Act 3
Act 3:
Mile is startled awake by a loud ring.
It takes two seconds for his senses to go back online. Another two seconds for him to process where he is and what the hell is going on. Two more seconds to realize there is somebody else in his bed.
Then, time freezes. Everything stops. Maybe even his breath.
Apo is fast asleep, oblivious to the world, buddled tightly with half of his face snugging in the pillow. His hair is pom-pom fluffy, sticking up in all directions. His skin is a shade darker compering with the white bedding. He looks so peaceful. Content. Pliable. Whatever word but everything that would describe how well he should fit there, besides Mile.
(fit well in his life).
The whim jerks in his mind like a rubber band. But also, out of the damn clear blue sky, his doorbell. For fuck's sake, the ring of his doorbell.
Apo stirs, his creasing front head showing his displeasure. Mile immediately and habitually reaches out.
"Hey hey." He mutters, covering the boy's ear with his hand. "Just somebody out there. I'll take care of it."
Mile isn't sure if the younger can hear him because he doesn't open his eyes, but his breath goes even quickly after that.
Silently getting out of bed, he has to open the door quick before the bell rings again - Mile can't remember why he owns such a demanding and ill-timing thing in his house. There's no time to miss the silky feeling of dark hair under his touch, nor for the thunderous heart in his chest.
Standing outside is his mother, who is searching for her spare keys when he unlocks the door. She looks fresh and delightful, contrary to her son's just-crawling-out-from-his-litter appearance.
"Good morning, my boy! Were you still asleep?"
"Hello, Mae." He smiles, hugging his mother, going all gooey. "Why visit so suddenly? Are you going somewhere?"
"Yes. I and my friends are going on a trip together, I caught an early flight so I'll stay here for a bit." She rubs his back, affection oozing out her touch, "How are you these days? Everything ok?"
"Yes, Mae, everything is good. You should call me."
"Don't worry your handsome little head, your mother can take care of herself very well." His mother swats at him, annoyed and adoring, "I texted you last night actually, but it was quite late."
He answers, absent-minded, helping her bring her luggage in, "I haven't had time to check my phone yet."
Come to think of it, his phone is left in his bedroom, on the bedside table, next to his bed where...
He nearly stamps on his own foot because, Apo!
As though the heavens can catch the radar of his thoughts, because at that exact moment, without any tiny fail, the door of his bedroom busts open, "P'Mile, someone calling-"
Three pairs of eyes goggle wide, staring at each other. Apo's mouth is still forming the sentence he's supposed to finish saying. He appears to sleep disheveled, Mile's pajama hanging loosely on his body, it's obviously he's spent a well-rested night in that certain room. Everything suddenly seemed like a scene from a sitcom, and his mom surely is the typical Asian TV mom who can't wait to sell their children off for marriage.
Silence fills the space, if not for his phone buzzing in the background.
Fuck.
.........
It turns out to be a business call, which lasts roughly 10 minutes.
When the longest, most fidgety 10 minutes in his life come to an end (he couldn't even remember what he has discussed or agreed with), Mile goes into the kitchen only to meet not Apo, but the most judging and nosy expression from his mother. It's such a wow because Mile doesn't know this wonderful woman is capable of this face.
"...Mae?" His pitch high like of a mouse got caught while eating on the sly. Why does he sound like that???
"Why do you sound like that??" Asks Mae. They're truly mother and son.
"Because you look like I've fallen into your trap." He sighs, kinda rolling his eyes. Just kinda, since he's a good son. However, seemingly his mother doesn't think so.
"Brat, don't give me a reason to disown you." She scowls, "Why is that boy in your room by the way?"
"Sleepover, Mae. We came back late last night, it wasn't safe to be on the road." He eyes his mom, incredulous, "You talk like there was something fishy."
His mom laughs, a bit too happy, "Silly. What do you mean? It's completely normal for friends to sleep together in one room, one bed, isn't it?"
"Maeeeeeeee~~~~"
"Now, stop-"
"Um..."
Mile startles out of his skin as if that teeny 'um' was spoken in a thundering crescendo. Apo is standing huddled at the doorframe, still in Mile's pajama but tidier, and skin glows like covered with a layer of halo. It's ridiculous. Suddenly Mile finds his throat tightened.
"Khun Mae, P'Mile." Apo greets them, glancing up through his long bangs, awkward and timid, and (not)surprisedly sweet. "Phi, I... Can Po borrow Phi's clothes? I'll leave-"
"Nonsense!" Mae cuts in so fast Mile doesn't have time to process. She smiles kindly at Apo, walking closer to him with open arms. "You should stay and have breakfast with us. Are you hungry, little one?" Without waiting for her little one's answer, she throws Mile – her own son – a disapproving look and talks to him in a mothering yet utterly ordering tone, "Go buy something. Don't let your guest suffer an empty stomach. I taught you better than this."
.........
That's the reason Mile standing here, in a greasy hole in the wall, staring down at the boiling congee pot. And the pot stares back, with all its judging bubbling eyes, reading Mile's mind like the most dramatic novel ever.
Well, maybe he shouldn't blame the innocent pot for his feeling of being judged, nor should he blame anyone for his gazing-into-the-void mental state. This morning is such a whirlwheel he has no time to load what the actual fuck is happening. Now, finally he can squeeze out a little space to breathe, reality and memories crash onto him with the force of a tsunami.
He remembers Apo in his clothes, comfy in his bed, all giggly and chatty next to him. He remembers his supple body, heated skin and the silhouette that should be painted on a canvas. He remembers the boy's faith in him, the way he opens his heart as if opening a treasure map in front of a greedy con man.
Mile recalls the way he himself reacted, responded, too sincerely and almost without bounds, which should have freaked him out a little but somehow, it didn't. Doesn't.
Which – being not afraid at all – turns out, is freaking him out.
His heart starts to act up again. His biggest, most foolish, most insolent traitor. Mile can feel its rapid movements from the tips of his fingers and toes. Mile is suffering a huge urge to stick his fingers inside and... scratch something. What? He doesn't know, it's just-
"-ile!"
Mile jumps, one more time in the same damn morning, facing the concerned face of the restaurant owner. She's a lovely old lady who loves to dote on Mile, "I've called your name for a while. Are you ok?"
"Y-Yes, I'm ok, auntie." He stammers, ears burning up. "Is my congee ready yet?"
"Yes," Smiles the lady, giving him a bunch of bags, "Hot, fresh fried paa tong koo(*) and three servings of congee. One of them has no chili, no MSG, more vegetables, less meat, for that picky-eating boy of yours."
.........
The restaurant is less than 5 minutes walk from home. Too short for his thoughts to wander.
To be honest, Mile isn't sure what he's expected coming home. However, unlocking the door and hearing loud laughter coming out of the kitchen still catch him off guard.
So, he finds his mother and Apo sitting at the dining table, laughing and chatting. Apo is slightly hunched toward Mae, his shoulders huddled. The moment he peers up at Mile, there is a childlike glint in those eyes, adding the big smile on his lips and rosy flush on his cheeks, they all give him an exceptionally young look.
"P'Mile!" The said boy cheers, smile gets bigger. Gone the shy person this early morning. "Po can help-"
"No, darling." Mae catches his arm, her voice gentle. "Let him handle it."
Apo seems baffled, whilst Mile rolls his eyes – for real, this time. Great. 'Darling'.
"Boy." Says his mother, her back to him, "I can hear your attitude."
.........
Apo breathes out a "Wow" as the older sets the 'no chili, no MSG, more vegetables, less meat' congee bowl before him. "Auntie remembers my order?"
"Of course," Mile snorts, "You're lucky she loves you."
Apo cackles, embarrassed. Meantime, Mile uses all his brainpower to ignore the lookTM his mother is tossing at them.
The breakfast takes place peacefully. They chitchat, catching up with the others' life. Mae is fond of Apo, same do the latter. They met and talked before, but never this long nor close.
The peace is interrupted by the loud ring from Apo's phone.
"Hello," Mile hears his friend answer the call. "P'Fuz?" He hears next, right before Apo goes out for privacy.
He chokes. Hard. On his congee. His cough is so violent that Mile believes his soul is leaving him.
"Be careful." His mother says in worry, pushing some sheets of tissue into his hand. "Did you eat too fast?"
Mile shakes his head, trying his best to calm down. His eyes, maybe they've grown their own will because he can't stop their gaze, pass the door, wandering into the living room, where his friend is staying and talking on the phone.
Mile sees him kicking his foot and bouncing on his heels absent-mindedly – Apo is always like that, animated, and never really stops moving. Then, Mile watches all his movements halt. His eyebrows go high as he gasps to the air. And, the boy chimes a laugh. Mile can feel more than hear the bright laughter fluttering its way into his heart, Apo laughs like that whenever he receives some pleasant surprise.
"Mile."
Mile hiccups, hauling his focus back to his mother, "Mae?"
She reaches across the table to wipe his cheek. "You have something here."
"Oh." Must be because of the coughing. "Thank you."
His mother gives him the lookTM again. Mile almost withers under her eyes because that means she knows everything but won't say anything so unless he asks, or starts to fuck up. Honestly, part of him wishes he could just ask what do you know? Can you please tell me? But the other part is a coward and wants to run to the hills. Howbeit, Mae just sighs, "Your brows are sticking together." She pats his hand, "You'll turn into a wrinkled dried jujube very soon if you keep frowning like that, dummy."
.........
They can't stay too long. Shortly after Apo finishes the call (he looks suspiciously bright), they have to eat up their breakfast and leave, or they will be late. Mile lends the younger his clothes, again, which stay quite loose on his body, again. Nobody could mistake this shirt and pants are Apo's.
It seems Apo has become much thinner than Mile has noticed.
Apo is working on the phone, he has done it for a while. Mile can't reason what should he feel about the silence hanging on them. It's no awkwardness, at least not to his friend, but Mile can't ignore the pique that keeps nipping him from the inside. If he doesn't let it out, surely it will eat him up the way a hungry army of ants devour a piece of bonbon. "Po."
"...Hn?" Replies the latter distractedly, eyes gluing to the screen.
"D-Did..." His voice comes out strange, as if Mile is swallowing a huge ball. He clears his throat and tries once more, "You talked w-with P'Fuz, this morning?"
How subtle. Good job, Mile.
"Mn?" Fortunately, Apo doesn't sound bothered by the question. "P'Fuz? Yeah."
"...Really?"
"Uh-huh." Apo nods his head. A thorn sticks itself under his ribcages. It digs even harder when Apo continues, "He's a very interesting man- Hey Phi, this shirt is so pretty!"
The long red light gives Mile time to tear his eyes off the road to look at whatever Apo is showing him. The shirt has pink pop art floral print all over it. It's akin to a bedsheet to be honest, but it does look pretty. His friend will pull it off well. "Is Po buying it?"
"Think so. Po is about to visit the shop this evening." Apo turns toward him, "Wanna go with me? Mae comes to travel with her friends so she won't be back until this weekend, right?"
Mile stutters, "H-Huh?"
The latter gasps dramatically, "You don't know?!"
"You stayed with us this whole morning and you know Mae didn't tell me anything." Deadpans Mile, glaring through the rear-view mirror. Come to think of it, Mae told him she would go with her friends. "You two have been so close I see, she talked to you without even mentioning anything to me. Po even called her Mae."
Apo laughs, his peal of joy blooming loud and obnoxiously cute, "Po just messed with you."
Mile huffs, the thorn in his chest must fall out a little. Everything feels lighter. Lest hurt. The tension in Mile kinda deflates after that. He was an inflated balloon, suddenly the air is blowing out. It's such a delightful feeling that Mile tends to keep it this way. The topic of P'Fuz, or why he called Apo, becomes the elephant in his consciousness. Mile can sense its judging, daring stare at the back of his head. So troublesome, so he chases it off into his subconscious land.
.........
The problem with the things sent to the subconscious land is they will never go away, nor can you turn blind eyes to them entirely. Now and then they would leaf out at you, like a monster hiding in the dark corner.
Even knowing that, Mile doesn't expect the monster would bite him in the ass this soon.
Soon means, the exact same day.
Mile loses count of how many times he has opened his phone and the message sent by P'Fuz, which reads 'Do you know about Apo's taste in men?'
What is that?? What does this even mean??? 'Taste in men', what on earth did he think he's doing!? So vulgar! Who would ask a question like this?!?
"P'Mile?"
Mile snaps his head up, blinking like a puppy under the rainfall. The other blinks back, curious, "Why are you frowning?"
"...Am I?"
"Yes. What's wrong?"
"Nothing." Stuffing his phone away, Mile wheels his mind back to the present, "How are the shirts?"
Apo narrows his eyes in the way he wants to read Mile better. But Mile refuses to let him in right now, when his inside is a mess and his heart is a fragile thing. Hence, he gives him his usual assuring smile. It takes some seconds before Apo gives up, although Mile doesn't think he really does. Because it's Apo, who has the docility of a wild horse.
"Love this the most still." He wiggles, tugging at the hem of the shirt he's trying on, "What does Phi think?"
It's the one with pop art floral print Apo showed him this morning. As expected, his friend pulls it off well. "Nice."
"Just nice?" Pouts the other, an action should appear ridiculous on a grown, 1m8 man; however, Mile finds it totally normal, if not adorable, on Apo.
"Po. Your nice standard is far higher than us normal people."
Apo titters, "Oh shut up. If I'm not normal, neither are you."
A staff comes up, taking the younger's attention away. Watching his friend, wearing a pink flowery shirt, bathing under the warm light of the shop, his unkempt hair gives him a boyish look, a huge wage of protectiveness surges up in Mile. Attaching to it is an elephant lump of irritation, toward the message he received this afternoon, the obvious hints behind those words, along with the person sending it.
Those emotions are suffocating, Mile believes he's so close to losing it. What is it exactly? He can't tell, he can only say it's mean, and somewhat ugly. Mile never thought he could be such a drama queen.
Mile remembers his first crush in grade 7, when he heard she liked the boy in the class next door, how much he wanted to fight someone, or wished he had a shield like a turtle so he could curl in and cry; he also remembers his first love in high school, when they were no long together and he saw she held hand with another guy, the anger was so strange, yet familiar.
He remembers Apo kicking his foot and bouncing on his heels, talking to the phone. He remembers the bright laughter fluttering its way into his heart, and how Apo looked so bright after he hung up.
Oh, maybe he knows what he's losing. The urge to ask questions is significantly big. Why did he call you? Why did you seem happy after talking to him? What did you talk? Why have you and he become so close?
Those questions are twitching under his skin, burning in his head, beating with his pulse. To make it worse, he recognizes what it is. He went through those feelings in the past, and he's going through them now.
But who is he to ask, or to feel that way?
---------------------------------
(*) Pa Thong Ko (ปาท่องโก๋): Thai-Style Chinese Crullers
Sorry for a long delay. I'm writing some books with my team and my mind refuses to work in two languages at once, also I'm going through a horrible burnout right now. I read all your lovely words and they are my motivation, you don't understand how revealed I was when I realized oh, maybe I can post this chapter now bcos it felt so hopeless before that 🥲
Sooooo, hope you enjoy and thank you again for your support, I'm dying for your kudo/comments. I'll try to keep you from waiting too long, haha.
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