Chapter Text
Arthit had had no intention of entering the mall at all, and would probably have gone straight home after work that Friday, had his best friend Praepailin not enticed him with the idea of hot, buttery rice with streaky beef on an iron plate and a tall glass of pink milk.
"My treat. Please?" she'd whined with a pout and eyes that Arthit could never say no to — not because he was charmed by her frankly intimidating aura, but because she would indubitably pester him on the matter until she had her way. Besides, a trip to the mall was hardly the worst thing she'd ever roped him into. He groans just recalling the times he'd found himself accompanying her to seedy bars with an excessively hospitable wait staff, or getting mud stuck under his nails for over a week after she'd signed them up to pretend-farm in the wetlands for a day in the name of community service.
The pristine glass building had erected across the road from their office building a month ago, and slowly, the sheets of green mesh and towers of bamboo scaffolding had begun to peel away to reveal the newest edition to the concrete jungle. Its shiny exterior is plastered with the fresh faces of whichever young idol had agreed to endorse them and the glossy promise of refined glamour at every corner.
At its core, it's just another shopping mall, with a food court boasting all the usual fast-food chains, luxury brands skirting around the ground floor podium where a temporary stage is set up for celebrity appearances, and the more affordable clothing chains taking up most of the upper floors.
With the exception of the admittedly wide selection of food options, Arthit can't understand why anyone would willingly spend hours of their day in these lavishly designed consumerist structures. He's more of the sort to make a list of what he needs, look up prices online, and place a mass order to be delivered directly to his doorstep.
Why would anyone, given the choice, willingly interact with nosy sales reps (or, as he likes to call them, charming con artists), when one could get everything they could possibly need from the comfort of their own home with a few clicks?
He shares this last sentiment with Prae, who rolls her eyes and links her arm through his, effectively pulling him away from their table at the food court.
"Hey!" he protests, managing only to grab his half-full plastic cup of pink milk before being dragged towards the escalators. "I need new friends," he grumbles as they reach the landing at the bottom of the last step.
"Us gays have to have stick together," Prae sighs as if it's completely obvious. "If I left you alone to try and be friends with, say, Todd, you'd probably just end up drinking shitty beer once a week and making small talk about a sport neither of you play for the rest of your life."
"What's wrong with that?" he muses as she stops at an information board, running her finger along the different shop names on that floor. "Also, you so boldly assume that I'm gay."
True enough, he'd never directly informed her of this information, although he'd never refuted the idea in any of her questions regarding his thought about the degree of attractiveness of their male colleagues.
"Well, aren't you?"
"That's besides the point."
"I left you in the office pantry that one time, and that poor receptionist girl had made you six different cups of coffee, all of which you drank because you were too cowardly to tell her that you don't like coffee. Or girls, for that matter."
"She was being nice!"
"She was interested in you, and your pathetic gay ass let her think you were comfortable with that until she found you and Te—"
"Please can we not speak of him anymore?" he cuts her off, grumbling his mild regrets now. He really should have stayed home. "Let's just get what you need and go."
"Fine, fine. I just need to stock up on a few things, anyway," she says, finally locating the shop she's looking for. "Come on."
He smells the shop before he sees it. A cacophonous blend of earthy, fruity, and herbal aromas waft into his nostrils, dizzying him like a kaleidoscopic dream of fairy tale gardens until he finally takes in his surroundings. The shelves lining every wall of the store are filled with row after row of round, minimalistic plastic tubs with white, chalk-like font on the labels, and there's a large display table in the middle with about a dozen carefully constructed pyramids of what look like giant, colourful pieces of powdery sweets and jellies.
Arthit thinks he might have entered a confectionery or a technicolour laboratory rather than a cosmetics store.
"Welcome to KIND Cosmetics," one of the sales reps, a petite girl with a wide smile and the name Maprang printed on a metal tag pinned to her black apron greets them as they enter. "How can I help you?"
Prae loosens her grip around Arthit's elbow and immediately begins talking Maprang's ear off about the lengthy list of items she needs to stock up on, effectively leaving Arthit stranded at the entrance. So much for sticking together, he thinks. He could probably just wait outside until she was finished, but knowing her, her 'quick trip' would be more of a lengthy spiritual retreat.
With a sigh, he tries to make himself as inconspicuous as possible as he scans his eyes over the different labels lining the shelves in a far corner of the shop, away from where most customers are gathered.
Mint To Be, one label on a medium-sized tub reads. Awaken your senses and treat yourself to a healthy complexion with this deliciously refreshing face mask, packed with fresh mint grown from our own farms, lusciously soothing Ethiopian honey, and deep-cleansing kaolin clay. It's a match made in heaven!
Arthit picks up another tub, peering at the label. Daily Grind, it says, with a yellow Try Me sticker on the top. He unscrews the cap, and almost jerks back at the overwhelmingly strong scent of coffee, although the contents look more like the used remains in someone's machine filter after brewing a fresh pot. He's about to turn the tub in his hands to read the ingredients list when—
"That's my favourite," a voice says, jolting Arthit to attention. He stumbles back a little, knocking over a few smaller tubs which clatter onto the floor, rolling in every direction. A few customers turn to look at the commotion, and Arthit feels his entire face heat up.
He quickly places the open carton onto a nearby table, then haphazardly scrambles for every runaway tub he can reach, muttering repeated apologies to nobody in particular as he gathers them into his arms.
"Here, let me," the same voice chuckles, and Arthit turns his attention towards the sales rep for the first time to properly look at him.
And when he finally stops to take in the other man's face, he sucks in a breath.