Chapter Text
***
Breathing in the fragrant night air, rich with the scent of plants and city dust, Boun brooded. He was too prone to melancholy lately, and he didn't like it. No games, no new tasks, no old acquaintances, not even a little trouble at the bar could distract him from his longing. Like many years ago, he was restless, but he did not know exactly what he wanted.
Tired of playing games, tired of being locked up, he went out to get some air. At this late hour, passers-by were rare, so Boun's attention was involuntarily drawn to the young man walking towards him. The young man was slim and fit, with astonishingly beautiful eyes, a chiseled face and a light gait. Deep in thought, the young man was looking down at the plastic glass of red liquid in his hand and walked past Boun without noticing him. Boun involuntarily turned to follow him. The thought of an elegant yacht cutting through the waves in the light of the rising sun came to mind. The comparison surprised him - he did not consider himself poetic or romantic.
He remembered seeing this young man a few days ago on the porch of his apartment building - the youth feeding the local stray cat, Thomas, squeezing food out of the package bit by bit. Independent and self-sufficient, the striped feline with one eye blue and the other yellow was purring and devouring a treat.
Boun almost missed the moment the young man stepped to the edge of the road. He was so deep in thought, looking at the glass in his hand, that he didn't seem to notice where he was going. When he heard the roar of a motorbike - the local rascals were out racing at night again - Boun ran up to him, picked him up and, without thinking, jumped to the other side of the road.
On the way home Prem was looking at the glass of fake blood in his hands and thought - what could be wrong? Why had the actors suddenly started complaining that it irritates their skin? He turned the glass from side to side. The tomato-juice-like liquid swayed lazily. The make-up artist swore that everything was prepared as usual, but Prem wanted to check for himself. Besides, he wanted to make the blood redder and thinner anyway.
He was so lost in thought that he didn't even notice where he was going.
The road was well lit and there were no passers-by at this late hour. He had had to take his car to repairs yesterday, and tonight he asked the studio driver to drop him off at the bus stop so that he could to walk, think and get used to the new area. In the month he had lived here, he had had little opportunity to explore the area. The place was nice, quiet and peaceful. Although it was further from work than his previous flat, it was more convenient. The flats were not too high-tech, but modern and well kept, and the rent was reasonable. Prem felt lucky to have moved here, although he had yet to make any friends and sometimes felt lonely. But work and study didn't leave much time for anything else. Even now, after a brief thought about how he had ended up in this new area and why he was walking home so late, he thought about the task at hand.
What to add to this concoction to make it usable?
A motorcycle roared past, almost hitting him. Just before the collision, he felt as if something had picked him up and moved.
"Be careful!"
Prem looked up in amazement - some guy was holding him. Tall, young, handsome.
"Erm... Thanks? I was too deep in thought." Prem smiled awkwardly, not even having time to realize what had happened. He looked back - how had he managed to cross the road? No wonder he almost got hit. He freed himself from the stranger's hands and stepped back.
"So it seems. You almost got hit." The stranger's tone was disapproving. "Why don't you drive?" He asked sternly.
Prem was taken aback by this strange reprimand.
"My car is being repaired."
"Oh." The stranger's demeanor softened a little. Just a little. "Look where you're going!" He stopped abruptly, sniffed - the liquid Prem was holding suddenly got his attention. He took the glass, removed the lid and tasted the contents.
"It's fake..." Prem tried to stop him, but he couldn't.
"Cranberry juice?" The stranger handed the glass back. "Really, you shouldn't get hit by a car over a glass of juice."
"Actually, it's not juice. It's not even edible. It's fake blood, from the film set." Surprised at the stranger's audacity, Prem sniffed the contents of the glass, just to make sure it was what it was supposed to be. Maybe the coloring smells like cranberry?
"Er... It must be a post-covid effect." The stranger frowned in embarrassment. "Okay, I'll go. And you, be careful and look where you are going." With this last rebuke, Boun walked away quickly. His palms were tingling from the warmth of the body that had been pressed against him a minute ago, and the feeling of another man's heart beating against his own banished his melancholy.
"Yes... Thanks again!" Prem said to his back.
He looked back to where he had been a minute ago, where he was now, then looked around to catch another glimpse of the stranger - but there was no trace of him. Prem sniffed at the contents of the glass again. Glancing carefully around the street for CCTV, he took out his mobile phone and dialed a number.
"Ton? Hi. Listen, can you tell me again how to do that thing with the CCTV? Yeah, of course I still have your flash drive."
A few hours later, at home, he was looking at the black and white video from the CCTV. He saw himself standing at the edge of the road, and how literally seconds later he was on the other side.
A jar of fake blood stood reproachfully nearby.
"I'll get to you in a minute." Prem promised.
He was thinking about that on the way home when... His gaze returned to the laptop screen.
Only now did he realize what had happened.
***
A few days later, as he was walking up to the foyer of his apartment building, tired and laden with a lot of belongings, Prem tripped on the steps and almost fell - but someone caught him.
"Be careful!" It turned out to be the same man who had saved him from being hit by a car.
"You again!" Prem was more surprised than grateful. "I just tripped! But thanks anyway! I didn't notice you here. Are you a ninja or something?"
"You're welcome."
In the light of day - or rather the evening sun - the guy was even more handsome. This time he wore glasses and looked like a model. Tall, elegant... and helpful.
"Do you live here too?" Prem nodded towards the apartment complex.
"Yes. No juice today?" The stranger, who turned out to be a neighbor, looked at Prem and what he was holding. It was a lot of things - a bag, a rucksack, a tube and a thick folder with papers.
"No juice. But there is something." Prem took a plastic container out of his bag, opened it and offered it to a stranger. It was full of dark red cubes, like jelly. "Want to try some? My name is Prem, by the way."
"I'm Boun." The new acquaintance picked up a cube with a piece of toothpick, sniffed it, bit into it tentatively and winced. "Tastes like paint. Are you sure it's edible?"
"Ah... probably your post-covid again." Prem nodded in understanding. "This is a berry jelly. It's delicious. A colleague treated me."
"Yes. Maybe," Boun agreed a little awkwardly. "Well, it was nice to meet you. Bye."
He really did look like a model, or an actor from the seventies, Prem thought looking at his retreating back. He moved with such effortless grace and aplomb, and his clothes were neat, simple, elegant. Strange guy. A bit grumpy, but caring in his own way.
He sniffed the contents of the jar, just in case. The jelly smelled nice, like berries.
Boun walked away, thinking that his neighbor had a wonderful voice - soft and velvety, like a spring breeze that cools the face and warms the heart. But why does he always carry so many things?
He cursed. What nonsense is going through his head?
***
Looking for a moto-taxi at the gates of the university, Prem noticed a familiar figure out of the corner of his eye. The walk seemed familiar... He thought for a moment - who among his acquaintances walks with such aplomb, like a model on the catwalk? And immediately, the comparison provided the answer. Prem smiled. Recognizing neighbours because they look like supermodels is something new.
"Hello!" He waved to Boun.
Irresistible, like a Korean actor, Boun waved back. "Hello to you too. Are you going home? Need a lift?" He stopped at the car.
"Um... Do we really live in the same house?" Prem was a little suspicious.
"Yes. I've seen you there a couple of times. You moved in two months ago."
"That's right. But I didn't notice you. Probably because I'm usually either running to work or coming back from it dead tired."
"So, are you going?" The unexpected neighbor asked. "I'm not a psycho, by the way. I live in eight hundred and thirteen, just so you know. Call your friends if you want and tell them where you are and who you are with. Or you can drive. Just drive carefully. Is your car still being repaired?"
"No. There was a terrible traffic jam in the center and I was in a hurry. I left the car at work and took a moto-taxi to get here. I'll pick it up tomorrow. So it'd be great if you gave me a lift.” Prem quickly got into the car and settled comfortably in the passenger seat. "How lucky I am to have met you! I didn't know you were here either."
"I had a meeting nearby."
At the red light, Boun took an opaque bottle from the glove compartment and gulped down its contents.
"Are you feeling well? You're too pale and quiet." Prem was worried. Boun looked really tired.
"I'm always like this."
"Seriously."
"Seriously."
Boun squinted painfully and rubbed his hands.
"Headache?" Prem asked.
"Sort of. Allergy to the sun."
"Put on my glasses, they are bigger and darker." Prem took off Boun's glasses and gave him his own. "And put on a mask." He took a mask from his rucksack and handed it to Boun who obediently put it on. "Let me spray some sunscreen on your hands," he took some sunscreen out of the same rucksack and explained. "It's good to have actor friends. They always have a bunch of samples of all sorts of creams to hand out to all their mates. Is that better?" He looked at Boun worriedly.
Feeling slightly better, Boun nodded.
"Let's wait somewhere in the shade." Prem suggested.
"We're almost home." Boun argued.
In the underground parking Prem got out first and helped Boun out. "How are you?"
"Can you help me to my room? I'm dizzy." Boun said. "I'm sorry to bother you. And I'm sorry if I scared you."
"It's nothing." Prem reassured him. "But maybe you should see a doctor?"
"I just need to rest, to sleep it off."
His apartment, on the top floor, was spacious and cool. Arriving home, Boun immediately went into the bedroom and lay down, covering his head with a blanket.
Prem froze on the threshold, confused.
"Is there anything else you need?" Some water? Shut the curtains?"
Boun didn't answer. Prem brought a glass of water and left it on the bedside table, closed the curtains, opened the window a crack. He touched Boun's forehead - it was cool. HIs illness didn't look like a heatstroke.
He didn't know what else to do.
"OK, I'm off. Call me if you need anything." He took a piece of paper, wrote his phone number and left it on the bedside table.
Boun didn't answer.
- to be continued -