Chapter Text
The light in the apartment was soft – the late afternoon slipping through sheer curtains. The kind of golden hue that Joong always chased with his camera. Dunk, however, was not chasing anything. The living room was as chaotic as Dunk’s mind as he criticised his students’ art: sketchbooks stacked like toppling bookshelves, a half-finished canvas on the easel, and Dunk himself – cross-legged on the floor, hair messy, a paint-stained cardigan slung over striped pyjamas and surrounded by grading sheets and smudged pastel pages.
His hand reached for his mug – the sage one, the good one – and frowned. Empty. Again.
Across the room, Joong lounged on the couch like a cat in a sunbeam – like he owned the light itself. One bare foot tucked beneath a thigh, the other dangling over the edge of the armrest. The late afternoon sun poured through the windows, bathing him a lazy amber glow. His shirt – a button-down in some shade that had once been a crisp white – hung open at the throat, wrinkled from hours of wear and sleep and slouching. One sleeve was rolled to the elbow, the other only halfway there, like he’d been interrupted mid-thought and never recovered.
Camera parts were scattered around him in a kind of organised mess: spare lenses, a cracked lens cap, an old battery charger with a fraying cord. His favourite camera sat in his lap, worn leather strap between his fingers. He turned the lens slowly, absently like he was tuning an instrument instead of fiddling with settings. His brows furrowed in that particular way—focused but not tense – lower lip caught between his teeth. Hair tousled, a little too long at the back, still creased from the pillow.
And even though Dunk would never say it out loud, there was something dangerous about how easily Joong could make a quiet room feel full. Like he belonged there – like he always had. But right now, Dunk was not amused with Joong’s level of comfort.
“You drank my coffee,” Dunk said flatly.
Joong didn’t look up. “It was just sitting there. Abandoned. Cold.”
“It had my name on it.”
“It also had lipstick on the rim, which is weird since you don’t wear – oh wait, that’s paint.” Joong’s lips spread into a grin. He has the most dazzling smile Dunk had seen. “Turquoise suits you.”
Dunk signed and stood, carefully navigating over a drying papier-mâché sculpture shaped vaguely like a horse. “You owe me coffee.”
“I owe you many things,” Joong retorted, clicking a battery into place. “Rent. Dishes. Emotional availability.”
“You think you’re funny, but you’re not.”
“I think I’m charming. And also –” Joong pointed at the buzzing pone on the counter. “I think your mum’s texting again.”
Dunk made a sound that could only be described as a whimper. He crossed the room, read the message, and groaned.
“Excited to see you at the wedding! Don’t forget, table 3 has some lovely single people <3”
Joong raised an eyebrow at the reaction, but Dunk waved him off as he grabbed the coffee pot to refill his stolen drink. Joong snaped a test photo of the light falling across Dunk’s shoulder. Dunk glared over at him as he heard the camera shutter, but it just made Joong’s grin widen.
“Would you stop with the photos?”
“I’m a photographer. Besides, you know that candid shots of you are my favourite – especially the ones of you amongst –” he gestured to the mess of marking across their apartment floor. “Whatever strategic mess you call this.”
“Oh, the art of marking,” Dunk rolled his eyes. “What a beautiful sight. What do you even do with the pictures?”
“Saving your most embarrassing ones for meeting your family, obviously.”
“Yeah, like that’s happening.”
Joong’s eyes crinkled in the corner as he chuckled and Dunk dropped himself into the nearest chair, scrolling through the family group chat. Every message being about Dunk needing to bring someone to the wedding or they’d find someone to ‘set him up with’. Dunk shuddered at his aunt’s enthusiasm regarding the lovely single woman from yoga.
‘How old is this one?’ He thought to himself, but luckily his cousin – the groom to be, Phuwin, responded before Dunk could:
“You should let Dunk choose on his own. If I had listened to all of you, I wouldn’t be marrying Pond next weekend.”
“You know that your students’ artworks aren’t going to mark themselves,” Joong teased. “Mr Natachai who’s distracted by his phone. Are you chatting someone up?”
“It’s the family group chat discussing the wedding next weekend,” Dunk gave Joong a pointed stare. “And when would I have found the time to meet someone?”
“Dating apps are a thing you know,” Joong snapped a photo of Dunk’s unamused expression.
“No thanks,” Dunk dropped his gaze back to his phone.
His ex was someone that he met online. Thought that he had found the one. Oh boy was he wrong.
“Speaking of the wedding,” Joong sat up, dropping the lounge cushion beside him. “Are they discussing the grooms or your lack of a date?”
“Actually, they’re discussing the dessert menu,” Dunk dropped his phone onto the coffee table amongst Joong’s camera parts. “Of course, they’re discussing my love life. When are they not? They want to set me up with someone from my mother’s yoga class.”
“Yoga?” Joong repeated. “Hot.”
“She’s almost 50.”
“And does yoga, so could still be hot.” Dunk wasn’t sure if Joong was joking or not. “You always had a thing for the more mature type anyways.”
“This isn’t funny,” Drunk groaned as he dropped his head into his hands. “I can’t show up alone again and I can’t just let them set me up with someone. They already think I’m pathetic enough as it is.” His voice muffled slightly by his hands.
“You’re not pathetic, but it’s bold of them to assume you’re emotionally available.”
“Bold of you to assume I’m not.” Joong’s mouth quirked at Dunk’s response. The smallest smirk.
Dunk’s phone buzzed again. Another family message. Joong swiped the phone to read it before Dunk could react. He dropped his hands and watched as Joong read the family chat on his phone with no regard for his privacy. The soft fall of hair over his eyes.
‘Typical Joong,’ his inner voice was sarcastic, but Dunk’s chest tightened at Joong’s gaze on the phone.
“You could lie, you know,” Joong said casually. “Say that you’re already dating someone.”
“Who?”
“Me.”
Dunk raised an eyebrow before laughing at Joong’s joke.
“You’re not serious.”
His smile dropped as Joong continued to stare at him. His eyes trained on Dunk’s with a sudden sombre expression.
“Deadly.”
“You want to come to a wedding. In the countryside. With my very talkative extended family. And pretend to be my boyfriend.”
Joong shrugged, leaning back against the couch again. “I’ve done weirder things for free food.”
“This isn’t a joke, Joong.”
“I know. I’m not joking.”
Silence.
Outside, a motorcycle roared down the street. Inside, the only sound as the ticking of the old kitchen clock Dunk’s meant to replace for three years. They let the quiet stretch, like film waiting to be developed. Paint waiting to dry.
Then softly, Joong spoke again: “You don’t have to go alone, you know.”
Dunk’s lips part. Just slightly. His fingers twitched around the handle of his favourite mug. His eyes fell back onto his grading sheets, returning to his position on the floor.
“I’ll think about it,”
Joong grinned, heading for the hallway. “You always do.”
Dunk couldn’t believe he was considering Joong’s offer as he stared at the family group chat. Another message about a wonderful single person who’s coming to the wedding. Once again. This time, they had found out from Dunk’s old piano teacher that her nephew who happened to be friends with Phuwin had recently become single and attending the wedding.
Dunk wanted the earth to swallow him whole, rolling his eyes at the string of messages talking about how perfect Typhoon would be for Dunk. ‘They’re both so artistic. They’d be able to appreciate the world’s beauty and beauty in each other.’
“What’s got you frowning like that, Mr Natachai?” Nita, quite possibly his favourite student, dropped into the chair across from Dunk’s desk in their art classroom. She fiddled with the papier-mâché horse at the corner of the desk, art produced by a much younger student, with a scrunched nose. “Is this supposed to be a horse?”
“A grade 7 student made that,” Dunk smiled softly. “And yes, it’s a horse.”
“Are you frowning because you don’t know how to grade it?” She asked then turned her attention to his phone, now seated upside down on his desk. “Or something else? Give me the tea, sir.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Oh, come on,” she whined. “Who am I going to tell? I spend all my time in here. It’s not like I have any friends to gossip with.”
“Nita,” he shook his head. “You could try making friends with your peers.”
When Nita had first come to the school, she was quiet and reserved. It took months for her to even respond to Dunk in class, but now, she loves interrupting his lunch to spend time in the art room. She mostly keeps to herself and seemed to be awkward around students her age. She is, however, great with all the teachers and even the younger students as she spends her time helping them with their school work or even ordering food for them in the cafeteria when they’re too shy to speak up. She’s a lovely student. Dunk wished that she’d try to make friends.
“Sirrrrrr,” she drawls out the whine and stomps both of her feet in rhythm.
“My cousin is getting married.” Dunk caved. “Next weekend.”
“And what?” she frowned. “You don’t have a date? That’s weird.”
“How is that weird?”
“Well, you’ve got your boyfriend. I’ve seen him.”
“I don’t have a boyfriend.” Dunk wondered if she was talking about his ex, but she couldn’t have possibly seem them together. Unless… she was at one of their public dates.
“Yah, you do! That guy!”
Dunk just raised an eyebrow at her.
“The guy that brought you lunch. You know, the really hot guy. The refined, symmetrical face and strong jawline, expressive warm brown eyes and the dark brown soft tousled hair.” She gestured wildly, flicking her own hair. “The guy that literally looks like a model!”
‘She thinks that Joong is my boyfriend?’
“Joong?” Dunk’s thoughts echoed aloud. “He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Why not?” she stared at her teacher like he had grown a second head. “He’s gorgeous.”
“You know, there should be more to dating than looks right?”
“Are you saying that he has a bad personality?”
Dunk paused. Joong didn’t have a bad personality. Sure, Joong was chaotic. He was extroverted, spontaneous and loud, but not in a way that’s obnoxious, just alive. He was messy and unorganised with absolutely no structure in his life or career. He lived moment to moment, but he saw the beauty in everything.
“Mr Natachai?”
“No,” Dunk smiled. “If he had a bad personality, I wouldn’t be living with him. He’s just not my type.”
“Then what is your type?” She leaned against the desk now, tapping her fingers almost impatiently. “Because he seemed perfect.”
She slid a paper across the desk. One that Dunk hadn’t even noticed her pull out of her bag.
“Think about it,” she tapped the sketch. “I liked how he looked at you.”
Just as Dunk takes the drawing, the bell rings out signalling the end of their first break. Nita stood, slinging her bag back over her shoulder and shouted that she’d see him in the last period as she raced off for her next class. Dunk stared at the drawing now in his hand as his students began lining up at the door.
The sketch was done in soft pencil and light watercolour washes, capturing a fleeting moment with surprising intimacy for something drawn from her memory. At the centre, Dunk is shown standing just outside the door of his art classroom, a reusable lunch box in his hand, looking caught off guard but amused. His posture is slightly hunched in embarrassment – like he’d just been gently scolded – and his free hand rubs the back of his neck in a familiar, sheepish gesture. Joong was standing just a step closer than needed, wearing a half smile – mischievous but warm. He’s caught mid-tease with one eyebrow raised and his head tilted in that easy confident way. His camera bag is slung over his should, but he’s focused entirely on Dunk. There wasn’t just amusement in Joong’s expression, but a quiet fondness. Behind them, faint classroom windows blur into soft shades of green and grey. There’s no background detail. Only hinds of chalkboards and lockers. Nita clearly wanted to focus on them.
A sound outside the classroom door made Dunk realise that he had stared at the sketch longer than he meant to. He placed it carefully into the front pocket of his planner and readied himself to greet the line of 12-year-olds waiting impatiently at the door.