Chapter Text
Neo is in the shower and Khaotung is waiting his turn, lying on Neo’s bed, still naked, scrolling through First’s Instagram. He’s filming some episode of Toe Laew and his close friends posts are all pictures of him trying to look majestic next to large plants with his snapback on backwards. Khaotung likes every one.
Like he summoned First, his phone rings with an incoming video call. Shit. Khaotung scrambles for his shirt, shoving it over his head and patting down his now even more rumpled hair as he answers.
“Hey,” First says.
Khaotung smiles back at him.
First is in some hotel room; Khaotung can see the bright white walls and varnished wood frames on the window. He’s not sure where exactly First is, but he thinks he said the northeast. Every time First goes to film for this show, he complains. Khaotung wants to take First to where he grew up. He’d make sure they ate only the best fruit, got to sit in the shade. First would have the best time, Khaotung would make sure of it.
“Long day?” Khaotung asks. He knows it is, it always is. He doesn’t have to look at the late hour to know it, the heavy drag on First’s eyelids tells its own story. “You tired?”
First’s answering smile is so lopsided it’s more of a smirk. “Me? I could go a hundred more hours. It’s the other guys who are tired, today we—”
Khaotung knows First is about to tell a story of whatever borderline dangerous, undoubtedly stupid thing they did today. He’ll make it sound like it’s a funny joke but with that slightly worried edge to his laugh that means he needs someone to tell him he did okay. It makes Khaotung furious every time. First is a nice person, under the right circumstances. That show is not the right circumstances. Everything they do is about going harder and pushing each other and generally displaying a macho edge. First has it in him, but not naturally, and the others can tell, scenting blood and needling at him. Instead of saying fuck off and walking away, First calls Khaotung. Khaotung wants to kick every one of those guys in the balls, but it would probably only make them respect him more. And he doesn’t want that from them.
He interrupts First. “It’s me,” he says. “You don’t need to do that.”
First’s eyes widen for a second, which makes him look immediately younger, soft and round, and then his face settles into more relaxed lines, shoulders coming down too. “Yes,” First says after a moment. “I’m tired.”
“Tell me about it.”
First tells him about the village, the noodles they made, the temple bell made from a hollowed out bomb. Khaotung puts his free arm behind his head to prop his neck up. First talks for long enough that Khaotung hears the water go off. His eyes flick up to Neo’s when Neo walks back into the room, towel slung around his waist. He doesn’t need to say anything, Neo mimes locking his lips shut and moves around quietly, pulling a sleep shirt and boxers out of Khaotung’s drawers. Khaotung focuses on First.
It’s only a minute or two before First pauses in his monologue. “Sorry,” he says. “Yim wants to talk.”
Khaotung’s smile dims for a second. How could he forget about First’s girlfriend? “You should go,” he chides. “She must have been waiting for you.”
First waves and then the connection ends.
Khaotung looks at his own reflection on the black screen. He sighs and leans over the bedside table for Neo’s charger. When he rolls onto his back, Neo is watching him. “Dude,” Neo says.
“Don’t,” Khaotung says.
“I just—”
“We agreed not to tease each other about this. Or do you want me to talk about how you got a friend to tape Alex’s basketball game?” And then Khaotung watched it with Neo, twenty minutes of shaky phone footage while Neo sat on the edge of the couch with his hands on his knees, leaning into the screen like a border collie waiting to be given the command to retrieve.
Neo puts up his hands.
***
First and Khaotung met in acting class. Khaotung first noticed his cheekbones and fine ears, visible because he stood a head taller than everyone else.The second thing he noticed was First was in the corner, braying a laugh and poking at the stain on the shirt of another student, and that’s what made him decide to stay well clear. Loud boys that handsome could only spell trouble. Khaotung would stay in his corner and First would stay in his, and there wouldn’t be a problem.
First didn’t get that message.
He kept breezing past, commenting on Khaotung’s water bottle or his jacket or a choice he’d made in the workshop. He’d come close enough to Khaotung that Khaotung could smell his sharp cologne, abrasive and too sporty. If Khaotung got to pick, he’d put First in Baccarat Rouge; Khaotung likes how it starts bright and settles down into something with more depth. But First is a stranger, Khaotung should not be thinking about making him smell like Khaotung likes, doesn’t matter how tall he is or how sharp his collarbones are.
This, however, changes quickly. They end up getting dinner through a bit of an accident and First surprises him. He listens when Khaotung talks. It makes Khaotung talk more than he should. He somehow ends up telling First about how he moved to Bangkok to try and get in the industry but how much he misses his mom and his sister.
First furrows his brow. It gives his face angles and shadows Khaotung hasn’t seen before. Usually, First is smiling. “I know it’s hard to be away,” he says, “but you’re so talented, you’re doing the right thing. Your family knows that too. They’ll want you to do this.”
Khaotung stares at him. First’s eyes widen. “Did I say the wrong thing? I’m not good at comforting people.”
Khaotung is struck speechless. “You think I’m talented.” He tests the words.
First tilts his head. Khaotung feels the urge to reach out and ruffle his hair. “Yeah?”
Khaotung shakes his head. There’s nothing he can say.
***
After that, it’s harder for Khaotung to fight spending time together. First invites himself over to Khaotung’s after acting class to study. Khaotung isn’t sure how he agreed except First made his eyes wide and said, “it just makes sense. We can practice our acting exercises during study breaks.”
Of course, it doesn’t work out like that. First comes in and walks around the four corners of Khaotung’s space, which doesn’t take long. His eyes hone in on Khaotung’s guitar. “Play for me?”
Khaotung is still hovering by the door. He loves to sing, but all of the songs he knows say a lot about him, and that makes him shy. They’re emotional songs, and lots of them are older and his mom’s favourites. None of them are the type he’d play to impress a guy like First. “Okay,” Khaotung says.
He shucks his bag and sits in his chair, closer to the edge so he can get his knee up. Khaotung doesn’t get fancy, he picks a song he knows he can execute without too many frills in the fingering, just solid chords. He picks out the intro, watching his fingers even though it messes with his form a bit, but then he gets into the music. It’s not being out of body, because he’s very in himself, he’s aware of his breath, he’s aware of the slip and stick of the guitar strings. He can feel his shoulders shift and bunch as he moves his arm. It’s all very tangible. But the song almost appears behind his eyes, he sees it like an overlay on the world, a separate reality he sinks into and belongs to. So at the end when he blinks it away as the final notes ring out he jumps a little in his seat seeing First watching him intently. First is lying on his side, holding Khaotung’s bolster in his arms and between his knees.
“Who sang that? Originally,” First asks.
“Ink Waruntorn.”
“Huh,” First says.
Khaotung changes the subject. “Do you want to study?”
First nods. He sits up and pulls his backpack closer to rifle for his notes. Khaotung sits at his desk, but discovers the error in doing so quickly. First chats, not incessantly, but he notes interesting things or asks questions, and Khaotung has to turn around to answer him, which is disruptive. So Khaotung settles at the head of his bed, cross-legged, and spreads his notes out in front of him.
They get into the flow. It works for an hour or so and then First’s stomach rumbles.
Khaotung probably should have put out snacks. He didn’t think of it, he’s not used to hosting. “Should we get delivery?”
First nods. “What do you want?”
“Oh, anything is fine,” Khaotung says.
First nods. He gets pizza delivered which Khaotung decides to be forbearing about. It’s just one meal. He bites it. Khaotung does not get the appeal of greasy cheese and the very astringent spice in the sauce.
“You don’t like pizza,” First says.
Again, Khaotung is surprised to be observed. “It’s fine.”
First heaves a huge sigh, so big Khaotung is surprised that his door doesn’t rattle from the force of it. “I’ll get something else.”
Khaotung balks. That’s stupid. He takes a big bite. “See, fine.” Then he ruins the impact by choking a little. Bread is so dry. How can it be saucy and yet so dry?
“Tell me what you want instead.” First has his phone out.
Khaotung raises his chin.
First narrows his eyes. “Being stubborn I see.” First flicks at his phone screen aggressively. “I can figure this out.”
Khaotung never finds out who would have won that struggle because the phone in First’s hands rings. “Oh,” First says. He looks at Khaotung apologetically. “I need to take this, it’s my girlfriend.”
Khaotung’s stomach folds in on itself. Considering the wad of solid pizza in it, it’s a rather painful affair. His girlfriend. Of course. Khaotung hadn’t heard of her before but someone as attractive and charming as First was bound to have one.
***
“Come shopping with me,” First wheedles.
Khaotung knows shopping is a social thing, but he likes shopping alone. No one rushes him when he goes alone. But he’s not shopping for himself, just accompanying First, which should be fun enough.
First likes all sorts of brands that Khaotung hasn’t thought much about, like Balenciaga. He coos over a long-sleeved white shirt and looks at Khaotung with a wide smile and bright eyes. Khaotung’s eyes crinkle. “You should get it,” he encourages. If it makes First smile like that, he should have it.
“What about you?”
“I don’t need anything.”
First looks him up and down, appraising. Khaotung waits for a disparaging comment, but it doesn’t come.
They go to the food court, Khaotung helping carry some of the bags. First pauses at the center of the room. Khaotung, without thinking much, heads towards a shabu place. They sit down with the menu and First smiles triumphantly.
“What?” Khaotung asks.
First says nothing, but he taps the side of his head.
***
It’s too late to get distance from First after that.
***
They go shopping together, they study together, they eat together—First never gets pizza again. And the whole time he tries to keep the seed inside of him from growing into a tree, even as he knows it's too late and the roots have reached too deep in him to be dug out.
Neo is the only person he’s ever told.
It’s headshot day and First is sitting next to Neo on a couch while he waits his turn. Neo is on his phone. He pulls up a chat and Khaotung instinctively looks away from the screen to give Neo privacy, and his eyes lock on Neo’s face instead. There’s such a strong mix of love and yearning there that Khaotung flinches, the equal and opposite reaction to how his heart leapt at the expression, recognising it.
Neo’s eyes flick to his, caught, and then they shutter. Khaotung doesn’t want to leave him like that, alone and wary, so he blurts out, “Me too.” He swallows. “I mean, I know how it is.”
The shutter drops and a little vulnerable hope peeks out the edges of Neo’s expression.
Khaotung nudges Neo’s shoulder. “Tell me about him.”
The sun comes out on Neo’s face and he does. His name is Alex, they were on the same basketball team, he is still playing, might get on the national team even. Khaotung listens.
After that, it is only a matter of days before Khaotung exposes himself. First is with that wretched bro squad of Bright and Toy, Chimon is there too. They all seem to be competing to see who can smack each other in the stomach hardest. Chimon gets in a pretty good hit on First with a resounding sound that makes Khaotung wince.
Neo is waiting with him, they both have a meeting with management to go over schedules. As Khaotung winces, he half rises, wanting to go over, before he remembers himself.
That’s when Neo catches his attention. “Khaotung,” he says. “Really?”
Khaotung feels the heat rise in his cheeks. He nods, jerky. “Neo,” he pleads, not sure for what.
Neo whistles, quiet and breathy. “He’s your best friend.” Khaotung nods again, miserable. “He has a girlfriend.”
Khaotung’s eyes feel hot now, blush travelling upwards. “I know all of that.”
When Khaotung manages to get his eyes open enough to look at Neo, he’s uncharacteristically sympathetic looking, no smirk at all. “Well, at least you get to see him every day.” Khaotung blinks. He puts a hand on Khaotung’s knee. Across the room, First detaches from the group, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “Hello, Yim,” he says into it and the other guys jeer at him for being whipped. He waves them off and walks away. Neo squeezes his knee and Khaotung brings his attention back. “Want to get drunk and look at their Instagram highlights tonight?” Neo asks.
Khaotung agrees so fast it’s pathetic.
They don’t hook up that night.
They hook up a week later. Alex scored a three-pointer at some big qualifying match and Neo went out with the team to celebrate, even though he’s not on it anymore. He calls up Khaotung driving back, speaking loud so his voice will carry to his phone on the dash. “He got a boyfriend,” Neo almost shouts. Khaotung’s heart drops into his feet. Even if Neo was never going to make a move, losing that last little hope of opportunity is still devastating. “He’s really nice. He wore a jersey with Alex’s name on it.”
“Come over,” Khaotung says. He didn’t decide to say it, but as soon as he does, he knows it’s the right decision. Neo should not be alone.
Neo sits on Khaotung’s couch, hands clasped together and pressed hard between his knees. His voice sounds like it’s coming from the bottom of a well. “We sat next to each other on the bleachers. He doesn’t know much about basketball, so I explained it all for him.”
Khaotung crouches on the floor. He puts his hands on Neo’s knees.
“He must care a lot about Alex,” Neo says, voice cracking on Alex’s name, “if he’s willing to show so much attention to his sport.” Neo’s knuckles are white. Khaotung pulls his hands out of their death grip, thumbs gently making circles, trying to get the blood flow back. “How did you get through this?” Neo asks, eyes locked on Khaotung’s.
“They were already dating when I met First,” Khaotung reminds him. First and Yim were a shipped couple in first year university, the prettiest girl and handsomest boy. Everyone wanted them to date, so they spent time together, is how First explains it—one thing led to another, and then they were a couple. But First always wanted to be an actor, so he signed with GMM instead of them getting married obnoxiously early. That bit is Khaotung editorialising. He’s met her, she’s fine, he should not think uncharitable thoughts about her nail extensions. None of that helps Neo. He thinks about what helps him. “You just… you want him to be happy, so try to think of his boyfriend the way you’d think of it if he had a really nice meal, or a good trip. You’d be happy for him, even if you wanted to share those things together.”
Neo shakes in Khaotung’s grip. “I don’t know if I can do it,” he says, voice low. “How can I look at them smiling at each other and know that I’m never, it’s never—” Khaotung knows Neo is talking about himself, talking about how he can’t wear Alex’s jersey or go home with him after the game but Khaotung can’t hear it without thinking about how that’s about him too, the way that he’ll never be the one that First uses a sickening pet name with, who gets sent flowers at Christmas. He can’t listen to it even at the same time that it pulls at him, makes him want to reach out and fix it for Neo so they don’t both have to go through this.
So he kisses Neo. Reaches up, and pulls Neo’s face down to his. Neo kisses him back, hard and wet. Khaotung’s feelings rush out, all of that pent up longing displaced onto the closest target. When he kisses Neo, he doesn’t have to pretend to not be in love with First. It’s such a relief he feels his hands shaking. Khaotung bites Neo’s lip, too hard, but Neo just takes it with a groan.
They jerk each other off on the couch, fast and messy.
Afterwards, Neo kneels up. He uses his shirt to wipe them both up which is gentlemanly, and gross, and extremely Neo. It’s weird, recognising the habits of someone he’s having sex with. Ever since he fell for First he’s limited himself to one night stands with lanky guys he meets at bars. But this is Neo, one of his first industry friends. He’s seen Neo passed out between two folding chairs more times than he’s seen his mom in the last three years. And now he’s seen his face when he comes. He looks at Neo and sees, well, Neo. He doesn’t look any different than he did twenty minutes ago. Khaotung waits to see if he feels any differently about Neo, some nascent stirring of whatever, but there’s nothing, just the usual habituation and fondness. No guilt or awkwardness, either.
Khaotung pushes himself up to sitting and reaches around for his boxers.
“Uh,” Neo says. He scratches the back of his neck. “So…”
Khaotung blinks at him, trying to figure out his change in demeanour, and then he realises that Neo is at a loss. He’s never seen that before, so it throws him. It makes sense, though. Neo didn’t start this evening planning on this, so it’s a bit of a change in the agenda. Belatedly, Khaotung realises Neo is probably doing his own internal organisation of the new way he’s seen Khaotung. Neo is still staring at him. Khaotung started this, he should probably say something. “We’re friends, right?”
Neo looks relieved. “Yes! Exactly. I’m your extremely cool, sexy friend.”
Khaotung, who had been about to put his sock back on, throws it at Neo instead. Neo doesn’t even try to catch it, he lets it hit his chest, grinning the whole time.
***
So Khaotung figures that’s a one-off. He goes out for lunch with First the next day. Khaotung is on a Japanese food kick so First has been tagging along as Khaotung works through a big list he put together.
First takes it more seriously than Khaotung does. Khaotung mostly has a craving, but when Khaotung said he wanted to find his new favourite place, First got a serious face on. The first place they went to, First asked how Khaotung would know if it was the right one. Khaotung is pretty sure that if it’s right, he’ll know. It’s his favourite, after all. But First wants to make it more of a game. Every place they go to, if it’s sushi, First orders a tamago nigiri because he saw an article that said that’s a dish to judge places on. Khaotung always gets soba.
“Here, try it,” First says. He pushes the small plate with a tamago nigiri on it. Khaotung picks it up with his chopsticks.
“Hmm,” Khaotung says. Honestly, it tastes like egg and rice. Can’t go wrong with sweet egg and rice. But he wants to play along. First looks at him seriously, waiting for his answer. He chews and swallows. “It’s good.”
A smile blossoms on First’s face, so bright. It changes his whole face. Khaotung smiles back, helpless not to. “Good! I thought maybe it had too much vinegar in the rice, but I think it’s well-balanced.”
Khaotung tilts his head. “Vinegar, really? I didn’t know you knew so much about rice.”
First laughs. He holds up his phone and shakes it lightly. When he tilts it, the lockscreen turns on. It’s a picture of a sunset that Khaotung took with his new camera, so proud to try out the fancy exposure settings. “I googled it,” First says, leaning in a little. Khaotung has to jerk his eyes away from First’s phone. First is closer to him than he expected. He could almost smell him, if he just…
“Ah? Oh.” Khaotung forces his mind back on track. First is talking about how he knows about sushi. He laughs.
First sits back, pleased. He sips his tea. “You didn’t respond to my messages last night.”
Khaotung often leaves his phone on Do Not Disturb because he doesn’t like the way it buzzes, but he usually gets back to First pretty quickly. But last night he fell asleep right after Neo left. When he woke up, he had a couple of random questions from First about whether he thought the moon looked bigger than normal.
“Sorry, Neo was over.”
First pauses before he pours some soy sauce into the small bowl. The first bite of tamago can’t have the soy sauce to test the flavour, but now he can go all in. “Were you having a party?”
“No,” Khaotung says. Not unless pity parties count, he thinks. “Just hanging out.”
“I didn’t know you were such good friends.”
Khaotung opens his mouth to explain about how Neo was having a bad night and then he shuts it. That’s Neo’s private information. He’d hate it if Neo told anyone else about his crush. And it’s true that they are good friends, so he agrees. “Yeah. We’re good friends.”
***
The hardest things about having a secret, unrequited crush are not what Khaotung expected. If someone had asked him before, he would have said that loneliness would be the worst part, but he’s not particularly lonely, actually. He spends a lot of time with First, and it always makes his heart feel warm. Being friends with First is a gift. His life is better because of that friendship, not worse. He’s not suffering because of his feelings.
What’s harder is that all of his excitement has to be hidden. Khaotung has dated some, and a big part of it is the rush of knowing someone so incredible and being able to show them off, and the flip side, to brag about how that person treats them specially. But he doesn’t have the right to do that.
Khaotung does have one outlet, though. Khaotung dials Neo’s number as soon as he gets into the car. “First is using a picture I took as his lockscreen,”
“Okay?” Neo doesn’t sound as impressed by this as he should.
Khaotung pouts. “Tell me it’s nice.”
“Wow! It’s nice! Great job!” The fakeness wafts off of Neo. Even that doesn’t dent Khaotung’s mood much, but he is still going to say something. Then Neo swears. Khaotung is on alert.
“What happened?”
“I’m feeding Earth’s cats and they keep trying to trip me.”
Khaotung can only imagine how cute this is. “Send me a picture.”
Neo obliges. Khaotung checks it when he parks. Three beautiful fluffy cats practically on top of each other trying to get into the food bowls.
It’s cute enough that Khaotung shows it to First when they’re together next. “Aren’t they so cute?” he asks.
First looks at the photo carefully, holding Khaotung’s phone in his hands. He’s a rambunctious guy, but he handles Khaotung’s things so carefully, long fingers gentle on Khaotung’s guitar strings, or cradling Khaotung’s phone. “Very cute.” He hands it back. “You know, if you like cats, you could get your own.”
Khaotung hadn’t thought about that. He really wants one. Having his own furry friend at home sounds amazing. “I’m so busy with school and work, I couldn’t be good at it.” Maybe if he lived at home, but all of his family are so far away.
“I’d help you,” First says.
Khaotung shoves First’s shoulder, ignoring the way that makes his heart twinge. “You’re busier than me!”
“Okay,” First says, with that stubborn fold to his bottom lip that tells Khaotung that he isn’t agreeing. “But when you graduate.”
“When I graduate,” Khaotung allows. “You can help me play with my imaginary future cat as much as you want.”
First puts out his hand. Khaotung stares at it. First reaches further, and grabs Khaotung’s hand, long fingers around Khaotung’s palm, and shakes it. “Now it’s a promise.”
Khaotung doesn’t let himself linger when they let go.