Archive of Our Own ^beta

beep. beep. beep.

it started with nothing. it started with his head pounding like he rammed it into concrete. it started with a vague awareness that he couldn’t move his limbs.

beep. beep. beep.

opening his eyes felt nearly impossible like someone had glued them shut. moving any part of his body felt like agony but determination had been written into his bones the day he was conceived. and so he did. bit by bit, he forced his eyes open until he could see. 

beep. beep. beep.

blinding white light. too bright, too bright. he let out a pained whine. 

“oh dear,” a voice said to his right.

(what? who was there? where was he?)

“you’re finally awake. that boy will be so happy to learn that.” the voice said, finally coming into view. a shadow leaned over him. they sounded nice.

(finally awake? what boy?)

“oh, the lights are probably too bright and you woke up too early. you must be in so much pain.” said the shadow “don’t worry. i’ve got the meds. you’ll wake up again soon.” 

never mind, not nice.

(wake up again? where was he? what’s going on?)

no, no he tries to say but the only thing that comes out is another whine.

“shh, shh, i know it hurts. don’t worry, you’re going back to sleep.”

the eyes he’d worked so hard to open had started closing again. before he knew it, he was fast asleep.

beep. beep. beep.

things come back to him slowly. little by little. 

☆★☆

he is 3 and his brother (...whi-?) looks up at him with doe eyes. (i’ll take care of you, he thinks) 

☆★☆

he is 4, his brother (...whit-?) falls and scrapes his knee. it hurts. why does his knee hurt?  

☆★☆

he is 5 and they are at yet another doctor’s office trying to figure out the connection. his brother (white!) hates them. 

they hurt me white tells him. his heart drops. they pull me into another room and pinch and poke and hit, just to see if it hurts you too. i hate, hate, hate it! 

it is the first time his sweet baby brother - sweet like handspun cotton candy - says he hates something. 

i hate hurting you p’! 

the next time his parents try to take them, he kicks up the ugliest tantrum. they never go back.

☆★☆

he is 6 and their parents are arguing more and more. 

(“...i’m getting worried. last time white broke his arm and black cried for hours. it’s already bad now, what about when they’re adults? we have…” ) 

white is worried and he does his utmost best to reassure him. what if they separate p’? what about us?  

they won’t, he tells white, he won’t let them. plus, who are they to start worrying now? they didn’t care when white and he had nightmares about the doctors. they didn’t have to live with the knowledge that every time one of them got injured, they hurt someone they loved. no, it was white and him against the world. white and him patching each other up, stumbling over apologies and reassurances. it was white who would climb into bed with him when he had a nightmare. it was white who would gently slip his arms around him and whisper sweet words — shh, shh, i’m here p’. we’re not going back. i’ll take care of you. 

it was white and him against the world. that’s how it always would be.

☆★☆

he is 7 and the Pool Incident happens. it seems to be the last straw for their parents who quickly decide to separate them by the end of the school year. white — his golden, shining with the splendor of a thousand suns, baby brother. what is he gonna do without him? — is inconsolable. they spend the rest of the year glued to each other's sides. 

(i’ll take care of you, he repeats. again and again and again hoping that even if white forgets about him in russia, he’ll at least have some impression of a boy who loved his brother dearly. 

white seems to be just as desperate, leaving little notes all over his stuff. i was here, i was here, i was here. a tapestry of love made out of scrap notebook paper.)

it’s not enough. all too soon march comes and the school year ends. they’ve spent the last few weeks practically tucked into each other’s arms. there isn’t a single moment where he isn’t touching white. an arm flung across his shoulders, fingers wrapped around his wrist, hands tightly clasped together. anything to remind himself that white’s still here, still with him. white seems to be just as desperate too if he's going by the way white tucks himself under his arm and burrows into his side the moment they're alone.

(i’m here, i’m here, i’m here white whispers. i love you, i’ll miss you, please don’t let them take me.)

white had cried so much during those weeks, his doe eyes perpetually glossed over. it’s wrong, wrong, wrong. his little brother — when white leaves, a part of him will always be missing. half of a whole, as the poets would say —  should do nothing but smile happily. should spend his days laughing. he’d do anything to have white smile like he used to. make the world spin backward, bring the moon to earth, anything. but the only thing white wants is the one thing he can’t give him. his heart breaks with each passing day. 

a blink and it’s april. white leaves tomorrow. white had been inconsolable all day. tears steadily dripping down his cheeks like a river carving a path through a canyon. there was nothing he could do anyway, not when he was in the same position. two desolate boys mourning the loss of each other. their parents are noticeably absent and the maids gossip.  

(how could they do this? separating twins like that? isn’t that cruel? they mutter behind closed doors.

it is, he wants to scream. it is, it is, it is.)

they retreat into their room by noon. beds pushed together, white cuddles closer. both of them say nothing, too lost in their own thoughts. it’s white who breaks the silence first — he always was braver when it came to matters of the heart. 

maybe we could run away? go up north. just us two. white says. i’d take care of you and you’d take care of me. 

and oh, how he wishes but both of them are too noticeable. their parents would have the entirety of thailand on twin-watch. but it makes white happy so he throws out other ideas. 

myanmar, vietnam, indonesia, anywhere but here. i’ll take care of you, he promises, sticking out his pinky. 

white wraps it around his own. deal but you have to let me take care of you too okay? 

he acquiesces with a smile.

all too soon it’s night and white’s sobbing again. tears dripping down into his shirt. he can do nothing but hold his brother. 

p-p’, white hiccups stop crying. you’re getting my hair wet.

he sniffles. god, what a brat. 

p’-p’, you have to sm-smile when i’m gone okay? smile and la-laugh and sing and dance and make f-friends okay? don’t be mad forever. be happy for me. 

(he wants to say no. what is there to do without white? who is he without white? 

be happy without white? unfathomable, impossible.)

but white continues. in return, i’ll do the same in russia. i’ll be happy and i’ll smile and laugh and sing and dance. and i’ll make good friends. that way we won’t be worried. we’ll know each other is living well. promise me. 

and who is he to turn down white? so he promises. they fall asleep holding onto each other.

when they drop off white and father at the airport the next day. he says nothing. not even when white begs. what is there to say? half of him is going away. there is nothing left but an empty chasm of where white used to be. together they go through customs and still, he says nothing. together they sit at the boarding area, legs pressed up against each other and still, he says nothing. finally, the voice calls out white’s boarding group and when white stands up to leave is when he moves. he catches white’s wrist and draws himself up to his full height, a centimeter taller than his brother. 

(white had hated it. 3 minutes older and taller? he’d whine that’s not fair!  

white wouldn’t be able to whine at him anymore. because white was leaving. white was going, going, gone, gone.) 

lifting his hand up he gently touches white’s cheek and he speaks, 

“make sure you smile and laugh and sing and dance in russia okay? make friends, friends who treat you well. and if someone bullies you, make sure you fight back. don’t just stand there and take it. and if you find a girlfriend make sure it’s someone i would approve of. i’m not being in-laws with someone i hate. and eat well. drink all your milk. i know you hate it but it’ll make you grow taller. and be happy okay. live well there.”

white’s eyes have widened. after a beat he speaks again, voice dropping to a whisper, 

“and- and-” a deep breath “-i love you. know that p’black loves you okay? always and forever. be well.”

tears are running down white’s face.

“idiot, i didn't tell you all that so you could cry.”

white nods. 

“i will p’.”

they hug. 

white whispers into his ear, “i’ll come back as soon as i get the chance. i'll come back. the minute i turn 18, i’ll be on the first plane back. i love you, i love you, i love you.” 

god, this is embarrassing. “i know. i know. now go. father looks like he’s gonna kill you.”

disentangling themselves, white gathers his things up and leaves. he keeps his eye on him until white is swallowed up by the line.

a hand lands on his shoulder. he looks up — it’s mother with suspiciously shiny eyes.

she looks down at him and says, “i know you hate me right now but he’s my son too. i’ll miss him.” and then she draws him into a tight hug. it is the last time his mother hugs him.

(later, in his now too empty room, black will wonder. if you have a brother and he’s gone, do you stop saying you have one? or are you always a brother, even when the other half of the equation is gone?)

☆★☆

black is 9 and he hasn’t had a new bruise in a year. not since white left for russia. he is a broken shell of a boy. all his grief says the same thing — this isn’t how it’s supposed to be, this isn't how it’s supposed to be. 

there is a white-shaped hole in his life and it refuses to close no matter how much he begs. 

what is left for him in this too-empty house with its absent owner and gossiping maids?

(that poor boy, they whisper, like a ghost. not an ounce of happiness. 

shut up, shut up, he wants to scream. what is there to giggle and laugh about? his brother is gone, no one in this world should be happy.)

they had been so naive, thinking that their bond would’ve lasted all the way to russia. it had been a source of comfort for them. at the very least — even if they couldn’t call — they’d have the pain to remind them of each other. at least, even if they couldn’t give regular updates, they’d know how the other was doing. pain, it seemed, was going to be their main connection. 

(i’ll prick my fingers every day just so you know i’m awake p’! white had said. 

black’s heart had leapt into his throat. 

don’t do that, he remembered saying don’t hurt yourself because of me. i’ll get by on all the stubbed toes you get.  

white had simply pouted. hmph! always teasing me p’black.

he had laughed. naa, naa don’t be like that. if i didn’t tease you, who would?

the world had seemed brighter with white by his side)

he had woken up 2 months after white had left and realized he hadn’t had a new bruise in weeks. the ensuing panic he had was gossipped about by the maid for weeks. 

what’s wrong? what’s wrong? the new maid (p’jaeb, his mind supplied) had asked when she walked in that morning to find him hyperventilating in the corner.

what could he say? that his bond was gone? stretched too thin? that he couldn’t feel his brother’s pain? that the only tangible connection he had left of white was missing? 

hold on, p’jeab had said, i’ll get your mother.

and so in walked his mother. what’s wrong? she had asked

mae, he had cried — it was the most informal he’d been with her in years — ugly, wet tears streaming down his face, struggling to get the words out, i can’t feel him. i can’t feel white.

his mother had done nothing but stare at him for a moment before she grinned. it was sharp around the edges and her eyes glinted. it was a victorious smile.

good. she said simply. then turning toward p’jaeb she had said, i trust you know what to do from here? clean him up.

and she left. and p’jaeb was left to pick up the pieces.

(later, after the school year had started up again, he got into his first fight. it was unusual to walk around without aching. he had been too used to living with white’s bruises and now there was nothing. he felt strangely light, like he was a stranger in his own body.

some boy in his class — ford? fiat? — had picked a fight and he had been so angry at the loss of the bond, and at his mother’s cold indifference that he let himself be riled up. he came home bruised and bloody that day and p’jaeb had tended to his wounds. and when he woke up the next morning, bruised and aching, it had almost felt like white was still with him. 

so he got into fight after fight after fight. and p’jaeb would dutifully tend to each bloody nose and each split lip.

why are you so angry? she’d ask every time

because i am full of grief he wanted to answer

and one day while tending his wounds, she had stopped, looked up at him, and said “i know why you are doing this and it’s not healthy. but i know you won’t stop on my account and the person who could make you stop isn’t here. so if you’re going to keep getting into fights and you’re going to keep making me patch you up, at least start winning.” 

p’jaeb had picked up his pieces when he fell apart and tried her best to put them back together and so for p’jaeb he would.

he’s never lost a fight since.)

☆★☆

black is 13 and he’d recently taken to following p’jaeb around like a little duckling. p’jaeb had said nothing at first but black wasn’t stupid. he saw the amused looks she’d send him when she thought he wasn’t looking.

he had something to ask her okay? he just… didn’t know how to put it into words yet. so sue him, it’s not his fault white wasn’t here to translate black’s micro-expressions for other people. 

that had been on thursday, a week ago. 3 weeks later and he still hadn’t asked p’jaeb yet. he’s still following her around of course — he has to find the most opportune moment. 

so she’ll move into the living room and he’ll just so happen to be there too.

just reading the news, he says at her curious glance. 

or she’ll be in the kitchen and he’ll just so happen to be there too.

just looking for something to cook, he says at her amused look ignoring the fact that he’s never cooked a day in his life.

p’jaeb seems to have tired of this charade too. good, he’s running out of excuses. a week later, she’s working in the laundry room when she sticks her head out the door and snaps out his name.

“black! get in here now .”

black looks around before pointing to himself, who? me? he mouths

p’jaeb huffs, “yes you. is there anyone else named black in this household?”

slowly he makes his way into the laundry room.

“sit.” she motions to the top of the washing machine.

he takes a seat.

“what’s up? why have you been following me around for the past few weeks?”

squirming in his seat a little he responds, “i wanted to ask you something. i just… didn’t know how to ask without sounding stupid.”

her gaze softens, “black when have i ever called you stupid?”

“p’! you literally called me stupid yesterday!”

“you were gonna put an apple core down the sink drain!”

“i thought we had one of those american sinks!”

“why would we have an american sink? we live in thailand!” she says, shaking her head. 

continuing in a calmer tone she says, “look i’ll be here for the next 45 minutes folding these clothes. so sit there and figure out a way to ask. no more following me around.”

and so he sits there for the next 10 trying to figure out the best way to ask her. finally, he opens his mouth.

“p’jaeb,” he says. she nods her head to show she’s listening.

“there’s… there’s this scholarship student at school. jam. he’s… he’s getting bullied. the kids make fun of him ‘cause his uniforms are always more worn out than the others. and he brings lunch to school instead of eating at the canteen like the rest of us. and i think i fucked it up with him.”

“black how many times have i told you not to say that word? and that’s not a question.”

he huffs, “you say it all the time on the phone with p’nok!”

“p’nok?” she squawks “you’ve only met my boyfriend twice! and you still haven’t asked your question.”

“okay, okay. it's just… i was getting tired of seeing him get pushed around like that.” he looks down and picks at a scab on his knuckle 

“so i pulled him to the side and i told him that if he didn’t wanna get pushed around so much, there were ways he could look rich. or that i could beat up his bullies for him. but then he got mad! told me he didn’t need my help or something like that. said he could get by on his own or whatever.”

he looks up from where he’s picked the knuckle raw, “just what did i do wrong? i thought i was being nice!”

“black that wasn’t nice. that was demeaning. you basically told him that he’d never fit in unless he was rich. that he was too poor to go to your school.”

“well was i wrong? they keep picking on him ‘cause he looks poor! i was just tired of seeing him get beat up.”

she flicks him on the forehead. “do you think i’m less than you? do you think that you’re better than me ‘cause you have more money?”

black’s eyes widen, “what? of course not! p’jaeb you’re my- you’re family!”

“but i don’t have money like jam” she continues “i’m poor like jam. does that mean i don’t deserve to be where i am today? does that mean i should “dress rich” to work here? arguably, jam is one of the few kids who deserve to go there.” p’jaeb retorts

“what does it matter that you don’t have money?” black all but yells “if you needed it, i’d give it to you. and of course you deserve to be here. where else would you be?”

it’s true. black can’t imagine p’jaeb anywhere but at the house with him. can’t think of saturdays without thinking of soap-opera nights with her. can’t think of his Bad Days without thinking about the plate of fruit she leaves outside the door for him. even p’nok, her stupid boyfriend who keeps taking her out of the house, is family too.

(white would’ve loved her. would’ve soaked up all the affection p’jeab gives out freely. would’ve loved p’nok’s shitty dad jokes. 

it would’ve been perfect black can’t help but think p’nok, p’jaeb, white, and me. a family.)

“and what do you mean, jam deserves to be there the most? i work hard.”

she sighs, “no one said that you didn’t black. but look at it like this: you go to a very prestigious middle school. most of your classmates come from money. you come from money. it probably helped you get into that school too. your school is practically made for rich kids but jam is so smart that your school decided to overlook the fact that he’s poor. your “rich kids” school where half of the kids got in because their parents are in a higher tax bracket than most thai people, let jam in. the truth is he’s probably smarter than you in a lot of ways.”

“what’s that supposed to mean? i’m the top of my class” black says scowling

“how much do 3 pounds of onions cost?” 

“what? what does this have to do with-”

cutting him off she continues, “what’s the fastest bus route from bang kapi to bang bon? how much money do you need to keep the lights on at home? what’s the average rent price? do you know how to juggle a job and your studies? name three dishes you can cook. can you answer any of these questions?”

“no, but-”

“no buts’ black. you can’t but jam can probably answer all of them. and if you asked him any academic questions, he could probably answer those too.”

she looks up at him from the finished pile of folded laundry and raises her hand to pat his head. 

lowering her tone she continues, “i know you wanted to help black but that was the wrong way to go about it. from what you’ve told me it seems like he’s the only scholarship student in your grade. am i correct?”

he nods. 

“you will never know this because of the way you were raised, but when you’re that poor and outnumbered sometimes the only thing you can hold onto is your dignity. the only thing you can do is buckle down on the parts of your life you’re sure of. ‘yes i’m poor and yes i can’t afford the canteen and yes i only have one set of the uniform. so what? this is who i am.’ when you offered to take away his problems by waving your money or by beating up the bullies for him, what do you think that told him?”

he hangs his head, “that i thought he wasn’t capable. that he couldn’t solve his own problems.”

“exactly black.” looking back down at the folded laundry she says, “i’ve said a lot today. why don’t you think about it a little bit?”

knowing a dismissal when he hears one, black hops off the washing machine and walks back to his room. p’jaeb told him to think about what she said and he does. for a whole week, he thinks about it. when next thursday — laundry day! — rolls around he’s already waiting for her on top of the dryer.

“well hello to you too,” she says amusedly

he skips the pleasantries. “you said i had privilege because of my money. okay well, it’s not my fault i was born with money and other people weren’t. why should i have to take responsibility for something i had no control over?”

she’s quiet as she works. in goes a shirt, a pair of pants, socks, a blouse until the whole basket is empty. she closes the washing machine and fiddles with the wash settings. finally, she leans against it and looks up at him.

“you're right black. it’s not your fault you were born with money. you had no say in whether you were born or not. but the money you were born with gives you a certain amount of privilege. because you have money, because your family isn’t poor you will never have to worry about rent money or the cost of vegetables going up. you will always have fresh food and water. you will always have a roof over your head. you will always be comfortable.”

he opens his mouth to speak but she cuts him off, “opportunities open up to you wherever you go. things that other people would have to fight are given easily to you. think about it black. there could be someone as smart as einstein in thailand but we’d never know because they were born poor and as such didn’t receive the opportunities that were given to you. does that sound fair to you?”

he shakes his head no. 

“think about it like this: imagine you are in a race. because you are rich there are no obstacles put forth in front of you. but jam, who is poor, has 20 in front of him. who is going to win the race?”

“i would,” he says

“correct. you would. this is the reality for most people in thailand. no one can pull themselves up by the bootstraps — not when the system is set up for rich people. it’s even harder for lgbtq+ people, women, and anyone else our society deems unworthy.

“black, you will always have a headstart in life because of the money you were born into. what other people will have to fight and bleed for, you will receive because of who you are. and it hurts, i know it does, to realize the extent of your privilege. to realize how good you have it compared to how bad others have it but we can only grow as people if we confront the parts of ourselves that make us uncomfortable.” she says

“you asked why you had to take responsibility for something you had no control over.” she reaches out to ruffle his hair. “society is not built fair for everyone. it is one thing to not realize your privilege — that can be excused — but to know your privilege and do nothing? that is inexcusable. if everyone who had more resources came together to share what they had we could make this world a better place”

“a just society,” she says “is not built by only caring about one’s own needs but by caring about the needs of your community. empathy is at the core of all progress.”

she laughs, “well that and a few molotov cocktails.”

black thinks he gets it. caring about the community is more important than caring about one’s needs? he’ll think about it.

thursdays eventually become their day. where p’jaeb will talk to him about these kinds of things and he’ll bounce ideas off of her.

(in the meantime, he hopes white has his own p’jeab in russia.)  

☆★☆

black is 15 and p’jeab leaves. 

☆★☆

black is 17 and he leaves this time. leaves the house, his mother, everything he’s ever known behind. there is nothing left for him in that house with its vacant rooms and its empty dinner table.

so 2 months before university starts, he packs his bags, withdraws all the money he can, and leaves. he’s technically homeless until the dorms open in june but lucky for him, he has a backup plan:

show up at p’jaeb’s house and hope his puppy dog eyes are good enough to let him crash on her couch for 2 months. 

and if they aren’t — well he has a 13-hour bus ride to perfect it.

(the bus ride is long and he tries not to think about the fact that this year he’ll have spent almost a decade away from his brother. he tries not to think about the fact that they’ve spent more time away from each other than together.

does white miss him? does white think about him like black thinks about white? daily? neverending? does white live life like there’s a hole in his heart too?  does the sadness weigh white down too?

he hopes not. he hopes white is living happily in russia. it was the last thing black had told white to do. be well black had said. he hopes even 7000 kilometers away white is still listening to his p'. 

if he keeps thinking about white he’ll cry and he fucking refuses to cry on a bus surrounded by strangers. adjusting the way his backpack sits in his lap, he rests his head on the window and lets the gentle rhythm of the bus sway him to sleep.)

he hasn’t actually seen p’jaeb since he was 15. she had come to him first to tell him she was leaving because she and p’nok were expecting a baby.

(before she left, she had pulled him close and hugged him like he was going to disappear.

“be well.” she had said, unknowingly mimicking his last words to white.

“i will,” he promised,” i will.”)

they called almost every week on skype after she left. she had constantly updated him on the pregnancy and when she gave birth, the office had called him out of class and told him to go to the hospital. 

there’s a well-loved photo of him, in a sweaty school uniform, holding nong maew crying as p’jeab looks up at him smiling fondly, and p’nok laughs in the background that sits at the bottom of his duffel bag.

when maew had turned about 6 months, p’nok’s job had taken them up to mae fa luang, all the way up north in chiang rai. so black had said his goodbyes to weekly video calls and said his hellos to weekly hour-long phone calls. he missed them but p’jeab had seemed so happy up in the mountains that he tried not to complain too much.

the bus reaches mae fa luang the next day at around 8 in the evening. stepping out into the hot and humid air immediately makes him feel dizzy.

fuck he thinks i’m too overdressed for this weather and i don't know the way to p’jeab’s house. shit. fuck. black you idiot.

he tries talking to the ticket desk assistant but her northern dialect is a little too thick for him to understand. so he sits down on a bench outside and tells himself that come tomorrow he’ll go out and ask again.

he’s just about to fall asleep again when he hears someone calling his name. 

“-ack? black?” the voice is getting closer “black is that you?”

he looks up to see p’nok’s face looking at him shocked. 

“p’nok? what’re you doing here?” he asks

“black i live here. what’re you doing here?” p’nok’s eyes take into account his bags “fuck. actually, never mind that, you look dehydrated. did you drink any water on the way here?”

black shakes his head no. too busy trying not to cry thinking ‘bout white he says in his head — though looking at the way p’nok’s eyes go sad he might’ve said that out loud.

“c’mon black” p’nok says as he manhandles him into his truck “let’s get you back home. jeab’s gonna be so happy to see you.”

as black falls asleep in the truck, he feels a hand smooth his hair away from his face and hears p'nok whisper, “my stupid, stupid son. what’s gotten into you?”

he wakes up to weight on his chest. craning his neck downward, he sees nong maew laying on it.

“...what?” he croaks out, throat dry.

“oh you’re awake!” p’jeab comes inside the room in a hurry “i was getting worried that you slept for so long!”

she hugs him long and hard before leaning back to flick his forehead.

“ow!” he yelps, “what’d you do that for p’?”

“you stupid stupid boy. what were you thinking, coming here at night like that? and i told you to ‘be well’ before i left! why are you so skinny? have you been eating anything? is this what ‘be well’ means to you?” p’jeab says heatedly

“i agree,” p’nok says, voice unusually stern, leaning against the doorway “what were you thinking pulling that stunt? what if i didn’t park my truck near the bus terminal that day huh? how would you have found us? and why didn’t you call the moment you landed?”

“i’m sorry! my phone died and i couldn’t understand the ticket lady’s dialect and i was just going to sleep on that bench before trying to find you tomorrow.” black says hurriedly, trying to make them understand.

if anything, they look angrier.

“oooh, p’bla’k in t'ouble,'' nong maew says giggling, and just like that the tension breaks. 

black smiles down at her “are you making fun of me right now, little cat? huh? looks like someone deserves the tickle monster!”

“no!” she shrieks laughing

(too busy making maew laugh, black misses the soft looks p'jeab and p'nok give each other watching them play.)

the truth about his visit comes out a month later, in the middle of may. 

he had been getting quieter every day and everyone had noticed. everyone tried to help in their way. maew wouldn't spend more than an hour away from him, p'nok took black out to work on his motorcycle more often, and p'jeab left bowls of cut-up fruit on his desk. 

it all comes to a head the monday before his (their) birthday.

it's a Bad Day. black knows this as soon as he wakes up. it will not be Good or even Average. monday is going to be Bad, full of Bad Thoughts and Bad Ideas. he's gotten into his worst fights on days like these.

he's been up for about a half-hour staring at the ceiling by the time p'nok comes into the room. 

"oh dear," he distantly hears p'nok say, "it's gonna be one of those days huh?"

black is too tired to nod. p'nok comes closer and combs his fingers through black's hair. 

"hey, hey" p'nok whispers, "did you brush your teeth yet?"

black just looks at him. 

"no? that's okay but why don't we try and do it right now. does that sound good?"

he flips over onto his side. "tir'd" black mutters.

"i know, i know. but if you brush your teeth, i'll ask jaeb to cut up some cantaloupe for you. you'll feel better once you have some food in you." p'nok says softly

"and if i don't?" black asks

"if you don't kiddo, you can come right back to bed. does that sound like a good deal?" 

"yeah," black mutters, lethargically swinging his legs over the side of the bed. he walks over to the bathroom and closes the door.

if black’s being honest with himself he looks like shit. his hair is a mess, there are dark circles under his eye, and his limbs feel like they’re made out of lead. he groans in exhaustion.

the week leading up to his birthday is always hard but this year it seems to be shaping up to be harder than most.

(it’s just… he’s going to university in a month and he’d never thought he’d have to do this without white. how many more milestones is he going to have to celebrate without his brother? their birthday is coming and they should both be here.

he reaches his hand down to press at the space where the last bruise he had from white was. it’s at the back of his calf — white had run into the sofa at the house. black had pressed on it all the way home from the airport. he hoped white had felt it. he had hoped it conveyed everything he wanted to say.

p’ loves you. i’m here. come back to me, come back to me, come back to me.)

he quickly finishes up in the bathroom and walks toward the kitchen. walking into the room he sees that p’jeab already made breakfast for him. a cup of tea and a bowl of cut-up cantaloupe slices. 

he takes the cup and the bowl and moves to the back sit-out. as he walks through the doorway he sees that p’jeab is already sitting there playing with maew. she looks up when he enters and gives him a soft smile. maew turns around to see what p’jaeb’s looking at and when she sees him she gives him a wide toothy grin.

“p’bla’k!” she shouts excitedly.

he gives them both a tired nod back. maew’s smile falters.

“p’?” she asks, eyebrows creasing.

he reaches out a finger to smooth away the wrinkles. “just a little tired, tiny cat.” he says.

p’jeab comes over to sit by his side and pats her shoulder. taking the hint, he rests his head on it, and like that they spend the morning in silence only interrupted by the sounds of maew laughing.

when he finishes breakfast she takes the cup and bowl and moves them inside. he stays outside staring at the mountains with a lost look in his eyes. when she comes back it’s with maew and she rearranges them so his head is in p’jeab’s lap and nong maew is sitting on his stomach.

“maew wanted to ask you something.” she says looking at maew reassuringly, “isn’t that right sweetheart?

“yes!” maew enthuses. then looking at him from her position on top of his stomach she asks shyly, “what… what is other p’ like?”

his breath catches. he sends a betrayed look up to p’jeab. she smiles softly and says, “come now, it’s been almost a decade black. you have to talk about him sometime. i’ve been with you for about 7 years and i still only know like 3 things about him. and your little sister wants to know about her older brother. is that so wrong?”

he huffs and looks back down at maew. he says nothing for a few seconds before opening his mouth, “so you wanna know about p’white?”

she nods her head yes and so black talks. talks about how her p’white is a little bit of a scaredy-cat and how p’white absolutely hates the color white but loves yellow. talks about how white loves cats but can’t stand dogs. talks about how white is obsessed with the stars and hated the fact that they lived in bangkok. talks about how white had a habit of copying black’s actions when he was 6. he talks and talks until maew is fast asleep on his chest.

p’jeab reaches out and takes maew from his chest and holds her close. black rises and sits so that their shoulders are pressed together.

“he seems like a wonderful man black. i know you only told maew the happy parts but if you want to talk about the sad parts, i’ll listen. and if you don’t want to talk and you want to go back to bed, that’s okay too. whatever you’re comfortable with.”

black says nothing for a while and instead stares out at the mountains. they sit there like that for an hour, maybe more, he doesn’t know. finally, he sighs and leans forward to rest his arms on his knees.

“it’s just- one thing about me and white was that we were very… close. co-dependent if you asked the maids. you came after he left so you’d have no way of knowing this — it was an open secret among everyone who worked there — but me and him had a very special connection. we could feel each other’s pain. it was why they separated us. they thought we were becoming too attached to each other. well, that and they couldn’t stand each other anymore. so they each picked the twin they wanted and didn't look back.”

his breath hitches and tears are building up in the corner of his eyes. “how could we not get attached though? we practically raised ourselves in that stupid house. just me and white playing together. me and white patching each other up. me and white forcing each other to eat vegetables. just me and white, comforting each other when we had nightmares. they couldn’t even spend more than two hours a day with us. they just- picked the one they wanted and left.”

“we were only 7,” he whispers, tears streaking down his face. he watches them fall on the floor and pool up. 

“and what was left?” he continues louder, “just me alone in that house. i couldn't leave my bed for days. nobody came to check on me. the maids would leave food and water outside my door but what good was that? i wanted to eat with somebody, someone and he wasn’t here so i didn’t. i just sat in my bed, staring at white’s side of the room, hoping it was all a dream.”

“and what was left?” he repeats tiredly "just me and at the center of myself, a grief i thought i couldn't survive."

p’jeab has been surprisingly silent throughout all of this but at his last statement she reaches over to pull him into her side and presses a kiss to the top of his head. 

“oh my son,” she murmurs into his hair and black can’t help it — he breaks.

he sobs — great, big, ugly tears roll down his face as he tries to stifle the noises coming out of his mouth.

“you would’ve loved him.” he cries “so much more well-behaved than me. he never would’ve picked fights. no, he would’ve done something stupid like keep all the sadness in him and just let himself wither. god, he never knew how to ask for help. i always had to keep a close eye on him cause you could always tell how he was feeling by the shit he didn’t say."

he laughs. it comes out as this ugly sound — broken and bitter.

"it was father that chose him. father of all people. that bastard doesn't know the first thing about white. did you know that white never wanted to be a politician? he wanted to do something with science. he used to say he wanted to study the stars but father wanted something he could shape. a tangible legacy. and so he pushed for white to be a diplomat. and white? he just... never fought back. it killed him on the inside."

"i was gonna get him out of there. let him study something he wanted," he says.

"oh my son," p'jeab whispers again, "he'll come back."

he pulls away from her side. "you don't know that." he says

"i do." she counters surely, "i do because he left almost a decade ago and you're still grieving. if he loves you half as much as you love him, then he'll come back."

goddamnit, why is p'jeab so good at making him cry?

"i just-" he sobs "never thought i'd have to do this without him. i'm starting university soon. he was supposed to be here with me. how many more milestones are we gonna miss?"

"i miss him every day, p'jeab. i wish they took him earlier before i had time to love him. before he etched his way into the very being of who i was. when they separated us at 7 it was too late. too late to turn him out of my heart. a part of him lives there."

p'jeab just pulls his head back down onto her shoulder. "shh, shh" she whispers "just cry it out."

the last thing he remembers is tiring himself out crying on her shoulder.

when he wakes up she's gently patting his head. he gets up off her shoulder and stretches. they sit in silence for a while, staring at the greenery before p'jaeb breaks the silence.

"i asked you before. years ago, when you first started getting into fights. when you'd come home from school with more skin bruised than not. when you only looked at peace if your body was aching." she says softly

"again and again i'd ask, 'why are you so angry?' and in response, you'd look at me with the saddest eyes i've ever seen on a 9-year-old."

turning to look at him, she continues," 'oh ' i remember thinking after the third time i asked. he's angry because he's full of grief. then another question came to me, 'why is he full of grief?' why was this boy that i’d come to love so dearly, so full of sadness?"

"and then i watched you for years, press down on those bruises as if you were waiting for a response. and i watched for years, as you took good care of that child-sized white button-down that you never wore. and i watched you for years look over your shoulder as if you were looking for someone and then i understood."

" 'why are you so full of grief?' i’d wondered and the answer came to me like a glass of cold water on a summer's day — with sudden and startling clarity. because you are full of love. and i felt like an idiot for not seeing it before because what is grief, if not love persevering?" she looks down at maew sleeping on her chest before speaking again in that same soft tone.

"you love him and so you grieve for him. you grieve for the 9-year-old white you never got to play with. you grieve for the 13-year-old white you never got to give girl advice to. you grieve for all the years you and white were not together."

she rises to put maew down on the baby blanket next to them. after arranging the pillows into a box around maew she sits down next to him and continues.

"when white comes back, you will grieve then too. you will grieve when he talks and you don't recognize the cadence of his voice. you will grieve when you see him smile and you don't recognize the way his mouth tilts upward. you will grieve for all the years you had to do your growing-up apart instead of together."

"and isn't that what it means to love? to grieve. to grieve for their losses, the people they were, and the time you lost together. to love someone is to grieve for them." she says, smiling sadly.

"but," p'nok says, having slipped in the room sometime while p'jaeb was talking, "more than there is grief in love, there is joy."

he lightly brushes maew head before looking up at them and smiling.

"you will find joy in learning the new cadence of his voice. in learning the new way he smiles. in relearning his tells and his favorite foods. you will find joy in relearning the way you two fit together after doing your growing-up apart."

he looks black in the eye now and speaks in a sure tone, "after all isn't that what love is? a never-ending font of happiness. to rejoice in their victories, the people they became, and the time you still have together. to love someone is to have joy sustained."

"ever the optimist" p'jaeb says, smile no longer sad.

"it's how i got you, isn't it?" p'nok retorts grinning.

black is sobbing. he lays his head in p'jaeb's lap.

"mae" he cries "por"

(because what else can he call these people?

this woman who tried her best to put his shattered pieces back together. who gave him a new understanding of life. who bakes two cakes on his birthday. who calls him every week to make sure he's eating all right. who loves white even if she has never met him.

this man who had no real ties to him but the woman he married. who talked him through picking his major and every other important life event his father was supposed to be there for. who let him fiddle with his motorcycle when the Bad Thoughts come. who buys yellow items because black told him once that white loves yellow. who marks down the best stargazing spots for when white comes back.

what else is he supposed to call these people who showed up at his graduation? who cheered when his name was called? who took family photos with him after the ceremony?

what else but "mae" and "por"?)

mae starts running her fingers through his hair as por sits by his side holding his hand

"our precious, precious son" they murmur together

"it must've been hard right? carrying all this for years. don't worry, you can share it with us from now on" mae says, leaning over to kiss his forehead. 

"we're only one bus ride away. come to us anytime. heaven knows maew loves you more than us." por says, reaching over to wipe away black’s tears.

black laughs wetly. "please don't make me cry anymore."

mae and por look at each other before grinning.

"y'know" mae starts "we always did say that we wanted 2 sons and a daughter. i guess Buddha must've heard our prayers."

and oh — black is sobbing again.

(black starts university with a new fire in his eyes and a weight off his shoulders. when — not if — white comes back, he will take them both back to chiang rai for songkran, nong maew can meet her other older brother, and mae and por can finally meet their other son.

our family of 5, he thinks happily, how beautiful, how wonderful.)

☆★☆

black is 19 and he's been at university for 2 years now. gram, yok, and sean all come one by one.

sean — ugh — comes first. they get along like a house on fire. that is to say extremely well and terribly all at the same time. he's never met someone he agrees with ideologically but hates personally. but they get along. a sort of love-hate relationship. sean’s dry humor is funny as fuck and he seems to be the only one who gets it. when their mission gets fucked up, black knows that nothing will be the same again.

yok comes second. yok is… for a lack of a better word certifiably insane. he also throws a hell of a punch. yok is like a puppy come to life. yok brings him hangover cures after an all-night bender with gram. yok shows black his artwork and asks for critiques. yok wants to be best friends. too bad black doesn't make bonds like that anymore.

gram comes last. gram is well — gram is something. strikingly handsome, well-spoken, smart as a whip. gram makes him want to make friends. gram makes him want to live a little. gram takes him out to drink and takes him to arcades. black tries not to read too into it. he makes black wanna spill all his secrets into the crook of gram's neck. gram makes black stupid in the head and for that, he's distant with him. 

(he's failing miserably.)

★

black is 19 and he's running as fast as his legs can carry him. his lungs are burning and his feet ache. 

★

black is 19 and there is a hand in his hair pulling him back. it hurts, hurts, hurts.

thank Buddha white isn't here.

his head whips to the side. pain explodes outwardly from his cheek.

thank Buddha white isn't here.

someone slams a pole into his head and it all fades into black.

...thank Buddha white isn't here

waking up the second time is easier, like treading water instead of molasses. this time there’s even a doctor waiting at his bedside.

“welcome back to the land of the living sir. it’s so good to see you awake.” the doctor says “you gave us quite a fright, sleeping for so long. there are quite a few people who’d be happy to see you awake.”

first of all, what the fuck. second of all, what the fuck, and third of all, who are these ‘people’ the doctor is talking about.

“where the fuck am i?” black rasps out.

eyebrows knitting together, the doctor responds, “now, there’s no need for that kind of language sir. there’s a bottle of water to your right.”

the doctor waits until he’s finished nearly half the bottle before responding, “you’re at bangkok hospital. you’ve been here for about 3 months. you were admitted with a severe concussion, a broken arm, 2 broken ribs, a fractured ankle, and severe bruising all over your body. you were in a medically induced coma for most of it. we just lifted it last week.”

he takes off his glasses to rub at the bridge of his nose before continuing, “frankly, we barely got you through. your heart stopped once during the coma. sir, i don’t know what happened for you to come in with such severe injuries but i hope you don’t do it again. if not for yourself, then at least for the people who care about you.”

thoroughly chastised, black ducks his head. “oh yeah, like who?” he mutters

the doctor seems to have heard him because he responds, “well your emergency contact for one.”

“a young man by the name of tod, i believe. sound familiar?” he says looking down at his clipboard.

black’s head whips up, “tod’s my fucking emergency contact? you must’ve read the sheet wrong. i had no emergency contact 3 months ago. how could tod be my emergency contact?”

“well he was the one that brought you in and filled out your forms, i believe.”

“well yeah of course he's the one that brought me in! why do you think i have-” black stops suddenly.

fuck, shit, black mentally sighs, i can’t tell this man about what was going on. i’ve already said too much. 

the doctor looks concerned now, “sir if you’re in trouble or if someone is hurting you please let us know.”

black looks away, lips pressed together.

the doctor sighs — it’s tired and weary, “look son, i’m telling you this as your elder, not as your doctor but i’ve seen too many young people come through these doors black and blue because of their partners. your injuries were so severe too. if someone is hurting you, please let us know.” 

goddamnit, he hates playing this card but he doesn’t see a way out of here without doing it. he puts on his best puppy-dog eyes and turns toward the doctor. the doctor visibly softens (thank you white!) before nodding at him to start talking.

“tod wasn’t the one who did this to me and i’m not going to tell you who it was so don’t even think about asking.” 

the doctor nods and black continues. “but… me and tod were- are in a relationship and he used to get angry a lot. like ‘throwing-things’ kind of angry and sometimes he’d hold on to me a little too tightly. and i’m not a fucking idiot. i know the signs of upcoming abuse when i see it. i was gonna break up with him the week i got hurt but, well… i got hurt.”

“thank you for telling me that. i’ll make sure to notify the staff that he’s not allowed in here anymore.” the doctor says

“well that’s about it.” he says turning to leave “any last questions?”

“yeah. when can i get out of here?”

the doctor laughs, “if you could stand, i’d let you out of here today if you pushed for it. but you can’t so you get out at the end of the week on friday. 4 days of rehabilitation and then you can leave.”

the doctor is halfway out the door before black remembers to call out a ‘thank you’.

(what? he may be rough around the edges but mae made sure he had manners.)

★

4 days go by in a flash. an endless repetition of waking up, taking his meds, trying to force down some food, and hours of rehab. 

it’s the worst. the physiotherapist has no fucking pity for him not even when he turns his best “white-puppy-dog” eyes on her. 

hmph. it’s because they haven’t seen the real thing. he thinks with contempt.

on friday at 5 in the evening, he finds himself standing outside the front doors holding a paper bag full of his pain meds, a plastic bag filled with the items he had on the day he got jumped, some money for a cab, and a “get well!” card signed by a bunch of staff he had managed to charm.

still fucking got it, he thinks smirking.

he hails the first cab he sees and rattles off the address for ghumpa’s garage. as he sits in the back of the cab he feels an unusual amount of nervousness thrum up in his body.

rubbing his chest, he tries to calm himself down.

white's smile, white's laugh, gram's smile, gram's laugh, nong maew's questions, por's dad jokes. 

when he comes back to reality, they've made it halfway to the garage but the cab has stopped. 

"what's wrong?" he asks "why'd we stop?"

"traffic jam." the cab driver responds "it's the rush hour right now. we're gonna be stuck for a while."

black curses. thinking quickly, he hops out of the cab.

"thanks for the ride. i'll walk the rest. keep the change." he says, ignoring the driver's confused smile.

taking stock of where he is, black realizes it’s only a 20-minute walk. good, that gives him time to think. like about the fact that his phone is missing from the bag of items they gave him or about the fact that none of them came to visit him. try as he may, black just cannot think of a reason why. they would’ve noticed that he was missing for 3 months — right? (surely gram would’ve noticed, right?)

he entertains himself on the way back with thoughts of telling off the gang. god, he’s gonna have so much fun fucking with sean. and yok is gonna be weepy and try to make it up to him. maybe if he gives gram his patented Disappointed Glance, gram will take him out to the arcade again. ghumpa will look at him, pat him on the shoulder, and threaten to tell his parents. then he’ll give black more shifts as a way to keep an eye on him.

before he knows it, black is standing in front of the garage doors with trepidation filling his lungs. this is stupid. he’s known these people for years, nobody will do anything to him. his body aches and all he wants to do is lay down in his bed and go to sleep for a while. (maybe gram can stay with him too)

fuck it he thinks and walks into the garage.

he gets ten steps in before he stops. sean, yok, gram, and ghumpa are all sitting on the couches yok had dragged in one day, claiming that the garage was too ‘dark and emo’. 

(ghumpa had grumbled for a little bit about ‘fucking kids messing up his garage’ but eventually caved and brought in a small coffee table.)

that’s not what makes him stop. what makes him stop is the boy standing between sean’s legs with sean’s hands on his waist. what makes him stop are the smiles ghumpa and yok are sending this boy. what makes him stop is the way gram is looking at this boy — a weird mixture of confusion, softness, and sadness.

(okay, well, what the fuck gram? black didn’t think he’d get a fucking competitor in the three months he was gone but here they are. it's not like sean's little boytoy — ahem, homewrecker — is better than him either! from what he can see the boy is about the same height and width as he is and he's wearing the same clothes black would've worn. and from the looks of it, they even have a tattoo in the same place.

well, whatever. gram's type doesn’t seem to have changed much. black will just have to show gram what he’s missing. he’ll go toe-to-toe with sean’s little boytoy any day.)

he’s about two steps away from joining in with a well-practiced ‘who the fuck is this?’ when his heart starts beating a mile a minute. 

everything seems to slow down. 

sean squeezes the new kid’s waist and looks up at him with a surprising amount of softness. 

(oh, so not a boytoy then black thinks faintly.)

why are his hands shaking? why do his legs feel like they’re about to collapse?

sean smirks and says something that causes the boy — sean’s lover? beloved? — to throw his head back and erupt into a familiar lilting laugh.

blood roars in his ears. his throat feels dry.

(he knows that laugh. he’s heard that laugh a million times before. he’s made the owner of it, laugh joyfully time and time again. 

…he hasn’t heard that laugh since he was 7. 

but it can’t be- he’s not back yet. black would’ve known. there’s no way his little brother could’ve landed in thailand without black knowing. he would have known, he would have known.)

suddenly things are falling into place — the way the boy is the same height and width as him, the clothes that look suspiciously like his, the laugh.

black’s breaths are coming out in short pants. his palms are sweaty.

the paper bag filled with his medicine slips out of his hand. it lands with a deafening crash.

everyone’s head whips around. instantly they’re on their feet. sean’s hands gripping the boy — …white? — closer. 

black’s eyes lock in on the boy’s face.

“...white?” he whispers

(white, white, white his heart murmurs)

the boy’s — white? — eyes have widened.

(White, White, White his heart chants)

“...p’?” the boy — white — whispers back. it echoes like someone had shouted.

(WHITE WHITE WHITE his heart shouts)

“white” black says again. he hasn’t said that name out loud in months. it feels right on his tongue.

(white, white, white his heart sings joyfully)

suddenly there is a flurry of movement. the boy — white! — rips himself out of sean’s grasp and runs toward him.

black’s arms open instinctively. the boy slams into him. they both sink to the ground. his hands immediately go up and cradle the back of the boy’s head.

“p’black” the boy sobs into his shoulder “you’re awake.”

black’s mind feels like someone stuffed it with wool. “white?” he manages to work out “white is that you?”

he pulls the boy back to get a good look at his face. 

…it really is white. white is here? white is back? white is- white is crying. why is his little brother crying? his brother, who shines with the splendor of a thousand suns, should never cry. white should always smile, should always beam his megawatt grin, should always laugh. white is crying and that just won’t do.

“oh baby brother,” he says smiling, reaching out to wipe the tears away. “why are you crying? haven’t i told you to always smile?”

it does not have the comforting effect black wanted it to have. white starts sobbing harder.

“there- there hasn’t been much to smile about lately p’.”

black laughs — it’s watery and thin.

“well i’m here now, aren’t i? let me take care of you. we can find something to laugh at together okay?”

white has half-crawled into his lap. oh Buddha, how long has it been since they’ve been this close? he pulls white even closer. white is still sobbing.

“shh, shh. you don’t have to worry anymore. p’ is here. i‘m here, i’m here. let me take care of you.”

white says something into his shoulder. it’s muffled but it makes black’s heart warm. 

“don't do it all by yourself. let me help.”

he chuckles, “of course, white. of course.”

looking up from where he’s staring at white in wonder, he notices that the rest of the gang is still there. making eye contact with them, he can’t help but smile.

how could he not? white was back, white is in his arms, white is here. there is nothing that could make him happier than he is now. (maybe if gram kissed him?)

sean looks smug. the same look he gets when he knows an answer in class before anyone else.

yok looks like his brain is about to explode. “what the fuck?” yok mutters

“oh thank fuck” gram says sounding oddly relieved 

ghumpa says nothing but a quiet “called it” before whipping out his phone — probably updating mae or por.

when white’s cries seem to wind down, he taps white on the back. “up, up. c’mon now.”

slowly they stand up together. black moves to rearrange them into a more comfortable position but white holds on tighter instead. 

he wraps an arm around white’s waist and it’s only then that he realizes what white is wearing.

“white,” he says slowly “why are you wearing my clothes? and why do you have a tattoo that looks exactly like mine?”

“yeah white” gram’s voice is light but there’s an undercurrent of tension in it “why don’t you share with the class, why you’re wearing your brother’s clothes?”

white tenses in his arms and black glares at gram.

who the fuck does he think he is talking to black’s baby brother like that? pretty lips or not, black will end gram if white starts crying again.

ghumpa seeing the fight brewing quickly cuts in, “okay, okay. let’s not argue right now. i’m sure white has a very reasonable explanation for why did what he did. let’s order some food and we can talk over that.”

★

by the time the food has arrived, black and gram have cooled off somewhat. yok still looks confused and sean has gone back to making Eyes at his brother. 

(that reminds him, why the fuck was sean holding onto his baby brother's hips? why was he staring at white with the softest look black's ever seen on sean's face?

things are adding up and he doesn't like the look of them. tomorrow black's gonna be having a very long talk with sean about the appropriate way to look at black's brother — which for sean, is not at all.)

when the food comes, white rises on instinct to help with the serving before ghumpa levels him with a stare. flushed, white sits back down and cuddles closer to black. ghumpa pulls out a pack of the strongest beer he has. 

“i just have a feeling we’re gonna need it.” he says

black leans over to white, “you drink beer now?” he asks confusedly

“ahh no. i hate the taste of it but i had to fit in so… here we are, i guess.” white responds lowly

“so then ask for juice or something, idiot. no one’s gonna kill you for not liking beer. and what do you mean ‘fit in’?”

“but i-” white starts fidgeting, visibly uncomfortable “-i don’t wanna make them go out of their way. i can live with beer. and it’ll just be-”

whatever white was going to say is cut off by yok’s voice. “if you two are done whispering to each other, then we’d like to eat.”

black glares at yok. “yeah, yeah. we’re done. oh and ghumpa can you get white some juice or water.” he ignores white tugging at his sleeve “white doesn’t like beer.”

“doesn’t like beer? he drinks it all the- oh that was another lie wasn’t it?” gram says

white deflates a little. black is going to fucking kill gram.

ghumpa nods and comes back with some water. a mumbled ‘thank you’ from white and everybody starts eating. it’s quiet as everyone focuses on their food. white isn’t even eating his, just pushing it around with his spoon.

black nudges white, “you don’t like the food? is it because there’s eggplant in it? give’em to me.”

that gets him his first real smile out of white. it’s small but it makes the knot in his chest loosen just a tad

“and what about you p’? there’s cucumber in yours. give’em to me.”

they switch plates. looking up, he realizes the rest of the gang is watching them.

“what?” he grumbles, a little self-consciously “white doesn’t like eggplant.”

they go back to eating quietly. it’s yok who breaks the silence with a quiet ‘fuck it’.

“so…” yok says, putting his food down and taking a sip of his beer “twins huh?”

they nod. “identical,” black says.

“well, we can see that.” gram mutters

honestly, what the fuck is gram’s problem? 

“you gonna give us anything else? like why we didn’t know about him? or maybe why he was pretending to be you?” yok says

“there wasn’t much to say. he lived in russia until recently. our bastard parents separated us when we were 7. mother took me and father took him.”

“fuck that must’ve sucked.” ghumpa says

black just hums in response. (it did, he thinks) 

“he’s back now.” black says simply. white squeezes his hand. they’re back together now, that’s all that matters.

“as for why he was pretending ” his voice turns incredulous at that “to be me, you’ll have to ask him that.”

he turns to white, who’s looking down and holding his water bottle in a death grip. “c’mon white, why were you pretending to be me? and why do you have my tattoo? and where are your glasses?”

sean who has said nothing this whole time, perks up at that, “he has glasses? cute.”

white’s cheeks darken.

oh hell no. no fucking way. he is not letting sean of all people get with his baby brother. abso-fucking-lutely not.

he glares at sean who smiles amusedly in return. turning back to white he taps him on the knee and says “answer the questions white.”

white breathes in deeply before exhaling with a tired sigh. the knot in black’s chest tightens up.

“i was pretending to be you to find out who landed you in the hospital and you had a tattoo so i needed a tattoo. also, you don’t have glasses so it’s not like i can wear glasses. i’ve been wearing contacts p’.”

black hisses, “why would you do that? you know contacts irritate your eyes.” white ducks his head.

“do you have your glasses on you?” white nods his head “go put them on.”

“but p’-” white starts

black channels his “i’m older and you should listen” voice. he hasn’t used it in over a decade. “go, now.”

white gets up and walks up to sean’s room. good to see it still- “why is white going to sean’s room?”

“they room together. he came back one day and said he had no place to go. so i moved him in with sean.” ghumpa says 

“no place to go? but father should’ve-” doing some quick math, black asks “how long ago was that?”

the knot in his chest is getting tighter.

“about three months ago.” ghumpa responds

white comes rushing down the stairs, glasses askew, rubbing his chest, “p’? what’s wrong? why does your chest hurt?”

“okay what the fuck does that mean?” gram says “how would you know if black’s chest was hurting?”

(off to the side sean says, “i was right. he is cute with glasses.” black is going to gut him like a fish.)

“i think, little brother, that you’re not giving us the whole story.” white’s hands tremble at his side “start from the beginning, this time.” 

“i- i came back to thailand and father wouldn’t tell me where you are so i called tod. tod said you were in the hospital — the icu actually — and took me to see you. you were… so badly beaten p’black.”

gram sucks in a breath. white’s eyes have glossed over with unshed tears.

“there wasn’t a single part of your face that wasn’t covered in a bruise p’. and what- what was i supposed to do? just sit there and tend to you? weep at your bedside? i couldn’t- wouldn’t do that so i got tod to help. he told me everything he knew about you: 19, a political science student at chulalongkorn university — congrats by the way. wish i could’ve been there to see you get in — and works at ghumpa’s garage. sean, yok, and gram are his friends.” white says, tears dripping down his face

black’s heart hurts.

“ ‘be careful’ tod had said. ‘his friends seem a little dangerous’. and what did i know about you? it had been 11 years so i believed him. changed out my sweaters for your jean jackets. got a tattoo in a week and showed up at the garage. 3 months later, here you are.”

“you thought one of us did it.” gram breathes out horrified

“i did,” white says, “i thought you did it actually.”

“you thought, i hurt black? you thought i put black in the hospital? you thought i put my best friend in the icu?” gram says, voice getting progressively louder

white takes a step back before steeling himself. “i did and i’m sorry. i knew after spending a week with you that you’d never hurt p’. that none of you could’ve been the one to hurt p’black.”

black stands up.

“so why not leave?” yok asks “after you figured out that it was none of us, why stay? why not use your money and figure it out that way?”

white looks downward “i fought with father and walked out. gave it all up. it’s a miracle he hasn’t come looking for me yet. and… i got attached.”

“to us?” sean asks staring at white intently

“to the cause,” white says and then after a beat, “...to all of you as well.”

“plus” he continues “i figured the person who did it is still out there. if they saw p’black looking healthy, they might reveal themselves. so i was waiting.”

black is going to kill his stupid brother. 

walking towards white, “you’ve been using yourself as bait?” he asks, tone deadly

the beer can that black was drinking out of had been slowly getting more deformed the longer white talks. it digs into his hands. white rubs at his palms.

“so to recount, you found me in the icu bruised and in a coma, hatched some insane little plan to get revenge, and used yourself as bait? did i get that all right, baby brother?”

the gang takes a step back at his tone. white — his stupid, stupid, brother. he’s gonna wrap him in bubble wrap tomorrow — squares his shoulders instead.

“do you know how fucking reckless that was? how dangerous that was? are you insane?” he says angrily, standing in front of white.

“p’-” 

“no” black cuts him off “tomorrow you’re going back to father’s and you’re gonna apologize and you’re gonna stay there until i get this shit sorted out. am i understood?” 

“p’ that’s not-” white says upset

“am i understood?” black asks

“no you’re not!” white burst out “you’re not! this isn’t fair! you don’t even like father.”

“i don’t care. he has the money and the resources to keep you safe. there’s no way in hell, i’m letting you be in more danger than you already have.”

“and what if it was me?” white says heatedly

“what?”

“what if it was me you found in the icu? what if it was me who had gotten hurt? what if you had to feel your brother get hurt? would you just sit there at my bedside? huh? what if it was me?” white asks

the gang sucks in a breath. it would almost be comical if the scenario white had put forth wasn’t so horrifying.

(his baby brother in the icu? his baby brother beaten the way he had been? it’s- it’s- it wouldn’t happen. black would die before he lets anyone hurt his brother like that.)

white’s eyes soften, “exactly. you wouldn’t stay at my bedside either. you’d go out and find the people who did it and you’d get revenge. so don’t get mad at me for doing what i thought was right p’black.”

black pulls white into a bone-crushing hug. white tucks himself into the crook of black’s neck and starts crying lightly. 

“don’t be mad at me p’. i was just doing what i thought was right.”

black’s starts running his hands down white’s back.

“shh, shh.” black soothes “i’m not mad, i was just worried. i understand, i understand. if you wanna stay, you can stay but no more risks okay. everywhere you go from now on, take someone with you okay? no more going out to places by yourself.”

(“wow” yok mutters “he’s got a serious brother complex.” 

the gang quickly tries to stifle their laughter.)

white nods into his shoulder.

black does understand. if he had to see his brother like that, had to feel- wait feel?

his heart starts beating a mile a minute.

he pulls his brother back, horror seeping into his tone “white, what did you mean when you said you had to feel me getting hurt?”

“white, tell me you came to thailand after i got hurt,” he says panicked.

“tell me you didn’t feel me getting hurt. tell me you found me after i was admitted to the icu.”

“white” he begs, shaking his brother by the shoulders “answer me. answer me!”

white cries harder, shaking his head

ghumpa comes over to pull them apart. gram holds onto him as sean gathers white up in his arms.

“white!” he shouts from where he’s struggling in gram’s hold “tell me i’m right! tell me!”

“enough!” ghumpa yells “what the hell are you two talking about?”

it’s white who answers in between sobs. “it’s- it’s why our pare- parents separated us. cause we can- can feel each other’s pa-pain.”

sean looks at white in shock.

“what the fuck?” gram mutters behind him

“they- they” white takes a deep breath “they had hoped distance would make the bond un- unable to work. they were right. it’s- it’s why i was in russia.”

“oh my god” yok breathes out

looking black directly in the eye white says “if i tell you, promise me you won’t blame yourself.”

black stops struggling against gram. “tell me first.”

white closes his eyes and nods. he sags against sean who tightens his grip on him.

“the night you got hurt” white begins

dread rises in his lungs, clogging his airways.

(please he thinks it was the one thing i had prayed for that night. please let me be right. pleasepleaseplea-)

“i was at a dinner party with father. it started with feeling like someone had kicked me in the back and it ended with me in the icu calling tod to know where you were.”

“no” black breathes out “no, no, no.”

suddenly the doctor’s words come back to him 

“your heart stopped once during the coma”

cold envelopes his body. the bond wouldn’t transmit that — would it? no, but he has to make sure.

“white look at me,” he says using his “older brother” voice

white opens his eyes.

“tell me you didn’t feel it — when my heart stopped during the coma.”

the garage goes silent. ghumpa and sean are staring at him with horror. gram’s hold on him falls away completely. 

“oh fuck,” yok whispers.

tears drip steadily from white’s eyes as he turns his head.

“i’m sorry” white whispers and black’s world implodes.

(white’s heart had stopped because his heart had stopped. white was dead for a second. his baby brother was dead. his fault, his fault, his fault. white felt him getting hurt. the worst beating of black’s life and white was there for all of it. 

little brother was dead, little brother was dead, little brother is deaddeaddeaddea-)

“-ck! -lack! black!” he hears gram cry distantly “black! breathe with me!”

oh, black can’t breathe. when did he get on the floor?

“black! breathe with me!” gram cries.

(what was the point? white is deaddeaddeadeaddea-)

“fuck it’s not working!” he hears someone cry.

“black, white can’t breathe!” yok yells.

black drags his head up to see, through his tears, white on the ground in sean’s arms struggling to breathe.

(white’s not dead?)

white can’t breathe. he needs to breathe. he can’t breathe.

“black, match your breathing to mine.” gram instructs a little panicked.

black struggles to do so. 

in, out — 1. in, out — 2. in, out — 3. in, out — 4. in, out — 5.

by 5, black is breathing somewhat regularly. he reaches out for white. he has to make sure white’s okay.

(white is okay. white isn’t dead. white’s alivealivealivealivealiveali-)

someone deposits white in his lap. his arms wrap around white in a vice grip. white wraps his arms around black’s neck just as tightly. his hands go up to cradle white’s head.

“p’ is sorry, p’ is sorry, i’m sorry.” he chants into white’s shoulder crying

“not your fault p’, not your fault p’, not your fault.” white sobs back

(and hasn’t it always been like this? both of them stumbling over apologies and reassurances. 

…maybe one day they’ll finally believe each other.)

the last thing he remembers is tiring himself out crying on white’s shoulder.

he wakes up the next morning, in sean’s room, to the sunlight casting a golden haze. flipping over on his side, he sees white already awake. 

“hey,” he whispers, “how long have you been awake watching me, creep?”

“not that long,” white whispers back smiling

they do nothing but drink in the sight of each other. taking note of new scars, new marks, the way each other’s faces changed.

“your cheeks got rounder,” he says

“your jaw got sharper,” white responds

“your eyes got lighter.” black notes

“yours stayed the same.” white says smiling

if black could live in this moment he would. white and him sharing a bed like they’re children again. enveloped in the soft glow of the morning sun.

“there wasn't a day i didn’t think of you, you know that right? i thought of you every day. i have so much to tell you, little brother.”

“every day, p’black. i thought of you too. russia was so lonely.” white says

“i’m here now.”

they lay in silence for a little longer before white sits up dragging black along with him.

“they’re probably waiting for us downstairs. we should go.” white says

they get dressed — black in his usual jean jacket/sleeveless shirt combo and white in a yellow sweater.

before the walk through the door, black is hit with an inexplicable sense of nervousness.

one hand on the doorknob and one hand clasped with his, white looks back and smiles. 

“together?” he asks

“together.”

and they open the door.

(later black will hold white as he shows off his meager collection of photos of his life in russia. as he talks about a lonely childhood in the third person like he watched it happen instead of living it. he will hold white as he cries about growing up perpetually an outsider and how isolating it was. 

later black will give sean the shovel talk. they will hash out that disastrous mission and give each other apologies and forgiveness where they are needed. later he will cry with mae and por as white and sean exchange rings in the temple. later he will call sean ‘brother’.

later he will complain to yok about gram. later he will kiss gram on the mouth — soft, sweet, and sure — and gram will kiss back. later white will cry into por's shoulder, as sean laughs when he and gram get their union blessed by the heavens.

later he will have tens of songkrans with his family. later they will be doing drunk karaoke at 3 in the morning. ghumpa will try to cover an 80s song, fail, and they will laugh at him. gram will sing him a love song and he will be too drunk to cover up his blush.

but that is later and this is now. for now, they will hold each other and revel in the reality of being in the same room after a decade. for now, they will hold each other and find simple joy in the act of existing next to each other. for now, they will hold each other and breathe in this moment.

i'll take care of you white promises, sticking out his pinky.

black wraps it around his own, deal but you have to let me take care of you too, okay?

white acquiesces with a smile.)