to ask before taking pictures yesterday.”

“You didn’t ask!”

“I forgot!”

“Give me the camera.”

“Violence against tourists is illegal.”

“So is harassment.”

“This isn’t harassment.”

“Give it.”

Por caught Teetee’s wrist. They both stopped. Por’s fingers had closed around the same wrist carrying several thin silver bracelets. Teetee was suddenly closer than expected. 

Much closer.

Por became painfully aware of several things at once. The warmth beneath his fingers, the faint scent of Teetee’s cologne, the tiny mole on both of his cheeks that Por had not noticed before. The way his necklace rested against his collarbone. And the fact that Teetee was looking directly at him, not laughing anymore. 

Por released him. “Let me see the picture.”

Teetee said nothing for a second. Then handed over the camera. Por looked down at it and the picture was ridiculous. The beret sat slightly crooked. Por had been turning toward Teetee when the shutter clicked, his mouth already open in protest. 

But his eyes…

His eyes were smiling. 

Por stared at it again. Another version of himself he had almost forgotten existed. 

Teetee stood beside him quietly. “I can delete it.”

Por swallowed. “No need.”

“No?”

“Keep it.”

Teetee looked at him. Por handed the camera back. “Apparently your terrible photographs are growing on me.”

“Terrible?”

“Don’t get emotional.”

“I’m devastated.”

Por smiled and Teetee looked at him for slightly too long. Then he cleared his throat. “So.”

“So?”

“We’ve accidentally met three times now.”

“Yes.”

“Which means one of two things.”

Por crossed his arms. “I’m afraid to ask.”

“Either Paris is secretly the size of a shopping mall…”

“Unlikely.”

“...Or the universe is playing cupid.”

Por stared at him. “Do you always talk like this?”

“Only when I’m trying to impress someone.”

The answer landed differently this time. Por looked at him but Teetee did not look away, There was still humour there. But something underneath it too. 

Something warm, intentional. 

Por’s heartbeat shifted. Before he could decide what to do with that, Teetee held out his phone. “Give me your Line.”

Por blinked at the unexpectedness. “That’s abrupt.”

“We clearly can’t rely on destiny’s scheduling forever.”

Por laughed at the absurdity but in secret he believed there was some truth in it. “Destiny?”

“Would you prefer efficient logistics?”

“Much.”

“Fine. Give me your Line for efficient logistics.”

Por took his phone, typed it in and saved himself simply as…Por.

Teetee looked offended. “No emoji?”

“What emoji do you want?”

“A plane.”

“No.”

“Bear?”

“Why bear?”

Teetee looked at him and Por stared back. “No reason.”

Suspicious… very suspicious.

Por handed the phone back. “Don’t abuse it.”

“I’ll only send important messages.”

Teetee’s first message arrived approximately four seconds later. 

Por looked up. Teetee was already running. 

“You—”

His laughter disappeared into the crowd. Por looked at the message again. 

And smiled before he could stop himself. 

📸📸📸📸📸📸📸📸📸📸📸📸📸📸📸 

Teetee abused the number immediately. 

Photographs… food… random observations… 

A picture of a pigeon accompanied by… 

Por really did not. 

That evening, they messaged until Por fell asleep. 

The next morning, there was already something waiting. 

Por stared at it from beneath his blanket with his eyes still half-opened. Then typed…

Por sat up immediately. His brain that fogged with sleep instantly cleared up at the shock.

Por stared at the screen in frustration. “This guy…”

He got out of bed anyway.

Teetee was waiting outside. Of course he was. 

Hands tucked into the pocket of a long coat, camera hanging against his chest. Today he wore a silver necklace layered with another thinner chain, several rings and a new small hoop with red stone glinting in one ear Por had not noticed before. 

Por had absolutely no reason to catalogue Teetee’s jewellery every time he saw him. Yet apparently his brain had made it a hobby. 

Teetee smiled when he emerged. “You’re late.”

“It’s been eleven minutes.”

“Exactly.”

“You gave me ten.”

“Exactly.”

Por stared and Teetee offered him a coffee. Por looked at the cup then back at him. “How do you know my order?”

“You told me.”

“When?”

“Yesterday.”

Por tried to remember. He had once, in passing. “You remembered?”

Teetee shrugged. “You like this.”

As though that explained everything. Something inside Por softened. He took the offer and reached for the cup in question. “Thank you.”

“You’re very much welcome.”

“Where are we going?”

“Breakfast.”

“I gathered that.”

“And then walking.”

“Where?”

“Somewhere.’

Por sighed. “Are you incapable of making plans?”

“I make excellent plans.”

“Name one.”

“Making you come downstairs.”

“That was barely a plan.”

“Worked though, right?”

Por had no rebuttal. 

They found a small cafe tucked along a side street. Nothing fancy, no grand Parisian view. Just warm lighting, tiny tables and the smell of butter and coffee. They sat opposite each other. 

And somewhere between breakfast and their second coffee, Por realized this was the first time they had deliberately met. 

No chance of an encounter, no coincidence. Teetee had asked, even though it was last minute. But Por had come. The realization sat strangely inside him. It was not necessarily uncomfortable, just noticeable.

“So…” Teetee said, resting his chin against one hand. “Tell me something.”

“About?”

“You.”

“You already know too much.”

“I know you fly.”

“Very observant.”

“First officer.”

Por watched him. Again… Teetee said it too naturally. 

“You like coffee,” Teetee continued. “You hate people photographing you unless you’re secretly laughing.”

“I still hate it.”

“You kept both pictures.”

“Against my better judgment.”

“And…” Teetee continued, “you pretend you’re meaner than you are.”

“I am mean.”

“No.”

“You’ve known me for three days.”

“Four.”

“That’s even worse.”

“Still enough.”

Por leaned back. “And what do I know about you?”

“Many important things.”

“You hate raisins.”

“Correct.”

“You like dogs.”

“Very.”

“You take too many photographs.”

“Impossible.”

“You apparently don’t have anywhere else to be.”

Teetee smiled. “I’m on holiday.”

“Doing what normally?”

There was the smallest hesitation. Teetee picked up his coffee. “Working.”

Por waited for more as Teetee drank from his cup. 

“Very informative.”

“You asked what I do normally. I work.”

“At what?”

“Why? Are you planning to background-check me?”

“Maybe.”

“I thought we were past stranger danger.”

“We are absolutely not.”

Teetee laughed. “Something boring.”

“What kind of boring?”

“Lots of sitting.”

“Office?”

Teetee tilted his head. “Sometimes.”

“That’s vague.”

“I’m mysterious.”

“You’re unemployed.”

Teetee nearly choked. Por smiled into his coffee. “There. Finally got you.”

“You think I’m unemployed?”

“Prove otherwise.”

“Should I show you a payslip?”

“That would help.”

Teetee laughed again and one sentence came out of Por’s thought…

I like that sound. 

The thought arrived so naturally it frightened him. He looked down instinctively. 

“Por?”

“Hm?”

“You disappeared.”

“What?”

“Your face.”

Teetee tapped lightly beside his own temple. “You went somewhere.”

Por stared at his coffee. Normally he would have said nothing, or he would have redirected. But something about Teetee made silence difficult. Maybe because he never rushed to fill it and underneath all the jokes, Teetee actually listened. 

Actually listened to him. 

“I’ve been tired lately.”

Teetee’s expression turned serious. It was not pity, just pure attention. 

“From work?”

“No.”

Por paused. “Well… maybe.”

He looked through the cafe window. People passed outside. Normal lives, normal mornings, mundane things. 

“Have you ever gotten exactly what you wanted and then wondered why it didn’t feel the way you thought it would?”

Teetee did not answer immediately. Por laughed quietly. “That sounded dramatic.”

“Nah.”

“It did.”

“It didn’t.”

Por traced one finger along the edge of his coffee cup. “I wanted this career for years.”

“Flying?”

Por nodded. “I worked for it. I still loved it, not that I didn’t.”

“But?”

There it was… not judgment. Not then what’s wrong? 

Just… but?

Por swallowed as it got harder for him to let the words out. “But lately… everything outside it feels like waiting for the next flight.”

Teetee stayed quiet, opening the chances for Por to continue. Por had not realized how much he needed someone to do that. Not to interrupt or reassure. It was for him to let it all out. 

“I go home. I sleep. I work. I see people. I eat. I answer messages. I do everything I’m supposed to do.”

He smiled faintly. “And it’s fine.”

“Fine…”

“That’s the problem.”

Teetee nodded once. Por looked at him. “I feel ridiculous complaining early in the morning like this.”

“Why?”

“Nothing is wrong technically.”

“Something doesn’t need to be terrible before you’re allowed to want it to be better.”

Por went still at the statement. Teetee had said it simply with no dramatic weight, like it was obvious. Por looked away. Outside in his line of sight, a woman passed carrying flowers. 

“I don’t even know what ‘better’ is.”

“Maybe you don’t need to.”

Por looked back. Teetee leaned against the table, focusing on Por. “When was the last time you did something because you wanted to?”

“I do things I want.”

“Like?”

Por opened his mouth and closed it. Teetee waited for his example of ‘want’. Por searched for it, as work does not really count; meeting friends? He liked his friends. Family dinners? He loved his family. 

But something he had chosen entirely because it made him curious, excited and happy…

Nothing arrived immediately. 

Teetee smiled slightly in knowing. “There.”

“What?”

“That face.”

“Don’t start.”

“I’m serious.”

Teetee looked out toward the street. “You’re very good at going where you’re supposed to.” Por’s fingers stilled around the hand of his cup. “Maybe you just haven’t gone anywhere because you wanted to in a while.”

Por stared at him. For someone who spent eighty percent of his time saying ridiculous things, Teetee had an irritating habit of occasionally saying exactly the right one. 

“And what do you suggest?”

Teetee looked back at him. “Today?”

“Sure?”

“Don’t think.”

“That’s your advice?’

“For today.”

“Terrible.”

“Probably.”

Teetee stood and Por blinked in confusion. “Where are you going?”

Teetee reached for his coat. “Somewhere we don’t have to.”

He looked at Por. “Come with me.”

Por should have asked where, checked directions, considered timings. 

Instead… 

He stood and just followed Teetee without question. 

🛬🛬🛬🛬🛬🛬🛬🛬🛬🛬🛬🛬🛬🛬🛬 

They walked until Por stopped asking where they were going. Teetee took him through side streets and little shops and places Por would never have bothered finding himself. 

They shared food they could not pronounce properly. Teetee made him taste something Por insisted looked terrible. Only to find out Por had actually liked it. 

Teetee celebrated like he had personally cooked it. 

They found a tiny record store. A stationery shop, a courtyard hidden behind an archway where barely anyone else stood. At one point, they simply sat beside each other on a bench for nearly forty minutes. 

No attraction, no landmark, no purpose. 

Teetee edited photographs as Por watched people pass. It should have felt like wasted time. It did not, somehow,

That realization followed him for the rest of the afternoon. Nothing they did mattered. 

And somehow Por remembered all of it. 

The way Teetee pushed the better half of a pastry toward him without mentioning it. The way he automatically moved to the outer edge of the pavement whenever cars passed close. How he stopped when Por’s shoelace came undone instead of continuing ahead. How he remembered Por preferred less sugar. How Teetee seemed carefree but was not careless. 

That distinction mattered. 

Por had initially assumed Teetee simply moved through life without thinking too hard. Instead, he came to know that Teetee noticed everything. 

The small things, beautiful things. People… Por… Especially Por. 

By evening, they found themselves walking beside the river again. The sky had softened into pale pink and blue. Por leaned against the stone barrier. Teetee stood beside him, looking through photographs from the day. 

“You took too many.”

“There’s no such thing.”

“There absolutely is.”

“Agree to disagree.”

Por leaned closer. “Show me.”

Teetee angled the camera between them. There were pictures including Paris, food, windows, a small dog, more pigeons, and Por’s hand holding coffee. Por stopped at the last photo. 

“You photographed my hand?”

“It looked nice.”

“It’s a hand.”

“Your rings would’ve made it better.”

“I don’t wear rings.”

“I noticed.”

Of course he had. Por’s gaze dropped automatically toward Teetee’s fingers. Silver wrapped around three of them. Teetee caught him looking then Por looked away. It was too late. 

“You like my rings?”

“No.”

“You looked at them.”

“I have eyes.”

“You look at my earrings too.”

Por turned slowly then he saw Teetee was smiling at him. “You are unbelievably confident.”

“Was I wrong?”

Por stared at him, then deliberately looked at Teetee up and down. The movement wiped at least half the smugness off Teetee’s face. 

Interesting…

Por filed that away. 

“No,” he admitted.

Teetee blinked and Por turned back toward the river. From beside him… “What?”

“You weren’t wrong.”

For a moment, Teetee was silenced because he did not know what to do with that information. Por bit back a smile because for once, Teetee had nothing to say. 

“Your jewellery suits you,” Por added casually. Still nothing.

Por looked over and noticed that Teetee was now staring at the river. His ears looked slightly red. Por’s smile grew. 

“Are you by chance… shy?”

“No.”

“Yours ears though…”

“It’s cold.”

 “Sure.”

“Very cold.”

Por laughed and  that was when Teetee looked at him. He laughed too. For a while, neither of them tried to fill the silence. 

The city moved around them. Por watched light ripple across the water. “It doesn’t feel empty today.”

He had not meant to say it out loud. Teetee turned to him but Por kept looking ahead. “What doesn’t?”

“Nothing.”

“Por.”

He sighed. “My day.”

The words felt embarrassingly vulnerable. But it did not stop it from being true. “Usually when I travel for work, everything sort of blends together. Different hotels… different streets… different city…”

He looked at Teetee and smiled sweetly. “Today I didn’t.”

Something quiet entered Teetee’s expression. “Good.’

That was all he said. Good…

No claim over it, no teasing. And somehow that made Por’s chest ache more. 

Teetee looked down at his camera again. “How much longer are you here?”

Por thought for a while and replied, “Three days.”

Teetee stopped. “Only three days?”

“My flight home is after that.”

“Hm.”

Por glanced sideways. “You look offended.”

“I am.”

“At my roster?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll inform you of my scheduling.”

“Please do.”

Por laughed again. Teetee tapped his fingers against the camera thinking of something. Then…

“Give them to me.”

Por frowned at the sudden request. “What?”

“Your three days.”

Por turned fully toward him. “Excuse me?”

Teetee’s expression was completely serious. Which made the request somehow even more ridiculous. “You said you have three days left.”

“Yes.”

“Give them to me.”

“What are you going to do with them?”

“Show you Paris.”

“I’ve seen Paris.”

Teetee shook his head. “No.”

“No?”

“You’ve seen buildings.”

“That’s usually part of seeing a city.”

“You’ve seen the places people tell you you’re supposed to see.”

Por stared at him in confusion. Teetee smiled and explained, “Tomorrow, you’re going somewhere because you want to.”

“And if I want to sleep until noon?”

“I’ll schedule around it.”

Por raised an eyebrow. “Scehdule?”

“Yes.”

“I thought you hated plans.”

“I never said that.”

“You’ve spent three days taking me ‘somewhere’.”

“Excellent planning.”

“Terrible planning.”

“Yet you keep following me.”

There it was again. Por could not argue. 

Teetee held out his hand. “Three days.”

Por looked at it. Silver rings, long fingers, the same hand that had offered him a croissant outside the hotel. The same person he had thought would disappear into Paris after one annoying encounter. 

Instead, somehow, Teetee had become the first thing Por looked for whenever he stepped onto a crowded street. 

Three days…

It wasn’t much. 

Maybe that was why saying yes felt easy. There was an expiration date. No need to wonder what came afterward. No need to define whatever this was. 

Just three days. 

Por placed his hand in Teetee’s. “Fine.”

Teetee’s fingers closed around his. Warm. “Fine?”

“Three days.”

Teetee smiled, bright enough that Por immediately regretted looking directly at him. 

“They’re mine?”

“Don’t make it sound weird.”

“Too late.”

Por tried to pull his hand away. Teetee still held on for another second. Then he released him. His thumb had brushed briefly against Por’s knuckles. Probably accidental. Por decided not to think about it. 

“Tomorrow,” Teetee said. “Ten?”

“Eleven.”

“Ten-thirty.”

“Eleven.”

“Ten forty-five.”

Por began walking again. “Good night, Teetee.”

“Ten forty-five.”

“Eleven!” Por shouted. 

“I’ll be outside at ten-thirty!”

“I won’t come down!”

“You came down today!”

Por lifted one hand without turning around. Behind him, Teetee laughed. This made Por smile to himself. 

Three days ago, Paris had been another place on a roster. Another airport, another hotel, another destination he had successfully reached without knowing why he felt as though he was not really anywhere at all. 

Now… he had plans for tomorrow. 

Not because he had to or because someone told him Paris was beautiful, or because it was written on a schedule. 

Simply because there was an irritating, ridiculously attractive man with silver rings and too much jewellery waiting to show him somewhere he did not have to go. 

And for the first time in longer than Por could remember…

He was looking forward to waking up.