Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Shin Naruebet knows how disappointing life can be. For this reason, he expects very little from the world. He found comfort in a few things, his football, his vinyl records, his vintage jackets, and his pride and joy, an old Toyota passed down to him by his favorite person, Grandpa Kon, before he died. 

It is a simple life really.

Scratch that, it was a simple life until he met Saint Thamnithit Nitiroj, a rich douchebag who enrolled at Thammasat University in the second semester of freshman year. The chatter in the halls suggested that he was expelled from a school in the United States of America. Shin never stopped to ask for clarification. He has no interest in gossip and even less in anything that concerns Thamnithit. 

Thamnithit would be utterly forgettable if not for his imposing build or that he is roughly 5 percent moles, 15 percent dimples, 30 percent android, and 50 percent asshole. 

He is the kind of guy parents hope their kids would befriend. The kind that offers his seat to the elderly on the bus, greets with a polite wai, answers questions in class, turns in his work on time and even asks for more assignments. But behind this exterior, he is arrogant, condescending, irritating, and every other word for douchebag one can think of.

Shin is a peaceful person. He is more than certain he is. He meditates, walks away from fights (if he can help it), and separated quite a number of hallway brawls back in high school. He is a model Buddhist, thank you very much. And yet, something about Saint always sets his nerves on fire.

Their first encounter was on the opening day of second semester. While in a hurry to park his car, he rear-ended a black Benz. Shin stepped out with an apology on the tip of his tongue. He was prepared to admit fault and pay for the damages like any responsible citizen would. But the words never left his mouth because Saint took one look at him and decided Shin was beneath him. His frown deepened as he took a large step back as if Shin’s very presence was offensive. Shin stood there frozen, his apology dying in his throat as Saint’s sharp gaze swept over him, from his old converses to his windswept hair.

“I don’t need this,” Saint muttered and turned around, marching off with a rigid posture.

Shin had never felt so insulted. Back in Highschool when he encountered the rich snobs, they at least talked to him even if it was just to mock his clothes or his shoes. This one did not even think him worthy to be spoken to. On that day, Saint earned himself a mortal enemy. 

Shin hadn’t known his name at first and he had no desire to find out. His grand strategy for punishing Saint was to avoid him for the rest of his tertiary career. But as luck would have it, Saint was in all his classes. Shin couldn’t exactly ignore him now. It just didn’t feel right to.

So when Shin realized Saint was a little too serious about coming in first, he studied harder to beat him. Shin is on a sports scholarship, high grades are not required of him. He needed an average grade to get by. But nothing was more satisfying than the flicker of disappointment on Saint’s face whenever Shin’s name appeared above his on the scoreboard.

When Shin noticed how everyone scrambled for Saint’s attention, he started a rumor that Saint had American genital herpes, the deadliest variant of them all. The smart ones smelled the lie from afar but even they steered clear of Saint lest they’d have rumors circulating about them too.

When Shin discovered that Saint liked to eat lunch behind the art building, he rallied his two best friends, Ken and Ren, to kick a ball around there every day at lunch until Saint finally gave up the spot.

Of course, Saint wasn’t one to take things quietly. He accused Shin of cheating on a test in front of the entire class. It was an embarrassing experience. There was the day he dismissed Shin as nothing more than a pretty face with no brain. That one stung. He is a pretty face with brains. The worst offense was when he said Shin played the wrong kind of football and then had the audacity to call it ‘soccer’. Blasphemous!

When their team lost to their neighboring school, Rajamangala University of Technology, Saint showed up to class for the entire next week in a Rajamangala jersey. He customized the back with the scoreline, then planted himself right in front of Shin so he’d have no choice but to stare at it all day.

Even without the jersey, Shin spends more time scowling at the back of Saint’s head than paying attention in class. He just— he hates the guy so much. He has glared at him so much, he is certain he can pick Saint out of a crowd just from the back of his head alone. Shin hates that head. He hates his face. Hates his hair. The strands are straight until they curl at his nape like they couldn’t make up their mind. Very weird. Why is his neck so pale? Why does he talk with that insufferable arrogance, with his tongue poking the corner of his mouth? Why does he exist? 

Shin hates everything about him.

He hates his long fucking neck and his stupid thick hair. But— he hates them a little less when his nails are digging into the pale flesh of Saint’s neck or pulling on his thick nest of hair in ecstasy.

He cannot stand Thamnithit’s face. But sometimes, he’s too busy biting his lips to smother his moans to care about how much Saint’s face makes him want to hurl. How much he wants to bury his fist in it. Cover those smirking lips in blood. And then probably lick them clean. 

Shin cannot pinpoint exactly how this arrangement started but he remembers it was in the first semester of the second year. He recalls how upset he was. Recalls the raw taste of resentment on his tongue. How much he wanted to crash Saint beneath his feet.

Saint’s words were lost in the loud thundering of his heart. All Shin could focus on was his moving lips. Pink, full, and curled in contempt. On Saint’s neck pulled so taut, the thick green veins crawling underneath the red skin were almost bursting out.

Shin remembers how he wanted to make him shut up. How he wanted to wrap his fingers around Saint’s neck and squeeze the malice out of him. He recalls the trail of sweat on the side of Saint's face and how for a few seconds, he couldn’t concentrate on anything else. But he doesn’t remember the events that led to him being pressed against the dusty cardboard in the supply closet, exchanging a sloppy but satisfying handjob with his sworn enemy. 

After the first time, he was disgusted with himself. Not because he had discovered he was into boys, but because of who it had happened with. The encounter was quite the revelation. It explained why he liked Iko Uwais a little more than other boys his age. That day, he stomped out of the closet (the joke writes itself) without saying a word to the asshole. It sucked that Thamnithit of all people was his gay awakening. 

He avoided Saint where he would usually go out of his way to step on his toes. He changed his sitting position in class and even went as far as to park his car in a different spot. He really liked the old spot, it was away from direct sun rays and his seats were always cool.

He was doing so well until he ran into Saint in the washroom. A whole week of hiding, clinging to his pride and self-respect came crashing down the second he locked eyes with Saint. He stared at him across the short distance, breath unsteady and heart hammering. The charged silence barely lasted a minute before they stumbled into a stall, fumbling with each other’s belts. After that, it happened again and it just kept happening.

Their relationship is purely sexual. Sometimes they don’t even talk at all. Talking gives the wrong idea and complicates feelings so Shin limits conversation as much as possible. They’ve also never kissed. That part was a little confusing at first but he read online that some people just weren’t into kissing. And that is fine. Kisses don’t belong in the kind of arrangement they have. Kisses lead to feelings. God forbid he ever starts thinking of Saint as anything more than a sex object.

Besides, Saint isn’t relationship material. Whenever Shin runs into him outside school, there is always some pretty girl or boy hanging on his arm. They all look the same, brunette, tall, and skinny. Shin doesn’t give a fuck. They aren’t exclusive after all. What the idiot chooses to do with himself is none of Shin’s business. Saint is free to fuck all of Bangkok if he so wishes.

Shin, on the other hand, hasn’t sought out anyone else since this thing with Saint began. Saint may not be good for much, but he knows what he’s doing when it comes to sex. And for Shin, that’s more than enough. He doesn’t need a roster of partners. When he finally meets someone he genuinely likes, he won’t hand in his two weeks notice. He would simply stop showing up at the supply closet after school. He does not owe Saint a damn thing.

“What are you thinking about?” Saint’s breath is hot on his neck. His voice vibrates against Shin’s sweaty skin and derails his train of thought.

Shin pulls back to look at his face. He is somehow more attractive when he is aroused. It’s unfair. “What is it to you?”

“My fingers are currently around your dick and you look like you aren’t all here. I think it is something to me.”

Shin flashes him a cheeky grin. “My mind wouldn’t be wandering if you did a better job of pleasing me.”

For a second Shin thinks Saint will let go of his dick and walk out. The guy is nothing if not prideful. Saint’s jaw tightens. He lets out a harsh breath. “We can’t keep doing this.”

“Oh,” Shin fakes a gasp, schooling his face into indifference. “Are you breaking up with me? What, you got a little boyfriend or something? A girlfriend?”

Saint just rolls his eyes the same way he does at Shin’s antics. “We should take this somewhere else. We can’t keep messing around in the supply closet. It’s been a year.”

Shin hides his relief well. He might despise Saint as a person but he has grown to enjoy their supply closet rendezvous. Finding someone else with the same skill set would be a hassle. Also, he wants this thing to end on his terms. “You are killing the mood.”

“You killed the mood the moment you zoned out.”

“My dick was still hard.” Shin looks down at his softening dick in Saint’s large hand. “And now it isn’t, spoilsport.” He tucks it back into his underwear. “What do you want, Thamnithit, a hotel room? You wanna book a penthouse? Light the room with candles?”

“Shut up.”

He leans in, close enough that his lips nearly brush Saint’s. Whispers, “You want to fuck me on a bed of roses?” Shin feels satisfied when Saint’s eyes darken. “You wanna stare into my eyes all lovingly while I’m sucking your dick?”

“You wish,” Saint’s breath comes out rougher, and his throat bobs when he swallows. He is awful at concealing arousal. “I don’t like you enough to do that for you. I’m barely tolerating you.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m trying to. In a better environment. Your dorm for exam—,”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“One, I don’t want to be seen with you.” Saint frowns and Shin grins. “Two, I don’t need your snobbish ass in my dorm, judging everything. And three, my roommate would never allow it.”

Saint’s brows knit together. “You have a roommate?” He says it like Shin just confessed to living with aliens. “Why?”

“Because I was assigned one. Not everyone can afford a single room or a condo off campus.”

Saint looks thoughtful for all of a second before saying, “Come to my house then.”

Yeah, not happening. “You live with your parents, Thamnithit.” At least that’s what the gossip says.

“And?”

“Do I need to spell it out?”

“They are on a business trip. That won’t be a problem.”

“So let me get this straight, you don’t like me enough to take me to a hotel but you’d bring me to your house?”

Saint frowns, pursing his lips. A dimple flickers on his left cheek. Why something so beautiful is attached to a deplorable person like Saint is beyond him. “Are you in or out.”

Shin pretends to mull it over, fingers stroking his chin. Saint glowers as he awaits the verdict. After a few seconds, Shin shrugs. “I guess we could try it somewhere else.”

“Great. Let’s go before traffic gets worse.”

“What, now? I have football practice after school, remember?”

“I don’t have your schedule memorized. I even forgot you played soccer.”

Shin does not take the bait. He knows Saint is lying because before he got his hands on Shin’s belt, he mentioned hurrying this up so Shin could get to practice in time. “Give me your address. I’ll find you after practice.”

Saint pulls out his phone and shoves it at him. “Your number.”

“What for?”

“To send you good morning and goodnight texts.” His tone drips with sarcasm even before he adds, “For the location, dumbass.”

“You’re the dumbass,” Shin mutters as he snatches the phone from Saint’s hand and punches in his number. “There you go.” He straightens his collar to hide bite marks that he knows damn well Saint left. Then he snatches up his backpack from the floor. “See you later, Thamnithit.”

“Eager much?”

Shin pauses at the door, casting a slow look back from Saint’s smug face down to his crotch. “That bulge hasn't gone down since you saw me. Who is eager now?”

While Saint scrambles for a comeback, Shin slips out of the tiny room. Getting the last word always puts a spring in his step. But today, there is an extra spring. Whatever the reason, he is not itching to prod at it. 

Maybe he should’ve realized then that his simple life was about to get a lot more complicated.

Chapter Text

Football practice felt more like a Muay Thai match. Shin took a few kicks to the ribs, a ball to the face, and was tackled to the ground by a senior named Jeng. Shin gets the feeling that the center back comes to practice with the sole purpose of tackling him but he cannot say that out loud without looking crazy. They play on the same team after all.

He rolls his shoulders in their socket to relieve some of the pressure in his joints. It doesn’t help. Now, stuck in traffic, he drums his fingers against the steering wheel in time with Slot Machine’s I’m waiting for you as he waits for the light to turn green. He is not a big fan of their music but this cassette along with some others came with the car and he has come to cherish everything about this car.

“Just know that my heart tells me every day that I love you.” He sings along. A biker zooms past him just as thunder cracks through the sky. “Light’s still fucking red!” he yells out the window after the rider. The man is long gone but it feels good anyway.

It has been a long day. He should be in bed, feigning sleep to avoid talking to his roommate, Nate. But here he is on the highway, on his way to see Thamnithit.

He should turn the car around right now. Maybe send Saint a text, toss out some weak excuse about car trouble. Actually, he does not need to. He could just not show up at all. Shin takes the exit even as these thoughts circle in his head. He is just ten minutes away from Saint’s home according to Google maps. The closer he gets, the weirder it feels. This is a part of town he didn’t even know existed, and he thought he had been everywhere in Bangkok.

He eases his foot off the gas as an iron gate comes into view. The houses behind it all look like they came straight out of MTV cribs. 

“Who are you here to see?”

The strict voice from the intercom startles him. Shin looks to his right at a man in a booth. Shin isn’t easily intimidated but surrounded by opulence, he feels substandard and small. He never should’ve come. He should never have followed Saint anywhere.

“I’m Shin,” he swallows nervously. The uniformed man just stares at him, expressionless. “Right, I’m uh— I’m here for Thamnithit. He’s about this tall,” he raises a hand above his head. “He looks like he has never been in the sun. His eyes are dark and kind of scary sometimes. He uh— he has two moles—,”

“Just his name.” The man cuts in. He looks irritated but Shin suspects it’s his usual disposition. Only God knows what kind of horrors this man encounters daily. Rich folks are notorious for some of the weirdest things. 

“Nitiroj. He’s my— uh, he’s my friend.” He feels the need to add. “We are pretty close.”

The guard has already tuned him out, tapping at buttons and murmuring into the intercom. A brief exchange later, he presses a remote and the iron gates slide open with a low buzz.

“Thank you, Sir.” Shin waves and quickly drives off before the man can change his mind and call him back.

Saint’s house is impossible to miss. It is the third on the left lane and looks just like something Saint Thamnithit would live in, imposing and swanky.

Jaw slack, Shin turns into the compound. His tires crunch on the gravel driveway as he wheels his car towards the house. Dab smack in the middle of the compound is a real-life fountain. Shiny basins are held up in tiers and on top is a crystal dolphin with water gushing from its open snout.

The house itself is bigger than anything Shin has ever set foot in. He grew up in a small family house in Kanchanaburi. Until the age of 14, just 5 years ago, he shared a bedroom with his little brother, Kavin. A room opened up when his sister left to study in the US.

Another roll of thunder ripples through the sky. He locks his car and hurries towards the massive front door, feeling even smaller with every step. Should he text or ring the doorbell? He is fumbling for his phone when the doors open to reveal— Saint?

This Saint looks off somehow. He is in a white T-shirt that looks like it has been through the washer quite a number of times and a pair of grey Nike sweatpants. Basic as the attire is, he still makes it look elegant. His dark hair has fallen over his forehead. Shin has only ever seen it slicked back with a single strand falling over his eyes. The biggest shock however is the fucking Harry Potter glasses perched awkwardly on his face.

“Naruebet,” Saint calls.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” He blurts.

Saint rolls his eyes. The medicated lenses make them look cartoonishly big.

Shin snorts before he can stop himself. “You look ridiculous. Are you going to let me in? It’s going to start raining any second from now.”

Saint takes off the glasses. His eyes automatically narrow into a squint. Shin almost feels sorry for him until that stupid smug expression slides back into place. “Maybe I should leave you out here in the rain.”

“You just want to see me get wet,” he grins. “Oh, I forgot you can’t even see.” Shin laughs briefly at his own joke. Saint, of course, looks thoroughly unimpressed. He never smiles at anything. “Let me in, Thamnithit.”

Saint squints down at him for a beat, then exhales hard, pinching the bridge of his nose before stepping aside. Shin shoulders him on his way in.

The interior of the house is just as showy as the exterior. The foyer alone is decorated with bright lights, expensive-looking chaise lounges, and paintings so pricey Shin could sell off his entire bloodline and still couldn’t pay off.

There are so many corners his eyes can’t reach but the places his eyes can are imbued with luxury. Shin feels a tad envious and much reverential.

“So you’re like really fucking loaded.” His voice comes out half sigh and half accusatory.

“Yes, I am,” Saint winces. “Fucking loaded.”

Saint hardly uses swear words but when he does, it sparks thoughts Shin has no business entertaining. He swallows them down and hums instead, continuing the tour of the house.

Amidst the velvet drapes, Arabian rugs, and crystal chandeliers, Shin finds a wall of photographs. He moves toward it, ignoring Saint’s protests. 

There are several photos of Saint through the years. He was such an adorable child. What the hell happened to him? Most photos of younger Saint have the same round glasses and braces. Shin observes that as Saint grew into his too big head and too big glasses, the smile on his lips shrunk.

It stings a little in Shin’s chest. He shoves the feeling down to the graveyard where all non-negative thoughts about Saint Thamnithit go to rot. He calls it the ‘I don’t care zone’.

A particular photo catches his eye. Saint must be about 14 there. His braced teeth are bared with a smile so big, his eyes are nothing but thin slits. The dimple on his left cheek is on full display. He looks ordinary and happy. Shin reaches out, fingertips hovering over the frame.

“No touching.”

His hand snaps back, coiling into a fist as it falls to his side. “Whatever.” He faces Saint, glancing between the real person and the smiling photograph a few times. Saint is blinking so much, Shin wants to snatch the glasses from his hand and jam them back on his face. But he doesn’t. If Saint wants to go blind, let him. 

There are a million things he could say. ‘You look better when you smile.’, ‘Why don’t you smile more?’, ‘Are you okay?’, he mentally scoffs at the last one. Is anybody really okay?

“Thank God for puberty, eh?” He says instead and laughs when Saint turns and starts walking toward the stairs. Shin trails after him, laughing. “What? We were all little once, though I can’t say I relate. I’ve been beautiful my whole life.”

Saint stops abruptly. Shin bumps into his rigid back. “If I kill you right now, no one will ever find your body,” he threatens without looking back.

“I’m not afraid of you. You’re just a handsome rich boy who probably can’t even throw a punch.” Shin bluffs and Saint turns around, eyes wide. His brows have disappeared into his disheveled nest of hair. His reaction alerts Shin to what he said. He has never complimented Saint to his face.

“You think I’m handsome?”

Could this get any worse? Shin is mortified. “You called me pretty once.” He snaps, defensive. Pretty face with no brains, he said. “You called me pretty first,” For some reason, this feels like another thing he has to beat Saint at.

Saint’s frown switches from surprise to something softer. “You are pretty, Naruebet.” He says it like he is answering a comms question, phlegmatic and matter-of-fact.

“Well, you’re-you’re—,” he can’t finish. For the first time, he has no snarky retort.

“Why do you think we are doing this?” Saint continues. “Why do you think I put up with you? Certainly not for your charming personality.”

It is a backhanded compliment but damn it makes Shin’s face even warmer. “Shut up. Yo-you’re pretty.” The sky opens at that moment and rain drops slap against the roof. “Fucking Thamnithit.” He mutters still flushed. “Lead the way. Let’s get this done and over with.”

He needs to get the hell out of here. 

**

Saint’s room, though as big as every other part of the house, feels different. At first glance, it is obvious that this is the part of the house where he spends most of his time. There’s a boxing glove hanging from a hook on the back of the door. Clothes are strewn over a two-seater sofa in a corner. And above the king-size bed hangs a painted canvas of two babies squaring off in a boxing ring.

Wide windows frame the outside world. Shin gravitates to them, staring out at the compound. The lights surrounding the fountain are even prettier from this angle. The heavy rain takes nothing from its beauty. The only thing that does is his red Toyota parked out there like it has been badly photoshopped into the scene. It does not belong. He does not belong. Why is he even here?

“I was finishing up my homework before you came,” Saint says behind him. “Can you wait a couple minutes?”

Shin faces his host again. The round glasses are back on his face but he does not comment on them this time. “Sure, whatever.” He leaves the window while Saint settles into what’s clearly his study corner. Trust Thamnithit to have a study corner. Nerd. 

Shin throws himself onto the bed, sinking into a sea of white comforters. How many thread counts do these have, a million? Shin rolls around in the sheets until he is cocooned like a burrito. It smells good. Too good. It smells like Saint. He hates him. He burrows his nose deeper into the sheets. 

“If my bed was this comfortable, I wouldn’t leave it for days.” Shin says giddily. 

“Quiet, please.”

“Oh, fuck off.” He snaps but obeys. The silence ends when he spots a vinyl player on Saint’s nightstand. He is immediately enthralled. It is the first thing in this house that makes sense to him. He gets on his knees to get a closer look. “Is this yours?”

A swivel of a chair. “It’s in my room,” Saint replies dryly.

“Asshole,” Shin mutters.

“I heard that.”

“You were meant to.” He has called Saint worse things to his face. “What records do you have?” He can hear the excitement in his own voice. “I have a couple of my own.” When Saint does not immediately reply, Shin cranes his neck to look at him.

Saint is watching him with narrowed eyes, pen tapping gently against his lips. He looks hot. God, he hates him so much. Why does he look hot in those ugly glasses? Shin didn’t think he could hate him more than he already did. Turns out he can.

“What the fuck are you looking at?” 

“You, Naruebet.”

“Well don’t fucking look at me. Where are your records? Or is this just for decoration?”

Saint lifts a brow, gaze heavy with condescension. Shin squirms under it. Just when Shin thinks Saint won’t say anything, he nods to the bookshelf.

The bookshelf is more of a vinyl shrine. Shin scrambles to his feet and hurries toward it. It is the best thing he has ever seen. He runs his fingers along the rows.

“This is amazing, man. I’ve got like six records at home and I thought I had it all.” He starts tugging them out one by one. “We used to have a record player too, it was Grandpa Kon’s. It stopped working when he died. My sister said his spirit was attached to it or something. Oh shit!” He gasps, pulling out Elvis’s today record. “You actually have this. I saw one just like it at Bangsue Junction. The bastard wanted 4,500 baht. That’s my whole month’s savings.” He turns, holding it up like a treasure. “How much did you—,” he trails off. Saint is staring again. “What is your fucking problem, Thamnithit?”

Saint stares some more then shakes his head and thankfully averts his eagle eyes. “It’s weird seeing you this excited about something other than kicking a ball around.”

“Oh, we’re back to mocking football.”

“It’s called soccer.”

“No, you uncultured swine, it is football.”

Saint tosses his pen aside and stands. “Say it’s soccer and I’ll give you three records right now.” He starts a slow advance towards Shin. “You know what, say it is soccer and you can have Elvis and any three others you want.”

Shin glances down at the record in his hand then back at Saint. His throat works around a gulp. It is tempting and he is considering it. “No,” he blurts, unconvincing. He clears his throat and tries again. “No, my integrity is not for sale.”

“You have no integrity.” Saint doesn't stop his approach.

“I do.” Shin’s back hits the shelf before he realizes he has been retreating.

“But you don’t.” His large hand rises, cupping Shin’s face. Shin suppresses a shudder. “You’re a liar, Naruebet. Your pretty lips spout nothing but dirty words.”

Shin is surprised by how his treacherous body reacts to that. His breath hitches, heat pooling low in his body. “I’m not.”

Saint strokes his cheek. “Admit it, you get off on being a little shit.”

“Fuck you.” He breathes. His eyes are fixed on Saint’s lips. He must have bitten them while studying. They are pink, and full and shiny and— God help him, he wants to kiss him! “I don’t need your records. I’m gonna make money and buy my own. Just give me two years.”

“I won’t remember you in two years.”

This asshole. Shin’s blood flares. “I won’t even remember you when I leave this house. Don’t forget what you are to me.” He smirks. “A warm body, a walking dil— Ah!” The rest cuts off as Saint slams him into the shelf, face first. The wooden structure rattles and the old guitar leaned against it thrums as it slides to the floor.

Shin arches against it, gasping as Saint’s hand slides down the front of his drawstring shorts. Familiar fingers wrap around the erection he has been carrying since he saw Saint in those stupid glasses. “Fuck Saint, just like that,” he bites out. “Do the only thing you’re good for.” 

Saint’s teeth sink into his shoulder as his grip tightens. “I can’t hear you.” Saint breathes against his skin. White hot currents run along Shin’s spine. “Cat got your tongue?”

“More fucking, less talking.”

“Screw you, Naruebet.”

Shin smiles against the records.

Chapter Text

Shin wakes to sunlight slicing through the windows, hot and merciless. He squints, rolls to the other side of the bed and then instantly regrets it. He would take ten scorching suns over the sight of Saint fucking Thamnithit. Saint is standing on the other side of the bed, dark eyes fixed on Shin as his fingers calmy fasten the buttons on his cuff.

Shin yawns, pushes himself up, and narrows his eyes at his nemesis. “What are you looking at?”

“You snore.”

“No? I don’t.” He doesn’t. He knows he doesn’t. There are no snorers in their family. Grandpa Kon once joked that the only snorer in their family was neutered to prevent reproduction. “What time is it?” He catches the answer glowing on the nightstand clock. “Seven!?” He starts to pull himself out of the tangle of sheets. “Why didn’t you wake me!?”

“You were fast asleep and snoring.”

“I did not snore!”

“You looked like you needed the rest. It was raining.” Saint smooths out his sleeves and shakes his arms loose. His hair is back in its normal douchebag style, slicked back except for a single strand curling over his forehead. “Breakfast is at 7:30. That gives you twenty-five minutes to shower and change. I left clothes in the bathroom. New toothbrushes are in the top right cabinet.” he recites.

Shin just blinks at him. “Did it cross your royal mind that I might want to shower back at my dorm?”

“Now is not the time for your skirmishes. Class starts at nine. Now you have twenty-three minutes.”

Shin stares at him in disbelief. Who the hell does this guy think he is, standing there looking like some prince and barking orders? “You can’t tell me what to do.” A sudden thought makes him choke. “Did we— sleep in the same bed?”

“Where else would I sleep?” Saint seems baffled by the question. “This is my bed.”

Shin cannot think of a situation more terrible. They don’t do this. They don’t sleep in the same bed. “It’s weird.”

“I was inside you a few hours ago. I think there are weirder things we could be doing than sharing a bed.”

Shin hurls a pillow at him, which Saint evades skillfully. This is exactly why Shin avoids talking to him outside of their arrangement. He has already said more this morning than he has in all the time they’ve known each other. “It’s just weird okay.”

Saint checks his watch. “You have twenty-two minutes.”

“Fine,” Shin makes sure to bump into him on his way to the bathroom.

As promised, there are fresh clothes neatly folded on the sink. There’s a new set of underwear too. He quickly brushes his teeth and steps into the shower. He sighs when hot water hits his back. The water pressure is amazing. It kneads the knots in his back and neck. Even the body wash feels different. Rich people really do live a different life. He is tempted to linger in the shower but picking a fight with Saint before breakfast is not worth it. He is still trying to reconcile with the fact that he spent the night in Saint’s home. In his room. His bed.

When he emerges fully dressed, Saint is waiting by the door, eyes on his wristwatch. “You are five minutes late. That leaves us only twenty minutes to—,”

“Shut up, Thamnithit.” Shin brushes past him. “And get me a belt. These pants don’t fit.”

Saint’s gaze drops to where Shin is holding the pants up with his fingers through the belt loops. “Come here.”

“No.” He, in fact, takes a step back.

“Shin—,”

“No,” Saint’s weird obsession with his waist has been filed under things I’ll never understand about this idiot. “No, sicko.”

“I said nothing.”

“Your eyes, Saint.” Shin starts rummaging around for a belt. “Your stupid fucking eyes always betray you.”

**

The smell of beef congee drifts in the air as they near the dining room. The table is already set with two bowls, a jar of orange juice, another one with water, and two tall glasses. 

Shin heads straight for the far end of the table and drops into a chair. He has seen enough of Saint to last him a year. He doesn’t have to stare at his face throughout breakfast. But of course, his wishes mean nothing. Saint follows and sits right beside him. 

Saint slides a bowl over to him, pours orange juice into a glass, and sets it by his side. Shin is slightly thrown by the gesture but chooses not to comment on it. “Thanks,” he says instead and tries a spoonful of the porridge. “Not bad, Thamnithit,” he hums in approval. “I didn’t take you for a man with culinary prowess.”

“I did not make it.”

Shin waits for him to say more but after a few seconds, he realizes it is all he is going to get. “Then who did? Don’t tell me you’ve got little house elves running around.”

Right on cue, a woman in her forties steps into the dining room. She isn’t Saint’s mother, Shin would know. Photos of Mrs. Nitiroj are scattered all over the house. This woman is taller, maybe 5’10 with long dark hair framing her small face and kind eyes.

The smile on her face spans when she spots them and then something miraculous happens. Saint Thamnithit smiles back. Shin stops breathing for a second. In all the time he has known Saint, he has seen every possible expression except for this one. It is a crying shame that he does not smile more because he is beautiful when he does.

The woman stops behind Saint and strokes his shoulders affectionately. Saint closes his eyes for a second, leaning into the touch, his hand covering hers.

“When you said you had company, I imagined someone different,” She turns her sparkling eyes on Shin. “I’m Jan, lovely to meet you.”

“I’m—,”

“Excuse my manners,” Saint cuts in. Shin almost laughs. Manners? From him? “This is Shin.” His eyes drop to the table. Then almost inaudibly, he adds, “He’s Naruebet.”

Miss Jan’s eyes widen at the name. Shin squirms in his chair, palms pressed together between his knees. What the hell has Saint been telling her about him? With rich people like Saint, there’s only one way they could talk about people like Shin.

“Naruebet,” she repeats warmly, extending her hand. Shin wipes his palm in his (Saint’s) pants before giving her slim but calloused hand in a quick shake. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Finally? “Uh thanks, P’Jan. Nice to meet you too.” He shoots Saint a look, but the asshole is already digging into his food.

“I have some things to attend to out back. I’ll leave you two to it.” She throws him a warm smile and gives Saint’s shoulder another squeeze before disappearing behind the walls.

The second she’s gone, Shin leans in. “What have you been saying about me?”

Saint doesn’t look up. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Who is she?”

“The househelp.”

“Oh.” Of course he has a househelp. “She’s a good cook.” Shin takes in another spoonful to make a point.

“P’Jan is good at what she does,” Saint says.

“Okay, Mr. Cryptic. Where are your parents?”

Saint exhales sharply, deep lines creasing between his brows. “It’s rude to talk at the dining table.”

Shin balks at the tone. He has seen and heard worse from Saint and he deserved it 99% of the time. This, he didn’t. “Only people who have nobody to talk to believe that.”

He regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth. This is personal, way too personal, and out of the usual confines of their squabbles. Saint doesn’t fight back. He just frowns slightly and looks away before Shin can decipher the change in his eyes.

The silence that follows is thicker than the bowl of congee in front of Shin. It weighs on his tongue and almost chokes him with every swallow. He sneaks little glances at Saint but Saint keeps his eyes firmly on his plate. He did not realize how much Saint’s eyes followed him around until they didn’t anymore. 

“I shouldn’t have said that.” He blurts.

Saint sets his spoon down and pins him with a look. It is his patented cold eyes. The kind that grates on Shin’s nerves when they argue. But right now, it makes the hole in his stomach widen. “You’ve always been tactless.” 

“Fuck you,” The words come out softer than he intends. “I’m trying to apologize here.”

Saint turns back to his food. What a snob.

“Whatever,” Shin mutters. “I take it back. I rescind my apology.”

Saint is still silent. His spoon scrapes the bottom of the porcelain bowl in response.

“So fucking childish.” The silence stays throughout the rest of the meal.

When they’re done, Saint gathers their bowls and carries them to the kitchen. He declines Shin’s offers to help with a crisp and final, “I’ll do it myself.” 

By the time they’re leaving the house, Shin’s skin is itching with something. He gets nothing more than a nod and a curt, “See you at school,” before Saint disappears into the garage.

Shin could just drive off. But instead, he waits until the Benz rolls out of the garage before tailing after it. He narrows his eyes at the moving vehicle. There are many things he hates about Saint and this car is high on the list. Maybe it’s the way Saint drives like he owns the world. The way people gawk when he steps out of the vehicle. Shin doesn’t get the fuss. If he has to watch one more person do a double take at Saint behind the wheel, he might have to key the car.

He drives behind the Benz for a few minutes before he gets bored. Shin speeds up and flies past him. “Fuck Saint,” he says, “I am done atoning.” He is so lost in the music from the stereos that he realizes too late when the black car speeds up and overtakes him.

“Oh it’s on,” he floors the accelerator, feeling the engine rubble beneath him. He lets out a loud whoop when he pulls ahead again. “Suck it!”

The words have barely left his lips before the car pulls alongside his. Shin pushes harder, but his Toyota is giving all it got. They ride side by side on the highway until they take the exit that leads to their school. The traffic along the road breaks the race apart..

Shin glances at Saint through his rolled-down windows. Saint’s jaw is still clamped tight and his neck is stiff. It is obvious he is trying his best not to look at Shin. Shin shrugs to himself. Whatever. He has apologized. He will not be guilted.

He tries to remain unbothered but the restless feeling eats at him all the way to school. For some reason, this has refused to be binned in the ‘I don’t care zone’. 

In the parking lot, Shin pulls up next to the Benz, grabs his bag, and leans against his car, waiting for the royal pain in the ass to step out. When Saint finally emerges, their eyes lock over the roof of the shiny black car.

“Naruebet.”

“Thamnithit. Still upset?”

“I was not upset.”

Shin folds his arms over his chest. “You were ignoring me.”

“I always ignore you.” Saint slings his bag onto his shoulder. “I don’t have to talk to you when I don’t want to.”

This is more in tune with their usual banter and Shin feels the weirdness in his guts slowly ease. “Good. I don’t want to talk to you either.”

Saint scoffs. “Then what are you waiting for?” 

“Fine I’m leaving, you pompous idiot.” Shin snatches his bag from the hood of his car. “I hope your day is fucking miserable.”

“Right back at you. See you tonight.”

Shin spins around to level him with a glare. “What do you mean see you tonight? I’m not seeing you again.”

“Why not?”

“Why not? Do I need a reason not to see you?”

Saint sighs and fixes Shin with a stare that pins him in place. “Come over tonight.” The words sound like a command but Shin catches the intimations of supplication in his voice.

He bites his lips. Shifts his weight. “Why? So you can ignore me again?”

“No,” Saint’s voice dips lower. “So I can fuck you into my freshly changed sheets.” Shin swallows hard. His body shifts again for an entirely different reason this time. “Will you come?”

He catches the double entendre. Appreciates it even. But he’s not about to make it easy. “If I have to drive all the way to your house, you’re buying me gas.”

“Okay.” There’s no hesitation.

Too easy. Shin circles the car toward him. “And snacks. I get hungry when I drive long distances.”

A shrug. “Sure.”

He stops right in front of Saint, one foot sliding between his legs. Their breaths mingle, Saint’s eyes flickering over his face. His hands hover at Shin’s waist but he drops them before they seize it in that punishing grip Shin has come to anticipate. “There’s a lot you need to do for me to come,” Shin whispers, biting back a groan when Saint’s lashes flutter.

“We are in public, Naruebet,” Saint warns.

Shin doesn’t care. To anyone watching, they’d just look like they were about to rip each other a new one again. “There’s a sound in my engine that needs fixing. You’ll have to get your fingers in real deep.”

Saint finally gives in. His hands find their way to Shin’s hips, thumbs pressing firmly into the flesh. “Can I fix it with something else?” His voice drops low. “Something long, thick, hard. Hmmm? Would that make you come?”

Shin sways closer, pulse hammering. They’ve never done this kind of thing out in the open. Their adventures started and ended in the supply closet. It is all so new and exhilarating and explains why his heart raps against his ribcage like a fucking snare drum. Why his mouth feels dry and his throat feels tight. Why he has the urge, yet again, to lean in and find out what Saint’s lips taste like. To trace his nose along the pale skin of his neck. God, he hates Thamnithit so fucking much.

Shin takes a step back. Saint looks disoriented for a second. His frown asks the question. Shin shrugs and puts a little more distance between them. “We are in public, you said so.” Is the poor excuse. “I’ll uh, I’ll see you tonight.”

Saint gives a curt nod and turns away. A few minutes after he disappears into the building, Shin is still outside, back against his car, and waiting for his heart rate to slow down.

Chapter Text

Saint does not talk about his family.

After two weeks of hanging out at the Nitiroj’s home every evening on weekdays, rolling in the sheets and biting each other’s heads off, Shin finally understands that it is a taboo topic. 

Anytime Shin dares to ask about his parents, Saint gives one of three replies. ‘They are on a business trip’, ‘Why does this concern you?’, if he is in a mood, or nothing at all, leaving Shin alone with his thoughts until he drives back to his dorm.

Other subjects are easier to talk about. Saint will talk about the vinyls he owns, where he got them, and how many more he wants to get. Shin picks out his favorites and every night, they have sex to them. It was quite the religious experience getting wrecked to crush by Cigarettes After Sex.

Shin asks about the boxing gloves. Saint apparently boxes once a week. About the old guitar lying around, Saint says he inherited it from someone. From whom, he won’t say. He forbids Shin from touching it and won’t play for him either.

“You’ve done nothing to earn it,” Saint says. 

“You probably play like shit anyway.” Shin fires back. 

When they aren’t fighting, fucking, listening to music, or eating snacks on the floor of Saint’s room (Shin gets hungry after sex), Shin spends the rest of his time trying to con Saint out of his records or his vinyl player. Saint never falls for it. He’s smarter than Shin gives him credit for. 

“Stay the night.” 

It is another Friday evening and Shin is pulling his underwear back on after two rounds of mind blowing sex with Saint. “No.” He snaps the waistband of the briefs against his skin and throws Saint a bland smile. He finds his shirt on the floor, shakes it out and pulls it over his head.

“Why not?”

Shin frowns. “Why not? You keep asking this question like you don’t know why. We are not friends, Thamnithit. We are fuck buddies, without the buddy part. We have nothing in common.”

“You don’t know that.” Saint plucks Shin’s shorts off the sofa where they landed about two hours ago. “We both like vinyl.” 

“Fine,” he concedes. “Just the one thing in common. Now, hand me my shorts.”

“Stay.”

“No, fuck you.” He swipes for them but Saint’s freakishly long limbs hold them out of reach. 

“You might find we have more in common than you think.”

“Yeah no. Not interested. Come on, Saint. I’ve got plans.”

Saint tilts his head, tongue pushing at the corner of his mouth. “A date?”

“It’s none of your fucking business.”

“Tell me,” he goads, tone uncharacteristically soft.

They stare at each other until Shin sighs. “Ren and Ken want to hang out at Tropical Galaxy.”

“Are these the guys I see you with?”

“Yes.”

“Your friends?”

“Yes, my friends. Enough with the twenty questions.”

Saint brings his hand down and holds the shorts to Shin’s chest. “Okay, have fun.”

“I wasn’t asking your permission.” Shin yanks them on aggressively. “Enjoy your time alone or maybe call one of your pretty boys to keep you company.”

“You’re one of my pretty boys.”

“Fuck you.” Shin spits the words, jabbing a finger at his face. “You—,” Saint almost cracks a smile. “Fuck you.”

He snatches his phone and keys from the nightstand. And before storming away like a lover scorned, he snatches up Saint’s unopened coke too. That should teach him a lesson. He hears soft laughter following him but he could just be imagining things.

**

The tropical galaxy is packed with patrons tonight. Strobing lights scatter across the dance floor, making Shin’s head spin. Or maybe that’s just the alcohol. He is in a state where he is drunk enough to dance without feeling shy and sober enough to know what’s going on around him. It’s the perfect balance.

After a few rounds on the dancefloor with some ladies who have been eyeing him all night, Shin retreats to the table to catch his breath. Ren is still planted in his seat, bobbing along to the music, beer in hand. Ken predictably has a lady twice his height squeezed by his side, lost in conversation. Classic Ken.

Shin tips back what’s left of his beer and scans the enthusiastic crowd. People-watching is fun but not so much when they watch back and even less fun when it is Saint Thamnithit Nitiroj watching.

Shin goes rigid in his seat. For a second he thinks he’s hallucinating. But no, Saint is there lounging across the room, arms draped over the back of the settee with those fucking eagle eyes locked on Shin. Just on Shin. Which makes no sense, because almost fully seated in Saint’s lap is a gorgeous brunette.

Shin wrenches his gaze away, fiddling with the empty bottle. He doesn’t need to see this. Doesn’t need to watch Saint’s hands slide around someone else’s waist, holding her the way he holds him. Doesn’t need to see Saint’s eyes tracking her body, the way they track his every move when he’s on top of him. Fuck him. What the hell is he doing here?

“Asshole,” Shin murmurs, swallowing the sudden burn in his chest. He tips the bottle back only to be reminded it’s empty. “This is hell.”

“What?” Ren asks.

“Nothing,” he dismisses but he’s too late. Ren has already followed his gaze.

“Oh Benz douchebag,” That’s the name Shin had given Saint when he first told his friends about him a year and a half ago. “I saw him come in while you were dancing. I was hoping you wouldn’t notice.”

Shin’s chest is tight, making it hard to breathe. “Why the fuck is he here?”

Ren shrugs. “This is a bar, Shin.”

“He’s fucking stalk—,” Shin cuts himself off. He can’t finish that sentence without explaining why he thinks Saint would be stalking him. And he is not about to admit to his friends that he has been fucking Thamnithit of all people for a year now. “Forget it.”

“What are we forgetting?” Ken leans forward and follows Ren’s line of sight. A grin spreads across his face. “Oh, it’s Shin’s boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Relax, I’m just messing with you.”

“It’s not funny.”

Ken raises a brow. “You’re acting like you’ve got a crush or something.”

“I mean,” Ren adds. “We all thought that at some point. You can’t seem to shut up about him.”

“What?” Shin is appalled. “I-I hate the guy. Why would anyone have a crush on him?” His voice spikes, too defensive. But he should be. His friends are accusing him of having a crush on Saint, a certified scoundrel who is currently wrapped around some other girl.

Fuck this. Shin pushes to his feet and stalks toward the bar. He doesn’t care about any of these girls, but he has a point to prove to Saint, his friends, and maybe to himself. He picks the first girl he sees and invites her back to their table. She’s happy to join. Shin doesn’t have to look around to know Saint is watching. That gaze is a weight on his skin, crawling over him, squeezing the air from his lungs. His heart is pounding so violently it feels like it might shoot out of his chest. 

Shin flags down a waiter and orders her a martini. They sit awkwardly for a moment and then he asks, “May I put my arm around you?”

Ren overhears and snorts into his drink. Fuck him. The lady seems happy to be asked. She nods and rewards him with a sweet smile. Shin smiles back, slipping his arm around her shoulders.

“I’m Shin.”

“Goya.” She leans in to reply. “I know you, we go to the same school. You’re on the football team.”

“Oh.” A blush warms his face. He forgets he is popular in some niche spaces. “Yeah.”

“I’m kind of a fan.” She smiles.

“Uh, thanks.”

“I’ve been to all your games. I was in the front row of your Chula match. You were amazing that day. Your 96th minute winner was—,” Her voice gets thinner as his eyes drift to Saint again.

Saint is staring straight back. His eyes are darker in the dim room but not any less striking. Shin wants to look away. He wants to leave this place but he’s nailed to the spot, condemned to watch as Saint’s hand slides around the brunette’s waist, pulling her flush against him. She arches into it. And then twisting the knife more, Saint leans in, holding Shin’s eyes and kisses her.

Shin is up in the next second, his arm dropping off Goya’s shoulders and his knees knocking into the table.

Ren grabs the edge of the furniture to keep it steady. “Hey! Be careful we can’t afford to—,”

Shin does not catch the rest of the complaint. He is already marching towards the exit, chest heavy, throat burning, and hands shaking. He breaks through the door into the alley beside the bar.

There is a man resting against the wall with a cigarette between his fingers. He does not blink when Shin starts kicking the wall. “Life, huh?” The man says, smoke spiraling from his lips.

Shin ignores him and keeps kicking until he is panting and shaking. A new presence joins them in the alley. He doesn’t need to turn around to know who it is.

“What are you doing here, Thamnithit?” he spins on him, fists balled furiously at his sides. They’ve never resorted to physical violence but he is so close to punching him in the face. “What the hell are you doing?”

”Calm down.”

“Are you stalking me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Stop fucking lying. Did you follow me here just to— just to do that!?”

“Why are you so angry?”

“Why am I—,” he huffs, speechless. “Why? You did t-that. Why am I angry? What is wrong with you!?” Shin directs the question to himself. What is wrong with him? What is he doing? Why are his insides threatening to spill out through his mouth? “I hate you.” He says because it’s the only reason that makes sense.

Saint shakes his head, eyes narrowing. “I came out here to see if you were okay but I shouldn't have bothered.”

“I fucking hate your guts.”

“Whatever, Naruebet.” He turns and leaves. 

Shin locks his jaw against the lump swelling in his throat. It feels as though it might explode any second and wreck him from the inside out. Must be the alcohol, he tells himself. It is making him irrational. He slumps against the wall with a heavy sigh, dragging a hand through his hair.

“Boys, huh?” The man says around his cigarette. “Can’t live with them, can't live without them.” He holds out the half-burned stick. “Want a smoke?”

Shin shakes his head. “No thanks.”

“He’ll come around.”

“He won’t. He’s a douchebag.” A fresh set of bitterness follows. “And you don’t know shit, so with all due respect, stay out of it.” Classic displacement. 

The man only hums and goes quiet again. Ren and Goya find him a minute later.

“We were worried about you,” Ren says.

“Are you okay?” Goya asks.

Shin is not okay and he doesn’t bother pretending. “Sorry, Goya,” He brushes past them, ignoring Ren calling after him. He doesn’t want to talk about it. He wants to be out of here now.

When he gets to the front, Saint is there. He holds the car door open for his brunette like some fucking gentleman before sliding in after her. Shin stares at the spectacle in disbelief as the Benz pulls away. Then he turns on his heels, walks back inside and makes a beeline for the bar.

Fuck Thamnithit.

Chapter Text

Back in grade 4, Shin had a crush on a girl named Pheung. She was not particularly pretty like the other girls with pink ribbons in their hair and stylish hair bands. But she was sweet and kind to all. Phueng was one of the few who wasn’t put off by his antics. She played with him at recess, laughed at his dumb jokes, and fought off some of his bullies (He was a tiny 9-year-old).

His second notable crush was on a girl called Asha in his second year of high school. She hated everything and was mean to even her friends. But she was nice to Shin. He liked being the exception. The special one. So he harbored the crush until she suddenly had to transfer schools.

And now, his third and by far the worst, Saint Thamnithit Nitiroj.

When Shin wakes up, he’s more calm. But no amount of composure can scrub away the lingering mortification. Every time the memory resurfaces, it kills him a little more. He shouldn’t have lashed out at Saint like that. Since then, he has conceived of a million ways he could have handled it better. Anything would’ve been better.

It wasn’t unusual for Saint to show up at the bar. Shin has followed him to places before just to get on his nerves. It is their thing. And it wasn’t the first time he’d seen Saint with someone else. However, yesterday was the first time he cared.

He could sit here and take all the blame for his behavior but that would be unfair. There are many other elements that should be held accountable. For example, the human condition. It is only human to develop some liking to a person one spends some hours in day with, talking, fucking, and sharing their favorite music.

That brings him to another factor that should be blamed for his quandary. Jazz music. Miss Ella Fitzgerald and Sir Louis Armstrong singing about how good it feels to have someone near while Saint brushes his hair from his eyes and fucks him slow is at least fifty percent responsible.

When you're in my arms
And I feel you so close to me
All my wildest dreams come true, yeah
I need no soft lights to enchant me
If you'll only grant me
The right to hold you ever-so-tight, yeah babe
And to feel in the night, babe
The nearness of you

Did he even stand a chance? All the forces had conspired against him from the start, the music, the proximity, and Saint’s stupidly handsome face.

Shin is in trouble. But it is nothing he can’t fix. He is lucky to have caught the signs early enough to kill it before it grows into anything worse.

This is not the kind of crush people sing about or lose sleep over. He does not want to spend every waking moment with Saint. He isn’t curious to know what walking down the street, hand in hand, and eating ice cream on a freezing night would feel like.

Thankfully, all he wants is for Saint to look at him and only him. To touch nobody but him. To dance with him and no one else. That’s not love, that’s just obsession. And obsession, Shin tells himself, is manageable.

The easiest way to cure himself of this sickness is to cut out anything that might augment it. No talking, no fucking, no snack hours. Nothing. Which is why Shin makes the executive decision to sever all contact with Saint. Goodbye to home visits and supply closet rendezvous.

If he sticks to it, soon enough his heart will stop mistaking Saint for something worth going crazy for.

**

Shin hides indoors for the rest of the weekend. It’s not that he’s afraid of Saint. It is just smarter to avoid places where he might run into him, which is essentially everywhere. And honestly, he’s afraid of humiliating himself further if he sees Saint with someone else again.

He skips class on Monday, too embarrassed to show his face anywhere near Saint. He is tempted to skip on Tuesday too but there’s a test and he needs to outscore Saint. Priorities.

He stays back a little late to avoid bumping into Saint in the parking lot. However, the sleek black benz pulls up just as he leaves his car. He schools his face into practiced indifference and walks off before Saint can get a word out, ignoring the way his heart thumps just at the sight of starch-pressed clothes and gelled-back hair.

He switches his seat in class, unwilling to spend hours staring at the back of Saint’s annoying head. When class ends, he grabs his bag and rushes out for football practice. It becomes a routine. Dodge. Hide. Avoid. 

By Friday, he notices something upsetting, Saint has been avoiding him too. When they meet in the corridors between classes, he moves to the opposite side and doesn’t spare Shin a glance. At the parking lot, he heads straight for his car and doesn’t make any snide remarks like he usually does to gain Shin’s attention. Lessons have become rather boring because the immature little jerk hasn’t rebutted any of Shin’s answers. Neither has he answered any questions to allow Shin the pleasure of arguing with him.

What right does Saint have to act like he’s the victim? It is he, Shin, who is hurt. He is the one who had to watch the manwhore paw at some nameless girl. Shin is the one who had to watch him kiss her!

In over a year of whatever this thing between them is, Saint has never kissed him on the lips. Not once. His theory that Saint might just be averse to kisses no longer holds. Saint likes kisses. He just would rather kiss a stranger than kiss Shin. And out of everything, this little discovery hurts the most.

It reveals the extent of Saint’s disdain for him. A few days ago, he would’ve taken this information in stride and kept it moving. But now, he minds that he is nothing to Saint but a fuck toy. A fuck toy he hasn’t spoken to or touched for almost a week. The longest they have gone without touching is four days when Shin caught a cold.

So Friday after class, Shin plants himself on the hood of Saint’s shiny car and waits. Saint shows up more than fifteen minutes later, looking stupidly handsome and shoulders high like he owns the world. Shin hates him so fucking much.

Saint’s steps falter when he notices Shin. He stares for a moment then he takes slow steps forward. “Naruebet.”

“Thamnithit.”

He gestures at Shin, tone flat as ever. “Is there a reason for this?”

“You’re avoiding me,” he says, trying to keep his voice as flat as Saint’s. “Why?”

Saint sighs. He scans the empty parking lot. “Do you really want to do this here?”

“What better place?”

Saint turns away and unlocks his car. Shin gapes through the windshield as Saint throws his backpack to the backseat first and then lowers himself to his seat. Of course he’d pull this arrogant shit. Shin slides off the hood, dusting himself off and muttering curses. He should never have bothered with this idiot. He’s done. He starts towards his car. He is never speaking to this bastard again. Not in this life or the next. He can shove—

“Where are you going?” Saint sticks his head out the rolled-down window. “Get in.”

Shin is not done being furious. He crosses his arms, lips pursed. “Why should I listen to you?”

“Because, Naruebet, you parked yourself on my hood in the middle of a hot Friday afternoon. Clearly, you’ve got a lot to say.”

He is right but, “Yeah well,” he waves his arms, words failing him.

“Shin, get in the car.”

“You can’t tell me what to do.” He is circling the car to the other side even as he grumbles. He pulls the door a little too forcefully and bangs it after he sits. The tiny flinch Saint gives almost makes it worth it.

As the echoes of the bang die down, he registers that it is his first time inside Saint’s car. Something warm and fuzzy curls in his stomach. He suppresses it before it paints his face pink.

“You’re not at soccer practice.” Saint says, fastening his seatbelt before looking at him again. “Are you okay?”

“It’s football.” He wants to hide from the force of that gaze and at the same time delight in it. “I don’t feel too good,” he lies. He couldn’t tell Saint he skipped football practice just to pick a fight with him. “I— uh, I’ve got a headache.”

Saint frowns. His hand starts to lift toward Shin’s forehead, then stops short. “Sorry,” he says. “Have you taken some medicine?”

Shin stares at his hand on the steering wheel. “Uhm— not yet.”

“Okay.” The engine comes alive.

“Wait, where the fuck are you taking me?”

“To get you some medicine.”

What? “You don’t have to.”

“Buckle up, Naruebet.”

Shin does as instructed as the Benz slowly pulls out of the parking lot. He stares at his abandoned car in the rearview mirror until it becomes a pinprick. With nothing else to focus on, his eyes fall back on Saint.

He is leaning back in his seat, one hand steady on the wheel while the other one taps an uneven rhythm against his thigh. Shin’s gaze lingers on those long fingers before he forces it upward to Saint’s face. A few strands of Saint’s gelled back hair have gone amok and are sticking out to the side. Shin has to silence the ridiculous urge to reach over and fix it. 

What is happening to him? This would be hilarious if it wasn’t ignominious. How weak is his heart that all it takes for the stupid organ to thaw and resolidify in the shape of Saint Thamnithit, out of the millions on earth, is a little conversation and old records?

“You’re awfully quiet, that’s new,” Saint says.

Shin swallows and snaps his face back to the road so quickly it nearly gives him whiplash. He picks at the edge of the seat and digs himself deeper into the leather. “Shut up.” It is a shoddy attempt to act like his old self and Saint seems to notice.

He takes his eyes off the road for a second, but the second on Shin’s face feels like eons. “Are you okay?”

Shin nods. “Yes. It’s just the headache.”

“We’ll get you some painkillers.”

“Thanks.”

The butterflies he tried so desperately to get rid of are still very much alive in his belly. They stir at the sound of Saint’s voice. Tumble at the hint of concern in his tone. And sing hallelujah when his eyes lock on Shin’s again. 

He presses both hands to his stomach and squeezes in a final attempt to stop them. Instead, they dance harder.

**

The lady at the pharmacy is polite. She does not ask too many questions when Shin describes his symptoms. The look in her eyes gives Shin the impression that she may have caught up with his lies.

She smiles and recommends 325 mg of ibuprofen. Shin doesn’t even pretend to reach for his wallet. This is all on Saint. He won’t spend a satang on medicine he does not need. The rich fucker happily pays for it and a bottle of water then leads the way out.

Back at the car, Saint presses the water into Shin’s hand and starts reading the instructions off the bottle like a doting mother.

Shin plucks the bottle from him. “I know how to take some painkillers, Saint. Stop fussing. You’re not my mom.”

“After all we’ve done, it would be disturbing if I was.”

“Shut up!” He pops one ibuprofen in his mouth, swallows dry, and chases it down with water.

Saint keeps a watchful eye on him throughout the process. “Do you feel better?”

Shin stares at him blandly. “Dude, it’s been a second.”

“You know, for a sick person you still have a lot of snark.”

“I’ll always have some snark for you.” He grins and Saint rolls his eyes.

“I’ll drive you back to campus so you can get some rest.”

The smile on Shin’s lips suddenly feels heavy. “Oh okay,” he hopes his disappointment does not reflect in his tone. He’d been secretly hoping Saint would take him back to the Nitiroj home. It’s been a week since they were together! Perhaps, he thinks sadly, Saint does not want him anymore. The headache no longer feels imaginary. Has Saint already replaced him? Is it the brunette from Friday night?  “Do you have other plans?” He manages without breaking.

“Yes.”

“Oh, nice.” He wants to jump in front of a moving vehicle. Maybe he would die a quick death if he swallowed all the ibuprofen pills in one go.

“Shin,” Saint lays a hand on his leg. “Quit bouncing your knee. I’m going to buy some things at Bangsue junction.”

Relief hits him. It takes everything to hold back a loud exhale. “Are you going alone?”

“Yes.”

Shin swings a foot onto the dashboard, faking nonchalance. Saint glances at it but says nothing. After a deliberate two-second pause, he asks as casually as possible, “Do you mind if I come with you?” He might actually die if Saint says no.

“Are you sure?”

A thousand percent. “I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t. I’ve got nothing better to do.”

“Fasten your seat belt then.”

**

Bangsue Junction is buzzing with its usual crowd. The air smells of old wood, nostalgia, well-loved and vintage. Shin feels right at home here. His heels barely touch the ground as he darts between his favorite shops, greeting uncles and aunties. Saint trails behind him quietly.

When he is done with his rounds, he turns to Saint, chest pumping with adrenaline. “Sorry.”

“What for?”

“I got carried away.”

Saint brushes him off. “Don’t apologize for that.”

The words only fuel his excitement. “‘Kay. What are you getting?”

“Some new records.”

“Oh, I can help you. Come on.”

“I know where they are.”

“Shut up and follow me, Thamnithit.” Shin grabs his wrist and drags him toward the vinyl stalls. Saint’s only protest is a few grunts as he totters after him.

The stall owner lights up when he sees them. Though the wide smile aimed at Saint makes Shin suspect who he is actually happy to see. “Long time no see,” the man greets.

“I’ve been busy with school,” Saint replies.

“Well good thing you’re here. We restocked yesterday.” The uncle disappears to the back and returns with a neat stack of records. Miles Davis, Eko Roosevelt, Yodrak Salakjai, Nirvana, and Tilly Birds.

Shin leans over the counter beside Saint to examine them. “Which one do you want?” He asks. When Saint lifts his head, Shin realizes their noses are dangerously close. If he turns a little to the side, so will their lips. His body likes the thought of that. Currents shoot up his spine and knock the breath out of him. Mortified at his own reaction, he takes a step back and smiles. “Sorry. Which one do you want?”

“All of them.”

Shin quickly turns around, giving his heart a moment to calm down. “We’ll take everything. How much?”

“7,500.”

Shin’s jaw drops. Saint, the idiot, immediately pulls out his wallet. Shin yanks the bills from his hand before he can offer them to the swindling uncle. “These are not rare records.'' He holds his chin up as he stares down the uncle, shrugging Saint’s appeasing hand off his shoulder. He lifts Khun Yodrak’s record. “This should cost a thousand max. The others? Six hundred each.”

It is the uncle’s turn to blink at them in disbelief. Saint takes Shin’s shoulders again. Shin can feel the anxiety coming off his companion in waves but he stands his ground. “We’ll take everything for 4,000.”

Saint whispers an incredulous “What?” into his ears. His grip on Shin’s shoulders tightens.

Bangsue Junction is not a quiet environment but the noise of the market fades under the stall’s silence. He can hear the blood flowing through his veins, sloshing through his arteries. He can almost hear Saint blinking at 100 mph. The tension is sharp enough to slice through concrete. Five seconds go by, then ten, then fifteen. Then—

“6,000 final offer.” The uncle melts under the pressure.

“4,100.”

“5,000.”

“3,000.”

The uncle sputters. “Deal.” It is entertaining to watch him mentally backtrack. “Hold on, what? You said 4,000.”

Shin cocks a brow. He feels a bit more confident now. “I did. Take it or leave it. There are many shops like yours around.”

“4,500.” The man seems to have aged more in just a few minutes. “Final.”

Shin exhales dramatically through his nose, massaging his temples to sell the act. “I’m sorry but I guess we’ll take our business elsewhere.” He turns to Saint. Trust me, he mouths and slides his fingers between Saint’s. Saint blinks down at their joined hands. He looks so much like a child lost in a supermarket. He follows when Shin starts leading them away from the stall.

They take five steps before a desperate, “4000.” reaches their ears.

Shin grins. Bingo.

He makes a show of counting four 1,000 baht notes. He offers it to the uncle with a wai and pockets the remaining 4,000. “No need for a plastic bag.” He collects the records and holds them to his chest. “I’m trying to save the environment.” He beams at the uncle before bumping Saint’s shoulder. “Let’s go.”

Saint nudges him back. “You don’t care about the environment, Naruebet.” He mutters as they walk away.

Shop after shop, Saint lets Shin take the reins. He points out the things he wants and Shin takes on their sellers. Shin knows Saint won’t ever use half of the stuff they bought. He is probably just fascinated with Shin’s haggling. As for Shin, he isn’t sure what he enjoys more, the thrill of bargaining or the way Saint’s eyes stay on him, glowing with some sort of admiration.

By quarter past six, they finally head back to the car. Shin’s arms are loaded with their newly acquired items. Saint, the jerk, has refused to help.

“You insisted on no plastic bags, deal with it.” 

His arms ache as he dumps everything into the trunk seat. “I hate you.” He stretches his back. Pops a few muscles.

“Get in the car, Naruebet.”

He does. Happily too. This time, he fastens his seat belt without being told. “Where to next?”

“I’m taking you back to school.”

He hesitates. “I could eat.”

“You want us to go eat together?” 

Shin shrugs, trying to play it cool. “I—I mean, it’s whatever. If you want to.” He fishes out the 4,000 he pocketed earlier. “I have money.”

Saint huffs. Shin thinks he’s going to smile but he doesn’t. The skin on his cheek dimples anyway. Shin is annoyed by how cute he finds that now. “Where do you wanna go?”

“There’s a fried rice and egg vendor a few blocks from here. Trust me, you’ll like it.”

“Whatever you say, Naruebet.” He starts the engine.

Saint does not speak much when he’s driving, Shin notes. But then again, Saint does not say much unless he’s answering questions in class or fighting with Shin. The traffic lights color his face as they move through the city. The warm colors make him seem more cheerful than he really is. Saint Thamnithit, the too serious playboy who cannot even smile to save his life. 

The longer Shin looks, the more certain he becomes of one thing. They are opposites. A relationship between them would be a death sentence. They would drive each other crazy. Shin has said before that Saint is not relationship material and his crush does not change that.

“You’re going to burn a hole into the side of my face with all that staring.”

Shin quickly looks away, face burning. “Pft, who was staring? Shut up, you have a stupid face. Anyone would stare.” Silence. Then, “Shut up okay, I wasn’t even looking at you.” A few more seconds of silence go by. “Shut up,” he mutters again. “Just shut up.”

Saint’s voice is amused. “My lips are shut, Naruebet.”

**

Shin orders for them as Saint folds himself into a small plastic chair on the side of the street. He looks ridiculous. Too tall, stiff and completely out of place. Shin smiles as he watches him swat a mosquito away. When Saint glances his way, Shin gives him a little mocking wave. Saint rolls his eyes and goes back to swatting.

After a few minutes, he sets two plates of rice on the table. Saint looks up and mumbles a thank you. They are silent for the first few bites but Shin’s eyes keep straying toward his companion.

Saint is a conundrum personified. One second he is intimidating and imposing and the next, he’s this wide-eyed boy who makes you want to protect him. He is an impenetrable wall surrounded by many other walls.

“Your food will get cold, Naruebet.” Saint says without looking up from his plate.

“I am eating.” He frowns, stabbing his fork into the rice.

“Okay talk to me.” Saint looks up. “You’ve been itching to get it out. What was it you wanted to say in the parking lot?”

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

“No, I’ve been giving you space. You seemed pretty mad on Friday.”

“I was.” Still is kind of mad.

“Why?” His eyes are searching.

I think I like you. “I don’t know. I guess I was drunk.”

Saint studies him for a moment before nodding. “You should steer clear of alcohol then.”

“Shut up. You’re not the boss of me.” He flicks a grain of rice on his fork at Saint. It lands pathetically on the table. “So—,”

“So?” Saint prompts, head cocked to the side.

“Do you still want to—,” he shrugs. “You know.”

“To what?”

“Do I have to spell it out?”

Saint leans in. Whispers, “Naruebet, you have the filthiest mouth I have ever heard on a person. I think you can speak up if you want us to keep fucking.”

That should not sound so hot. Shin’s brain is already doing that thing where it’s screaming ‘kiss him!!!’. He doesn’t. Instead, he wets his lips, leans closer, and lets his fingers spider-walk along the vein that runs from Saint’s hand into his wrist.

“Saint,” he whispers. “I’d really like it if you took me to your house and fucked me so hard I couldn't stand up straight. Would you do that for me, hmm?”

And for the first time, Saint’s lips stretch into a smile. Eyes crickled and gums out. He is gorgeous, Shin thinks as his heartbeat takes off in a one man 100-meter dash.

Shit! He is completely and utterly fucked. 

Chapter Text

Music from the club is muted but the bass still strums through the quiet of the semi-dark alley. Shin laughs, spinning on his toes before collapsing against the uneven wall. Saint is right behind him, steadying him with a hand on his waist. He still looks way too serious for someone who is drunk. 

“Careful, you’ll hurt yourself,” he says.

“‘s what you’re here for.” Shin murmurs, arching his back off the brick as Saint’s grip tightens. “To make sure I don’t hurt myself.”

“Naruebet—,”

“Shh,” Shin smiles, plucking the joint from behind his ear and slipping it between his lips. The flame from the lighter burns azure and amber in Saint’s eyes as the joint comes alive. Shin pockets the lighter. Holds the thin, impeccably rolled joint between his fingers.

“We shouldn’t do this,” says Saint. His scotch-tinged breath fans against Shin’s skin.

“Shouldn’t do what.” Smoke pirouettes from his nostrils.

“This. It’s reckless.”

“So is sucking your dick.” He palms Saint’s erection through his jeans. Saint leans closer, breath hitching. “But it happens to be my favorite pastime.” His hand trails from Saint’s crotch, up his rigid abs and along his arms before settling at his nape.

Saint eyes don’t look away, they rarely do. They burn with a fire Shin has come to crave. It’s his favorite version of Saint. Maybe because it is the only time he lets go. Shin digs his nails into Saint’s neck. He knows it will leave a mark. He wants it to. He tugs Saint closer by the neck, his own stomach a tangled mess of knots as their lips brush faintly.

“Naruebet,” Saint’s words quiver against his lips.

“Thamnithit.” His tight grip on Saint weakens. He feels as though he is floating. “Please,” he begs. “Kiss me?”

“Naruebet,” Saint whispers again before his tongue —

“Naruebet. Naruebet?”

Shin jolts from his sleep. For a moment, his brain refuses to work. Then everything rushes in all at once, the whirring of the air conditioner, the drip from the bathroom faucet, the faint hum of a record spinning, and the annoying robotic drone of Saint’s voice.

“—is at 7:30,” Saint is saying.

Shin glares at him, his anger rising by the second. What the fuck!? How much longer will he keep having these fucking dreams about this oblivious asshole?

Saint smooths a hand down the front of his shirt. “That means you have thirty minutes to get ready.”

Shin grabs the nearest pillow and aims it at his face. “Shut the fuck up!” Saint catches it and sets it gently back on the bed. Shin groans, dragging his hands over his face. “You— fuck you, Thamnithit.”

“You’ve got twenty-nine minutes.”

“Shut up!” He throws the sheets aside. “I hate you.” He wishes it were a lie.

Saint nods down at his obvious morning wood. “Do you need help with that?”

“No, you idiot!” Shin yells, storming into the bathroom.

He thought his hormonal teenage years were over but thanks to Saint, he’s back in that miserable phase. The acne, the wet dreams, and the mood swings were horrible. Now he’s dealing with the last two all over again. Of them, the dreams are the worst. He keeps dreaming of kissing Saint in the strangest places, waking up wanting, confused and so fucking frustrated.

Shin is tired of these dreams. He is tired of his feelings. He hoped they would fade with time but they have only sharpened with every second in Saint’s presence. And though knows it’s not Saint's fault, he can’t help but resent him for it.

He dawdles in the shower just to annoy Saint, hoping it will lead to a fight. But when he comes out, Saint does not give him the satisfaction. He only stands up from the bed with a thin black belt in hand.

Shin holds his breath as Saint slides it through the loops and clicks it shut. “Does it feel comfortable?” Saint asks. Shin nods stiffly. “Are you okay?” His head dips to lock eyes with Shin. His eyes are so dreamy and so fucking dangerous that Shin’s heart makes a dramatic tumble.

“Just leave me alone, Thamnithit.” He turns away, snatching his phone and keys from the nightstand on his way out.

P’Jan meets him at the foot of the stairs. Her warm eyes crinkle with a smile. “How are you?” She pats Shin’s head with gentle hands. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes,” he lies, forcing a smile for her sake.

“You seem tired.” She looks up toward the stairs. “Good morning, Saint.”

“Good morning.” Asshole extraordinaire descends the stairs smiling. He stops beside Shin and pats his head like P’Jan did. “Don’t mind him, he’s not a morning person.”

“Don’t fucking touch me.” Shin smacks his hand away. “Sorry.” He turns red under P'Jan’s gaze. “I-I don’t usually talk like this.” She smiles and shoos them toward the table. 

Shin waits for Saint to sit before taking the farthest seat. When Saint notices, he picks up his bowl and moves closer. Fucking Thamnithit! Breakfast is shrimp Khao tom, same as the last time he slept over. Shin would like to believe that P’Jan made it again because he liked it so much the last time.

They eat quietly, cutlery clinking against ceramic bowls. Normally Shin would start up small talk just to irritate Saint but he’s not in the mood today.

“Are you okay?” Saint asks.

Shin is not looking at him but he knows there will be concern in his eyes like he truly cares. The very reason why his situation hasn’t gotten any better.

“‘m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“I said I’m fucking fine, Saint!” He snaps. Saint recoils, brows knitting and Shin immediately regrets. “Sorry. I’m sorry, I just— I don’t feel too good.”

“We could go to the hospital.”

“No, it’s not that. I guess I’m just tired.”

Saint sighs. He stirs his soup absentmindedly. “You go to class, football practice and commute here every day. Explains why you’re tired.”

“I didn’t ask for a diagnosis, doctor. And for the record, I didn’t drive today because you failed to wake me up again. I told you to wake me up if I doze off. This is the fourth time!”

“You seemed exhausted. And judging by how you act when I wake you up in the mornings, I didn’t feel like having anything thrown at my head.” He makes a face. “Also, you snore.”

“I do not fucking snore!”

“I’ll record you next time.”

“There won’t be a next time.”

“You should just live here.”

Shin freezes. “What?”

Saint blinks like he surprised himself too. “What?”

“You just said I should move in.”

“I did.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Shin grits his teeth. This question again. “Are you fucking with me right now?”

“I am not. I would drive you to and from school. You can live here on weekdays and drive back to campus on weekends.”

“No.”

“Naruebet—,”

“You just said I snore!”

“I don’t mind.”

“Fuck you, I don’t snore!”

“Shin—,”

“No.”

How the hell can Saint say this casually as if moving in together wouldn’t make his life harder? Staying here would mean living in Saint’s space, trapped in his own feelings and wishing for things he can never have. And then what, on weekends, he has to fuck off back to campus to allow Saint the freedom to club hop with his other boys and girls? He couldn’t do it. It would destroy him.

“I don’t understand you,” Saint mutters.

“I don’t understand you.” Shin shoots back. “Did you consider other things like football practice after school?”

“I’d wait for you.”

Shin splutters, derailed. He did not expect that. “Well, that’s not a good enough reason. We are not even friends, Saint. We hate each other, remember?”

Saint does not dispute that. “I think the pros outweigh the cons.”

“Bullshit.”

“You’ve admitted my bed is more comfortable. The water pressure is better. And I’ve got all these records you like.”

He is not wrong. Shin’s dorm bed is awful and the shower here beats the fatigue out of him. But those are still not enough reasons to willingly walk into pain.

“What about your pare—,” He stops himself. “Sorry. It’s just, this is their house. I can’t just move in.”

“You can.”

“I can?” His resolve is wavering. Dammit.

“Yes.” Saint meets his eyes again. The eye voodoo. “Don’t worry about my parents,” he says and adds almost sadly, “They are on a business trip.”

Shin’s chest tightens. He can’t help that he is a boy with a terrible crush who is fucking soft for said crush. His house back in Kanchanaburi could fit inside this one ten times over but he feels lonely even when surrounded by people. Especially after grandpa Kon died. He can only imagine how lonely Saint must feel here.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yes, I’ll stay here on weekdays on one condition.”

Saint leans in. “Name it.”

“I pick the music in the car.”

Saint’s responding smile is sweet. It turns Shin’s stomach inside out. He doesn’t realize he’s smiling back until Saint’s smile widens. “Deal.”

Shin can’t stop smiling for the rest of breakfast.

**

Saint drives them to and from school. Shin was disappointed when Saint didn't fight him over his music choice and was more surprised when he caught him humming along to some.

He listens when Shin rumbles on about one thing or the other, nodding or sometimes asking questions. Saint’s questions are always too complex and philosophical for the moment. Shin could be talking about how Ken laughed so hard spaghetti shot out of his nostrils and Saint would say, “Have you ever wondered why you gravitate toward people like him?”

“Saint, it’s spaghetti coming out of nostrils. You’re supposed to laugh.”

“It’s not funny.”

“Well, fuck you too.”

When Shin suggested that he sit in the bleachers and watch him practice instead of waiting in the library like a nerd, his reply was, “There are better things to do than watch twenty-four men chase a ball around.”

Shin hates him. And he hates even more that he likes these things about him. So every day after practice, he meets Saint in front of the library with new stories, hoping for Saint to drop another one of his ridiculous observations. Otherwise, the boy says nothing at all.

**

It feels domestic. Waking up to Saint already dressed, announcing how much time Shin has left to get ready. Saint fastening the buttons on Shin’s shirt, holding his eyes the entire time. Munching noisily on some chips while Saint works on his assignments. Eating breakfast and supper together. Washing dishes side by side. And bickering when Saint’s perfect composure cracks.

Shin doesn’t let it get to his head. He convinces himself he means to Saint what Saint means to him. Nothing more, nothing less. On weekdays, they’re together and on weekends, Shin pretends not to notice when Saint steps out of his car with another boy.

He tells himself he doesn’t give a fuck even though he drowns his liver in alcohol and howls old blues into the karaoke mic. All weekend, he hides in his room to avoid seeing anything that might hurt him. ‘I’m gonna call it off for real this time,’ he promises. But on Sunday evening, Saint greets him at the door with a smile and P’Jan’s spicy fried noodles and Shin finds a reason to keep going.

In the third week, Saint starts to act strange. He comes in from the garage, heads straight for the shower, pulls on those hideous striped pajamas, and buries himself under the sheets. The first time it happened, Shin surmised he must have been exhausted. Even then, he was puzzled because they found less energetic ways to get off, like lazy handjobs or blowjobs, if they were tired.

So now, Shin lies on his side and watches Saint, many thoughts running through his mind. The orange lamp on the nightstand sheds some light in the dark room. Though Saint’s eyes are shut, Shin knows he isn’t asleep. He has learned the difference from countless nights of simply watching him sleep. 

“Open your eyes, I wanna talk.” Shin pokes his cheeks though what he really wants is to caress it. 

Saint’s eyelids flicker open. It takes a second for his gaze to center on Shin. “Naruebet.”

“What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“You didn’t touch me on Monday or today. Why?” Shin wants to sound angry, but his voice comes out thin.

“Do you want me to?”

“That’s why I’m here.”

Saint hesitates, mouth opening and closing. Finally, he sighs, “I figured you were tired. You limped into the car. It took you forever to come up the stairs.”

“It’s just an ankle sprain. And Monday, what’s your excuse for that?”

“You said Jang tackled you and dislocated your shoulder.”

Shin, despite himself, chuckles softly. “You idiot.” He is fond. It’s getting harder to keep his hands to himself. “His name is Jeng, you fucking idiot.”

Saint smiles back. The room seems so much brighter. “Sounds the same to me.”

Shin chuckles some more. He holds Saint’s eyes for a moment. He is trapped in a spell he has no desire to break. “You’re so weird, Thamnithit.”

“I’m no weirder than you.”

“Me? I’m normal.”

He lets out a soft laugh. “There’s nothing normal about you, Naruebet.”

“Shut up.” He knees Saint softly in the shin. “Everything about me is normal.” 

“No, it’s not.” Saint’s hand rises, brushing lightly at the corner of Shin’s eye. Shin holds in the shiver that threatens to overtake him. “You have weird eyes,” Saint whispers, tracing a thumb across his brow. “They are weirdly shaped and colored.”

“Fuck you.” He can barely hear himself. “My eyes are beautiful.”

“Yes, they are.” Saint agrees without a pause. “They were one of the first things I noticed about you. Those wild brown eyes and that ridiculous rooster hair you kept throughout freshman year. But you know what?”

Shin is close to tears and he doesn’t know why. “What?” he croaks.

“Weird things can be beautiful too.”

**

Shin thinks about him; Saint. In everything he does. On the field. In class. At lunch with his friends. He thinks about Saint even when he is with Saint. His mind leaves no room for anything else.

At practice, Coach Sung yells at him to get his head in the game. He cannot. His head is with Saint. With his eyes. His lips. His hands. His voice. His words.

Weird things can be beautiful too. 

Shin has been called weird all of his life. He hates it a little less now just because Saint believes him to be beautiful.

On weekends, Shin counts down the seconds to Sunday evening when he can finally lie next to him again. He doesn’t mind that Saint never holds him or kisses him goodnight. He tries to prolong their Friday nights, edging Saint for as long as he can because the moment he comes is the moment he has to leave.

This Friday is no different. Saint’s lips are cold and rough against his skin, leaving bruises down his neck, shoulders, and chest. Bruises that call him beautiful even when they sting. Shin clings to him. Legs around his waist. Arms tight around his back. Saint will be gone after this, lost in the arms of another while he drinks himself to sanity.

Each thrust pulls a shiver out of him. Each touch, transient.

“Saint— ah,” he whimpers as he moves to hide his face against Saint’s neck. Saint doesn’t let him. He likes to watch Shin’s face. Perhaps, he loves to watch him fall apart.

“Saint,” he cries again. 

Tears blur his vision. He cannot make out Saint’s features but his gaze feels like the fiery Sun. And he, Icarus, flies too close to the sun. He burns. He burns and when all his wings are molten, he begins his beautiful plunge. Falling is nothing like he imagined. There’s no fear. He has accepted his disastrous fate. His body moves fluidly through the wind, ready for impact. He shuts his eyes as he draws closer.

“Open your eyes,” Saint pleads. “I want to see them.”

Weird things can be beautiful too. 

So he does. Because he can’t say no to him. Because all he wants is to be beautiful. For Saint. He continues his descent. Deeper into him. Saint is there to catch him before he touches the ground. He is held together by hands that take him apart as he trembles through an ear-ringing orgasm. 

I've lost control, please save me from myself
I've lost control, please save me from myself 

IAMX's LP serenades from the record player.

Saint caresses his face. Thumbs away his tears. “Why are you crying?” 

Shin shakes his head. He’ll cry more if he speaks.

“Did I hurt you?”

Not in the way he thinks. “No.” 

“Are you sure?” Saint brushes his hair back, eyes searching.

How does one say this? Shin is humbled by his feelings. He does not want them. “I’m sure.” He nods as fresh tears cloud his vision.

“Oh Shin,” Saint pulls him in. His long arms engulf him. Presses their chests flush together. Shin feels his heartbeat racing just like his own. His skin is warm. Shin doesn’t want to let go but Saint pulls back enough to take his eyes again. Then he leans in, pressing his lips to the side of his face. “I’m sorry,” he says. “Tell me how to make you feel better.”

He couldn’t ask. He would never demand from Saint more than he could offer. He would never beg for affection. But the thumbs stroking his cheeks make holding back harder.

“Why don’t you ever kiss me?” The words slip out squeaky and pathetic and so unlike himself. Saint thumbs stop moving against his cheeks. His head tips to the side and Shin wants to take it all back, to save himself from this humiliation. “Forget I said—,”

He’s silenced by soft lips against his. Tiny sparks travel from the point of contact through to his entire body. His tears won’t stop but they are quieted by Saint’s insistent lips. Shin remembers to part his lips after a second. He tastes nothing but the pounding of his heart on his own tongue. It beats steadily and then speeds up in rage.

Saint pulls back and Shin follows, desperate. He’s not done yet. He has waited almost a year for this. And by the gods does it feel glorious when their lips crash again. His spent dick trapped between their bodies stirs to life again. Saint rolls onto his back, lifting Shin on top of him with ease.

“Shin,” he smiles, looking up.

Shin cannot resist. He swoops down and kisses him again. He always knew that smile would taste sweet.

“Do you know the first thing I noticed about you?” Saint asks between kisses.

Shin is light-headed with joy. Now that he’s not attached to Saint from shoulder to hip, he shivers from the cool air. “My weird eyes?” 

“No,” Saint’s palms run slowly along his arms.

“My weird hair?”

“Yes, that. But I noticed your weird lips too.” He cups Shin’s face, thumb brushing over his swollen mouth.  “Out of everything weird about you, Naruebet, they’re the weirdest.”

Shin leans back down, muttering against his lips, “Yours are pretty fucking weird too.”

Chapter Text

Saint Thamnithit is something out of a fantasy. Shin feels like an idiot for not noticing sooner just how disarmingly beautiful he is. Right in front of him was a diamond in the rough, and what did he do? He kept kicking dust onto it. The parts of Saint that used to irritate him are now the ones he can’t imagine him without.

Take his hair, for example. Jet black and glorious and Shin’s favorite handles during sex. Shin loves the way the dark locks frame his face when he lets it go and the single strand that casts a shadow over his eye when he styles it back. 

Saint’s neck is a work of art. Long, sturdy, and soft enough to bite into. There’s a tiny mole near the base that always catches Shin’s eye. Talking about moles, the two on his face are Shin’s favorite things to stare at.

He loves Saint’s eagle eyes, sharp and beautiful. They are one of the few things Shin could never get used to. And one of the many he never wants to be taken away from him.

Then there are his hands. Large, lean, and steady. There’s no part of his body that Saint’s hands haven’t touched. Even the smallest contact makes Shin lose control.

Saint’s smiles are the best. Shin has committed to memory every one of them. The slight curve of his lips when he’s slightly amused. The wider one when he is truly delighted by something. And the full-on laughter when Shin does something he finds extremely hilarious. Shin loves all of them but he loves more that he’s one of the few allowed the privilege.

Shin likes Saint’s lips. He loves the fullness and the perfect bow on the upper lip. They taste like little drops of happiness. He could stare at them for hours if he wasn’t too busy pretending not to.

“Naruebet.” The lips he was just admiring are moving and Shin condemns his eyes for letting him get caught. “You’re supposed to be drying the plates.”

Shin can almost see the redness on his face reflected in Saint’s eyes. “What?” He snaps defensively, hating the smug lift of Saint’s brows. “Shut up! I wasn’t even looking at you!”

Saint studies him for a while and slowly morphs his face into a smile. Not to be dramatic but it parodies the sun rising or lotuses blooming in the fall. “Come here, Naruebet.” 

Shin does not hesitate to shuffle closer, already anticipating what is to come. The air between them is suddenly charged. The moment stretches too long. When Saint finally leans in, Shin meets him halfway. It is gentle at first. But when Saint’s tongue teases the seam of Shin’s mouth, he whimpers and opens up, deepening the kiss.

Saint kisses differently each time. Sometimes it’s searing and passion-filled. And other times, like this, they take their time simply exploring each other’s mouths.

Saint lifts his hands to Shin’s face. Soap suds pop and leave wet trails along the side of his face. “Shin, I’m making you wet.”

“Is that not the idea?”

Saint kisses him briefly and pulls back. “You have a filthy mouth.” He whispers, amusement in his eyes.

“You love my filthy mouth.”

“I love your filthy mouth,” Saint avows and kisses him again. “Have you ever been fucked in a kitchen?” He breathes. Shin shakes his head. He has no patience for talking. He leans up to join their lips again but Saint restrains him by the neck. “Where have you been fucked?”

“In your bedroom, in the supply closet—,” Saint watches him expectantly, waiting for him to continue. Shin stares back quietly until he catches on.

“Oh.” His eyes widen. “Oh.”

“It’s not a big deal.” They are supposed to be fucking and this is the opposite of fucking.

“I was your first.”

“Don’t say it like that.”

“I remember our first time, Shin. It was rough. We used spit for lube.”

“I didn’t hate it. I’m still here, am I not?”

Saint’s eyes have narrowed and his voice is strained. “Am I— you’ve kissed before, right?”

“Of course, I’ve kissed!” He feels insulted by the insinuation.

Back in senior year of high school, he made out with Pin, a cheerleader right after a football match. Shin might have been terrible at it but Pin told everyone he was the best kiss she’d ever had.

Then in freshman year, he followed Ken and Ren to a dorm party where he got drunk and kissed two girls. Two girls. Same night.

When he’s done recounting his achievements, Saint holds his upper lip between his teeth and nods seriously. “Two girls in one night, huh?”

“Just me, two girls.” Shin grins, proud of himself.

“Two girls. Just for you.”

“Just for— you’re mocking me. You fucking moron!”

Saint breaks into laughter. “My pure angel.”

“Fuck you, not everyone is a whore like you.”

“Naruebet, you’re nineteen.”

“I hate you. What, you think you’re special because you ‘deflowered’ me?” He throws in air quotes for dramatic effect. Saint folds in half laughing. “That’s it, I’m no longer in the mood. And to think we were having a good time too.” 

“Come on,” Saint says, holding out an arm.

Shin ducks away, storming past him. “You killed a boner tonight, you monster!”

“Shin,” Saint calls after him, laughter in his voice. “Naruebet— the plates!”

“Do the stupid dishes by yourself, Idiot!”

Saint’s laughter echoes through the house.

**

Saint’s light and darkness live side by side. On some days, he laughs without restraint. Other days, the shadows return, the pain of it clinging longer than any trace of happiness.

On those days, all Shin can do is watch him suffer.

**

Things get busier as the semester winds down. Saint throws himself into studying for finals with his usual intensity. He is very anal about doing well in school and while Shin has no desire to compete with him for the top spot this semester, he tags along to study when he’s not too drained from football practice.

When Saint studies in the library, Shin is out on the field, chasing after a ball, as Saint so eloquently puts it. Sometimes, practice runs late but Saint waits no matter how long it takes. And then they meet in front of the library to drive home together.

On the morning of the final match, Shin wakes up tangled in Saint’s sheets. They exchange lazy kisses under the shower spray and he cries out Saint’s name when he gets him off with one hand on his dick and two fingers inside him. Then Shin drops to his knees and returns the favor.

They get dressed side by side. Saint fixes Shin’s belt and buttons his shirt like it’s his personal duty. Shin does not mind if it means Saint tugs him close by the belt afterward and seals it with his sweet kisses.

‘Come watch me play’

Shin has been dying to ask for days. Saint does not care about football. He calls it soccer for crying out loud and is under no obligation to show up for his live-in booty call’s football game. Shin cannot stomach the idea of being turned down. So he lets the question sit heavy on the tip of his tongue.

On the drive to school, he blasts Queen to drown his thoughts and prevent the question from spilling out. “I’m just a poor boy nobody loves me,” he sings dramatically, holding an imaginary mic out to Saint.

Saint glances at Shin’s hand. “I’m driving.”

“You’re such a spoilsport. Spare him his life of this monstrosity—,” Saint’s lips twitch when Shin starts singing the ad-libs. “Easy come easy go, will you let me go.” 

Then to Shin’s shock, Saint joins in. He starts softly at first then with a surprising amount of enthusiasm. “Bismillah no we will not let you go. LET HIM GOOOO!”

Shin nearly chokes on laughter. Saint never sings. He hums sometimes or taps a rhythm against the steering wheel when he’s really into it. “What are you doing, Thamnithit?”

Saint lifts one smug brow. “Proving I’m no spoilsport,” he says and picks up the tune again. 

Shin duets with him through side-splitting laughter. He knows that Saint butchering the lyrics of bohemian rhapsody is not that funny but he is just incredibly infatuated. Saint could sit down silently and it would make Shin happy. Everything about him makes Shin want to laugh and never stop.

They are still chuckling when Saint pulls up next to the school bus in front of the football field. Some of Shin’s teammates are already loading their bags in the luggage compartment with Coach Sung barking orders nearby.

“Good luck today,” says Saint.

Come watch me play, Shin still cannot let the words out. Instead, he smiles. “Thank you. I’ll see you later.” He starts to lean in for a kiss but freezes when he catches his teammates staring through the windshield. He sits back, flustered. “I guess this is it.”

Saint's hand slides over his thigh, squeezing once. “See you later, okay?”

“Okay.” Shin grabs his bag and reaches for the door handle.

“Go get them, Narubolt.”

“Fuck off!” He spins around, scowling. Saint knows exactly which buttons to push and he punches them like he’s playing a game of whack-a-mole. “Shut up!”

Narubolt is his football nickname. It is a mix of Naruebet and Bolt because of his speed. He hates the name. It is unimaginative and corny. They could’ve come up with something cooler.

“It is your chant name.”

Shin narrows his eyes. “How do you even know that?”

Saint just keeps laughing. And as it always is, the sound is beautiful but Shin wants to swing a fist into his face. “I’m smart, I know everything.”

“Shut up! I hate your stupid ass!” Shin opens the door and practically flies out. He doesn’t close the door after himself.

When he joins his teammates, all eyes are on him. “Morning, Coach.” He wais. “Morning guys.”

“Who was that, Naruebet?” Jeng asks. Shin hates the tone of his voice and the eyebrow wiggle that follows.

“Just a guy from class.”

“That’s Saint Thamnithit Nitiroj,” says First, a midfielder, unhelpfully. “He’s loaded. Dad’s a billionaire or something. That car is definitely his.” How does First know all this?

“That your boyfriend?” Jeng asks again. His smile is unpleasant.

“No.” 

“Doesn’t look like that, Naruebet.”

“Drop it.” Tew, another teammate, cuts in before things escalate. Shin would have punched Jeng and gotten benched for today’s match.

“Enough chit-chat,” Coach Sung says. “Today is the most important day of your lives—,”

The chatter dies down immediately.

**

The Thammasat university football team has been training for this match against Rajamangala University of Technology since their dishonorable 4-0 defeat last year. Every match they have played this year, every practice, every injury, every sleepless night was building up to this very moment.

However, it appears that they are not the only ones who have been training for this. Rajamangala came back twice as strong. They are more alert, faster, and merciless. Their passes are clinical and their defense is impenetrable. 

Tough as it is, Thammasat holds their own. Ninety minutes drag on to extra time with no goals from either side. Then in the 96th minute, while both teams are distracted by a commotion in the stands, a Rajamangala midfielder, the name on his jersey reads MJ, breaks into a counterattack. The pass is so well received, even Shin has to commend it. MJ runs with lightning speed. Only Shin is fast enough to catch up to him. When he is close enough, he puts his leg out and sends MJ flying inside the 18-yard box.

He knows they are in trouble even before the referee blows his whistle. Penalty. 

Rajamangala’s side explodes with noise. Shin hangs his head in shame when MJ slams the net with a shot, shaking the bar for good measure. The final whistle follows immediately.

Final scores: Rajamangala 1 - 0 Thammasat.

They have been handed their second loss, two years in a row and Shin blames himself. Rookie mistakes like that are made by people like First or Chadjen. Not him. Coach Sung’s pep talk and his teammates’ pats on the back do nothing to lessen the guilt sitting on his chest. 

The dressing room’s atmosphere worsens the feeling. Everyone is seated with their heads bowed, just letting the defeat settle in. It is so quiet that the unoiled hinges of the Rajamangala guest dressing room door sound like a rocket launch when it creaks open. 

Sixteen pairs of eyes turn towards the sound. Saint Thamnithit stands there, dressed in black from head to toe. Pants, shirt, shoes, even his cap is black. He looks wildly out of place in the sea of crushed spirits and Shin has never felt gladder seeing another person. 

“Hi,” Saint gives a small awkward wave. “Sorry to interrupt. Some guy let me in.” His gaze sweeps the room and Shin waits patiently until they land on him. A small smile tugs at Saint’s lips. “I’m here for him.” He tips his chin toward Shin. “Uh sorry, I’m here for Narubolt.”

Despite the ache in his chest, Shin’s lips curve up. “You fucking idiot,” he mutters under his breath. By the way Saint’s grin widens, Shin knows he read his lips perfectly.

“It’s Naruebet’s boyfriend,” Jeng announces but everyone is already back to being sad again.

Shin rises and crosses the room. “Thamnithit.”

Saint appraises him from head to toe. “Narubolt.”

He should cuss him out for using that stupid name but he doesn’t. “What are you doing here?”

“Had to see what all the fuss was about.”

“And? Did it live up to expectations?”

“I don’t know about the others but a certain Narubolt was incredible out there.”

Shin shakes his head. “That’s not true. I—,” he trails off as the scene replays in his mind, foul, the whistle, the penalty. His jaw clenches against the onset of tears.

“Hey,” Saint steps closer and cups his face. Shin is aware of the team watching but for once, he doesn’t care. He needs comfort and their macho back slaps did not help. “I saw everything,” Saint says softly. “You were amazing.”

“I cost them the game.”

“No, you didn’t. He would’ve scored even if you hadn’t committed that foul.” Saint’s thumb catches a teardrop on Shin’s cheek. “It’s football, these things happen.”

If Shin wasn’t already in love with him, this would’ve done it. “You called it football.” He sniffs, wiping his eyes. “You actually said football.”

Saint shrugs. “Well, there were balls and feet involved.”

Shin laughs, shaking his head. He stares at Saint for a moment too long. “Thank you, Saint. Thanks for coming to my game.”

“You know,” Saint glances around the room. Scratches behind his ears. “If you feel like ditching your teammates, we could grab some food. There’s this dessert place down on Maha Rat Road I think you’d like. Sugar is bound to make you feel better.”

“Are you paying?”

“When have you ever paid for anything?”

“I paid that one time we went to Bangsue Junction.”

“With my money.”

Shin grins, heart drumming. He needs to remind himself that this is not a date. They are just hanging out together as people who live together sometimes and have lots of sex. “Let me rinse off the sweat and disappointment. Please wait for me.”

“I’ll be waiting, Naruebet.”

Chapter Text

Christmas isn’t exactly a Thai tradition, but the Ittiwats celebrate it anyway. Every year, they hang lights, decorate a tree together, exchange gifts and eat a Christmas meal like the westerners do. This Christmas, Shin’s big sister, Chingching will be visiting for the first time since she left for the US.

He is excited for the holidays. Even more elated to see his sister. But the thought of leaving Bangkok and by extension, Saint dulls that excitement a little.

Currently, Saint is sprawled across the bed, keen eyes following Shin as he dresses up. It is a Friday night and as their rules dictate, Shin should be going back to campus. He would rather stay with Saint until he has to travel home but he’s afraid to suggest it.

“I’m leaving for Mueang Kanchanaburi on Sunday morning,” Shin says as he pulls on a black Arctic Monkeys T-shirt. It is one of Saint’s but he has worn it so many times, it feels like his.

“Okay.” That’s all Saint says. 

Shin wasn’t expecting much. With Saint, it’s impossible to predict anything but he hoped for something. A word, a look, or a reason to stay. He bites his lip and turns away before his face betrays his disappointment. “Okay,” he repeats dumbly.

When he walks out of the bedroom minutes later, Saint still hasn’t said another word. His body is weakened by vertigo and there is an ache in the back of his throat by the time he reaches his Toyota. He rests his forehead against the steering wheel for ten long minutes before finally driving out of the Nitiroj compound alone, at ten in the evening.

Pathetic, a voice in his head berates.

When did he get this miserable? He is fucking Naruebet Ittiwat, two times TU sexy boy. People would line up for a chance to be with him. There are plenty of fish in the sea, as the saying goes. It just so happens that he hates fishing and the only fish he wants is named Thamnithit. 

That night, he hides under the sheets in his uncomfortable dorm bed and watches English shows without subtitles, holding back tears. It is humiliating crying over a guy. Again.

On Saturday, Ren and Ken take him out for lunch. They let him order whatever he wants and stay with him all day. They keep him busy enough to get his mind off the asshole Thamnithit. And on Sunday morning, they see him off outside the dormitory building. 

“Don’t do this. It’s just for three weeks,” Shin tells a glassy eyed Ken but his own voice wavers. “I won’t forgive you if you make me cry in public.”

They come together for a group hug that lasts too long. Then Shin gets into his car, starts the engine, and begins the two-hour drive home.

**

Por and Mae greet him with wide smiles when he walks in. Shin returns them with awkward side hugs before escaping into the bedroom he’ll be sharing with his brother for the holidays. Shin loves his parents but being around them always feels like standing before a jury. Like his every move and utterance is being monitored and judged. 

His brother, Kavin, nods at him from his bed. He’s at the age where he thinks he’s too cool for everything. Shin did not expect a hug. And he doesn’t get one.

For two long days, Shin sits through stiff, polite conversations at the dining table until Chingching arrives. She brings with her the kind of Christmas energy their house had been missing. That evening, laughter fills the house as they decorate the tree.

Chingching is glowing and full of New York stories. She distracts Shin from thoughts of Saint with tales of  Broadway, sewer rats, annoying neighbors, loud-mouthed racists, and dreamy guys.

“You had fun.”

“I did,” She wraps him in her arms. “But I missed you so so much. How are you?”

“Not too bad.”

When Chingching leaves and Shin is alone again, his heart starts to yearn for his own dreamy boy he left behind in Bangkok. The boy who buys him desserts to cheer him up. Whose kisses taste like comfort. Whose touch almost feels reverent.

By Christmas eve, the dull ache in Shin’s chest has become a wound, festering to the point of rotting. He can feel maggots crawling from the necrose of his heart. He wants to be himself again. Wants to stop feeling this way. 

Every day since driving away from the Nitiroj home, he has pulled up Saint’s contact just to stare at it. He reads the numbers over and over again. Bites his nails as they begin to blur behind his eyes. He doesn't have the courage to call.

‘Okay’, Saint had said and nothing more. A ‘goodbye’ would have satiated Shin’s neediness. He would make do with ‘see you’. What the hell was he supposed to do with ‘okay’?

One the eve of Christmas, throughout the day, he drifts in and out of thought wondering what Saint is doing. If he is okay. Has he turned to the light or the darkness? Shin hopes he is happy in the light. Even if that happiness is found with someone who isn’t him.

That night, while his family laughs inside and the stars blink high in the sky, Shin sneaks out to the porch. He curls up on one of the three rickety wooden chairs, knees to his chest and phone glowing in his hand. His thumb hovers over Saint’s number. It wouldn’t hurt to just text Merry Christmas, right? It doesn’t have to mean anything. Even strangers wish each other merry Christmas. After a few minutes of internal debate, he opens the text box and sends,

Merry Christmas or whatever.

The phone vibrates almost instantly. Asshole is calling. Shin rakes his fingers through his hair, heart going stupidly wild. Then he remembers Saint cannot see him. So he messes it up again, takes a deep breath, clears his throat, and answers the call.

“Thamnithit.”

“Shin,” Saint’s voice is soft through the speakers. He sounds half asleep, like he has been lying in bed. Shin can almost see him, clad in one of his ugly pajamas, hair mussed, and one side of his face pressed into a pillow. “How are you?”

“I’m good.” He is. Just hearing Saint’s voice makes him feel so much better. “How is Bangkok?”

“Bangkok is just as you left it. Big and lonely.”

Are you lonely? Shin wants to ask but instead says, “It’s Christmas.”

“I’m aware,” he laughs. There’s movement on the other end, then classic music starts playing in the background.

Shin knows he shouldn’t ask but his curiosity gets the better of him. “Where are your parents?”

“Uhm,” he hesitates. “They are, uh, Shin—,”

“On a business trip?” Shin finishes and Saint chuckles. The sound has ragged edges and scrapes against Shin’s already weakened heart. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I know, but still, I’m sorry. Christmas should be spent with loved ones.” He hears Kavin and Chingching arguing from inside, their voices rising. “Apparently, fighting about if it was Santa’s reindeer that could fly or his sleigh.”

Saint’s laugh is smoother this time. Shin folds his legs in the chair and leans into it. “What are you doing?” Saint asks.

Shin glances at the stars. “Sitting on the porch. Talking to you. You?”

“Just in bed,” he murmurs. “Talking to you.”

Shin feels giddy for some reason. He cannot stop smiling. “And listening to Mozart? It’s Christmas Saint, play some actual Christmas music.”

“Every music is Christmas music if you try hard enough.”

“That’s a lie.”

“Okay, Naruebet. What does the grandmaster of Christmas songs suggest?”

One song immediately comes to mind. He is blushing furiously even before he replies, “Uhm— Sigrid, Home to you this Christmas.” He flushes more after saying that out loud. He hates what Saint has made him become.

“Okay,” Saint says. “I’ll play that now.” Shin hears him get up, the sound of the record needle lifting, then the soft click of a laptop. A few seconds later, Sigrid’s euphonious voice pours through the line.

“Much better,” Shin says.

“Whatever you say, Naruebet.” Silence follows for a few heartbeats. Shin is afraid they’ve come to the end of the conversation but then Saint speaks again, “Tell me about Christmas at your house.”

“It’s nothing special.”

“I want to hear it anyway.”

So Shin tells him. About Chingching and Kavin’s petty arguments. About Mae’s cooking. About Por’s outrageous gifts. Then he talks about grandpa Kon and how Christmas hasn’t felt the same since he died.

“He was the life of the party,” says Shin. “He loved Christmas which is pretty ironic since he was an atheist. I think he just liked having everyone together in the same place. We try to make it fun but it’s different.”

“You talk about him a lot,” Saint says softly. “You must have loved him.”

“Yeah,” Shin shrugs even though Saint can’t see it. “Well, I guess loving someone doesn’t keep them alive.”

“I’m sorry, Shin.”

“It’s okay.” His voice trembles on the lie. “I’m okay.”

“Shin—,”

“Shut up, I’m fine.” It is quiet on the other end of the line. Shin can sense the pity from miles away. “I said I’m fucking fine.”

Saint lets out a sudden, breathy laugh. “Naruebet, you’re so—,”

“Shut up! I’m so what? Say it.”

“Do you want me to shut up or speak?”

“Speak. What am I, Thamnithit?”

“You’re so strange.”

“Strange?” Shin bites his lips. “Li-like weird?” 

“Yes. Like weird.”

Weird things can be beautiful too.

Shin smiles. 

**

On Christmas Day, Shin spends the entire afternoon texting Saint. And later after opening presents with his family, he slips out onto the porch to talk to him again.

“I recommended a Christmas song yesterday.” Shin is perched on the wooden porch railing, legs swinging back and forth like the lovesick fool he is. “It’s your turn tonight. Play us something.”

Saint hums, thinking. “Fly me to the moon.”

“Really? Sinatra? That’s not a Christmas song.”

“Any song can be a Christmas song.” He repeats.

“I’m not a fan of Sinatra.”

“You have no taste, Naruebet!” Saint’s attempt to sound serious is thwarted when he starts laughing mid-sentence. “Sinatra is awesome.”

“He’s meh.”

“I’m sorry,” Saint says. “This might be the end of our friendship.”

Friendship. The word knocks the breath out of Shin. He forgets how to think. Or speak.

“Shin?”

“We’re friends?” He’s choked up again. Damn Thamnithit.

“You ditched your family to talk to me on Christmas night,” Saint says lightly. “What else could we be?”

Husbands? Shin bites the thought back before it escapes. “Right,” he mutters, his stomach doing that embarrassing flip again. “Can you believe it? I’m friends with Saint Thamnithit.”

“I can,” Saint replies a little too seriously.

**

Later that night, Shin curls on a thin mattress on the floor beside his brother’s bed. The room is dark except for the dim white light of his phone. He opens Spotify, searches for Sinatra, and presses play.

Fly me to the moon
Let me play among the stars
Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars
In other words, hold my hand
In other words, baby, kiss me

The melody floats around him. Shin closes his eyes and lets the world dissolve. In his mind, he is back in the Nitiroj home and Saint right there, singing these words to him.

In other words,
I love you.

**

Some days, Shin talks to Saint more than he talks to his own family. They text, exchange voice notes, and call all day long. They even welcome the New Year together over the phone. 

“Happy new year, Saint,” Shin says, smiling stupidly at the ceiling.

“Happy new year, Shin. What are your new year's resolutions?”

He hasn’t thought about it. “Not to die, I guess. What about you?” Shin asks. “You already have everything, what could you possibly want?”

“Not the things that matter.”

“Like what?”

“You live such an easy life. I envy that,” Saint replies.

Shin recognizes the diversion, that little evasion method Saint uses when the conversation comes too close to something real. He does not want to push Saint away, so he lets it go.

On the 7th, Shin sings Saint happy birthday over the phone. And then buys himself a small cake from the bakery near his house to celebrate. He sends Saint a photo with a single lit candle.

“I’m celebrating on your behalf.”

 “That’s not how birthdays work.” Saint sounds delighted. “You can’t celebrate someone else’s birthday for them.”

“You say that and yet here I am, doing exactly that.”

“How did you even know it was my birthday?”

“Keep your enemies closer, right? I had to know everything about you to destroy you.”

“Mhhm,” Saint hums. “What did your research reveal?”

“Closet nerd. Asshole. Billionaire. Manwhore.”

“Fitting.” Saint laughs.

**

Shin is taken to a different plane when he talks to Saint. He can’t sit still. One moment he is pacing the porch. The next he is crouched on the stairs, hanging upside down from Kavin’s bed, or balancing on one foot along the porch balustrade, phone in one hand and his free arm around a pillar to keep steady.

“Get down Shin, you will break your neck,” Mae yells. “Do you have a death wish?”

“You are always on that phone,” Por grumbles.

“I bet it’s his girlfriend,” Kavin snickers.

“Let him be,” Chingching defends.

Shin tosses their comments in his ‘I don’t care zone’. Talking to Saint is all he cares about.

But Saint isn’t always there. Some days, he is too busy for Shin. Shin understands that the boy does not belong to him. That there might be other things or people that he prioritizes. He tells himself he is okay with it. Except for the small fact that he wants to find the tallest building and swan dive from it.

On the 18th, Shin drives Chingching to Suvarnabhumi Airport for her late flight back to New York. The new school year starts in two days, so to save himself the trouble of going back and forth, he books a room at a two-star hotel to wait it out.

“Are you happy?” Chingching asks as he is unloading her luggage from the Toyota’s trunk.

He stops mid-lift, brows furrowing. “I don’t understand.”

“Baby brother,” She takes both his hands and squeezes tight. “You know I love you, right?”

He does. Out of everyone in the family, she is the most open with her emotions. “I know.”

“And you know I don’t care who you’re with as long as they make you happy, right?” Shin suddenly feels faint. He tries to pull his hands back but she won’t let go. “Hey Shin, look at me.” He does after a moment. “Are you happy?”

“I try to be.”

“Does he make you happy?”

He looks down at their feet— her peach sandals and his dirty converses— then back to her face. “Sometimes.”

Her lips turn down. “Shin,” her eyes are sad. “You should be with someone who always makes you happy.”

“It’s not his fault. I’m not his— we’re not together like that.”

“Sweetheart,” She pulls him into a brief hug. “You’ve grown so tall, I forget you’re still a baby.” She straightens his collar. Smooths his cheeks with her hands. “You’ve got a long life ahead. You don’t have to settle for less than you deserve.”

“I’m not— he’s—,” Shin fumbles. “He’s amazing. He just has his demons. But don’t we all? I-I really like him.”

Chingching is not swayed. “Promise me,” she says, eyes stern. “Promise me you’ll choose yourself when it comes down to it.”

“Ching—,”

“Promise me.”

“I promise.”

**

Shin knows he deserves someone who makes him happy all the time. Saint might never be that person. But the little moments of happiness he gives is a kind of drug and Shin is hopelessly hooked. So as soon as he settles in his hotel room, he calls Saint’s phone.

“Shin,” Saint answers on the third ring.

“I’m in Bangkok.”

“Where in Bangkok?”

“Rambuttri Village Inn & Plaza.”

“A hotel?” There’s a slight shift in Saint’s tone.

“Yes.”

It is quiet for a moment before Saint speaks again. “Who—,” he breaks off. “Are you alone?”

“Yes.”

“May I come to you?”

“How about I come to you instead?” He misses the Nitiroj home; the familiarity and Saint’s smell on literally everything. “Is that okay?”

“I’m waiting for you, Naruebet.”

As Shin speeds down the highway to Saint, his sister's words come to him again.

Promise you’ll choose yourself when it comes down to it.

He grips the steering wheel tighter, staring at the empty road ahead. How does he choose himself without choosing Saint too when Saint has already become a part of him?

Chapter Text

In junior high, Shin’s report card always said three things: adventurous, easygoing, and smart. Teachers and colleagues alike loved him.

Grandpa Kon would tell him he was the most agreeable among his siblings. “Don’t ever tell them I said this,” he would say. Shin suspects they already figured it out, especially when Grandpa willed almost all his most valuable possessions to him.

Everyone on the football team adores him, some a little too much and not just because he is their best player. Tew once said it was simply because Shin was easy to be around.

Ren and Ken met him under the blazing sun at freshman orientation and decided from a single interaction that the three of them were going to be best friends. 

For all these reasons, Shin has never doubted he was likable. The exception to this, not unexpectedly, is Saint. From the first day they met, they butted heads and even now when they are a little more than friendly, Shin can’t tell where he stands in Saint Thamnithit Nitiroj’s world.

Saint oscillates between warmth and frigidity. One can hardly guess what he is thinking or wants. And Shin worries constantly that Saint neither thinks about him nor wants him. Not in the way he would like him to.

So, even though Saint spends hours on the phone with him, says things that make him warm inside or treats him like he’s somehow different from all his other bedmates, apprehension still slots itself along the walls of Shin’s belly where Saint is concerned. 

These worries are temporarily drowned when the door to the Nitiroj home opens just as Shin lifts his hand to ring the bell.

“Naruebet,” Saint smiles. Before Shin can reply, he is grabbed by the collar and pulled into a kiss. Shin’s body, like second nature, melts against him. He parts his lips and kisses back with hunger. 

“Shin. Shin,” Saint breathes against his mouth, over and over, guiding them deeper into the foyer without breaking the kiss. His hands travel over Shin’s back, up his neck, across his face, and down to his waist. “Missed you.” He presses eager thumbs into Shin’s flesh through his thin cotton shirt.

“Missed you too.” Shin knows he blushes when he says it back. There is a furnace on his face but Saint doesn’t give him time to be embarrassed before pushing him against the banister.

“What did you miss?” Saint’s eyes lock onto his. Shin stays silent, pulse roaring. “Tell me, Shin.” He sounds almost as desperate as Shin feels. “What about me did you miss?”

He gulps. “Your face. Your eyes.” He misses having Saint’s attention on him, deep gaze chasing his smallest movements. 

“Mhhm,” Saint hums, pressing a kiss just beneath Shin’s ear before tracing a wet line down his throat. Shin squirms. More of this and he will be a boneless sack of flesh on the floor. “What else?” Saint’s lips graze his neck, nipping and sucking lightly.

Shin is on fire. He is more aroused by the thought of Saint’s marks on his skin than the sensation itself. It might mean nothing to Saint but to him, the marks are a claim. An indication that he is Saint’s and Saint’s alone.

“Your lips,” he gasps. “I miss your lips.” 

Saint’s lips leave his neck with a wet pop and hover inches away from Shin’s.

“Where do you want these lips?”

“On my lips.”

“Just on your lips?” Saint teases and Shin nods. Saint huffs a laugh. Searches Shin’s eyes for a beat or two then cups his face with both hands. “Naruebet,” Fingertips caress the shell of Shin’s ears. “I’ve missed you,” he says and this time, it sounds more profound. As though he misses more than Shin’s body. 

“What do you miss about me?” Shin dares to ask. He needs to know if Saint feels a smidgen of what he feels.

Saint answers with another long and slow kiss. When he pulls back, he says, “Shin.” The name is light on his tongue, ivory and white. “I miss everything about you.”

Shin smiles, pushing his back off the banister and closer to Saint. “Then what are you waiting for, Thamnithit? Show me how much you’ve missed me.”

**

Shin is as stiff as a turnpike. He is currently resting on Saint’s chest after two earth-shattering orgasms. His friend is very skilled with his tongue and his mouth. Shin spurns thoughts about how he might have gotten that good. He is not going to ruin this moment with thoughts like that, not when Saint’s fingers are absently carding through his hair and his other hand rests warm and solid on the curve of his back.

Shin likes this a lot. The problem is, they’ve never cuddled after sex before. How is one supposed to react to being held like this? Especially when the person doing the holding has never done it before.

“Are you uncomfortable?” Saint asks.

What? No! God, no. Nevertheless, Shin is not about to admit he enjoys being held. Or that he has been craving this sort of intimacy for a while now. That would require some special kind of courage even he does not possess.

“Your skin is kind of hot,” he lies. Saint starts to move his hands away and Shin panics. “No!” The protest escapes before he can stop it. This is somehow worse than outright admitting the truth. “I mean, no. I-I’m cold. So it-it’s okay.”

Saint studies him. “Are you sure?”

Shin lifts his head and meets Saint’s gaze through his messy bangs. “Positive. It’s okay.”

Saint gives a tiny smile. He looks beautiful like this. Tired eyes, messy hair with the bedside lamp coloring his skin gold. Shin could spend years watching him.

“You’re staring, Naruebet. What is it?”

“Nothing.”

Saint takes his chin before he can turn away. “Tell me.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Shin?” His voice is gentler and coaxing.

On any other day, Shin would tell him to fuck off and stop pushing. But now, pressed chest to chest and not only because he burst into tears after sex, he can't ruin the moment between them.

“I got you something.”

Saint’s only reaction is a slight arc of his brows. “You got me something?” Shin nods. “What did you get me?”

He stalls. Swallows. “A bracelet and a guitar pick. I made them myself.” When Saint’s brows rise even higher, he rushes to add, “I know you probably have a ton already, but it was your birthday and I didn’t know what else to get you. I-It’s not fancy or anything. It might not even suit you. My brother helped a bit. He’s better at this kind of stuff than I am.” The longer Saint stays silent, the hotter the room feels. “Forget it,” Shin mutters. “Just forget I said anything.”

Saint doesn’t speak. He just looks at him for a moment, then lifts his head from the pillow and kisses him gently on the lips. Shin is still so fucking mortified but he sighs into the kiss and deepens it. He will never pass up the chance to kiss Saint.

Saint’s hands slide up his spine, settling at the base of his neck. He sits up fully, pulling Shin comfortably into his lap, each leg pressing to the side of Saint’s hips.

“You got me a gift,” he whispers, nearly in awe.

“It’s nothing.”

“You know,” Saint says. “I got you something too.”

“You did? But it’s not my birthday.”

“I’m well aware. February 19th is still a few weeks away.” Shin hasn’t celebrated his birthday in years but the fact that Saint knows the date makes his stomach flip. “I got you something for Christmas.”

“Oh, I didn’t get you anything for Christmas.”

He kisses Shin’s cheek. “But you got me something for my birthday. That’s enough.”

Shin’s chest blooms with pink Chrysanthemums. “What did you get me?” He is so eager that he starts bouncing slightly in Saint’s lap.

Saint grabs his waist and holds him still. “Careful Shin,” he warns, pupils darkening.

“Tell me what you got me,” Shin leans closer. “It better be fucking expensive. You’ve got all this money.” Saint could get him a toothpick and he’d keep it in a glass box and cherish it till the end of time.

Saint snorts. “I’m not your sugar daddy, Naruebet.”

“You should be. You fit the criteria. Filthy rich, a horn dog, and stupid old.”

“I’m just twenty.”

“Pushing thirty.”

“I’m only a month older than you.”

“Maybe I should start calling you P’Saint,” he laughs but Saint isn’t smiling anymore. His eyes are fully hooded and his pupils have dilated. “It was just a joke.”

“Say that again.”

Shin frowns, “What? It was just a joke?”

“No. The other one.”

“P’Saint? Ah!” He barely gets the word out before Saint throws him onto his back and kisses him.

“Again,” he whispers roughly, reaching down to touch Shin where he is still fairly loose from their trysts a few hours ago.

Shin welcomes the touch, back arching off the bed. “P’Saint,” he cries as two fingers ease into him. 

Saint kisses him, tongue reaching down his throat, lips wet and desperate. Shin’s moans are reduced to tiny whimpers, fingers climbing into Saint’s hair for purchase as Saint sinks into him again. He feels full. 

Then Saint slowly starts moving. His gaze stays steady on Shin’s. He doesn’t look away. Not even when he starts thrusting faster, harder, deeper. Shin meets every stroke, toes curling into the white sheets.

“Saint,” Shin shudders when he hits the spot. He knows where to find it but he always draws it out until Shin is writhing and crying for him. “P’Saint.”

“Shin.” He fucks a constant pressure against Shin’s prostate. “Missed you,” he repeats and brings their lips together, finding release, and taking Shin with him.

**

An hour later they’re both freshly showered, sitting cross-legged on the bedroom floor. Devil Doll’s Bourbon in Your Eyes spins from the record player while Shin devours a bag of Lays chips. In the space between his legs is the blue-painted plectrum and bracelet he made for Saint.

Saint sits with his back resting against the record shelf with a meticulously wrapped box before him. The contrast between their gifts is glaring. Shin feels terrible. He should’ve at least wrapped his gift instead of shoving them into the small compartment of his backpack.

“Sorry,” he says though Saint isn’t complaining. On the contrary, he is looking at Shin with a big smile. This whole gift exchange ceremony was his idea. Left to his own devices, Shin would have dropped the gifts on the nightstand and never mentioned them again. He abandons his Lays, picks up the gifts, and holds them out to Saint.

“Thanks, Shin.” Saint looks genuinely pleased and Shin glows a little at the thought that he is the reason for it. Saint turns the hand-made bracelet between his fingers like it is something rare. Like he doesn’t have more expensive, branded bracelets in his closet. Then he slides his own gift across the floor to Shin.

Shin grabs it and peels the wrapper off carefully. When the paper falls away, he freezes. There are about 12 vinyls, ranging from Elvis to Slot Machine, inside. “These are limited edition,” he says after staring at them too long.

“Yes,” Saint says simply.

“These must’ve cost a lot.” He isn’t sure how to feel about it.

Saint shrugs. “I’ve got all this money, right?”

Shin lets out a laugh. “Right. Thanks.”

Two deep lines appear on Saint’s forehead. “You’re not happy. Don’t you like them?”

“No, I love them,” I love you. He just isn’t used to getting things like this for free. “Thanks, Saint.”

Saint reaches out and brushes a knuckle across Shin’s cheek. “Anything for my sugar baby.”

Shin swats the hand away. “Shut your mouth, Thamnithit.” Saint shakes with laughter. “I hate your stupid face.” His tone doesn’t have its usual fire.

Saint closes the bracelet around his wrist, sets the plectrum on the shelf behind him and opens his arms. Shin pushes the records aside and inches forward until he is back in Saint’s lap. Saint smooths a hand down his back. “I’ve missed you. You look good in my clothes.”

“I’m Shin, I look good in everything.”

“Yes, but especially in my clothes. Thanks for the birthday gift. And for Christmas. And the new year. Thanks for keeping me company.”

Shin ducks his head to avoid Saint’s earnest eyes. “You weren’t entirely alone, you had P’Jan.”

“P’Jan’s mom got sick before Christmas. I gave her permission to go take care of her.”

Shin meets his eyes again, frowning. “You were alone for Christmas and New Year?” He knows he sounds like a jerk. He should be worried about P’Jan’s mother but all he can think about is Saint. “And your fucking birthday? You live in this big house alone?”

“I wasn’t alone.” Saint bumps their noses, making Shin smile despite his disconcertment. “I’m not alone. I have you, don’t I, Naruebet?”

Always. “You do.”

**

Shin discovers, not by will, that he is a hopeless romantic.

He sits through classes with a stupid smile, thinking about the adorable things Saint says or does. He looks up love songs and plays them in Saint’s car on their drives to and from school. He fantasizes about going on dates. Holding hands as they stargaze. Kissing under streetlights. Plucking daisies to ask the universe if Saint feels the same.

However, instead of destroying daisies, he counts based on Saint’s actions.  

When Saint drives him across town just to get his favorite dessert - he likes me.

When he leans in for a quick kiss in the department parking lot before they part ways - he likes me.

When he doesn’t ask Shin to stay as he gets dressed to head back to the dorm on Friday nights - he likes me not.

When he spoon-feeds Shin for three days because he dislocated his right shoulder and couldn’t lift his arm - he likes me. 

When he disappears in his own darkness and nothing Shin does can pull him out - he likes me not.

When he holds Shin’s face at the end of each day and gently teases his lips open. “I miss you, Shin,” mouthed against his skin - he likes me. 

Shin is happy. Happier than he has been since Grandpa Kon died. He is aware of the evanescence of happiness and every good fucking thing life has got to offer. But he hoped he would have more time before this one ran out. He has no such luck.

On Tuesday after football practice, Saint isn’t waiting for him outside the library. His car isn’t in the parking lot either. Shin knows what this means but he still waits, back against the wall, for Saint to show up.

After almost an hour, he starts the slow walk back to his dorm.

He likes me not.