I
It was a regular afternoon in the bustling cafe close to the school. The owner ran between the tables to take orders, her kindness and natural cheerfulness enveloping the hearts of her customers like a warm hug.
Among them, however, one person was sitting miserably in a corner.
Tinn was lamenting the lack of company on his birthday, left alone by both his parents and his best friend. Usually he wouldn’t be bothered by it, as he knew that it couldn’t be helped, but he didn’t want to be on his own on such a special day.
He’d decided he didn’t want to go home, so when he’d stumbled upon the cafe on his way back he had chosen on a whim to spend the rest of the day there. He’d made himself comfortable in a spot where he wouldn’t be bothered and had whipped out his notebook to start writing.
At the very least, he wouldn’t get bored that way. Tinn liked writing, shaping words to form original stories that randomly generated in his mind. He was never alone, that way: his characters kept him company whenever no one else did. Words were the means by which he freed himself from the world around him, along with its expectations and disappointments.
A plate of food suddenly appeared in front of Tinn’s nose, right above his notebook. His gaze lifted to meet one of amused curiosity and a smile that could light up the entire café.
The waiter that had rudely interrupted his writing session looked to be around his age, maybe a little shorter than him, and seemed familiar in a way that he couldn’t quite pinpoint. He wasn’t bothered at all by the daggers in Tinn’s glare, nor by his attempt at refusing the plate.
“I didn’t order this,” he said, trying to shove it back into the waiter’s hands.
“I know!” was their cheeky response. “It’s on me.”
Tinn didn’t get the chance to protest as the boy grabbed the chair at the other side of the table, flipped it around, and sat on it with his arms propped on the backrest.
“I’m Gun, by the way, but I doubt you remember me.”
Tinn didn’t, in fact. The name rang a bell but he wasn’t sure where he’d heard it before. From the looks of it, however, his interlocutor didn’t seem fazed by the lack of recognition.
“I sit at the back of the class,” he explained with a chuckle.
“Anyway, what’s the class president doing here all by his lonesome?” Gun asked, eyeing the notebook with interest. “Are you writing?”
Meddlesome.
That word formed in his mind as he watched the boy noisily crane his neck to read what was now hidden by the plate. His presence was loud in the otherwise anonymous environment, like a main character appearing on the page for the first time. His innate curiosity, his overly friendly demeanor, and even his natural charm, made him the perfect model for a story.
Tinn’s shoulders relaxed as unusual intrigue took over what was left of his annoyance. His hand, still holding the pen, quivered with the need to put those thoughts onto paper.
“I was, yes,” he conceded. “It’s just a hobby though.”
A sky of glittering stars shone in Gun’s eyes, blinding, yet also welcoming at the same time.
“Really?” He prodded. “Can you tell me a story?”
A small chuckle slipped out of Tinn’s lips at that preposterous request. He was a writer, not an orator. His stories needed constant tweaking and weren’t allowed to see the light of day until he was completely satisfied. He had no experience in improvising, nor letting words flow out of his mouth for someone to hear.
“Why?” He asked, amused.
“Indulge me. I’m bored to death here.”
“Well, I could read you what I wrote.”
At Gun’s excited nod of his head, Tinn moved the plate away from his notebook. The pages were hot under his touch and slightly wet due to the steam, but the words were still legible.
He cleared his throat, trying to ignore the expectant gaze of his only audience.
“Once upon a time–”
“Come on,” Gun huffed a laugh. “Nobody starts with that anymore.”
A tinge of annoyance colored Tinn’s features for a fraction of a moment.
“I do,” he justified. “This kind of story requires it!”
Gun clicked his tongue, “Boring. Tell me another one. Something exciting!”
Overbearing.
Tinn didn’t know how he’d gotten into that situation. He had simply wanted to spend his birthday writing his book so he wouldn’t think about how lonely he was. Somehow, he’d ended up with a loudmouth waiter as his companion.
However, an invisible string was tugging at his sleeve, telling him to entertain the idea for a little while.
“What would you like to hear?” He asked, against his better judgment.
Gun straightened his back as he tapped a finger on his chin, deep in thought. Tinn could almost see the gears slowly turn in his head, taking their sweet time to generate an idea.
“How about…” he said eventually. “A superhero coming to save someone in need?”
“That’s as cliché as cliché gets,” Tinn snorted, bemused.
“It fits the atmosphere! I can be your hero, saving you from boredom.”
“What makes you think I need a hero?”
Gun smirked, “You seemed miserable a while ago, now you’re smiling. I think I did my part.”
Endearing.
Tinn didn’t realize the corners of his mouth were turned upward until his cheeks started hurting. He thought he liked being on his own, absorbed in the worlds of his making, but knowing that someone was interested in his stories made his stomach flutter. He didn’t mind the attention at all, or perhaps it was just the product of Gun’s cute enthusiasm. His mind started conjuring scenarios that fit the waiter’s prompt, until an idea formed.
“Let’s make it more interesting,” he proposed.
Gun rested his chin on his arms, curious: “How?”
“Just listen,” Tinn’s smile was like a promise of adventure, reserved only for the two of them, before he started narrating.
“In the loud streets of Bangkok, a little past midnight, a lone figure jumped across the rooftops…”
Sirens blaring in the distance called for his attention, as the radio device built into his black suit gave him constant updates on the crimes happening in the city. One such notification had the hero flying faster than a falcon, using his grappling hook to move swiftly above the ground, his silky suit resplendent under the light of the moon.
A museum came into view a short while later, its perimeter surrounded by police cars and officers pointing their guns at every possible opening, to prevent the robber from coming out. The special unit reserved for superhumans was getting ready to make its entrance, armed with ridiculous weapons that would only slow them down. The hero couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the sight, knowing that they would not find anyone inside. By the time they made it to the scene of the crime, the villain would have already escaped with his trophy.
Just as that thought crossed his mind, his eye caught the glimpse of a shadow moving stealthily on the rooftop. Under the cover of the night, the police wouldn’t be able to see it from their spot on the ground, but it couldn’t be missed by the hero’s enhanced vision. They quickly left the building with the unit none the wiser, and quietly flew away leaving no proof of their presence. With the way the pearls on their costume were shining like a small galaxy in the dark, it was a wonder that nobody noticed.
Shaking his head in exasperation, the hero shot his grappling hook in their direction and chased them until they were both out of the danger zone. The villain didn’t seem too worried about being caught, because they landed on another roof a moment later to inspect the object in their hand. A black mask and a silver hood covered their head, but the hero already knew who he was dealing with.
“Going somewhere?” he announced his presence, landing a few meters away from the thief.
The villain didn’t seem fazed by his arrival. Instead, they turned to the hero with a blinding smile and a mischievous glint in their eyes. “You kept me waiting, Night.”
“Your hints were misleading,” he accused. “They led me to the other side of Bangkok. When I realized, the police were already on your trail.”
North clicked his tongue in defiance, spinning the old golden relic in his hands as if it weren’t worth a fortune, “I’m disappointed. If my leads give you that much trouble, how can you save the city from danger?”
Though his words were mocking, Night wasn’t at all swayed by them. He wasn’t new to his powers, nor the burden that came with them. A little challenge wouldn’t deter him from being the city’s vigilante or hurt his ego, sending him home with the tail between his legs. He was confident enough in his abilities to know he would always win, in the end.
In fact, he said: “It doesn’t matter what you throw at me. I will find you every time.”
“My hero.”
Intoxicating.
It was the only way he could describe the constant push and pull between them, or the need to rile each other up to see how far they could go before breaking. Night could feel his entire body burn whenever the other’s gaze pinned him down with its intensity, yet he could never look away. He had to keep fanning the flames to feel alive, to find some fun in his otherwise stressful routine.
“I will be taking that, now,” he commanded, because he still had a duty, and he couldn’t let a robbery take place right under his nose.
A smirk adorned North’s features in response. The relic lifted from his hand, hovering between them. Yet when Night tried to snatch it away, it slipped from his grasp as if pulled by a rope. He glared at the thief — who was watching him with amusem*nt — only slightly annoyed by his antics.
“You want it?” North challenged. “Come and get it.”
Ecstatic.
Like the adrenaline rush of a midnight chase or a jump into the void, short yet unpredictable, with the howling of the wind in their ears and heart in their throats. They were like two birds moving in the night at the speed of light, one using his gravitational powers to fly ahead, the other hopping from building to building without ever giving ground.
North’s laugh and lighthearted taunts rose above the sound of the traffic, spurning Night forward as if he was lighting a fire under his feet. It was a familiar sight to those who dared look up in curiosity, yet the excitement of witnessing their hero chase down a criminal never faded.
The city itself watched in awe as they played with each other, making the moment eternal as if neither of them wanted it to end. Eventually, they started losing height and, as their feet touched the ground of a hidden alley covered in dark, Night finally managed to catch up to the thief.
A rock immediately came flying toward him, launched by an invisible force. He dodged it expertly and jumped forward to land a blow to North’s chin. For a while they sparred, fueled by an addictive energy that numbed their bodies and cushioned the hits. They would definitely feel that soreness later, after discarding their masks, but for now none of it mattered.
The darkness around them thickened as Night spread his arms to call for the shadows. It enveloped both of them like a blanket, making North stumble back as his eyes squinted to see. In a desperate attempt at retaliation, he threw whatever object he could find in random directions, hoping to hit Night. But soon he found himself with his back against a wall, caged by Night’s arms at either side of his head.
“You cheated,” North’s breath fanned Night’s mouth from that proximity. He went pliant underneath Night, eyes boring into the other’s as if conceding the win.
From that close, the hero could make out the tears in North’s costume. A spot on his shoulder was ripped open, revealing the tattoo of a waning gibbous moon, a direct contrast to the shape on Night’s back.
Secret.
Like a lingering touch or a smile shared in the shadows of the night, the stars their sole witnesses. A gloved hand pressed against his skin, right in the middle of the crescent moon that cut his suit open. Soft fingers hovered over the spot where his mole was. It sent shivers running down his spine as that simple touch charged him with electricity.
Inside the darkness, nobody would see Night lean in to graze his lips on the tattoo in the ghost of a kiss. North’s fingers dug into his back as his body shook with trepidation, the tension between them so thick it could be cut with a knife, while Night slowly trailed his lips upward.
“You’re still cheating…” North sighed, though his actions betrayed his words. He inclined his neck slightly to give the hero more access, eyes fluttering close.
Night’s nose brushed against his ear when he said: “You like it.”
“I don’t.”
“You wouldn’t keep trying to get my attention if you didn’t.”
It looked like the roles had reversed at that point. Night had him wrapped around his little finger, taking him apart with his breath alone. North’s eyes were glazed with want as he watched the hero slowly recede, gaze shifting down to his mouth for a brief moment. He didn’t deny Night’s statement, perhaps too distracted to put up a fight he knew he would lose.
“Imagine how powerful we could be if you joined me,” he said instead.
Forbidden.
Because they were polar opposites stuck in a never-ending battle.
Night finally snatched the relic that was still floating near North’s head. The darkness around them slowly dissipated as he put some distance between them, and just like that, the spell broke.
“I win,” the hero announced, spinning his trophy in his palm. It felt heavy in his hand, just as the weight of the feelings that lingered untouched between them.
In truth, North could have gotten it back with a simple flicker of his wrist, but they both knew he wouldn’t. He’d gotten what he was truly looking for already — a fight on equal ground — though he would certainly lose a big sum of money by letting the relic go. It was how things were supposed to be, after all.
North huffed as his feet lifted from the ground, “One day, I’ll have it my way.”
“Keep trying,” Night provoked as he shot his grappling hook in the opposite direction. “You might be able to steal something eventually.”
It was a promise to meet again under the same sky. The city would witness their dance for years to come, welcoming the sight like an old friend, and keep their secret encased in a dome made of glass until, one day, one thief would be able to break in and snatch it away.
II
Words still shaped Tinn’s life three years after their first encounter, but circ*mstances had changed. While they didn’t become friends immediately, they had spent the whole afternoon together, talking about the characters long after Tinn had finished narrating. Later, the writer had become agonizingly aware of the other’s presence, so much so that he kept seeing him everywhere. At school, at the park, at the mall.
Gun had made him feel so welcome, so important, that he couldn’t help falling head over heels for him.
It had taken a while for them to start talking properly. The other boy, as Tinn had soon found out, was a musician. He played in the school’s music club with his band, but they were so unruly that nobody believed they were actually talented. Still, it sparked Tinn’s imagination enough to write stories about it: he filled a whole notebook with short tales of a little mouse that went on fun adventures around the world, saving other small animals with the power of his voice. Eventually, a brave lion joined the baby chinchilla, just as Tinn started dating Gun.
“You should publish these,” Gun said one day.
Maddening.
They were hanging out in Tinn’s room, a couple of days after their graduation. They were only supposed to have dinner together so Gun could get to know his family but, since it was pouring outside, Tinn had insisted for him to stay the night. He didn’t know how they’d ended up with the singer’s nose buried in the writer’s precious notebook, eyes sparkling with the childlike innocence Tinn so loved.
Truth be told, he had imagined a different scenario for this particular occasion. In his mind, they would be cuddling under the blankets, breaths mingling together as Tinn peppered Gun’s face with tiny pecs. And maybe they would also share the passionate kiss both of them had fantasized about for months. However, he couldn’t certainly complain when Gun looked so incredibly cute and it was a sight reserved for him only.
“Gun,” he called, almost whining, as he draped an arm around the other’s waist to get his attention. “Can you stop reading?”
Gun didn’t seem to sense the urgency in his voice because he eagerly flipped the page of the notebook without even looking up, “Seriously, if I was still a kid I would love this.”
“One would think you are,” Tinn teased. “With how much you’re smiling right now.”
He pouted when even that remark didn’t earn him a glare or a slap on his arm. Gun was so absorbed in the story of the chinchilla helping turtles escape from an evil shark, that he had completely forgotten about his boyfriend’s presence and needs. He almost gave up and went to sleep, when a new idea crossed his mind.
Playful.
Looking up at Gun with a smirk, he leaned in and bit his shoulder.
“Oi, Tinn?!”
It worked, as the singer dropped the notebook in favor of pushing his attacker away.
“That hurt! What are you, a vampire?”
“Like I said,” a sheepish expression now colored Tinn’s features. “Sharks like to bite.”
A hand lifted to move his face away, but it was enough of a distraction for the writer to fling the notebook to the other side of the room so Gun couldn’t reach it anymore. He then straddled Gun’s thighs to keep him from moving, looking down on him with a victorious grin.
“Reading is boring,” he said.
“Not as much as studying.”
“We could study each other instead?”
He chuckled as Gun theatrically rolled his eyes and finally, finally, wrapped his arms around Tinn’s neck to pull him closer.
“You’re shameless,” he commented, his gaze dropping to Tinn’s lips. “Are you sure you won’t chicken out again?”
Their noses touched, their breaths blended together. One push and they would be kissing for the first time, in Tinn’s bedroom, on Tinn’s sheets, with Gun wearing Tinn’s clothes. He had entertained this exact scenario only in his wildest dreams, and even then he never thought it would come true one day. His heart was beating like crazy in his ribcage as his hands tightened over Gun’s waist.
“Tinn,” Gun beckoned in a whisper, eyes fluttering close. His fingers slipped through Tinn’s hair, slowly massaging his scalp, and the writer had to resort to all of his willpower to not arch his back in response. But just as he was about to close the gap between them, Gun turned his head away.
Aching.
A low whine escaped from Tinn’s lips. He chased after the other’s mouth but Gun covered it with a hand to stop him. His body shook with laughter underneath Tinn, eyes sparkling with mirth.
“I’ll kiss you as much as you want, if…” Gun proposed, ignoring the glare being sent his way. “You tell me a story.”
Tinn huffed in indignation: “Haven’t you read enough stories for one day?”
“It’s different when you come up with them on the spot.”
“You just want an excuse to fall asleep on me,” the writer faked disdain as he rolled onto the side and gave his back to his boyfriend.
Soft giggles filled the room, turning into full-blown wheezes when Tinn adamantly shook Gun’s arm away. Suddenly, a blow of warm air hit his neck, just before soft lips closed around his earlobe and pulled, ever so languidly, in a way that made Tinn’s whole body shudder.
He turned his head slightly to narrow his eyes at the singer, who feigned innocence by blinking rapidly at him. His reddened cheeks and ears betrayed his apparent boldness, though he wasn’t as quick to drop his façade as Tinn would have wanted him to.
“Can you take this as insurance?” He cheekily prodded. “I’ll give you full payment later.”
That proposal was certainly interesting and the mere thought made Tinn’s skin pleasantly tingle. It wasn’t as if he could ever put up a serious fight with Gun, anyway. He always ended up caving in whenever his boyfriend gave him puppy eyes.
He propped himself up on his elbow so he could look down on Gun. In actuality, he already had the perfect story in mind, he simply needed a few seconds to organize his thoughts.
His boyfriend waited patiently, tucking his hand underneath his ear, until Tinn eventually started narrating:
“There once was a boy–”
“Close enough,” Gun rolled his eyes. “Welcome back ‘once upon a time’.”
“Don’t interrupt me if you want your story.”
Tinn sent him a half-assed glare, clearing his throat.
“There once was a boy, sitting alone on a shore.”
A blank canvas was laid out before him, waiting to be filled with color, yet the brush hovered a few centimeters close from taking a stroke. The painter had already drawn the landscape before him plenty of times, be it under the scorching sun or the gentle light of the moon, at sunset or at sunrise. There was nothing left for him to immortalize, but he didn’t want to move to another spot to find new inspiration.
That particular part of the shore was always empty, reserved only for a few casual passer-byes that happened to come across it, and the seagulls that occasionally came to pick at the painter’s food. Quiet was what Heart needed the most, when he chose to leave the house with his paints in hand.
He had picked up painting when he was a little boy. Initially, his parents had indulged him in this hobby, but when it became clear that this passion wasn’t fading any time soon, they started criticizing his choices. They wanted him to pursue a career that would give him a comfortable enough life in the future, so as to not leech off of their money.
That’s why he had established his hideout, taken all of his paintings, and spent most of his time away from their judgemental gaze. He knew that they suspected something, but they hadn’t said anything in a while. So long as he kept his grades up and showed his willingness to attend a good university, they would stay out of his hair.
However, the lack of stimuli didn’t exactly bode well for Heart’s artistic vein. He hadn’t drawn anything in a while, bored by the monotone routine he seemed to have established. He needed a change in pace, a spark to a dying fire, a wind that would rock his boat so hard it would flip upside-down.
Perhaps his distress was so evident that even fate must have pitied him. Just as the hand holding the brush dropped to his side, a lone figure entered his line of sight. It looked to be a boy his age, his back hunched and head hidden by a red hoodie, stomping his way forward until he finally plopped down onto the sand. He picked up a small branch and started stabbing the ground as if frustrated with the earth itself.
Heart stood very still, afraid that if he were to move the newcomer would notice his presence. He watched with bated breath as the water slithered upward to kiss the boy’s shoes, like it was sensing his pain and trying to wash it away.
Mesmerizing.
Heart only noticed his hand moving when the brush hit the canvas again. The sight before him wasn’t anything particularly life-changing: it wasn’t the poetic spark he had asked for. But that simple variable had seemed to give the environment the change he needed, like a star exploding in the dark and dull sky.
He worked tirelessly on the painting long after the boy had left the beach, satisfied by the web of colors that filled the canvas. And when he returned home that evening, he dreamt of white wings floating above the water.
He had expected it to be a one-time wonder but, the following weekend, the same person returned along with his sadness and barely concealed ire. And so he did again and again, until Heart couldn't help but look forward to meeting him there.
The boy never seemed to notice his presence, hence they never spoke. The painter was content in observing quietly and transforming the feelings emanating from him into colors. Soon, it turned into an unspoken routine and something Heart couldn’t do without.
It was on one such day that the tides turned again. The artist was getting increasingly restless, his eyes scanning the environment like an eagle looking for its prey, as he waited for the subject of his paintings to grace him with his presence. Endless hours passed by while Heart attempted to draw from memory, but the beach remained as devoid of life as it once was, and when the sun finally started to make its descent he was ready to give up.
Disappointment filled his stomach like a morsel trying to choke him. He hadn’t realized how happy that silent companionship had made him until he was left alone again. What if the boy never came back? What if he’d wasted the chance the universe had given him?
He sighed as he painted dark clouds looming over the angry sea.
“So that’s what you’re always doing,” a sudden voice coming from behind him almost made Heart jump out of his skin. The brush fell from his hand and landed on the ground, the sand immediately rendering its wet bristles useless.
He turned around to find the boy standing just a few meters away, with his hands in the pockets of his jeans, and slightly bent forward to look at the art. He whistled as his eyes lit up with interest and one of his arms lifted to point at the canvas.
“Is that supposed to be me?” He asked, eyeing the ghost-like figure sitting alone on the shore.
Heart felt the sudden urge to cover the painting with a cloth and run for his life, uncaring that the paint had yet to dry.
“Uh… I… well–” his thoughts as well as his words were an incoherent mess. He was beyond mortified at having been caught red-handed by the one person he’d been painting for months.
A low chuckle slipped from the other’s lips, “Relax. I’m not going to sue you for making me the subject of your art. It’s pretty.”
“Really?” Heart found himself whispering in wonder. Nobody had ever complimented his work before, it filled his chest with pleasant warmth.
The boy nodded vigorously. From up close, he looked like an entirely different person from the one depicted in Heart’s paintings. Beyond his sharp edges and intimidating aura was a sweet smile that could melt even the coldest of ice.
“I’m Li Ming,” he said, offering his hand, which Heart took with a bit of hesitance.
“H-Heart.”
Comforting.
He’d expected the boy to go back to his spot and end the conversation there, but to his surprise, he made himself comfortable next to Heart’s stool.
“This place is beautiful, isn’t it?” He kept talking as if his mere presence wasn’t making the painter’s insides flutter. “I just moved to Pattaya from Bangkok. I come here to clear my head because it’s pretty isolated from the rest of the promenade. Do you mind? I always see you sitting on your own.”
“You saw me?” Heart asked in a small voice, dumbfounded.
“I was trying to pick up the courage to talk to you.”
Silence stretched between them as the painter let Li Ming’s words settle in his mind. He didn’t mean to be cold but he was unsure how to tackle this new situation, as he wasn’t used to being around people much. He was popular at school because he was the son of a police officer and was academically adept, but he liked peace more than he did company.
He picked up his ruined brush as he racked his brain to find a topic of conversation. He was afraid that, soon, Li Ming would get bored and leave for good.
However, the other boy seemed content in just sitting by his side without saying a word. And when eventually the sky had turned too dark for Heart to see the canvas anymore, Li Ming spoke again: “Can I have this painting?”
Heart blinked at him, bewildered: “This? But it’s not finished.”
“I don’t care,” the boy shrugged. “I think it fits us, don’t you think? The paint represents what you already know of me, but the blank spots are a story that’s yet to be drawn. I’m looking forward to meeting you again.”
Heart was half expecting him to be bluffing so he could steal his art and resell it, but sure enough, the next time he went to the beach Li Ming was already waiting for him. The boy waved at him from the stool reserved for the artist, the strain on his face visible even from that distance.
Even so, whatever thoughts had his mind swirling in chaos, they seemed to quiet down the more he talked to Heart or simply watched him work. Sometimes he would point out a detail and express his wonder, others he would fall asleep on the sand until Heart was done. Without any of them noticing they fell into step with each other, spending every weekend together.
Soon, the painter managed to open up about his life and the reason for his escapades, so Li Ming started planning little excursions to various other viewpoints.
Heart didn’t know how he always managed to find new spots that would ignite his passion, but he was incredibly grateful for it. It was fun to run around the city with someone his age, who was willing to listen to his incessant rambling and stood by his side like a pillar of support. The more Li Ming painted his life with color, the harder Heart fell for him.
That is, until the disease drew them apart.
Hopeless.
When he lost his ability to hear, despair chained him down to his bed for months on end. His parents withdrew him from school in favor of hiring private teachers, and never let him go out on his own anymore. Shame was so visible in their eyes that it affected Heart’s own confidence, to the point where he refused to be in their presence for days.
He never went to the beach again. He thrashed his room, broke his brushes, tarnished his paintings, and watched helplessly as the world around him turned monochrome, feeling more alone than ever.
Sometimes his mind would produce the image of a boy enveloped in a blinding halo, his beautiful white wings open in welcome just like in his very first painting. He wondered where he was, or if he was still waiting. They never exchanged contacts because they never felt the need to, as they always met at the same place at the usual time. And perhaps that was for the best.
Heart felt so ashamed that he didn’t think he would be able to face Li Ming again.
Three years passed just like that, and life started to get better again eventually. Heart’s parents were still the only people he spoke to, as he barely left the house, and even then they never made an attempt to learn sign language for a proper conversation. As he settled into his new life, little by little, Heart started yearning for the outside world more than he ever did before. He picked up the ruined canvases and wished he could reverse time.
On a day when that feeling became unbearable, he waited for his parents to leave the house and then slipped out with a sketchbook in hand. His feet subconsciously brought him to that old place before his mind could catch up with them. It was almost too much to handle.
The shore hadn’t changed at all, yet everything was different. Heart couldn’t hear the sound of the waves anymore, nor the call of the seagulls flying above his head. Even though it had always been deserted, it felt emptier than ever.
The old stool sagged a little under his weight as he sat on it. He let his eyes wander around, taking in the familiar yet so foreign sight of the place he used to find comfort in, but that now only gave him a sense of dread.
Heart wasn’t surprised to not find Li Ming there. Why would he? The boy had probably felt betrayed when he never showed up again, and eventually found new friends to spend his time with. He couldn’t expect him to still be waiting after three long years.
Sighing, Heart opened his sketchbook: it was hard to find a page that was still intact enough to draw on it. He still remembered the cuts on his fingers when he tore it all to shreds, and it was by miracle that he hadn’t decided to burn it entirely. Even so, when he brought the pencil close to the paper, his hand stopped. A sense of deja vu invaded him.
With his mind in such turmoil, it shouldn’t be that difficult to reverse his feelings onto his art, but he didn’t know how anymore. Or maybe he just didn’t know where to start.
An hour must have passed since he arrived already, and he knew he should go back before his parents could find out he was gone, but he couldn't bring himself to. Perhaps he was still desperately waiting for a sign, a sort of reassurance, that this trip hadn’t been in vain.
Just as he was about to give up, a hand closing around his shoulder made him jump in his seat and fall to the ground, the pencil slipping from his fingers. He looked up to find a familiar face, like a vision from the past.
Heart couldn’t make out any of the words that were coming out of Li Ming’s mouth, and he was too busy worrying about the anger in his usually warm eyes to focus on his lips. His eyebrows were creased, his teeth bared in a snarl. Even though he couldn’t hear it, he knew Li Ming was yelling at him.
Heart felt tears swelling in his eyes as he brought up a shaky hand to point at his own ear and shook his head. It made his old friend pause in his tracks and blink in confusion. With a sigh, he stood and picked up his pencil again, jotting down a few words on his sketchbook.
I’m deaf.
Secure.
He felt himself getting pulled forward as a pair of warm arms closed around him. His throat constricted as he tried to push back the tears, but as soon as his head hit Li Ming’s shoulder, he couldn’t contain it anymore. He burst into sobs he couldn’t hear, clinging to his old friend’s shirt like a lifeline.
It had been so long since he’d been this close to someone. Whenever he wept, it was within the confines of his room where nobody could hear, and he never let his parents see that side of him because he knew that they were already disappointed. It felt liberating.
When eventually his chest stopped heaving and his tears stopped, a soft pat on his back prompted him to lift his head. Gone was the storm in Li Ming’s eyes, instead replaced by a profound sadness that had Heart’s knees almost buckle under him.
He’d never wanted to hurt him.
“It’s okay,” Li Ming mouthed. He reached out to ruffle the artist’s hair and leaned in to place a kiss on the corner of his mouth. It set each and every one of Heart’s limbs on fire.
He sent Li Ming a quizzical look, perhaps holding more hope than he should, and was met with the brightest smile the world had ever witnessed.
The boy grabbed the discarded sketchbook, as well as the pencil, and wrote down a few words. As he craned out his neck to read, Heart’s chest exploded with feelings he thought he’d suppressed for good. They all resurfaced one by one, taking his breath away, as the world around him finally regained a bit of its color.
He knew he would have to explain his sudden disappearance, and that they would have to figure out how to proceed together. But Li Ming had never given up on them despite it being the best option, so Heart could only take his hand and promise to never let go again.
No matter what happens, I will always be by your side.
III
Tinn was second-guessing himself.
He had planned everything to the minute detail, gone over the steps at least a hundred times, but no matter how prepared he thought he was, his hands still shook and his heart still hammered in his chest.
As he looked at the table laden with all of the food he’d cooked and the candles illuminating the room with their dim light, he couldn't help but think that maybe it wasn’t the right time. Maybe he was running too fast. It had only been five years since he and Gun started dating; Tinn was still in med school, while the singer was busy with his growing career.
The writer had never been so sure of anything in his life, and yet, doubt still slithered into his mind like a disgusting worm. Because what if Gun didn’t feel the same way? What if he put unnecessary expectations on their relationship? What if he ruined it forever?
Hesitant.
He rubbed his hands on his jeans to clean the sweat, his fingers bumping into the lump in his pocket. He still had some time to rethink everything, turn on the lights and pretend it was a normal dinner. But he knew that if he chickened out he would never find the courage to ask again.
Before he could make that decision, the sound of the lock turning made him jolt in his spot like a surprised kitten. He almost knocked the glasses on the ground in his haste to pour some wine, and by the time he looked up again he was met with arched eyebrows and a mouth parted in suspicion.
“What’s going on here?” were Gun’s tentative words. He was standing under the doorframe, his guitar hanging from his shoulder.
Clearing his throat, Tinn got closer to him and handed him a glass, “It’s our anniversary.”
“As if I could forget,” Gun narrowed his eyes, leaning in to sniff the writer’s shirt. “Weird.”
His gaze landed on the eyeliner Tinn had spent two hours putting on and still managed to smear, “Definitely weird. It’s our fifth anniversary but you’ve never cleaned up like this, or made me food.”
Tinn opened his mouth to reply but only a high-pitched laugh made it out of his lips. It was safe to say he wasn’t handling the situation as well as he should, and probably making his boyfriend even more suspicious, but he was counting on Gun being too oblivious to figure it out. He pushed him toward the table.
“You must be hungry,” he somehow managed to say, barely concealing the tremor in his voice. He took the guitar and moved the chair to invite Gun to sit.
“Is this edible?” The singer asked, eyeing the plates suspiciously. “Are you trying to poison me?”
Tinn huffed: “Come on, I can cook.”
“Last time you almost set our kitchen on fire.”
“I did not…” he mumbled under his breath.
“Or that time you tried making pancakes for me and the flour somehow ended up on the floor instead of in the bowl.”
“I was trying to open the package and it just exploded…”
“Oh!” Gun’s eyes lit up as another memory came forth. “Also that day you–”
Tinn picked up a piece of meat and shoved it into his mouth to stop him from talking.
He pouted, pretending to be offended, “Just shut up and eat.”
Nerve-racking.
As they enjoyed their meal, they reminisced about the five years spent together. Breathy laughter filled the room as they exchanged memories and clinked their glasses together to celebrate. Though Tinn was still dreading what was to come, the easy atmosphere somehow helped calm his nerves, to the point where he almost forgot the whole purpose of the evening.
Seeing Gun so happy, the stars in his eyes sparkling just as bright as the day they met, cemented Tinn’s feelings for him. He couldn’t imagine a life without him.
“Actually,” the singer said at one point, standing from his seat to get his guitar. “I also prepared something.”
He sat again with the instrument propped on his leg and started strumming a few chords to assess it. Then he looked up at Tinn with a smile, before his sweet voice enveloped the room like a warm blanket.
Gun had written many songs for him, but this one felt different. The singer had grown since his high-school days — become more confident in his abilities — and it showed in his words as well as his music. Tinn felt pride swell in his chest, his resolution strengthening with each passing verse, each passing declaration of devotion etched in the lyrics.
He was so gone not even the mightiest god could bring him back anymore. It was now or never.
“Gun,” he called as the last note stopped reverberating in the room.
“Mh?”
“I have a story for you,” a trembling hand reached into the pocket of his jeans. “Will you listen?”
Gun’s eyes lit up with excitement, as they always did whenever Tinn was about to launch into one of his narrations. He discarded his guitar in favor of giving his boyfriend his full attention, elbows propped on the table.
Tinn couldn't contain his smile, “But you have to promise me not to interrupt.”
The singer nodded vigorously, pressing his lips into a thin line while his hand zipped it close.
Taking in a deep breath, Tinn began his tale:
“On a quiet afternoon in the middle of summer, the Earth held its breath.”
The sun lit the way for a couple of trekkers climbing up a mountain, its rays reaching out for them in a form of comfort. At their lead, Kongthap counted the seconds to his impending doom.
“Are we sure this is the right path?” asked the man trailing behind him, the strain on his voice audible even through his natural chirpiness. “I feel like it’s taking us ages to get there.”
“There’s only one way up, Atom,” Kongthap reassured. “And we’ve only been walking for thirty minutes.”
“That so?”
His boyfriend was dragging his feet as if he’d just run a marathon, clicking his tongue to keep his mouth from drying. Truth be told, even Kongthap was starting to regret his decision. He had been an athlete in his youth, and still kept himself in shape by going to the gym, but that climb was beginning to wear him down too.
He’d chosen this particular mountain because his mother had said the view from the top was magical, perfect for what Kongthap had in store. In hindsight, maybe a simple hill would have worked too.
Inevitable.
There was no point in dwelling on the what-ifs at that point. They had already made it halfway, and Kongthap had no intention of giving up now that he was so close to his goal.
Even so, seeing how much Atom was struggling, he paused in his steps. He reached out to steady the other by grabbing his shoulder and rubbing his back.
“We can take a little break if you want,” he offered, holding out a bottle of water.
Atom shook his head, “We’re gonna miss the sunset.”
“We have plenty of time, still.”
“I know,” a soft smile curved his lips as he brushed the sweat off his forehead. “But I’m way too excited to stop now.”
Grabbing Kongthap’s hand, he dragged him forward without further ado. Fondness pulled at his heartstrings, taking his breath away, as he took in the sight before him: the light of the sun cascaded onto Atom’s features, creating a golden aura around him.
His boyfriend had never liked connecting with nature, nor excessive exercise, but he hadn’t even hesitated when Kongthap had told him his plans. It went to show just how much Atom cared about his interests and wanted to be part of them, just as Kongthap did.
In the ten years they’d been dating, they had changed each other in ways none of them could have predicted. They had shaped each other’s pasts, presents, and hopefully their futures too. Atom was such an intrinsic part of him that he couldn’t imagine a timeline, a world, where they weren’t together.
Breathtaking.
The view opened before them as they finally reached the top. They took a few minutes to regain their breaths, sitting on the scorching rocks side by side, sweat trickling down their spines.
By the time they had plenty of water in their system again, the sun had already begun to set. They watched in awe as the sky tinted with the brightest orange, as if the world was wearing the most prestigious of crowns.
Kongthap’s gaze lowered onto their hands as he intertwined their fingers together. He could feel himself shaking from nervousness, and maybe Atom could sense it from that simple touch too, because he turned to look at him in worry.
“Are you okay?” The gentle squeeze on his hand resembled the hard grip around his heart.
Kongthap nodded, breathless, as he tried to force the words out of his mouth. He only had limited time, after all.
“Atom,” he couldn't even recognize his voice when he spoke.
“What is it?”
The way Atom patiently spurned him on, waiting for him to find his words, made his chest burst with affection.
“Atom,” he tried again. “I need to tell you something.”
Irrefutable.
Taking in a breath, Kongthap pulled them both up to their feet. Atom was visibly getting restless now, perhaps fearing the worst. Kongthap took both of his hands and squeezed them in reassurance.
“We’ve known each other for quite a while–”
“Don’t you dare.”
His eyebrows furrowed, “Just listen to me.”
“I know what you’re about to do, don’t you dare make me cry,” he said that, but Atom’s eyes were already filling up with tears.
A low chuckle made it out of Kongthap’s lips as he reached out to caress his boyfriend's cheek.
“We’ve known each other for quite a while,” he repeated, emphasizing the words. “And there hasn’t been a day when I haven’t wanted to wake up by your side. You made me realize how precious feelings can be, and how much they can hurt, even though that pain can be both good and bad.
“I didn’t know what it meant to like someone before I met you. I didn’t even think it was possible for me to fall so hard in such a short time either. And yet, when I think back, it feels as if my heart was waiting for you.”
A grunt and a sniffle followed those words. Atom had bent his head backward to stop the tears from falling, eyes glistening under the dimming light.
“I don’t think our relationship is without flaws,” Kongthap continued. “In a way, we are opposites who complete each other and are bound to clash sometimes. But that makes it fun, doesn’t it? I don’t mind building a castle with you, brick by brick, if it means it will never crumble.”
“I literally climbed a mountain for you, Thap,” Atom commented, huffing a laugh. “You think I would ever consider letting you go? Having you by my side is a miracle for me.”
“I don’t believe in miracles, but I believe in us. I will never get tired of you.”
“You–”
“Atom,” Kongthap interrupted, because he needed to get it off his chest before it was too late. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you, if you’ll let me. So…”
He took a few steps back, grabbing the little box that had been resting in his pocket the whole time. He dropped to one knee, opening the lid to reveal a ring. The diamonds encased within seemed to shine like little stars under the last rays of the sun, matching the ones dancing in Atom’s eyes.
The answer was already written in them.
“Will you marry me?”
IV
“Dad, can you tell me a story?”
Tinn sat on the small bed as he tucked the blanket over his daughter’s shoulders. He smiled down at her, humming in assent.
“I wanna hear about pirates!” she exclaimed, her excitement resembling that of her father in his youth. She put a small hand over her right eye and, with the other, bent her index finger to form a little hook.
She wanted to appear menacing, but to Tinn she only looked cute.
“Do you want to be the captain of our ship?”
“Can I?!”
“Of course you can! You see, once upon a time…”
“Here we go again.”
Gun was standing at the entrance, back resting against the doorframe. He’d been watching the exchange with fondness, silently observing his husband and daughter bond like he and Tinn once used to do. However, he couldn’t hold back a laugh when he heard the familiar words.
“This story isn’t for you,” Tinn protested. “It’s for Gamon.”
“She’s gonna grow up and think it’s a cool way to start.”
“Because it is!”
No matter how many years passed, or how many stories Tinn told, they were never going to agree on that matter. Perhaps it was because those words implied an end, and Gun hated endings with a passion.
Gamon, however, didn’t seem bothered at all. She didn’t get their banter and impatiently tugged at her dad’s sleeve so he would begin narrating. As usual, she fell asleep not even ten minutes later, lulled by Tinn’s expert storytelling.
“Endless.”
They were lying on their own bed, Gun’s arm around Tinn’s torso, when those words were whispered right in his ear. He whipped his head around to face his husband, eyebrows raised in surprise.
“I noticed you always separate your stories with words. I didn’t get it the first time, but it became clear after a while,” Gun explained, adoration visible in his every feature. “If love was a word, that’s what it would be to me.”
Tinn didn’t think it possible to be so smitten, so head over heels for someone. It never ceased to amaze him just how many emotions Gun could make him feel.
He leaned forward to kiss him, knowing that not a single word could convey the matters of his heart better than that.
“I love you,” he said.
“I love you too.”
And maybe love didn’t need to be a word, maybe it just needed to be them.
