Chapter Text
The humidity is almost unbearable. Tine is star-fished on the floor of his apartment because cold air sinks or something like that, but the sticky, soupy air finds him there anyway.
Fong walks by the room and, upon seeing his roommate on the floor, stops to lean on the doorjamb. “You okay, buddy?”
“This sucks,” Tine says, trying to spread himself out even further on the floor.
“The heat?”
“No.” Tine picks up his phone and unlocks the screen to the most recent open email. “'Dear Mr. Teepakorn,'” he reads. “'Thank you for applying for the internship at our firm. Unfortunately, we have decided to go with one of the other candidates for the job…'” He trails off and throws his phone out of his hand.
“I’m sorry, Tine.”
“That’s the fifth rejection this month,” Tine says, with a tone somewhere between exasperation and resignation. “What’s the point of a university degree if it doesn’t help me get a job?”
“It’s the world we live in, squatter,” says Fong with a sympathetic smile.
Tine frowns at the nickname. “Come on, don’t call me that. You know I’m not trying to mooch off of you.”
“I’m just joking,” Fong says. “Although, food might be a little tight this month if we want to keep our WiFi.”
“I’ll get you that money, Fong, I promise.”
“Don’t worry about it, Tine – ”
“I am worrying about it, thank you very much,” Tine retorts. “I go to bed worrying about it. I feel like shit having you cover for me.”
Fong smiles a little. “Don’t beat yourself up, squatter. You’d do the same for me, right? I know you’re trying.”
“I wish that was worth anything.”
Fong shrugs. “Maybe you just need to expand your search. There are only so many available positions exactly in – what is it again?”
“Entertainment communications.”
“Yeah, that,” Fong chuckles. “Open your heart to other possibilities.”
Tine makes a face. “Have you been reading those motivational Instagram posts again?”
“A poor attitude to take with the one paying your rent,” Fong jokes.
“Fine! I’ll apply to other stuff. Now could you please fuck off and let me wallow in my misery for a few minutes?”
Fong is quiet for a moment, the amused smile still pasted on his face. “Wanna get the guys together tonight? We can go downtown and hit on girls.”
Tine immediately sits up and heads for the shower. “Well, if you’re gonna twist my arm about it.”
It turns out following Fong’s advice is easier said than done. Tine wants his work experience to count in some way towards his career, and pay decently, and with only those two criteria the proverbial job pool shrinks to barely a puddle.
Tine spends his days in the sweltering heat in his room, reformatting his résumé and cover letters to death and scouring every available job posting he can find. He puts his email address in a dozen new career building websites and turns on their notifications. He evens applies for jobs he knows he isn’t qualified for (wrong degree, not enough work experience, etc.) but desperation really changes a man.
One night, while Tine is busy trying to squeeze three work references into his already overflowing single-page résumé, his phone rings. When Tine sees who it is, he pauses for a moment before answering.
“Hello?”
“Hello, little brother! How’s the job search going?”
Tine makes a mental note to tell his brother that his timing is always horrible. “Coming up pretty empty so far.”
Type clicks his tongue in disapproval. “I told you to change your degree to something more marketable.”
Tine rolls his eyes. “Yes, thank you, I remember. That doesn’t really change the fact that I owe Fong two months’ rent – ” Tine covers his mouth with his hand, realizing his mistake.
“You could always come back and live with me,” Type says. “The offer’s still open.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Tine considers the offer again. He knows living with Type would make his life easier. No more worrying about food and electricity bills and phone bills and WiFi. Type’s apartment even had air conditioning which, by how Tine smells now, would be a considerable improvement. Type would take care of him like he always does. And that is precisely the problem. Tine is no longer a child but living with Type didn’t feel that way. Everything was taken care of at the cost of Tine’s independence. Type decided what food to eat and what to watch on TV and had Tine text him regularly as to where he was and who he was with. It was suffocating. It took Tine all the persuasion he had (and a phone call to their mother) to convince Type to let him live with Fong in the first place.
Tine can’t entirely blame Type for his behavior. Tine is his baby brother (despite the considerable height difference between them) and always will be. But Tine needs space, and that is worth the suffering, at least for now.
“Thanks, but I’m okay,” Tine says to Type. “I’ll figure it out.” After a brief conversation about Type’s new internship (which apparently involved Type’s department head hitting on him, ew) Tine says his goodbyes. He gives up on references for the moment and crawls into his bed.
“I’m okay,” Tine repeats to himself. His stomach growls. He wonders briefly – and bitterly – how long he can hold out under current circumstances. His fan whirs in the window. “I’m okay.”
The more he says it, the less he believes it.
Suddenly, his phone pings beside him on the bedside table. He opens the email. It’s from one of the career building sites. It reads:
Wanted: Administrative assistant. SuperBright Entertainment is looking for an enthusiastic individual to help with general office work for our records department. Duties include file sorting, communication with other departments, and possible event planning. Full-time. Standard hourly wages and benefits apply. Applicants must be able to start immediately. More information can be found on our company’s job posting (see link below). Please submit a résumé and cover letter to [email protected] and wait to be contacted for an interview.
Tine sighs. It isn’t what he was hoping for, but he sees no harm in applying.
He sits up, and adds this position to the spreadsheet of applications he needs to apply for.
Tine hates waiting for interviews. His stomach feels like it’s sinking into the floor while his knee bounces almost of its own accord. He partly blames himself for prolonging his suffering; he arrived to the interview forty-five minutes early. Because of this, Tine can see the line-up of other candidates sitting in the hall with him. Tine’s stomach sinks further. They all look older than him, more professional than him, and definitely calmer than him. When his name is finally called, he reminds himself to be cool.
It’s not as if this job interview is his last chance for financial independence or anything.
The two interviewers don’t look much older than Tine, which surprises him. One of them seems very preoccupied with fixing his clothes and hair, while the other one has an expression of annoyance, like she doesn’t want to be there. Regardless, Tine brings his hands together and brings out his best smile.
“Good afternoon,” Tine says brightly. “My name is Tine Teepakorn.”
The one preoccupied with his clothes drops his hand from his hair at his introduction and smiles. He takes a business card from the table and offers it to Tine. “Nice to meet you. Please, take a seat. My name is Dim, the CEO of SuperBright Entertainment. This is Air, an associate of mine.”
Tine smiles at Air as a form of acknowledgement, but the gesture isn’t reciprocated. Tine is still reeling. The business card looks legitimate. The CEO of SuperBright conducts interviews? But this is such a menial position.
Isn’t it?
Tine and the interviewers go through routine questions, and he forces himself to give the correct responses, as opposed to how he actually feels. For example, were Tine to answer the question “Why do you want this job?” truthfully, he would say that he is beyond broke, and this job is (somewhat) relevant work experience for his career. However, what Tine says is a patchwork sentence of buzzwords and positive affirmations towards the company, all lined by his smiling face.
In the middle of Tine’s response to what he thinks his greatest strengths are, Air speaks for the first time: “Can you keep a secret?”
Tine stops smiling. “I’m not sure I understand.”
Dim shoots Air an angry look but clarifies: “SuperBright is an entertainment firm which houses many famous musicians. Security is a top priority for us. Tell us about your level of discretion when it comes to work.”
“Of course I would keep my work experiences confidential,” Tine says.
He doesn’t understand why an administrative assistant in records needs such scrutiny, but then again, he supposes firms can’t be too careful.
Air narrows her eyes. “Confidentiality can be bought, especially by tabloids who argue that celebrities willingly forgo their privacy for fame and money. What do you say to that?”
“Celebrities may have large parts of their lives in the public eye, but they still deserve privacy and understanding like the rest of us,” replies Tine seriously. “If my job in records can in some small way help them live more relaxed lives, then I will do my best to make that happen.”
“Why?”
Tine pauses briefly. “Because art is meant to provide joy or healing, not just for an audience but for the artists themselves. Artists should trust that their private lives remain private so that they can continue to produce the best work they can.”
Tine looks between Dim and Air. He can’t tell if he’s said the right thing, but he did mean it. He genuinely loves music and hates when obsessive fans or muck-raking reporters harass celebrities under the guise of trying to understand them better. It’s one of the reasons why he studied communications at university.
Air – for the first time since the interview began – smiles.
“They offered you the job?” Ohm asks. His expression is a mix of astonishment, skepticism, and the three beers that he had before Tine joined his friends at the bar. “Just like that?”
Tine nods, though he can hardly believe it himself. “I start next week.”
Fong slaps him on the back. “To Tine,” he exclaims, “the luckiest son-of-a-bitch in Bangkok!” The four of them cheer again. And again. And again.
At around two in the morning, Tine stumbles into his room. He feels hot, but this time from alcohol. His cheeks feel like he’s been sunburned. He starfishes again on the floor and revels in his success.
Administrative Assistant in Records suddenly sounds like a dream come true.
Tine is unfashionably punctual to SuperBright’s main office building. He manages to suppress the butterflies in his stomach long enough to ask the front desk secretary where he should go. He planned on going to the Records Department to meet his department head first, but he doesn’t know the proper procedure. This is his first ‘real job’ ever.
To his surprise, the desk secretary tells Tine that someone will be taking him to review and sign his contract. To his greater surprise, that person is Air, who appears within minutes of Tine entering the lobby. She ushers him away from the main bay of elevators to a side one, which Tine notes is activated by her swipe card.
Once they are alone in the elevator, Tine feels comfortable enough to speak: “May I ask where we’re going?” He tries to be polite but he’s fairly certain new assistants don’t typically get treated with such service.
“Dim would like to discuss your contract with him before you sign,” is all Air says. Tine’s mood turns from elated to suspicious as the elevator climbs five, ten, fifteen stories. At the right floor, Air leads Tine pass a string of assistants’ desks and towards a corner office.
Before reaching the door, Tine hears a muffled but heated conversation. Air knocks, and the argument stops. “Come in,” says a terse voice.
“He’s here,” Air says to Dim as they enter.
“Oh, good,” Dim replies upon seeing Tine, though clearly frustrated. “I guess we can have this conversation together, then.”
“I’m assuming you told him?”
“I just did. He took it as well as he did the last few times.”
“So, not great?”
“You know I can hear you both!”
“Oh, so you are capable of listening to us. What a relief. Now behave yourself – I’m sure Mr. Teepakorn doesn’t want to hear us bickering all day.”
But Tine hasn’t heard a single word they’ve said. He is too busy holding his breath.
Sarawat Guntithanon is standing in front of him.
He looks pissed.