Chapter Text
Krit always feels it first.
Krit.
It's the slightest shift in the air — the pressing of a knee against his own under the desk. His shoulder touching Krit’s over the thick fabric of the uniform’s blazer, adding the slightest bit of weight. Sometimes, it’s a shoe tapping his sneakers, a light nudge to his arm, the drumming of a pen over his notebook to call for his attention. Small, welcome distractions from the throbbing headache brewing behind his eyes, sparkling a familiar excitement inside Krit’s stomach, one that treads its way through his veins, rising to his cheeks, settling on the curve of his smile, either out of habit or out of fondness. Perhaps out of both.
Today it’s just his name, floating into the space between them. Only loud enough to make the indistinct chatter reverberating through the classroom to become muffled and distant, for Krit’s pen to slow down under the paragraph he’s been underlining without properly reading.
“Krit…”
His pen stills. The world stops, tilts in its axis, goes back to spinning.
And Krit turns to him.
An anticipative look greets him on Jack’s face, one Krit deems far too joyous for what’s supposed to be their 8th class of the day, the contrast from the droopy eyes Jack had been sporting not 10 minutes ago a tad too noticeable not to ring any alarms in his head. Suspicious . Definitely suspicious. Krit makes a show of narrowing his eyes, pleased to watch Jack’s smile quirk into feigned offense in response.
“I haven’t even said anything.”
“I haven’t said anything.”
“You didn’t have to,” Jack points out, not bothering to hide his amusement as he tilts his head at Krit, “but wouldn’t you like to hear what it's about before making that face?”
Someone else, less attentive to the underlying signs, might’ve mistaken the sigh that leaves Krit’s lips for flaring annoyance. Jack, however, isn't so easily fooled anymore. They’ve gone through this scenario enough times for Jack to take his contemplative “Aren’t you gonna tell me either way…” exactly as it is — an invitation, the grin on Jack’s face growing bigger around the edges at the recognition. It takes a beat for Krit to realize it's simply mirroring the one spreading on his own.
First, Jack glances briefly at Mrs Lin's desk to find her busy with a stack of exams. It’s useless to check, given the chaos of laughter and banter that's been whirling around the room since Nat landed an argument with Arisa he can neither win nor back out of, but getting a confirmation of her lack of concern always seems to ease Jack's conscience. He naturally leans forward then, shortening the distance to keep his voice low.
“Have you made up your mind yet?” he asks. Warm, expectant eyes trained intently back on Krit's.
The faintest scent of sandalwood graces his senses when he breathes in. Krit's fingers flex involuntarily around his pen, seeking the blunt edge of the cap digging into his skin.
“Huh?”
“The drama club’s open workshop this friday,” Jack explains with characteristic patience, like it hadn't been an obvious assumption for Krit to make. “You haven't told me if you're coming yet.”
“Oh,” Of course. He exhales at last, sandalwood leaving his lungs along with the tension building on his knuckles. “It's this friday already?” he asks dispersedly, for the sole sake of saying something while his mind takes its time to return from wherever it had drifted off to.
“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten this soon,” Jack intends to tease. Belatedly sensing his abstracted tone however, Jack pauses, examining him. “We were talking about it just yesterday.”
“I won’t tell you, then.” Krit deadpans. It puts a certain look on Jack’s face, one he can’t help but respond with a grin, snickering at the sight. “I didn’t forget it. But I’m still not sure, it would be odd for me to be there. Isn’t the workshop supposed to be for the ones auditioning for the play?”
“Well, I would say it’s for anyone in this school who might be even a little interested. It’s open for a reason.” Jack purses his lips, pensive. It doesn’t take a lot to piece together that the reason he’s referring to is the club’s worrying lack of new members since the majority of the most engaged participants graduated the previous year, leaving only a handful of seniors and 3 wide-eyed juniors behind. “And we’re personally inviting you. You could go just to keep us company, watch the group dynamics… it’s turning out pretty fun, if I can say so myself. P’Teh is putting a lot of effort to spark people’s interest in the club. Show them the wonders of theater and all of that.”
“He could start by picking something other than Shakespeare adaptations for once.”
Jack scoffs. “You loved A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”
“It was amazing,” Krit concedes. He’d never denied it, especially when he’d been a close witness of the amount of all-nighters Jan and Jack pulled working on the beautiful props to perfection. “But I’m not the one P’Teh is trying to convince that theater is fun. I always knew it is.”
Beyond the one palm distance between his and Jack’s face, Mrs Lin tidies up her papers over her table and stands up, urging the rest of the room to follow her lead into quietude, the voices around Krit becoming smaller and more indistinguishable until they’re all but hushed whispers. The reply sitting on Jack’s tongue seems to have to wait as he, too, has his attention drawn by the teacher, slowly pulling away to rest properly on his chair with the same casual swiftness of his approach. Krit assumes that sets a comma on the conversation for the time being, which ultimately brings him no relief. His imagination is quick to foresee Jack teaming up with his sister to nag him into attending the workshop during dinner later that day anyway, as they’ve been unrelenting on doing for the past week — double their success rate, triple Krit’s exasperation. Somehow, his anticipation for dinner doesn't decrease in the slightest. How ironic.
But his assumptions are disproved when he senses Jack’s proximity once again — his head only slightly angled in Krit’s direction, for Krit to hear him.
“You’ll be pleased to know we’re doing something new this year, either way.” A smile is tucked into the words. One filled with a liquid, almost decoy sort of eagerness, that Krit doesn’t have to turn around to picture vividly before his eyes. “A novel adaptation, this time, that I think you’re gonna like even more.”
And well, that sparks his interest. “Which novel?”
“I can’t tell, the drama club is keeping it a secret. We’re announcing it at the workshop.” You’re gonna have to be there to find out. Clever.
He glances sideways to catch the content smirk on Jack’s face, watching him scribble the english term Mrs Lin has written across the board on his notebook before setting beautifully crescent shaped eyes on Krit, his puffed up cheeks denouncing just how entertaining he is finding the whole predicament. Krit has to suppress the scoff threatening its way out of his lips in stupefaction. He walked right into the trap laid plainly in front of him.
Damn Jack and his talent for knowing just how easily to pique his curiosity.
Anticipating an answer, Jack keeps a steady gaze on him, which makes it all the more difficult for Krit to rationalize one. He diverts his eyes and tips his head, pretending to ponder. "Will I have to work on props?"
Jack chuckles, eyes crinkling. "Not if you don't want to. But you'd be missing out. Painting the cardboard trees is the best part." A pause, "So, what do you think?"
Krit thinks there’s an eight page essay sitting pesky and incomplete on his computer — a modest two-and-a-half pages, in fact, as of now, which he’s supposed to submit until next monday. There won't be time to work on it today unless he skips practice, and he'd rather not get in trouble with Coach this early in the semester. Better to be on his good side at least until midterms. The following two days would be also out of question, if he wanted to submit his lab report in time. That would leave the weekend; working on assignments during his visits at home was less than ideal, but he’ll have to make do. His head throbs once again, and he's sure he might be coming down with something, to top it all off. Krit thinks, and thinks, and it’s all he ever does, fingers tapping unrhythmically against the edge of his textbook as time passes him by in dragging seconds.
Think of everything but the leaps his heart is giving inside his ribcage, stuttering wildly as he avoids meeting Jack’s eyes.
"Can we have grilled chicken afterwards?"
Jack's eyebrows arch in disbelief. "You’re really coming?"
"Your treat?" Krit prods some more, a question for another question, seeking Jack’s eyes through the corner of his peripheral vision.
It earns him an eye roll he can tell Jack doesn't actually mean, because his smile hasn't left his lips. "No promises."
Krit snorts, scrunches his nose, but nods. Giving in, as usual. "Okay. I'll be there."
The wide-eyed amazement he receives in response is beaming, obscuring into oblivion all the silly reasons Krit might have had to disagree in the first place. He can barely remember what they’d been.
"I- Thanks, Krit. You’re gonna love it," Jack says, a little bewildered, giving Krit's wrist an affectionate squeeze. The contact lasts no longer than a beat before Jack retreats, drawing his attention to the white board, taking his warmth with him. All that's left is a fluttering in Krit's stomach and the off-tempo pulse of his heartbeat tingling inside his fingertips. “Jan will be thrilled when I tell her.”
"Of course," Krit murmurs to no one in particular. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, trying to figure out where he'd left off.
As he returns his focus to Professor Lin's introductory speech on the current chapter which he'd entirely tuned out so far, Krit steals one last glance at his seatmate.
Jack's smile has started to wear off, but the hints of its presence cling to the corner of his eyes in contentment. The sight is enough for Krit to be content, too. He lowers his head before he gets caught staring, circles the topic Mrs Lin’s talking about to revisit it at home. Cognitive dissonance… yes, he'd have to read that entire section again once he got a clearer head.
It isn’t until the bell rings and he’s mindlessly following Jan’s lead on her way to the cafeteria that he stops musing over the satisfied gleam of Jack’s eyes from their conversation, finally able to let his mind be occupied with more pressing matters than the workshop, such as how he is gonna manage to push through practice despite this incredibly inconvenient headache and that eight page— two . Two-and-a-half page essay taunting him on his laptop.
The world spins, and spins, and Krit turns on his heels to walk the opposite way, with no heed to spare to the idle feeling fueling the beseeching staccato of his heart.
***
Some people, it seems, are naturally easygoing — confident in their charms, willing to follow life's unexpected flow into new adventures, open to the novelties and the challenges and the experiences. Other people are simply good at pretending, the kind of skill you develop from being overly indulgent. After all, they would rather bite their tongue off than get themselves into a conflict they could’ve avoided with a single magic word: yes.
Krit happens to fall head first onto the latter end of the spectrum.
It's an epiphany that dawns on him in the pool's locker room, his phone blinking steadily with the light of a new notification as the exhaustion of the week settles on his muscles, the less-than-3 hours of sleep he'd gotten the previous night in favor of working on that goddamn assignment finally catching up to him.
But, you see, Krit doesn’t believe it is necessarily a bad thing. Not the way most people would think it is, since it’s a skill that has never failed him. The art of knowing when to keep his mouth shut and smile is probably the only type of art his father has ever seen any worth in, and the only one that’s never brought any strain into their rather fragile bond. In a way, he recognizes his father’s point in trimming the edges of Krit’s behavior since his childhood to fit the molds of what he wanted, because in the long run, being a mostly good student and son has granted Krit more than an extra benefit or two into his academic career, as well allowed him to keep the thing he values the most — his peace.
If it wasn’t for his good behavior and politeness, he probably wouldn’t have earned Mrs Som’s trust into letting him nap on the couch of the usually deserted foreign literature section of the school’s library during class hours, something Krit had seen quite a few classmates be scolded and snitched on the school counselor for. If he hadn’t established a respectable relationship with coach Saeng from the very moment he joined the swimming team, coach might not have gone easy on him for his poor performance during practice that day, neither would he have let him leave earlier to enjoy his friday night! unlike the seniors being punished for collective skipping practice earlier that week.
Besides, there’s a certain satisfaction that ripples underneath his skin from not troubling the people around him. From knowing they’re happy, and that he’s played a part in that happiness.
Which is why Krit only scoffs at the texts popping up on his chat with Jan, the tone of It’s almost starting. Are you coming? Or did practice tire you out too much? sounding like a mixture of taunt and concern that could only suit her. Of course she wouldn’t be surprised if he bailed under the excuse of being too tired, she hadn’t fully believed Jack when she heard he agreed to attend in the first place. But despite how tempting the prospect of backing out now to amend a nap into a full night of sleep before his departure next morning sounds, Krit can't bring himself to consider it.
Attached to it, there’s a selfie of Jack and her sitting by the cushioned red chairs of the auditorium, a smile playing on her lips while Jack faces the stage, unaware of the camera pointed at him.
You’re gonna love it.
Jack would understand, too. He'd send him a smiley face telling Krit to rest a lot, wish him a good weekend at his parents home and add one last message demanding the right to pick the movie for their next film marathon to make up for it, in the friendliest, most Jack way possible, to guarantee that Krit wouldn't feel bad about it. Guarantee he wouldn't feel guilty.
Krit would feel bad about it either way, for more reasons than one.
I'll be there in 5 :) he types onto the chatbox, locking his phone and turning to the mirror to fix his still damp hair into a somewhat presentable look. Keeping others waiting has never been like him, and he doesn't intend on changing that now.
It’s a mystery to Krit sometimes, if he’s doing things for other people’s sake or for his own. But he supposes it doesn’t matter, as long as he does it either way, right? And it’s with that thought in mind that his feet carry him to the auditorium, exhaustion and the bags he has yet to pack be damned.
“You made it!”
“Oh my God, Krit, don’t sneak up on us like this, what the hell—”
He’s rewarded with a huge grin and a litany of curses upon his arrival, having sneaked up from the roll behind where the twins were seated to surprise them. Jan places her hand on her chest to calm her racing heart, while Jack tries to suppress his laughter from his sister’s reaction before turning his attention fully to Krit, his gaze bright and unfaltering, glowing. Stirring a giddiness inside Krit’s chest that reminded him exactly why he’d accepted to come.
“I thought you might not be up for it anymore. You looked — really worn out today,” he admits cautiously as he takes in the dark circles that have carved themselves under Krit’s eyes, whispering not to disturb the speech being held on stage by the drama club’s leader.
It must be an interesting view, the stark disparity between Jack's perfectly lined appearance despite having endured over 10 hours of back-to-back activities on school grounds and Krit's… whatever he has going on with his looks at the moment. Admiring Jack’s crispy neat uniform and nicely styled hair, Krit has to bite back the twinge of regret for not having had the time to blow dry and gel up his own. Maybe he could’ve remembered to wear his tie. There was nothing he could have done about his sickly complexion, but it would’ve been better than nothing.
Deep down, he knows trying to match up to Jack’s level today would’ve been a lost cause, nonetheless. That extra shine illuminating his irises, spreading over the curve of his cheeks and his smile, is one that can only be found in someone that is right where they wish to be, in their element, doing something they love, eager to share that love with others. A passion Jack has plenty of.
So Krit simply rolls his eyes at the remark. “You can just say I look awful.” He doesn’t give Jack any space to deny it, as he adds softly, “I promised I would be here, though. And I was told P’Teh is giving Shakespeare a rest for once. I had to come see it with my own eyes.” Lowering his gaze to the seat Jack and Jan left vacant between them, Krit gestures to a ripped notebook sheet lying with Krit’s name written across it. “What is that?”
“Just a reservation for our guest,” Jack takes the sheet between his fingers, patting the seat. “Our very handsome guest. Why are you back there? Come here.”
Only once he’s properly accommodated between the two that Krit stops to fully register his surroundings.
It’s safe to say the club’s worries over the number of people attending had been uncalled for, judging by the amount of unfamiliar faces occupying the first few rolls of seats in the audience, varying from large groups of girls who won’t stop whispering to one another, to withdrawn students scattered by themselves on the far back. That would certainly explain the confidence exuding from P’Teh’s posture up on stage as he thanks everyone for sparing their friday night to the club, everything about his even-peacockier-than-usual smirk screaming gotcha! at everyone who’d thought the drama club was at its worst.
Not like any of those people were actually there to witness the success, but P’Teh doesn’t seem to have that in mind.
If anything, it must be a shared sentiment amongst the drama club's members, with how much Jack’s beaming by his side. As if she has been thinking the same as him, Jan finally chimes in from her seat. “You’re lucky you got here just in time. Most people arrived some time ago, so P’Teh is about to announce this year’s play,” Jan reassures him with a nudge to his arm. “Jack was worried you were gonna miss it, he’s been talking about it all afternoon.”
Krit gives Jack an amused glance, raising an eyebrow, to which the other boy refuses to respond, a conspiratorial curl to his lips as he keeps his eyes straight ahead. “Shh you two, he’s about to say it.”
“As most of you know, since its foundation, the drama club has been committed to contributing to the restoration of the school board’s as well as the student body’s interest and prestige for the arts in its multiple forms. For many years now, our club has worked with the teachers from the literature department to put up beautiful, carefully prepared productions, adapting stories of both Thai and foreign origin to enrich the students' academic repertoires while also providing a safe space for them to explore new sides of themselves,” P'Teh states solemnly, placing a hand over his heart. Krit has to give it to him, the guy knows how to hold his audience. “In that sense, this year we decided to explore a new side of our club by trying out a whole new challenge; a cautionary tale about the price one pays for denying their true self — that I barely managed to convince the school board to let us adapt, honestly.”
Denying your true self. Krit purses his lips at the familiar words, not quite able to place a finger on where he'd heard them before. Could it be…
“Okay, before I bore you guys to death, without further ado, for this year's play the drama club will be producing an adaptation of The Picture of Dorian Gray, by Oscar Wilde. The suggestion came from one of our members, Jack, who was in charge of writing our script and will be my assistant director.” With wide eyes, Krit instantly turns to Jack to find him already watching Krit, the corners of his mouth upturned. “Auditions will be held next friday to decide our cast, and I would like to remind everyone that the roles aren't given based on previous contributions to the club, but rather on skill and compatibility with the role, and therefore everyone has a fair chance of participating!”
“You’re the assistant director?” Krit questions swiftly, torn between the excitement of the revelation and the tweak of betrayal over not being the first to know. Jack can barely hold back his amusement, his eyes gleaming in that contagious manner that made Krit feel like he was the one that had just gotten promoted to his dream position in the drama club.
“Surprise,” Jack’s voice reveals a certain shyness that wasn’t apparent in his demeanor. “I pitched the idea to P’Teh after our last play. Thought it was better not to mention anything until it was all settled, but he invited me to adapt the script and help him direct it as soon as classes started, since I was the one who suggested it.” He lets his eyes fall to the ground for a brief second before setting them on Krit’s again, like he was searching for something. “So, did you like my pick? Was the announcement worth coming to the workshop for?”
It feels like a redundant question. Jack already knew Krit would love it — the worn out copy of Dorian Gray sitting on his desk at his villa, the same one he and Jack spent more than a couple of afternoons browsing through together in the library when they were still barely anything more than seatmates paired for a literature assignment by luck, served as an indisputable testament to it.
“I’m glad it was you,” Jack had said unprompted the afternoon they submitted the paper as they packed their things to leave the library. Krit had come to accept that would likely be the end of their friendship, an expected return to polite small talk now that the work was done, ready to tuck the fondness of their time together in between the pages of the book by the table to be shelved in the corners of his mind. “We made a good team. We could work together again for the next one, right?”
“Yeah,” Krit states softly, feeling the tip of his ears turn warm, “of course it was. But how did you manage to convince the school board to allow it? The story isn’t exactly very family friendly.”
Jack shrugs. “You know how it goes. We’re doing a watered down version — a little lighter than the standard edition. We were lucky the literature teacher allowed me to keep the queer themes of the original and even encouraged us to explore them more. The difficult part was actually persuading some of the other seniors. They really wanted to put up a musical.” Jack chuckles to himself with a hint of guilt, shaking his head. “But everyone came around, eventually.”
Up on stage, P’Teh claps his hands together, looking pleased. “I see this year’s theme has piqued your interest. Today’s workshop was organized with you guys’ enjoyment in mind. In order to help everyone prepare for auditions, our first activity will be in pairs. I want everyone to find a partner, and one of you can come on stage to draw a random scene from our play to rehearse with your partner. Since there are more of you than we expected, we will randomly choose a few lucky pairs to play out their scene for us on stage! Got it?” A couple of worried groans can be heard across the audience, which only seems to feed the mischievous grin growing on P’Teh’s face. “That’s what I like to hear! Feel free to start pairing up.”
It’s an automatic response for him to look at Jack, pointing towards the stage. “You go or I go?”
A delayed second passes by while Jack glances at P’Teh handing out dialogue strips to a line of students and then back at Krit, wrinkling his nose like he wasn’t expecting to be put in this particular position. “How upset will you be if I sit this one out?”
Sit this one out when he’d gone through all of the trouble of convincing Krit to attend? Krit wants to laugh at Jack’s naivety for believing he would let that happen.
“Very upset.”
“You know they might invite us to perform on stage. I’m no actor, you could find another acting partner.”
“There’s too many pairs here. It’s a 1 out of 8 chance at most,” Krit reasons sensibly, feigning nonchalance. “Besides, if I have to go up on stage, I’m dragging you along with me. I kinda wanna see Mr Assistant Director get another upgrade from creative team to main lead.”
Jack visibly shudders at the thought. “Don’t even joke about it, that role is all yours.” And the fact that Krit giggles doesn’t mean he will let it distract him from his main goal. He arches an eyebrow at Jack, awaiting for a confirmation he knows is coming, and Jack smiles in defeat. “Alright, go get us a scene.”
Krit lets his lips stretch in self satisfaction. The taste of small harmless victories never loses its appeal. That, he notes, falls under the list of the unspoken benefits of being a people pleaser — falling for a trap one too many times turns you into a master of setting it up when needed.
He’s still grinning from ear to ear when he’s reminded of Jan’s presence by his right. “What about you, Jan? Who are you pairing up with?”
Her lips part, and close, something similar to resignation flickering through her eyes in a flash before settling in, swallowed down as she nods towards a group of girls from their classroom on the far right. “Oh, probably with one of the girls. I’m gonna ask Noey if she’s found anyone yet,” Jan says with disconcerting cheeriness, standing up from her seat in one swift motion. “I’ll talk to you boys later.”
Krit’s smile withers, self-awareness washing away the sweetness.
He manages to swallow it down on his way to P’Teh, ignore the way it lodges on his throat as he takes the dialogue strip back to his seat, pretend he doesn’t mentally reel back when he reads the lines written on paper, like the universe is taking an opportunity to mock him even further.
“So? What did we get?” Jack coaxes.
Krit does his best to school his features into normality, pulls a pretentious smirk to divert his own attention from the feeling curling inside his stomach. Placing a hand on the arm rest between their seats, he incorporates the character he’s supposed to play with a luring confidence — one he wishes he had, present only when he's being someone other than himself.
“We have each of us a secret, Basil. Let me know yours, and I shall tell you mine,” Krit requests with a voice that doesn’t feel like his own, words slithering down his lips like a siren's song.
He catches the moment Jack’s gaze shifts — glazed, unmoving. Warm brown irises set undeterred on Krit’s dark brown ones in what could maybe be described as bewilderment.
The world stops.
Krit tips his head slightly. “What was your reason for refusing to exhibit my picture?” he urges, more playfully, in hopes to dissolve the tension he hadn't meant to create.
Jack knows the answer, he must remember the script by heart. But Krit can't decide which would be worse for his sanity at the moment: for Jack to recite the taunting reply aloud while looking at him like this or for this thick silence to last even a second longer.
Jack blinks at him, drawing in a barely noticeable breath. “If I told you, Dorian, you might like me less than you do now.” He clears his throat, nodding to the script in Krit’s hand. “I love that scene.”
Pressing his lips together, Krit looks away, thankful for the spell to be broken. Stripped from the character back to plain old him, using gleeful smiles to mask a misplaced awkwardness that never evades him. “Me too.”
That’s precisely the problem rattling loudly inside the knots in his stomach, he thinks. The secret he’s unwilling to share even in fiction.
Krit couldn’t bring himself to like Jack less even if he wanted to.
***
"Remind me again — why did we come here?"
Jan's dainty hands wrap around his arm as she scoots her chair closer to his. At first, Krit isn't sure whether she's trying to fit better around the small, foldable table of Mrs Pym's food stall or if she just wants to use him as a shield for the humid wind coursing through the food shop street. Once he reaches up to gently cover her fingers with his own, he realizes it's the latter.
"Someone wanted grilled chicken for dinner," comes Jack's response from the other side of the table, "in exchange for joining us."
Krit gives him a look, which does nothing to temper Jack's playful grin. Deep down, Jack must know Krit would have attended either way — or at least Krit hopes as much.
"You could've picked somewhere indoors." Jan twists her lips, clinging tighter to Krit's arm. "Damn it, why is it so cold today? I should've changed before we left school."
The two hours in the auditorium had flown by without a notice.
He and Jack had rehearsed the rest of the scene amidst giggles and Krit’s purposeful intent not to stare into his eyes again. Luckily for him, their names weren’t lost between the pairs called to perform up on stage, which Krit expected Jack to be relieved for. Much to his confusion, the look on Jack’s face indicated quite the opposite.
They proceeded to be separated for the rest of the group dynamics, varying from improvised skits to 1-minute wardrobe change competitions, ending on a series of rather questionable trust-related exercises that involved one blindfolded person being guided by the other’s members’ voices around the room — if they had opened the workshop with those, Krit doesn't think half of the newcomers would've stayed for the rest of the activities. Including himself.
As much as Krit wasn’t close with any of the students present save for the twins, he was glad to realize he felt comfortable in that space, with those people. Whenever they laughed, it didn’t feel like they were laughing at him, always with him, in such a warm way one would think he’d known them forever. Scanning his eyes around the auditorium, he would find Jack’s on him while he talked to his club friends as if he'd been waiting for an opportunity to send him a proud smile, one Krit spontaneously returned before diverting his gaze somewhere else.
Perhaps he had been in some sort of daze after leaving the auditorium, too absorbed into that idle feeling to notice how significantly the temperature had dropped. He rubs his palm over Jan's fingers, guilty.
“Here.” Without much thinking, Krit peels off his blazer and drapes it over Jan's bare legs like a blanket, adjusting the fabric over her lap to ensure it will block the wind. "You can choose the place next time," he tells her with an apologetic smile. "Let's finish eating real quick so we can all head home."
"Such a gentleman," The overly-saccharine tone is clearly meant to tease him, but her flushed cheeks betray her. Her glimmering eyes remain fixed on him for a moment as she interlocks her finger around his arm again, her skin still worryingly cold through the fabric of Krit's shirt. "Ugh, don’t do things like that, it’s giving me goosebumps." Krit rolls his eyes and she laughs amusedly at him.
Reaching for another chicken skewer, Krit only then becomes aware of Jack's gaze trained on him, unreadable.
"Won't you feel cold? You were sick just the other day," Jack asks.
Krit shakes his head. "It's fine. We're almost leaving anyway."
There’s an uneasiness etched in the set of Jack's eyebrows as he nods slowly, like he's holding back an objection. He too takes a skewer from their shared paper plate, and an uncharacteristic silence settles between the three as they eat.
After they're done with most of the food, long enough for the quietude to have acquired somewhat of a comfortable nature to it, Krit startles slightly when Jack is the one to disturb it first. "Does that mean you'll be joining us for rehearsals as well?"
"Huh?"
"You said next time," Jack clarifies, locking his gaze with Krit's, a promise of a smile on his lips. "It got me wondering if you liked the workshop enough to… consider auditioning for the play."
Krit blinks, registering the question. “Me?” He chews on his food, contemplating the prospect, and decides to entertain Jack’s idea for a bit. “Hmm sure. Who do you think I could play? Lord Henry would probably be fun. Maybe Sybil’s brother? Show up right at the end to steal the show and terrorize Dorian a little bit?"
“No.” Jack’s earnestness catches him off guard, causing him to stop mid-chew. “You have to be our Dorian.”
Krit shifts in his chair, but Jan is the one to voice the interjection in his head. “What? Krit?”
Jack leans forward in his seat, setting his elbows over the table. “I’m serious. You should’ve seen him acting, Jan. It was like… talking to a character straight from the novel.” His eyes set on Krit then, ablaze with a determination Krit had never seen in them before. “You always told me you liked theater, but it’s more than that, Krit. You have talent for it. A talent that should be on the stage. It would be a waste for you to not participate. And if P’Teh had seen you today I don’t have a single doubt he’d have agreed with me.”
The tips of his ears are burning with what is most certainly a red flush that must be spreading down to his cheeks as Jack speaks. His interest in theater has never been a source of praise — not this openly, not often enough for Krit to know how to act casual about it. It’s different from the mild, short-lived relief of getting a pat on the back for a score or a medal you felt obliged to win from the start. Not remotely comparable. “You’re flattering me,” Krit tries to deflect, but Jack is unyielding.
“I don’t say things I don’t mean,” Jack says kindly, but assertive, so utterly… him. To this Krit’s heartbeat knows how to respond accordingly, picking up speed faster than Krit can urge it to stop, sending pinpricks that scratch around the knots on his stomach once again, reminding him of his limits.
Even without all the other reasons, this is exactly why he shouldn’t participate. There’s only so much self indulgence he can spare himself without crossing the line of being greedy.
“You know my parents wouldn’t be too happy about it.” Krit has no option but to be practical about his answer, as delicately as he tries to put it. Going to one workshop was one thing. Committing to months of weekly rehearsals is something else entirely. “And the drama club meetings coincide with swimming practice days. I couldn’t handle doing both.” Excuses. Flimsy excuses.
And Jack hums in understanding, oblivious and sincere. "I figured," he says. But the ever-present gleam in his irises dims along with his earlier excitement, his wilting posture revealing the disappointment against his will to hide it. “Well, there’s still a week before auditions, if you wanna think about it. Maybe we could find a way to make it work,” he suggests hopefully, tucking his hair behind his ear.
"...sure. Maybe." The words spill from his lips before he has half a mind to think them through. "I could always visit you guys during rehearsals, either way. So we can have dinner together afterwards. "
Quietly assessing the conversation, Jan glances at Jack, and then back at Krit, an eyebrow raised mockingly. “If you’re gonna make me thirdwheel everytime, you don’t need to invite me for those, you know.”
“That’s nonsense, Jan,” Jack reprimands, unfazed, “you’re not the third wheel here.” Jack reaches for the last skewer on the plate, but stops himself midway, gently pushing it in Krit’s direction. “You… the two of you can finish these. Let me go pay Mrs Pym.”
Krit takes his wallet from his pocket. “Wait, I gotta pay my half of the bill.”
“No need. I promised I would pay, didn’t I?”
“Jack–”
“Just this once.” Jack sends him a sweet grin before making his way to where Mrs Pym is standing by the cash register.
Krit observes from afar how easily the older woman swoons under Jack’s politeness, giggling behind her hand at Jack's compliments on her food. Krit can’t blame her — not when Jack effortlessly has that effect on everyone. Not when Krit's cheeks have grown warm and red even as the wind licks over his skin, chilling.
They stay warm all the way back to the villas, unrelenting against the cold.
It’s a known fact that, when a path has been trailed enough times, your feet start making the trajectory on their own accord. It’s only natural for your ears to learn the echo of footsteps hitting rock ground, to adapt to the lack of running engines in favor of the ebb and flow of the waves. Trading lonely walks into fence-surrounded neighborhoods for shared breathing and living spaces. But eventually, undoubtedly, you end up running into a novelty along the way; an unmapped obstacle, which will force you to recalculate your steps, take another route, and then voilà , you’re good to go again. Reality is, however, that the big changes aren’t the tricky ones to get used to — it’s the small ones, such minute elements that you barely realize aren’t the same anymore until you’re tripping over your feet, face first on the ground.
As Krit walks along Jan towards his villa, an admiration he’d never been able to name finally illuminated all over her features for his eyes to see under the yellowish glow of the street lamps, he can’t stop questioning if he’s missed a trail of tiny, but crucial, little changes that have led them to this predicament.
The first sign, perhaps, should’ve been obvious when they reached the fork in the pathway where they usually separated and Jan was still walking deliberately by Krit’s side instead of joining her brother. Jack was the first to raise an eyebrow and ask if Jan wasn’t heading home yet, despite how late it was.
“Oh, I’m supposed to meet Nahm at her villa tonight,” she clarified, pointing far down the hill, where Nahm shares a dorm with one of their classmates. “It’s quicker on the way to Krit’s.” Then, directed at Krit. “Do you mind if I tag along?”
For Krit, there was no reason to object. It was hardly an inconvenience, given Nahm’s villa is just nearby from his own. And yet something about the request leaves an itch of doubt he can’t scratch among the thoughts circling his head.
Jack’s gaze had flicked shortly from Krit to his sister before settling on him, gifting him with the usual smile. “Alright. I’ll see you on Monday, Krit.”
And watching Jack walk away as they headed for the opposite direction, urging himself not to let his eyes linger for too long, only cemented this impending feeling inside of Krit that their world was about to tilt out of its axis right beneath his feet.
Jan doesn’t let him get lost in thought. She strikes mindless conversation about grades and plans for vacation, drama club gossip and overheard whispers from teachers on the hallways; anything that could keep Krit engaged and talking for the duration of their walk, in typical Jan fashion. Vibrant and assertive, like she’s been from the very moment they met the year prior.
If talking to Jack is the cozy warmth of autumn morning sunlight seeping through the library’s giant glass windows, Jan brings in the blazing heat of a summer day drinking iced coffee at the football field’s bleachers.
Meaningless and casual, until it isn’t.
“So,” Jan glances at him from her peripheral vision, hands behind her back, “do you plan on making good on your promise to visit us during rehearsals? It was really cool to have you around the drama crew. Like, you fit surprisingly well with everyone.” The way Jan says it makes it sound like a praise, which logically leaves Krit waiting for the other shoe to drop. Then, just as he expects, her tone slips into the provocative cadence she uses when she wants to get a reaction out of him. “Actually, one of the girls from the costume department asked me if you ever considered joining our creative team. But honestly it seemed like she just wanted an opportunity to give you some private sewing lessons.”
Flushed cheeks, an awkward scoff. “Shut up.”
Jan laughs at him, but somehow there's nothing malicious about her entertainment. “I'll take that as a no .”
“It's a yes for the visits, though,” Krit points out, earning an inquisitive stare. “Probably not to all rehearsals, but I wouldn’t mind watching sometimes,” he explains sincerely, not to foster any false hopes.
But Jan's concern seems to be on a different wavelength. Not on the when's.
She slows down her steps as they reach the precincts of Krit's villa, eyeing her feet like she's testing out the weight of her words on her tongue before finally uttering them. “Would you be there to watch someone in particular?”
One question. One tactful question is what it takes for Krit to halt in his tracks, for his heart has sunk to his feet. His brows crease into a quizzical frown as Jan stands still to face him, the eloquent look she had earlier that day returning to his mind, like she’d peered past the translucent wall built on his pretenses. Krit doesn’t underestimate her sharpness. He does, however, overestimate his own ability to conceal his feelings. Especially now, when he feels that all color has drained from his face and yet he’s still putting up a front.
Could she have seen right through him?
“What do you mean?” he says innocently.
Bouncing on her heels, Jan sets her eyes on his intently. “I was quite shocked when Jack said you agreed to come today, you know. We tried to convince you so many times it kind of just became a running joke between us. And I never really fancied you as an artistic guy. So I thought something must have happened to have changed your mind. Or you might have gone because you wanted…” She takes a step forward, “to spend time with someone you might like.”
Wait. Krit exhales the breath he’d been holding, the pain from where he’d been biting inside his cheek suddenly making itself known.
So this is what she means?
Calling it a surprise would be an exaggeration, because he isn’t nearly half as shocked as he is relieved. In retrospect, it sort of makes sense. The teasing, the fake flirting, that pinch of dismay written across her face during the workshop. Krit had never taken any of it seriously, never made an effort to observe it from a different angle, but maybe he’d just been too busy observing someone else to capture the signs Jan had sent him. He wonders if he’s been leading her on this entire time, unconsciously nourishing feelings he didn’t intend to reciprocate.
He doesn’t know what to tell her.
Krit pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and gives her an apologetic smile. “I don’t really like anyone that way.”
Jan purses her lips, slanting her head to look up at him as she takes another step, close enough for him to make out her curved eyelashes and the sheer coat of chapstick shining over her heartshaped cupid’s bow under the dim lighting. So hauntingly similar to someone else’s features, someone Krit’s gaze insisted on lingering on beyond his control, and yet not the same. “No one?” she asks softly, punctuating the question with a tentative hand on Krit’s shoulder. “Not even me?”
She waits for a moment, listening to the sound of his breathing, giving him a chance to push her away if he wants to. He is aware that he can, that he should, if he wants to protect their friendship and respect her feelings. The sensible thing to do.
Or he could let her kiss him.
Between one moment and the next, her lips find his.
They taste like cherry chapstick when he kisses her back, like he’s supposed to. He places his hands on her waist and she moves closer, supporting her weight, steady, like it’s supposed to be. Krit hasn’t kissed many people before this. Only one girl from cram school who gave him a try of cigarettes long before he’d ever considered smoking, and now Jan. There hadn’t been any fireworks or shivers running across his skin like in the movies, but Krit was never foolish enough to believe real life ever intended to recreate the magic of cinema. There aren’t any fireworks now, either. Just the sound of cicadas and the aroma of Jan’s lavender perfume. It’s nice, nonetheless. It’s… safe.
Fireworks are only meant to be appreciated from afar. Anyone who has ever dared to stretch out their hand to touch has achieved nothing but getting burned.
When he’s inside his villa, the first thing he seeks is one of the cigarettes from the pack he keeps hidden inside his desk drawer, suddenly craving the sensation of having it burn between his fingers, between his lips.
“You don’t have to give me an answer right now,” Jan had assured him after pulling away, a glazed look in her eyes, sliding her graceful hand down his arm before letting it fall by her side. “I can wait until you make up your mind.”
The remaining distance to Nahm’s house had been trailed in silence. Jan sent him off with a wave goodbye and a reminder to send her any pictures he might have taken at the workshop although she knew there would be none, with such an ease it appeared to Krit that the whole confession could’ve been all but a misunderstanding on his behalf. The kiss could’ve been just a kiss, a product of what felt appropriate for the moment in a world where girls and boys can never just be friends, and Jan decided to test the waters to clear out her own confusion over her crush, adjusting right back into their usual dynamic as soon as she had her answer.
But deep down he knows that’s not the case. She doesn’t have an answer, because he didn’t give her one, nor is she confused over what she wants. She’s as certain of her feelings as she is of her actions, and would never use him as an experiment to fix her own doubts.
Unlike him.
The only one confused here is Krit.
In his disoriented stupor, he opens the window of his dorm to let the cigarette smoke out, allows himself to stare at the ceiling in hopes of finding some clarity among the colors swarming through his visions from looking at the light bulb for too long. He’ll find a spare minute to pack his bags the next morning before catching the boat, and throw in the first clothes he finds in his closet.
I can wait for you to make up your mind.
Drag.
Have you made up your mind yet?
Release.
Krit pushes his glasses aside to rub his hands over his eyes. For the first time, he wishes he believed in any god, just so he’d pray for some clarity. Or for the floor to open beneath him and swallow him whole. Whatever came first.
***
Needless to say, a weekend at his parents home couldn’t have come at a worse timing.
Not that there was ever a legitimately good timing to sit at the dinner table with his father, but his point stands.
Krit supposes he’s gotten a little spoiled by his stay on the Island. He’s forgotten what it feels like to have a reticent meal like this, all clinking of cutlery scraping against plates and the steady buzz of the air-conditioner, when he can’t recall the last time he has eaten lunch without Jan’s whiny complaints about some activity among her endless list of extracurriculars and Jack’s unreserved laughter caressing his eardrums, nurturing his soul.
As a kid, he’d found his way around it. Ways to fill the void created by a house too big, one he wasn’t allowed to leave at will, but where exploring the crooks and crannies also wasn’t advisable, for he shouldn’t touch things that didn’t concern his position as a child. And Krit wanted to be a good child. The best, just so he’d see the promise of a pleased smile ghosting the corners of his father’s lips, smoothing the hard lines that creased between his brows. Feel his mother’s mellow touch push stray strands of hair out of his forehead as she greeted him in the morning, praising him for behaving well, promising to arrive earlier to spend time with him — blissfully unaware that he’d spent the night binge watching her collection of dvd’s, and that a small part of him wished she would break her promise once again so he’d get to explore more stories, let vivid colors and the sound of foreign dialogue he couldn’t quite decipher without subtitles keep him company.
It’s funny how much emptier the house could feel with two people seated right in front of him.
Two people who know so little while worrying about so much.
His mom is the one to always pick up the slack for their wordless staring once she joins them at the table — asking about swimming practice, weaving offhanded comments about the neighbours kids. She brushes off her husband's comments about focusing on studies, and preens visibly in approval when Krit repeats the praises coach Saeng had given him over the improvement of his technique, deliberately leaving out any details about the workshop, least of all the party he’d attended the prior weekend, responsible for the persistent cold he was still bouncing back from.
Krit’s appreciative of her effort, as it distracts his mind from the subject he’s been trying so hard to ignore. But like most good things, this one doesn’t last very long.
“Your hair is growing quite long.” His mom smiles at him, a fond look in her eyes as she reaches over to touch it. “I noticed it looked longer in the last picture you sent, but I wasn’t sure if my eyes were deceiving me. Very handsome.”
He smiles back, feeling the warmth dusting over his cheeks as he pushes his hair aside reflexively. “No need to overdo it.”
At that, he catches the tick in his father’s jaw, his expression blank. “Perhaps it’s time to get a haircut.”
A well-versed manner to phrase it out like a suggestion, although Krit knows it isn’t one.
“I haven’t had the time lately.” He presses his lips together for a second, scooping more pork belly to keep his mouth full, reminding himself not to tap his foot against the floor. He knows better than to provoke an argument over something so small. “I will see when I can get an appointment.”
His mom makes a reproving sound at his father. “But why should he? It looks great to me. Girls like it like this these days, don’t they?”
Fingers running through the back of his hair, holding on to his nape, running down his arm.
The corner of his lips remain frozen into the smile that’s been rehearsed to exude confidence, persevering untouched by the fractures spreading all around his facade. “They love it.”
“What about that friend of yours, Jan? Does she like it?” his mother adds, anything but tacit with her curiosity, stepping head first into the one territory Krit doesn’t want to uncover tonight, isn’t in the right mood to.
He gives her a careful look. “Mom—”
“You two seem to have grown pretty close. She looked so pretty in that photo you sent the other day,” she continues cheerily, purposefully disregarding the plea in his tone, “such a lovely smile. And her brother, too. Very good-looking, it must run in the family. What do their parents work with, again?”
“In the entertainment industry.” Another tick clenches at his father’s jaw, almost imperceptible. Krit continues to chew, takes a sip of water. “Artist management, I think. But Jan is more interested in the fashion industry, since she wants to become a designer. Jack… Jack is a writer, though. A really good one. I’ve mentioned before that he’s one of the editors of the school’s newspaper, haven’t I? He wrote an article about one of my competitions, once.” Krit doesn’t know what possesses him to keep speaking. He recognizes the excitement in his own voice becoming increasingly more palpable as he goes, the warmth he keeps secure inside his heart bleeding into the words, staining them with something dangerously close to reverence. “But I think his plan is to become a director, one day. Right now he’s working on the script for this year’s play. He says he’s going abroad to study for it after we graduate.”
When Krit draws in a breath, an unintentional, genuine smile decorating his face, he swears he catches the faintest whiff of a comforting scent in the air, one foreign to the halls of his home, suddenly snapping him out of his daze. As he watches the unimpressed arch of his father’s brow, he comes to his senses about how ridiculous he must have looked going on a rant about a friend’s achievements, and drops his eyes to his plate. The man in front of him tips his head, drinking a long sip from his own cup.
“It’s a shame,” he states with malevolent entertainment, chuckling to himself, “to watch such smart kids waste their potential like this. But to each their own, I suppose.”
Krit’s eyes harden, but he doesn’t frown, nor does he exhibit any traces of the discontentment rising up his throat ready to stain his words with an even darker shade of everything his father would deem as unequivocally shameful. After all, he has to be good. It’s his only obligation. So he simply stays quiet, playing the part.
His mother must sense the discomfort thickening the air, however, as she is quick to intervene. “Don’t be like that, Korn. They’re only in grade 11, there’s still plenty of time for the kids to change their minds.” It’s a clear attempt to lighten up the mood, but the condescension in her tone only damps Krit’s own further. She seems oblivious to it as she lightly touches his arm. “Well, I say you should invite your friends over during the next break, Krit. I would love to meet them. Especially Jan. She looks like the kind of girl any mother would like to have as their daughter in law.” Her hand comes up to smooth over his hair, the gesture oozing with affection. “My son deserves nothing less.”
Basking on the pride branded on her face, painted on the pearly white walls, on the polished marble floors, twinkling on the family picture frame that sits imposing and prominent on the wall behind his back, Krit wonders how she would react if she ever found out about the son that hides behind the shell of the one she so vehemently adores. The real one, who Krit has let be shaped and broken down and shaped again until he finally looked worthy of belonging to the prize shelf reserved for him.
He prefers not to wonder too much, because he’s too scared of facing the inevitable answer that awaits him. It’s why Krit has made up his mind about being realistic when it comes to the expectations he sets for his life. There’s no point in fighting battles he’s set to lose from the start.
But somehow the notion of his own pretense, of why he needs to maintain it, never stops stinging.
“Sure, mom,” Krit says, even though he won’t.
Perhaps if he could truly be the person she thinks she loves, the ache gnawing inside his chest would subside, the edges of it eroded into nothing if there was no longer any guilt for them to sharpen their teeth with.
Perhaps Krit… can be that person.
Later that night, when he’s already hidden comfortably in the confines of his bedroom, still lingering on his father’s last warning not to let extracurriculars deviate him too much from his studies, a decision has been made and wobbly carved in stone inside his head. Pulling up his latest chats, his thumb hovers above Jan’s contact, hesitating one final time on what he’s about to do.
The pictures of the workshop, which he’d found on the drama club’s IG while scrolling through his timeline, had only solidified his resolve.
He looked so happy in them.
It radiated from him, blatant in the softening of his eyes, unaware of the camera capturing those moments of carefree bliss. Whether that happiness was due to the light hearted atmosphere of the workshop, or purely because of the boy towards whom his gaze remained trained on in all of the photos, it’s difficult to tell.
Krit can’t keep going like this. He has to put these feelings back to where they belong — away from the world’s prying eyes, covered behind thick sheets that will help preserve their sincerity without jeopardizing the persona Krit is so carefully trying to sustain, or this friendship. If he keeps this love in there long enough, in the most secluded part of his heart, maybe it will wither for good into what it was meant to be all along. Friendly affection, to reciprocate Jack’s own. Platonic. Appropriate. Good .
He just has to convince his heart to search for someone more attainable instead. Someone who he could love openly.
Beautiful, lively, just the perfect amount of smart and snarky. Determined about her goals, unrelenting on her pursues, a girl who’s already in love with him.
Krit isn’t quite in love with her yet, but he can be.
He taps the chatbox.
Hey
Can I meet you before class on monday?
I have made up my mind
***
“Mom,” he asked unassumingly while she lounged around the kitchen, preparing herself a cup of tea, “what is this smell around the house lately?”
She frowned, raising her head to look at him. “Smell?” She paused to think, before understanding dawned upon her. “Oh, must be the sandalwood incense your grandma brought me. It has quite a comforting scent, doesn’t it?”
“It does,” he hummed longingly, smiling at her. As she is about to return to her cup, he adds, “Can I take some with me?”
The corners of her lips lifted up, albeit inquisitive. “Of course, honey. Why so?”
Krit shrugged. “Nothing special. Just so the villa will smell like home.”
It technically wasn’t a lie. Simply an omission.
***
“This really doesn’t look right, can you check this question for me?”
Jack lightly slides his notebook in Krit’s direction, resting his elbows over the library table they share as he waits for a verdict.
Krit squints at the formulas on the page as he compares it with his own physics homework, pursing his lips. “Seems to be the same as mine. But we could both be wrong.”
“How helpful, Krit. Thanks a lot…” Jack sighs behind a mildly frustrated smirk while he's handed back his notes, naturally eliciting a giggle out of Krit. It’s fun to tease him, to experience the glimpses of annoyance that escape past his usually calm and collected approach to all situations. Endearing, if you may. But to know he never means it is even better — the frustration never reaches his eyes.
“Look at the silver lining,” Krit nudges. “If it’s wrong, at least we’re going down together.”
Jack gives him a look, heart-shaped lips curling upwards. “What a way to go that would be.”
The tip of Jack’s shoe touches his own under the table, and so does his knee. He doesn't make any mention to move it away, and neither does Krit have any intention of doing so. The critical, remarkable difference to be considered is that Krit doesn’t think Jack has even noticed the barely-there contact, unlike himself, whose body still hasn’t caught up with the decisions of his mind. Stubbornly, it continues to follow the commands of an uninhibited heart that refuses to listen.
Nothing has changed between them after he started dating Jack’s sister, as it shouldn’t have to. Because he and Jack have never been anything other than friends to begin with.
His response to the sight of Krit arriving hand-in-hand with his sister earlier on the week had been as underwhelming as it could get with the way he treated it as if it was a daily occurrence, unworthy of the shocked gasp from May or Ice's wolf-whistles resonating through the classroom (courtesy, of course, of his ever-present desire to be irritating). Judging by his reaction, or the lack thereof, Krit presumed Jan told her brother about her plans to confess beforehand, which would be more than reasonable. It is also true that a small part of him, the less rational one, couldn’t help but feel hurt that Jack didn’t give him a heads up and, instead, let him walk blindsided into a romantic confession he wasn’t prepared to deal with, even though it’s obvious to anyone that Jack’s loyalty would lie with his sister, as much of a friend as he is to Krit.
After that, no mention of the topic has been brought up again, least of all when it’s just the two of them hanging out like this, and Krit finds relief in keeping it that way. He will read Jack’s lack of commentary as indifference, and not as… something else, something ridiculous that sounds too presumptuous to assume even inside his own head.
One way or another, there appears to be something bothering Jack. Krit props his chin on his hand, watching Jack’s lips shape around soundless thoughts he doesn’t write down in favor of lightly tapping the tip of his pencil over the paper, dark silky hair falling over his eyes before he adjusts it back with long, elegant fingers.
When Krit draws in a breath, he smells sandalwood.
“You know what, this is as good as it will get,” Jack states to the mocking formulas like a disheartened father giving up on a child, flipping the notebook closed. “Did you get started with sociology yet?”
“In a second.” Krit casts his eyes down, the word denialism looking back at him without ringing any bells. Jack rummages through his books to find the one that matches his, through stacks of papers covered in red ink footnotes that Krit knows to be pages upon pages of scripts. “By the way,” A hum in acknowledgement, “how’s everything going for tomorrow’s audition?”
Raising his head at the sudden change of topic, Jack finally pulls the book he wanted out of his bag. “Auditions? It’s… all good so far, we got quite a few applications after the workshop. P’Teh is kind of stressing out about finding a good Dorian and Basil, though. Says he couldn’t get the vision for the characters in any of the performances he saw at the workshop because they lacked depth to pull off the character’s complexities, you know? Which, yes, he has a point. But deep down I think he’s actually just spiralling about this being his last school play,” he says, dazing nothing like he’s pondering on the situation at hand. “The problem is that he pulls everyone into that spiral with him.” He blinks out of his stupor, sending Krit an earnest glance, which slowly starts to acquire a glimmer of hope. “Why?”
Did you change your mind? hangs unspoken in the air, no words needed for both of them to recognize that it is what Jack means.
Biting the sensitive skin inside his cheek, Krit asks instead. “What about you?”
His eyebrows crease. “What about me?”
“Are you nervous about the play?”
“Honestly? A little nervous, yeah. Maybe a lot,” Jack admits with a nod, chuckling humorlessly.
It’s a trait Krit picked up on quite early in their friendship, out of a place of both admiration and oddity - this willingness Jack has to share his vulnerability with others. Be it through his writing or through the sincerity interlaced in every one of his actions, there’s a transparency in the way Jack carries himself that adds to the magnetism of his personality, seamlessly pulling people into his orbit like they’ve always belonged. Krit has witnessed how it charmed teachers, how it conquered the affection of seniors and even the classmates Jack wasn’t particularly close with. Krit has witnessed, first hand, how it lured himself, his trust.
Upon realizing Krit is waiting for more, Jack glances around to see if there isn’t anyone else at the library they might be bothering, when the only other person present at this time of the day is, more often than not, the librarian who’s currently engrossed typing away in her computer. He then sets a somber gaze on Krit. “This play… this play is my responsibility. The seniors trusted me to choose this novel, even though a lot of them thought it was too gloomy of a story to do on their last club production. Next year, everyone’s gonna have graduated and I’m probably taking P’Teh’s place as director. If it all goes right, I might get the chance to tell a story of my own, something I wrote from scratch.” A spark crosses his features at the prospect, and Krit doesn’t miss the trail of excitement it leaves behind. “But for that I need this play to be great. I want it to be great.” Jack lets out a heavy sigh. “I guess what I’m worried about is that I'm not gonna find people who take it as seriously as me to portray the story I’m pouring my heart into. Especially for a story that… doesn’t fit the norm.”
Processing the admission, Krit lifts his head from his hand, watching Jack with tenderness. Although he’s never not appreciated Jack’s efforts in pursuing what he wants, it’s striking to understand it doesn’t come without a price. That Jack, too, has to deal with the roots of insecurity hidden beneath the surface, stalling his steps.
Except Jack doesn’t let those insecurities overpower his dreams. He’s brave. Against all reasoning, it makes Krit want to be brave, too.
Jack’s words from after the workshop return to him at that moment, the same flame burning silent but steady behind his eyes.
You have to be our Dorian.
“And would you have trusted me with it? To portray the story?”
Jack smiles at him with meaning, shaking his head like Krit has asked the silliest question he’s ever heard, one he’s supposed to already have the answer for. “With my life, even.”
It’s not meant to convince him to change his mind, just as it isn’t supposed to make him tongue-tied in his strive to keep his heartbeat under control, but it does send an electrifying feeling down to the tips of his fingers. Igniting an urge to care, to help, that defies the automatic reflex to choose the safe option guaranteed to keep him out of trouble.
He wants to be good for Jack. A good friend, a good Dorian. And he wants, for once, to be good for himself as well.
“I’ll do it,” he says resolutely.
Jack’s eyes widen in surprise. “What?”
“I will audition for the play, “ he repeats, sitting up straighter by Jack’s side.
A fond expression takes over his features. “Krit, are you sure? Because I didn’t mean to make it seem like you have to do it for me. I’d never wanna pressure you—”
“It’s not for you,” Krit clarifies with a hesitant smile. “Not just for you, I mean. I want to. I wanna be a part of the play based on my favorite book, try out something different. And if I’m also helping my best friend in the meanwhile, then that’s just another perk of it.” When Jack blinks at him, still astonished, Krit tilts his head quizzingly. “Unless… you don’t want me to audition anymore.”
Jack’s reply comes in the shape of a beautiful grin with crinkling eyes, bathing the world golden with its light. He promptly closes the book over the table, pushing it back inside his backpack.
“Well, I guess these can wait. Should we find a monologue for you to use tomorrow?”
“Isn’t rehearsing with the director considered cheating?”
Jack leans forward, giddy in confiding him with a furtive whisper, “I don’t know. Good thing I’m only the assistant director, then.”
In the back of his mind, Krit is acutely aware that he’s going to have to orchestrate this entire thing behind his parents’ backs, not to mention having to rearrange most of his swimming practice schedule, if he does actually get the part — a kid playing with fireworks while the adults look away. He can almost picture the exasperated sigh coach Saeng will antagonize him with before contemplating the request. But he doesn’t let either of those elements lay waste to the all-encompassing contentment washing over him as they search the pages of the library’s copy of Dorian Gray together, reciting passages aloud to test their potential, all while Krit avoids breathing in too deeply, or letting the tips of their fingers brush for too long.
He’s doing this to help a friend, because he cares. It’s what any decent person would do, especially given everything Jack has done for him without ever asking for anything in return. And if it works out, he will be helping out his girlfriend as well, who his parents adore without having ever met. So, looking through this perspective, it’s a win-win situation for all parts involved, isn’t it?
Krit can do it all. He will be the perfect boyfriend for Jan, the dutiful son for his parents.
And he will be Jack’s Dorian.