In life, of course, there are certain moments that crystallise. They stand out, unforgettable. Strung together with all that comes in between, they make up a life essentially.
Then, there is marriage. After a decade, two decades, the moments have grown together in a spiderweb so complex it gets harder and harder to differentiate one from the next.
It's a life of separation and sameness all at once, forks resting the same way in the silverware drawer, bodies spooned neatly in a sweeping sleigh bed. The baby you planned for. The one you didn't. The tinkling sounds of laughter and the fierce rage of fights and small, sticky fingerprints ruining things you didn't even know you cared about.
A divorce. A family broken. A statistic. That's what life comes down to. Because when Tine was seven his parents too got a divorce.
Now, as a fifteen year old, he suppose it was the right thing to do as the only vivid memories he has of that time were of their constant bickering. He remembers arguing, and screaming and him trying his best to cover his head with his pillows in an effort to block them out. And then, it all ended with his mother leaving and never coming back.
They never talked about it to his father, they never brought it up but he thinks his father was just as stunned and blindsided as they were — she was just heading to the supermarket, she said, but she never came back home.
Never.
He loved his parents, of course, but absolutely hated their fights. He had missed the calmness of the house, the love, life and warmth in used to hold.
He remembers thinking that he should do something instead of cowering underneath his covers. Maybe he could walk right out there and tell his parents to stop fighting and be happy again. And he did exactly that - got off his bed and as quietly as possible, walked across his room. He was able to open the door and slip into the hallway easily, and carefully pass Type as he silently tiptoed to their parents' bedroom.
The door was open, and he peeked around the corner to look inside. Dad was standing while mom sat on the bed with her legs crossed. He could see that his mother was irritated as plain as day.
He bit his lip as he gradually began edging to where he could be seen. The claws of anxiety scraped at his belly, and something told him to run, run as fast as possible back to his bed. But his parents where depending on him now, whether they knew it or not.
The instant that his stepped into full view, his mom's eyes flashed and she told dad to 'be quiet', calling him an idiot (whatever that was). Dad turned and seemed almost ... ashamed? Was that even the appropriate word for the look in his father's eyes?
"Tine, you're supposed to be asleep right now," Mom said calmly, putting her hands on her hips.
"I know, Mommy. But you guys were fighting, and ..." he trailed off, losing the confidence he had had only minutes ago.
Dad sighed, and came to crouch before Tine, "We weren't fighting, Tine. Mom and Dad were just having a conversation that got too loud, that's all."
"Oh, don't lie to him, XXX. He already knows," Mom scolded, but not in the way that she did to Tine and his brother.
"You shouldn't fight, it's bad," Tine said, "You should cuddle and love each other and be happy. Like in the movies and stuff."
"Tine, life isn't a movie. Lots of parents argue; millions, all over the world," Mom said using her hands to emphasise.
Dad suddenly looked upset again, and stood up to face Mom, "So you're gonna make him think that fighting is normal?!"
"Better than being ignorant to the world?"
"That's the kind of crap that messes kids up! No normal parent tells their child things like that!"
"Ah, so you're implying that you're normal, then?"
"Why does it always come back to that with you?!"
Tine rushed to get between his parents, and held his arms out to stop them, "Stop it! You're doing it again, you're fighting!"
Tears were starting to fill up his vision, and within seconds he was crying. Tine didn't protest when his mother picked him up and held him. If the circumstances were different, Tine would have been ecstatic, since Mom didn't do such thing as often as she once did. But he just buried his face into the thin fabric of Mom's shirt and cried. Nothing was making sense to him anymore, and he just wanted his family to be happy again. Why was that so hard to get?
His sobs blocked out his parents' conversation, at least they were quieter. But they seemed more somber, in a way.
Tine wasn't sure of how long he cried, or how long Mom held him to her chest, but he found himself drifting into sleep. Sounds became muffled, but he was consciously aware of another voice joining in. Likely Type. He couldn't be bothered to open his eyes as his mom began walking, and he felt himself being set onto his bed a few moments later. A hand wiped away the drying tears on his chilled face, and he could swear he heard Type whispering.
Despite all this, Tine's mind just replayed the last minutes over and over. It wouldn't be a surprise if he had a nightmare or two.
The last bits of consciousness were draining from him when he heard Mom utter a few words, though he didn't catch it all.
"— I can't keep doing this."
____________________
Until he met Sarawat, Tine never really believed in fate.
He always figured that people were in control of their own destinies, though his father always insisted that God was the one in charge of such things. Tine believed in God, it would be hard not to considering he'd been raised almost from birth by a Buddhist monk — well, a Buddhist monk who doesn't follow any of the code of conduct; he just didn't see why God would take a personal interest in someone as insignificant as him in a world inhabited by eight billion of more worthy or more deserving people.
But Tine also believed in luck, both good and bad, and he'd had his share of both kinds; the bad luck of being abandoned by his mother, the good luck of ... well, he's still here, alive, isn't he? On the whole, he considers himself to be a lucky guy because despite some of the bad situations he finds himself in, he'd come through it all unscathed. But luck and fate were two very different entities.
Luck was all about random chance; the scales could tip either way depending on hundreds of different variables, but you could never know the outcome of any action until afterwards. Fate implied that everything a person does is set in stone, which in turn implied that people had no free will and no control over what's happened going to happen to them. That didn't sit well with an independent guy like Tine; he'd take random chances and free will over fate any day of the week.
Tine goes to work the next day as usual, opens the store, when in actuality, it's not his fucking responsibility since he's only worked here a month, but the manager's a fucking lazy cocoon and he's certain she's still sleeping soundly at home.
He sees Sarawat at lunch time at the food court and Sarawat kindly waves at him, smiles with his perfect white teeth. And this time, along with his glittering heart and cheeks flushing crimson red, he waves back.
He might as well be cordial since Sarawat's the only one he knows in this mallrat of teens and tweens and he's decent and kind and kind of beautiful to look at.
Yeah. Sounds like something.
Feels like it, too.
____________________
Sarawat comes back to him a couple of days later on an uneventful Saturday afternoon. Tine was so blindingly bored that he had taken a couple of nail polishes from the shelf and had actually started painting his nails.
Only a couple of customers had come in, looked at some shiny bracelets and that was that, but then, his hands got fidgety with nothing to do as he waited for costumers to come it.
He can always remove the polish, he thinks to himself, focusing and trying and failing not to paint outside his nails.
It's a lot harder than it looks.
"I like that colour on you." a sudden voice says and he almost jumps right out of his own skin. He was too engrossed to even have noticed that someone had walked in.
"Shit. Shit."
He's not supposed to be doing this at work.
As he scrambles like a fluttering fish to screw the cap back on, he accidentally nudges the tiny bottle sideways. Luckily, the consistency was thick, nail polish-like so nothing spilt.
He looks up at that moment to find Sarawat chuckling at him.
"What's so funny?" he asks, suddenly annoyed.
"You look cute when you're all freaking out."
"I'm glad you enjoyed that, Sarawat," Tine rolls his eyes at him, then, "So, what is it that you want now?"
Sarawat doesn't answer him, just grabs the nail polish off his hand.
"Hey." he warns, trying to grab it back.
"No. Let me paint your nails for you," Sarawat pulls his hand towards him before batting his lashes and adding, "Please."
"Wait, Sarawat —" Tine tries to pull his hand back, but Sarawat holds his hand only tighter.
Unscrewing the brush from the bottle, Sarawat positions Tine's hand, with his big, warm veiny ones, so he has a good view of his nails and goes straight to work. Tine gives up resisting and just enjoys the feeling of Sarawat's hands holding his.
Just as he was, Sarawat is really trying to make them look perfect, which is hard while holding his soft and slightly smaller hands in his. Tine watches Sarawat's brows furrow slightly in concentration as he paints his nails.
Cute.
"Done," Sarawat says after a while, screwing the top back on the bottle and looking proud of his work.
Tine instantly misses the feelings of Sarawat's hands but pushes it aside to look at his nails. A little bit of the polish got on his skin but it looks good.
"The polish will wash off your skin when you wash your hands."
"How long do I have to wait for them to dry?"
"Give it a few minutes." Sarawat answers, grabbing his hands again, blowing on them. Tine instantly blushes while Sarawat chuckles again at his cuteness, and rubs the back of his hands.
"Stop it," he pulls his hands back, sees the stud there on his tongue that sends illicit shivers down his spine. "You'll get your spit everywhere."
"Sorry."
"No. It's fine," he says, "Why are you here anyway?"
"Another piercing?"
____________________
And it didn't just end there with one little stud to the nose. No. He comes back to the store the very next day and asks for double earlobe piercings.
They didn't need to sneak around for that. He did it right then and there, all professional like they haven't had done this two other separate times already, with his manager watching him.
Afterwards, he stares at his nail. He kind of likes it.
____________________
Tongue. Nose. Double earlobes.
Tine's not sure how many more holes Sarawat wants. It's getting too much, isn't it? All in a span of a little less than a week. And wouldn't it slow down the healing process or something.
He doesn't know.
They see each other literally everyday and every time his heart skips and his stomach flutters painfully. They still do not talk to each other like they should; they don't talk freely and he doesn't knows why he's being all shy and shabby around Sarawat. He doesn't know why being around Sarawat makes him be so hyperaware of everything around him.
It's not like he's intimidating.
But he still sees the herd of dumb, stupid girls chasing him around the mall like it's their mission and Tine can't see why he's feeling bitter. Can't see why those girls just have to be so utterly pathetic, especially when it comes to boy and boys like Sarawat nonetheless.
Ugh.
He hates him. And he hates this town.
But he follows the herd of girls anyway.
_____________________
Sarawat comes to the store at around ten minutes to closing two days after the earlobes piercings and asks for yet again — surprise, surprise, another piercing and all he could say is, "Again?"
"Yeah. Will you do it for me?"
"I don't know."
"Please, Tine." he pleads, giving him those batting lashes once again.
"You know, that doesn't work on me, right?"
"Please," he presses his palms together before adding, "We can go someplace to eat afterwards. My treat for all your help."
Free food?
"Fine. Why not?"
It's not like it's a date.
* * *
He doesn't know what demon possessed him to agree to go eat out with Sarawat.
Right. Free food.
Well, a guy's got to eat.
Right?
Neither of them made a peep since they got into his car, helix and conch pierced. And it continues to seem absolutely the same until they're sitting across from each other at the restaurant, menus set aside, and Tine blinks at Sarawat, trying to think of what to say.
It's been quiet for too long already.
"Is your ear still throbbing?" he gestures to his ear, where he had just pierced two earrings into the cartilage.
"Yeah," Sarawat nods, "But I'm sure it's supposed to be that way."
"What about the tongue?" he asks before he can even stop himself.
He doesn't know why he keeps asking about it. Maybe he just wants to see that little stud in the middle of his tongue because that night is still so vivid in his head.
Sarawat smirks at him. "It's fine." He sticks his tongue out for a second, and there it is, a small silver ball at the centre of it. "This and the nose is healing well actually."
It's a surprise that it hasn't got infected.
He's never actually seen a tongue piercing on a person before. So, you know there's a first for everything. The existence of the piercing isn't the only surprising thing about it. "Good. That's good."
"Yeah," Sarawat says. "Getting it infected would be the worst."
"I can't believe no one's made you take it out for good. Hasn't your parents seen it yet?"
"I stay in my room, mostly," Sarawat shrugs. "It's my body. It's a little impractical, but I like it and," he curls his tongue so just the bead of his piercing shows between his teeth, half a smirk on his face, "It has its uses."
It's not the first time Sarawat's flirted with him and he's not sure if he's any good at it but he does flirt back a little (he thinks he is), subtly, while they eat, but it's enough to turn Sarawat's cheeks pink by the time they argue over the bill. An argument Sarawat wins by getting his hands on it first and reminding him that he had promised to treat him.
"Thank you," Tine says, sincerely, "This was great."
Sarawat shrugs. "Yeah. It was." He clacks his tongue piercing against his teeth loud enough for Tine to hear it. "We should do this again." He has to break the flirtatious look he's shooting Tine's way to sign the credit card slip, but it comes back, sidelong, when they get into his car. "Let me drive you home later."
____________________
(+66) 38 850512
cant you see what I'm doing here?
Me
Who's this
(+66) 38 850512
how many more holes do I have 2 get for u to understand what's happening?
Me
Sarawat?
What's happening?
Are you drunk
I don't understan
Wait how u get this number??
____________________
It takes him almost half an hour to regret his decision of coming to the park.
Summer is always trying to make itself known to him these days, and it's caught his attention long ago. The days are only getting relentlessly hotter. There are bugs flying all around, most have already bitten him, sucked his blood, and making him irritated and itchy. And of course, the park is less crowded. But he used to love coming here as a kid, now, it just all seems so anticlimactic.
The book he brought with him is open on his lap, waiting for him to resume. Lately, he hasn't been getting much time to relax and do what he loves, and he's been anticipating this for a while, though it's not quite turning out like he expected.
It's no fun anymore.
Tine keeps his gaze up, his hands closing the book after bookmarking the page he's on, and sighs. He's glad he brought a bottle of water, taking it with one hand as he discards the book on the spot next to him — he's not even thirsty, he's just a bit uneasy, fidgeting with the bottle cap and toying with the water inside his mouth.
The few people walking around the park don't even spare a single glance at him, which is good, except for the man that walks by and waves, the hand that's not holding a bag of heavy something, at him. He waves back, the man is friends with his father, and then, caps the bottle back, ready to keep reading after a bit of distractions.
Immersing himself in the words etched on the pages has always been one of his greatest pleasures, his eyes scanning over and over and devouring the sentences with hunger to know more. He's been holding off this particular story, not sure how good it was from the summary, and now he regrets not having started it sooner. He finally finds that comfortable mind space in which he can just drown in the story and the characters and block out anything else that might threaten to disturb him, and it was going amazingly well for a few minutes, until he hears a crash and a yell that inevitably catches his attention and makes him look up in order to locate the source of the noise.
A few steps away from him is a familiar looking guy on the floor, and there's a bicycle lying next to him, the back wheel is still spinning and the guy is visibly wincing in pain. He doesn't even realise he's on his feet and already sprinting towards the guy sitting on the floor. The water bottle and book still in his hands.
"Hey, are you alright?" Tine asks, although he knows it's a stupid question because he can clearly see that the boy's knees are scraped and bleeding through the hole of his now-ripped jeans.
The guy looks up at him and, amazingly enough, smiles, shaking his head. "No. Not really." he answers.
"Ugh," Tine exclaims but he didn't mean for it to sound so disgusted. It's not that, it's just Sarawat is everywhere and it's overwhelming.
Sarawat has seemingly invaded his space without him even realising until it's too late; he had invaded his phone, his thoughts, because when he closes his eyes, he sees Sarawat; Sarawat clacking his tongue piercing against his teeth, and smirking at him, which he didn't know he'd thoroughly enjoy..
Sarawat. Sarawat. Sarawat.
"It's you again. You can't keep showing up everywhere, Sarawat."
And Sarawat's message is still burning bright in his mind.
What did he mean?
"I swear it's just a coincidence. I live around the corner and my grandfather wanted me to go get something from the store. I'm not creepy, I promise."
"What happened to your face?" Tine asks, gesturing to his face and ear sans the jewellery he'd stuck in.
"Yeah," he shrugs, "My grandparents finally noticed. Grandfather beat my ass — literally with a switch — and made me take them out in front of him. But I still have this," Sarawat sticks his tongue out with a knowing look that turned Tine red. "Managed to hide it."
Sarawat then attempts to stand up, but Tine stops him. "Wait, what are you doing? Let me see your knee, first," he crouches down in front of Sarawat in order to examine the wound. "Does it hurt?"
"It burns, mostly, I can't believe I fell." Sarawat lets out a breathy laugh.
"Why didn't you just drive your car?"
"My grandfather took it for, you know," he explains and Tine nods, "Don't know when I'll get it back."
"Don't beat yourself up." Tine soothes him as he inspects his knee; it doesn't look too bad, the skin has been torn apart probably from hitting the pavement, and there's fresh blood, though it's apparently not bleeding anymore. "I have water, want me to clean your knee?"
"Okay." Sarawat shrugs his shoulders amusedly.
He figures Sarawat won't mind if his pants get a bit wet in this weather, yet still, he tries to be as careful as possible. Sarawat keeps smiling, tight lipped and charmingly, and Tine doesn't think he even remembers that he texted him. Or he's just a really good of an actor and if that's the case, Tine will also pretend it didn't happen.
Easy.
"Thanks so much." Sarawat's voice turns even sweeter when he thank Tine for tending to his wound as the latter helps him on his feet.
Tine nods awkwardly, not really knowing how to reply. "Uh — want me to fix your bike?"
"Can you?" Sarawat asks with surprise.
"Yeah, no problem." With quick movements, he takes a hold of the bike and gets to work. "The chain slipped, it's not a big deal."
"Thank God. It's my grandad's," Sarawat chuckles. Tine can feel his attentive gaze on him now, on the movements of his hands. "You like Dostoevsky?"
When Tine glances at Sarawat, he's got the bottle of water and the book he had previously discarded on the floor in his hands. "Yeah, I do." he replies as he goes back to the bike chain.
"That's nice," he hears Sarawat say, "You're getting even more interesting, Tine."
Tine doesn't reply, simply because, once again, he's not sure about what to say. He finishes fixing the chain and readies the bicycle, getting it to stand upright and holding it for Sarawat. "Maybe that's what made you fall." he suggests to Sarawat.
"Oh, I wouldn't put it past me. Thank you so much, Tine," Sarawat tells him softly, handing him the bottle and the book before holding the bike by the handle bars in exchange. "For everything."
Tine smiles at him briefly, shaking his head as Sarawat gets on the bicycle. "Don't mention it — hope you don't fall again. I kinda like that face of yours."
He can't believe he said that out loud.
Sarawat smiles at him one more time, big and cheerful, his eyes crinkling with amusement.
"I'll keep it unscratched just for you." is the last thing Sarawat says before pedalling off and leaving Tine alone, standing in the middle of the park, blushing fiercely with the sun's warmth at his back.