Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Morning light creeps over the city and Fighter hums a quiet tune.

He’s freshly showered from a run this morning and slouching in jeans and a tank top as he drinks his coffee, surveying the street from the balcony. The aroma of the remains of breakfast waft through the open door and Fighter knows that Tutor will be out to join him soon enough. 

He takes a long drink of his coffee, glancing through the glass at where he can see Tutor hunching over his plate; he looks small and fragile. 

It’s been like this ever since Halloween, a small, sour part of Tutor having curled in on himself in shame. Fighter has done his best to pick up the pieces but even he has his breaking point. There are only so many times he can force Tutor to eat or tuck him into bed or nudge him to go to university or work, before something has to give.

Fighter is mourning too. 

Hwa Hwa won’t return any of his calls and everything between him and the guys is...well, it’s too hard to face. Everyone knows his dirty little secret now and the only people that have really expressed any support are Jake and War, the latter of which things are still uncomfortable with. Dang has made it clear where he stands on it all and Dew won’t talk to him directly. To say it hurts would be an understatement.

He’s desperate for an escape from the prison they’ve made of this condo.

“We should do something today”, Fighter shouts through the balcony doors.

Tutor makes a non-committal noise but he places his plate in the sink and as expected, he makes his way outside. He’s barefoot, still rumpled in sleep clothes and non-verbal as he clings to his own mug. Fighter watches him take a chug of the still steaming coffee before slamming it down on the small wooden table pressed flush against the windows. He’d left a pack of cigarettes there last night and now he picks them up.

It’s become a habit in this last week or so; one smoke after another while his hands shake with stress. Fighter would comment on it, but he doesn’t feel like it’s his place, especially not since this was technically his fault in the first place. 

Instead, he steps back from the railing and sits himself down at the table, watching Tutor’s back with interest.

“The condo is getting pretty stale, so how about it? We could use some fresh air and I know you don’t have work today nong.”

Tutor doesn’t answer, just runs a hand back through his hair with a sigh, closing his eyes against the sweet, addictive taste of nicotine. Even with his undereye so grey, his smile so wan, he’s beautiful in a way that Fighter can’t breathe past. He hasn’t laid a hand on Tutor in a few days but there’s a hunger burning inside of him for Tutor’s skin, for the way he feels stretched around his cock.

No one has ever made Fighter feel like that and now he’s drunk on it. 

Just last night he’d lain awake, fingers pressed inside of himself as he jerked his cock with his other hand, whimpering for Tutor. It had been almost too much, the overstimulation and anticipation rushing through his veins in a way that made his heart beat louder than bombs in his ears. 

Tutor had come to him then, leaning in the doorway but not broaching the threshold. He’d looked pale and sickly, eyes a little distant, but he’d watched Fighter with an intensity that had wrung the orgasm from him almost instantly. It had come over him like the shock of cold water, pouring free of his body as Tutor had watched with silent intrigue.

Now those eyes pin him once more. 

Tutor turns to look at Fighter with a slow, unsteady smile and stubs out his cigarette in a nearby ashtray, it hisses, the red embers crushed against glass. He lets go of it and grabs his mug, finishing the last dregs of his coffee. Fighter covers his fingers with his own, guiding Tutor down to sit across from him and watches as Tutor’s shoulders seem to drop. It’s like he’s releasing a weight.

Tutor sinks back in his chair, mug placed on the table but his fingers still linked with Fighter’s, their silence amiable and certain. It makes Fighter feel safe and he shakes his bangs from his eyes, counts the seconds in the steady thump of Tutor’s pulse.

THUMP

You are safe.

THUMP

You are loved.

THUMP

You are mine .

“You need a haircut”, Tutor says abruptly.

His voice is scratchy, worn. 

Still, it’s the most he’s said in almost two days and Fighter savours it. He leans forward and Tutor lifts a hand, pushing hair back from Fighter’s forehead so he can examine his face more clearly. Fighter wonders what it is that he sees, whether he thinks Fighter is handsome or foolish or the source of all of his problems. He skates his lips across Tutor’s palm without meaning to, a blush rising on his cheeks. Tutor just smiles softly at him and lets his hair fall back down in a rush of dark strands.

“Honestly, I think we both do”, Fighter says.

Tutor nods, conceding the point.

“There’s a small salon where I usually get my hair done, we can both go there today and just get tidied up a little”, he says quietly.

Fighter likes the idea of that but he’s also been thinking, maybe it would be good to have a change. Tutor has told him for a month now about the look and feel of a camboy and Fighter wonders if he has what it takes visually. He’s bigger than the usual kind, more...regular. Not that he thinks he’s plain, just to say that there’s a certain everyman quality to him that Tutor lacks. Tutor is a viper lurking in the grass but Fighter is transparent as the window he presses his cheek against. He thinks of what he finds handsome, of the kind of men he’s seen Tutor staring at, of their sharpness and their confidence. War exemplifies that in many ways, even if that’s uncomfortable to think of. 

Fighter decides then, that’s what he wants to be.

“I kind of want to try something new maybe? Since I’ll be on camera and all.”

Tutor raises an eyebrow, face questioning for a moment before he hums in agreement.

“You might need to consider getting other things fixed while we’re there too” Tutor says, eyes dropping very purposefully.

Fighter feels his face burn with embarrassment and he clears his throat.

“Oh...um, yeah. Sure, I can do that.”

Tutor laughs and for the first time  in a while it doesn’t feel forced. It’s just easy, warm.

“It’s okay phi, I can hold your hand” he says, squeezing Fighter’s fingers tighter. 

Fighter returns the gesture with a smile.

“Then I’ll make sure I’m nice and pretty for the viewers.”

Tutor hums and for the first time in days there’s a familiar playful sparkle in his eyes. Fighter is so distracted by it that it takes a moment until the meaning of the next words out of Tutor’s mouth sinks in.

“I think the first thing they’ll notice won’t be your nice new haircut phi.”

Once more Tutor lets his eyes travel downward, this time with both eyebrows raised and it has Fighter’s face heating up so much he feels it warmly tingling in his ears. 

“Knight is supposed to be more than just a dick for King. He’s his boyfriend ” Fighter says, more indignation in his voice than he actually feels.

Tutor’s eyes widen with a hint of amusement. He cocks his head to the side with a tired smile, the grown out strands of his bangs falling over his eyes. 

“You’re right. But honestly – you’re everything they could want anyway. Handsome, excellent body, big dick, sweet mouth and even sweeter eyes. They’re going to eat you up phi.”

Fighter bows his head, flustered.

“Your face reveal video already has thousands of views and I can only imagine how wild they’ll go when they hear you moan for the first time.”

Fighter wonders if one day he might be able to talk as casually about all of this as Tutor does. 

It doesn’t sound any different than when Fighter talks with colleagues about tax forms or Excel sheets, the kind of mudanity to his tone that feels almost surreal. It’s November now and officially they’re out of the trial period and into the real deal, but Tutor hasn’t said anything about how they’re going to continue. Fighter on the other hand hasn’t wanted to push it. With Hwa Hwa and Halloween still fresh, it could be a sorespot.

The last couple of days Fighter might have almost believed that they were regular roommates. They ate together, in the evenings sometimes watched TV or Tutor did homework while Fighter played games. It’s domestic and calm, perfectly unremarkable. Yet, all Fighter could think about was when he could get his mouth on Tutor again and make him moan. That’s most definitely not what roommates should do. 

“So…uh…when do they – I mean… when will they hear me moan for the first time?” 

Fighter tries to make it sound light, casual. He attempts to mimic Tutor’s tone but fails spectacularly. Tutor huffs, a sound between fond and something Fighter can’t place. His hands reach out for the pack of cigarettes, idly opening and shutting it until Fighter leans forward and catches his hand. 

He doesn’t like this new habit Tutor has picked up. He has no right to stop him or tell him what to do and he knows this. Still, at least he can distract him enough to stop seeking out something that might hurt him in the long run.

“You haven’t really told me what the plan is”, he adds quietly.

Tutor gets up from his chair.

“The plan, first of all, is to get you ‘pretty’ today.” 

To his surprise Tutor rounds the table, nudging his knee. Fighter spreads his legs and Tutor stands between them. He takes Fighter’s face between his hands and tilts it gently upwards, thumbs stroking over his jawline, brushing over his eyebrows. 

“I wondered if we should pluck these but actually I think they give you character. Also, they look really cute when you pull that face.”

“What face?”

Tutor chuckles and it’s a small, beautiful victory. Fighter is so afraid that something will happen to ruin his mood all over, to remind him of what still lies broken at his feet. He’d like to tuck Tutor into his arms and keep them frozen in time, locked away from all the trouble that lays ahead. If all it takes to get Tutor back is to tease Fighter though, then Fighter will gladly take that. 

His fingers twitch where they rest on the armrest of the chair. Tutor draws his own eyebrows into a frown, eyes widening a little bit, mouth falling into a subtle pout. Fighter suspects it’s supposed to be a copy of his expression. It looks adorable on Tutor but Fighter highly doubts that he looks even remotely as cute as that. It’s the true definition of a pleading puppy face. It has Fighter laughing and shaking his head. 

“I don’t look like that.”

“Oh you absolutely do P’Fight. I’m sure we’ll capture that look on camera and then I’ll have evidence to show you.” 

“So…” Fighter swallows, eyes straying to the side, not wanting to let the topic slip again “about that first video…when is that going to be?”

”Why are you so eager for that hm?” Tutor shoots back.

His hands move from Fighter’s face to comb through his hair again and again. It’s soft and sleek and Fighter imagines Tutor likes the feeling of the strands beneath his fingers. It leaves a pleasant tingle where he touches, especially when Tutor drags his fingernails over scalp. 

Fighter has missed this. He really wants to make today good, not only to calm his own frayed nerves but so Tutor can relax again – and perhaps, a little selfishly – Fighter can have more moments like this. He’s grown used to all of these small gestures, the quiet but unmistakable intimacy. He doesn’t want Tutor to retreat again.

“I just want to prepare myself.”

“Don’t stress about it. We’re starting slow. There’s nothing live for a couple of weeks and we’ll probably film a video first, so there’s no pressure for you to perform. First though, we’ll let them get used to the idea of you being in my life.”

It’s still not a concrete answer but it’s as close to one as Fighter can hope for. He wants to push, ask for specifics, but Tutor looks like he’s barely paying attention to this conversation. 

Carefully Tutor gathers the long top part of Fighter’s hair. Fighter is surprised but it’s actually long enough to pull it into a tiny ponytail on his head, which Tutor does now. He holds it in place like that, considering Fighter’s face all over again. His smile has once more disappeared.

Involuntarily, Fighter's eyes flicker down to Tutor’s mouth and, despite knowing that he’ll taste like cold cigarettes and bitter coffee, he wants to kiss him.

So he does.

It’s as simple as tipping forward, their lips meeting with the ease of a month of practise. Tutor opens his mouth to beckon Fighter in and he accepts the invitation, capturing Tutor top lip between his teeth for a moment before curling their tongues together, hands finding Tutor’s waist. It’s soft and warm, the morning yawning in their bones until Tutor arches forward with a sigh, hands falling from Fighter’s hair to rest on his shoulders.

It’s not meant to go anywhere; there’s no intent behind the slow searching of Fighter’s mouth. He just wants to drink him in, tasting coffee and nicotine and the dregs of toothpaste beneath it all. 

Tutor smells like sleep this close and Fighter inhales a nose full of his skin, traces fingers up his side lazily. When Tutor pulls back he looks more relaxed, his face a little brighter. Fighter smiles at him, a broad, bright stretch of his mouth that has Tutor rolling his eyes even as his lips quirks with mirth.

“You should go put some clothes on that aren’t these” Fighter says, scratching at the fabric of Tutor’s sweats. 

Tutor runs his hands across the broad planes of Fighter’s shoulders, down over his arms, skating across the bare skin with a wry grin. He looks hesitant to move and face the day. Fighter understands that but he also knows that they both need this. It will be the first time in a while that they’ve experienced the world beyond these walls in more than a cursory capacity and Fighter for one is looking forward to it. 

He pushes Tutor away just enough for him to stand, stretching with a yawn as he does. Tutor seems to take the hint, grabbing both of their mugs to take inside as Fighter guides him by the hips through the sliding doors before closing them. It’s cooler inside the condo but still warm enough to feel sleepy. Tutor moves forward with Fighter at his back, practically waddling like a toddler and places the mugs beside the sink before spinning in Fighter’s arms.

“We still have time before we have to leave”, he says quietly.

Fighter feels Tutor’s fingertips graze across the rough fabric of his jeans and inhales sharply.

“That’s enough time for me to do whatever I want...”

His lips are touching Fighter’s, more a whisper than a kiss. Fighter is scared to move for fear he’ll fall under their spell, holding still in the small space of the kitchenette and looking up into Tutor’s eyes. They’re an impossible amber, all light refracted into shards of gold and burnt sienna and the smallest hints of verdant green.

“Tor…”

Tutor hums, the hand on Fighter’s crotch kneading at the soft line of his cock, coaxing it into half hardness. Fighter lets out a hushed groan, head falling forward to brush his forehead with Tutor’s own. He looks into his face and this close he can truly see the damage of Halloween spelled out in every blink of a bloodshot eye, in every line that seems to have appeared out of nowhere.

“Stop trying to distract me.”

Fighter pulls back with a clearing of his throat and Tutor pouts at him, eyebrows drawing together in a way that might have made Fighter laugh if he weren’t so concerned. Instead, he brushes his thumbs across Tutor’s hips in a way he hopes is soothing and pushes him a little forcibly in the direction of the bedrooms.

Tutor’s room has become somewhat of a den these last few days. Only the area in which he films is clear; the rest of his room is a mess of clothes and books and things thrown in frustration. It’s a dragon’s hoard, treasures spilled across every surface, not to be disturbed. Fighter doesn’t want to take him there, it will only end in Tutor retreating into himself. Instead, he shoves him softly in the direction of his own room, sitting him down on the bed.

“So you don’t want to fuck me, but you brought me into your bedroom?” Tutor says, voice harsh.

Fighter tries not to take it personally, just lifts a hesitant hand to brush through Tutor’s hair, planting a soft kiss on his cheek. Tutor scowls but Fighter ignores it, turning to dig through his drawers and his closet before coming back, happy with his selection. He’s found some sweats that are a little tight on him, a v-neck that’s much the same and a pair of boxer briefs that shrank in the wash when he was still getting used to doing his own laundry. He presents them to Tutor with a smile.

“You know I have clothes of my own P’Fight” Tutor says flatly, one eyebrow raised.

Fighter just presses them into Tutor’s arms.

“Yeah but you need a break from that room and everything in it. Mostly because it’s depressing but also because it smells like a foot. So you can go shower and change into these and I’ll buy you some more coffee on the way to the salon.”

Tutor grumbles but he’s already pressing his cheek into the soft fabric of the shirt, so Fighter takes that as a win. 

He watches Tutor’s back as he goes, the slow lope of his walk a testament to his sour mood. Then, when he’s locked in the bathroom, Fighter moves into action. He grabs his car keys, a jacket for himself and a hooded sweatshirt for Tutor. Both of their shoes are already at the door but Fighter had made a trip out yesterday and he slips the Nike box out from under his bed, carrying it out into the living area and placing it on the coffee table with a bow atop.

He thinks Tutor will probably hit him or argue or just choose not to wear them but he’d bought himself some new things just for the hell of it and then he had seen these and immediately thought of Tutor’s ratty old sneakers. It wasn’t much, but it was something to give back to Tutor in return for all that he had given Fighter in independence.

Of course, it had occurred to him how it might look, that Tutor might see it as payment for sex or something else just as sordid. So he’d taken the time last night to write out a rather poorly spelled note explaining that they were a gift, not a transaction. Fighter just wants to treat a friend.

He stares at the box and breathes in deeply. 

Hopefully it will go better than he thinks.

While Tutor finishes his shower and does whatever else he needs to do to get ready, Fighter tries to distract himself with his favorite mobile game. It’s not really successful. 

He leans against the backrest of the sofa and his eyes keep straying to the shoebox on the coffee table, then back to the door. When the water gets turned off, he knows it can only be a matter of minutes until Tutor emerges. There’s some clattering and shuffling and Fighter’s head immediately flies up when he hears the door. 

In a brief wave of panic he thinks about chickening out and quickly hiding the box away again. 

There’s no way Tutor won’t be mad about it or misunderstand Fighter’s intention. He’ll think the note is stupid, just an excuse and his mood will decrease enough that Fighter will be left alone, nothing but Tutor’s closed door to stare at.

Just when he wants to reach out for it again, Tutor steps out of the bathroom, toweling his hair. 

Seeing Tutor in his clothes (even though it’s all stuff he doesn't wear anymore) distracts him from any anxiety about the present. The sweats fit Tutor perfectly, actually sitting tighter on his thighs and his ass than Fighter had expected. More than that, they hug his crotch in a way that’s criminally distracting. With every step he takes, the grey fabric does a poor job of hiding the vague shape of Tutor’s cock and it has Fighter’s pulse spike, mouth watering. The t-shirt has more mercy. It fits Tutor’s shoulders, but otherwise hangs loosely, where it would stretch over Fighter’s chest. It’s a dark red that Fighter never thought was particularly his colour but, as expected, Tutor looks perfect in it.

Judging by how Tutor has been stealing his sweatshirts, Fighter suspects there might be a chance this whole ensemble will wander into his closet as well. He's not complaining of course. He remembers the conversations of his friends and classmates about how they loved when their girlfriends borrowed their clothes or how hot it was to take them out to dinner wearing a hoodie of theirs. 

Fighter never got that before but now he does; it’s a harmless claim. 

Tutor doesn’t even have to know about it. He can just enjoy a fresh set of clothes and the softness of the way too expensive t-shirt, while Fighter can imagine what it would be like to call Tutor his . 

He comes closer and Fighter’s gaze is drawn to the soft expanse of his naked stomach as Tutor lifts the hem of the t-shirt to his nose and smells the material.

“I don’t know what it is…” Tutor muses aloud and comes closer, actually leaning into Fighter’s side.

“Hm?”

Fighter’s fingers twitch where they’ve fallen useless around his phone, the level he was playing, hopelessly lost. He’d like to take the towel around Tutor’s shoulders and dry his hair for him. Freshly showered and not tamed with a blowdryer and a brush, it shows that Fighter was right about him not being the only one that needs a haircut.

“Your clothes always smell so good. We use the same detergent, softener, everything...but your clothes always smell different than mine.” 

He leans over and buries his nose against Fighter’s shoulder, inhaling him.

“I guess it’s just you.” 

I love you…

The words echo through the chambers of his heart, through his blood, turning to bullets that ricochet through his veins and make his pulse thunder like the burst of a machine gun in his own ears. Every action and every word with Tutor is usually carefully calculated, but Fighter refuses to believe that Tutor knows how cruel and wonderful in equal measures he can be. He just says these things like they mean nothing, like they don’t make Fighter’s head spin with how much he adores him, how much he wants him. Fighter is dying for him and Tutor doesn’t even realise he’s bleeding.

Fighter takes a steadying breath and smiles. 

“Thanks?”

Tutor chuckles, letting the fabric of his t-shirt drop. His eyes fall to the box of the coffee table. 

With its bright red cardboard it’s hard to overlook in the warm neutrals of the room. Nervously Fighter studies Tutor’s profile, the way he frowns with confusion and his head cocks ever so slightly to the side as he takes it in, bow and all.

“Is it someone’s birthday?”

“No”, Fighter swallows, ”it’s for you.” 

“What? Why? My birthday is in May phi, you know that.” 

Fighter does know: May 18th, the most important day of the year. He couldn’t forget it if he tried, had kept it in his memory even when it was just Hwa Hwa going crazy over what to buy and what to do and what to prepare. She’d always treated it like one of the most special occasions and, with a pang, Fighter hopes that by the time May comes around once more, she’ll think of it like that again, like he does.

Tutor looks between the box and Fighter. Surprisingly, he doesn’t sound annoyed. 

Yet.

Fighter is scared that it's only a matter of time.

“I um, wrote a note. You should read it.”

He was agonising about the words for way too long last night and can’t imagine saying half of its contents aloud, so he just hopes everything comes across. Still highly sceptical, Tutor stretches over the sofa to pick up the box from the coffee table. Before even opening it to see what’s inside, he opens the folded sheet of paper placed on top. His entire face has tensed up, but Fighter can’t tell what he’s thinking as his eyes take in the words. 

“Why would you be grateful? Is this supposed to be a ‘ thanks for the sex ‘?”

Fighter cringes, taking a deep breath.

“No. No that’s not at all what it’s supposed to be for.”

“What then? I didn’t do anything.”

“You were really kind to me this last month Tor. You invested so much of your time in me and took care of me and…” 

There’s so much he can’t say, doesn’t know how to say. Tutor gave him freedom in a way Fighter has never experienced. He came into his life and sure, things aren’t always perfect, but for the first time Fighter feels just a fraction like the person he wants to be. 

“I just wanted to get you something I knew you needed.”

“Is this pity ?” Tutor asks and he still hasn’t opened the box yet.

“ No . God no, Tor it’s not, I swear. I just really want to say thank you for everything you’ve done for me so far. I know it hasn’t been easy.”

“I’ll give you the money for it.”

“You won’t because if you try I won’t take it. I want to give them to you.” 

Tutor’s face pulls into a pained expression, his grip on the box tightening. There’s so much conflict on his face that Fighter wants to take it all back and insist that they pretend like this never happened. He also wants to stand his ground though. He wants to give this to Tutor because he deserves it, for everything he is and has done and Fighter can’t think too long about what must have happened in Tutor’s life that he can’t even accept a simple gift, but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that he understands that Fighter is doing this selflessly.

Silence hangs between them, only disrupted by the dripping of their shower and the whirring of their aircon, then Tutor’s fingers move slowly, lifting the lid of the box. He places it to the side and stares down at the contents. 

“I saw them and thought you might like them”, Fighter mumbles anxiously when Tutor doesn’t say anything.

“They’re my favorite colour”, Tutor murmurs after a pause.

‘I know’ , Fighter thinks. 

“If you don’t like them, I can…I can return them for a different pair.” 

He hadn’t even thought about that yet. Maybe Tutor would have liked something different, but he just saw them and thought it was a style Tutor would like – sporty but casual, modern and fashionable, perfect for everyday. Maybe it wouldn’t be the pair Tutor would have picked himself because he might have opted for something more sensible, but Fighter thought it would be nice to give him something that wasn’t just decided by whether it was economical or not.

“They’re very...red” Tutor adds, still looking down on them. 

The tension has left his face and in its place is an emotion Fighter can’t define. When he reaches out to take the box from Tutor’s hands, Tutor holds them out of Fighter’s reach, shaking his head.

“No, I like them.” 

Tutor sits down on the sofa, placing the box in his lap while Fighter watches. He has a curious expression on his face as he turns the sneakers over in his hands, lacing them in the way he likes: criss crossed. It makes Fighter smile and he drops down next to him, hands twisting nervously in his lap. There’s a smell in the air of clean, fresh leather, the wrapping in the box and Fighter inhales it unsteadily as he waits.

“Do I want to know how much these cost?” Tutor asks quietly.

Fighter shrugs, looks at the way Tutor is taking care to tidy the inside of the box, folding down the tissue paper neatly until he can close the box and place it on the coffee table once more.

“They weren’t that expensive, don’t worry about it.”

Tutor frowns at him but doesn’t say anything else, just hums and carries the shoes over to the door. He places them down next to his old sneakers and the contrast is immediate in the fraying of the seams, the wearing of the soles. Fighter doesn’t move from his seat, just counts his heartbeats as Tutor stares down at the shoes in silence. It’s the same kind of expression he’s worn every time he’s looked at Fighter for the past week or so, like he doesn’t quite know how to respond.

Fighter doesn’t push, just stretches his arms above his head, wiggling his toes against the rug to feel the shag pile under his feet.

“P’Fight?” Tutor calls quietly.

Fighter yawns, tilting his head. Tutor doesn’t say anything else, still staring at the shoes and it occurs to Fighter that he might be angry, that this might seem like an insult to him. 

He stands abruptly and makes his way to Tutor, a cautious hand reaching for his shoulder. His fingertips graze it, touching the soft fabric so gently that Tutor turns into him easily, arms going about him.

It’s shocking. 

They kiss, they fuck, they touch in all of the places that lovers do – but Tutor doesn’t just hold him. There’s never been a casual embrace between them that Fighter can recall hasn’t had a kiss attached or some lingering tension and desire. Yet here they are, Tutor’s arms slipping beneath Fighter’s own, clutching at his back as he buries his face in his chest.

He smells like Fighter’s shampoo, their fabric softener and it’s comforting but there’s a part of Fighter that roils possessively at it. He comes to himself, realising he’s been still and unresponsive and his own arms clutch Tutor tight to his chest, a sense of warmth permeating them. It feels safe in a way few things do anymore.

“Thank you”, Tutor murmurs.

Fighter smiles, hands pulling Tutor closer.

“You’re welcome Tor.”

The embrace lasts a long time, the two of them basking in their shared pulse and the heat radiating from their skin. Fighter doesn’t want to pull away but eventually he concedes that he has to, so he lets Tutor go at the same time as Tutor decides to pull back.

Their eyes meet and they share an awkward smile. Then Tutor looks away and starts to slip into his new shoes. Taking his cue, Fighter grabs his jacket and pulls it on. It’s nice weather but he doesn’t want to risk being caught out; the forecast said it would rain later.

“Should we call ahead for an appointment or is this a walk-in salon?” he asks.

Tutor smirks. He tugs Fighter in and kisses him, a soft, open mouthed affair that has Fighter melting forward into him. It only lasts a second and then he’s turning on his heel, opening the door.

“We can just walk in, it’s never that busy.”

Fighter nods and snatches the keys to the condo up off of the side table. There are dishes in the sink that will need to be done later and Fighter wants to try to clean Tutor’s room (if he’ll let him), but other than that, he’s happy enough to leave everything as it is. There’s a stagnation to the entire place from too many days spent in quiet agony; Fighter can practically smell the despair of it as he takes one last backwards glance.

“You coming?”

Fighter shuts his eyes against the world.

“Yeah. I’m just gonna lock up.”

It’s a short drive. 

Fighter doesn’t bother with the radio, just fills the silence with his own voice as he explains the chaos he’s facing at work. Tutor would never say it but Fighter knows he welcomes the distraction from his own life right now. So he rambles on about how Pun broke the copier and about how Sorn had struck out trying to flirt with three different receptionists. He talks about the shitty coffee and the two guys that almost got into a fist fight over expense reports. It’s all mundane but Tutor listens dutifully and interjects on occasion with a snide comment or a laugh.

Fighter rolls the windows down and Tutor leans out on a quiet road to feel the air on his skin, cool and alive. It makes Fighter a little nervous but doesn’t make him stop, just anchors a hand to his thigh and asks for directions. They’d picked up the promised coffee and Tutor places his now empty styrofoam cup in the holder.

“Is this the place?” Fighter asks, pulling up curbside to a small building.

It’s two storeys, narrow and with a tired, peeling sign. Fighter notes that it’s jammed between a convenience store and a high fence, dumpsters lining the alleyway between them. All of the salons he’s used to are grand, pale buildings with a western aesthetic, mostly glass and bright lights and the smell of expensive conditioners. 

This place looks sketchy at best.

Tutor starts to get out of the car.

“Yeah this is the place. Come on, we’re still early enough to get decent prices.”

Fighter isn’t particularly concerned about that but he knows it’s something Tutor doesn’t have a choice but to care about, so he follows after Tutor, careful to lock his car; he doesn’t like the look of this street and the BMW looks incredibly out of place. Tutor rolls his eyes at him but it’s fond, more than annoyed. When Fighter looks at him in the light of day, he’s even paler and more exhausted than he’d thought.

Fighter has had a front row seat to Tutor’s heartbreak. He’s seen him cry himself to sleep and walk around like a zombie, all of the pain and torment of the days since the party heavy as an albatross about his neck. If there has been one upswing of his grief however, it’s that it’s helped Fighter to understand him better. He’s witnessed so much of Tutor’s vulnerability in this time, and for that he’s grateful, because it’s fitting together pieces of the puzzle that Fighter never knew he needed.

Of course, Fighter would trade it all without hesitation. He just wants to see him smile again and for Hwa Hwa to answer Tutor’s calls. Fighter can’t fix any of it though, not when she won’t speak to him either, not when his world is just as shattered.

Fighter approaches the entrance to the salon carefully. In front of the glass sliding door, three women of varying age sit and chat amongst themselves. One is younger than Hwa Hwa and Paper, the eldest could be their mother. They have phones in hand, all dressed in the same faded purple ensembles with their hair tied up into buns. They’re so lost in their own world that they don’t notice potential customers coming closer. They fan themselves with what looks like large, colourful, cardboard price lists. Fighter finds it a bit overwhelming already and they’re not even inside yet. 

“What...how many things does this place do?" Fighter asks dubiously. 

The glass front offers no look inside thanks to curtains the same colour as the uniforms, and all over the windows in a mess of different fonts are the price list and different services this place offers. Hair cutting and styling, manicures, pedicures, facials, waxing, massages and many more things Fighter has never heard of.

Tutor shoots him an incredulous look over the shoulder, giving his arm a squeeze. 

“You should really step out of your comfort zone around Siam phi. I promise you even..." 

Tutor trails off and the corners of his mouth pull down, before he swallows and takes a deep breath. 

“Even Hwa comes here regularly for her nails or a massage.” 

For all that Hwa Hwa had ached when they’d broken up, this situation with Tutor has hit her so much harder, in a place deeper and more bloody than Fighter can conceive of.

Before Fighter can say anything about it, Tutor visibly shakes off the brief wave of sadness and replaces it with a playful smile and sparkle in his eyes that feels wonderfully familiar. Just like that, Tutor locks himself away and everything that weighs him down replaces itself with a performance worthy of the stage.

Tutor lets his hands glide into Fighter’s, lacing their fingers together. He pulls him a bit closer still, close enough so he can whisper in his ear. 

“Want to know how to get even better service? Play along P’Fight.” 

The scared teenager in him wants to take a frantic look around, see if anyone is watching them, as if his father or one of his friends will jump around a corner any second. He knows that’s ridiculous; no one who knows him would be found dead in this area of the city and anyway, as much as it’s terrifying to be this affectionate with Tutor in public, it’s just as exciting.

“My ex and I found out that the aunties here love only one thing more than a handsome guy walking into their salon, and that is two handsome guys in a cute couple. We’ll definitely get a discount and also… they won’t offer you their ‘extra’ services like that.” 

Tutor explains it all in a rush, voice quiet, each word a hot gust of his breath against Fighter’s ear, making him shiver.

“Extra services?”

Tutor raises an eyebrow at him and chuckles, brushing his lips against his cheek. 

“It’s better if you don’t know. Now, are you okay with that?”

“Okay with what?” Fighter is too distracted, by Tutor’s heat, by his hair tickling his cheek, by his hand fitting perfectly into his own. 

“Pretending to be my boyfriend? See it as practice.” 

Fighter sighs and sways forward subtly. If he were a braver man, or this was some Lakorn Tutor leaves on the TV when he’s working, Fighter might say something along the lines of: ‘ I could also just be your boyfriend ‘. He isn’t braver though and this is reality, on a less than pretty street of Bangkok, the smell of the dumpster pungent and acrid. So he simply nods and watches how a pleased smile blooms on Tutor’s face at the prospect of a bargain.

The women only look up when the two of them are practically standing in front of them and Tutor greets them with a sunny smile and, despite still being hand in hand with Fighter, dips into a perfectly polite wai for all three of them. Fighter mimics the gesture. Immediately the boredom on the faces of the women gets replaced by excitement.

“Nong Tor!” The oldest of them coos. 

“It’s been a while! Come in, come in! Oh and what handsome man do you have with you here?” 

Tutor laughs and to Fighter’s surprise it sounds genuine.

 “I thought I’d bring along my handsome man, mae. This is my P’Fight.”

The women fall into a chorus of oohs and aahs as they usher Fighter and Tutor inside, leaving their shoes in the entranceway. Fighter smiles awkwardly as Tutor pulls him along.

The inside of the salon is dimly lit but the crisp coldness of the aircon immediately hits Fighter in the face when the door opens. It’s like a freezer and every bulb seems to let off a fluorescent sheen. When Fighter inhales, a sharp mix of tiger balm, coconut oil and incense attacks his nose and he’s reminded too clearly of the many grandmothers that have fawned over him when he was still playing at being the dutiful, straight boyfriend. 

Inside there’s even more female staff and kathoeys, all in the same purple outfit and top bun as they lounge around in styling chairs, and the armchairs lined up in the ‘reception’. It’s not a large space but they’ve truly made the most of it with one workstation lined up next to the other. Some might say it looks cosy, but Fighter thinks you shouldn’t look at the details all too much, lest you spot the peeling paint, the wrinkled leather, the posters covering water stains. 

Tutor wasn’t lying when he said they’d have no problem with an appointment. There are only two women getting their nails done in the back and one boy, maybe twelve, getting a haircut. 

It’s so unlike the salons Fighter knows that it makes his head spin a bit.

Tutor offers him a wink and Fighter flushes, smiling a little dopily back at him, squeezing his hand tighter with a practised ease. He’s not exactly sure how it happens but without any notice, Fighter finds himself with three women clinging to him, feeling his muscles and making comments to Tutor about how strong he is. 

They’ve made their way near the back of the room where three doors lead off into what he presumes are the massage rooms, mirrors lining the walls with dingy bulbs around them and workstations full of beauty supplies. Fighter feels overwhelmed by it to the point that he’s a little wide-eyed.

“So, um...haircuts” he says to a chorus of laughs.

“What do you want, honey?” a short woman says, her hand sifting through his bangs.

Fighter looks to Tutor who’s just standing off to the side. He steps forward and slaps the hands away from Fighter easily, no worries for whether they’ll be offended. Fighter finds that a little distractingly attractive, his hands moving to Tutor’s waist as Tutor leans up and lifts his hair off of his face. 

He has a look of concentration that makes Fighter smile and around him he can hear a chorus of squeals at the picture they must make. This is what he’s wanted for so long, to be so easy and affectionate with a man in public. Now it’s happening, his stomach flutters with nervousness, so unsure as everyone seems to react without scorn. He’d been expecting something, anything - to reaffirm his fears and self-hatred, but here in this place everyone smiles at them and their whispers aren’t unkind but conspiratorial.

“Phi would look good with an undercut, don’t you think?” Tutor says after a beat.

A few people seem to agree as Fighter considers the style. It would be different, which is what he’d wanted – but there’s something bold about it that scares him a little. Tutor toys with the hair at the side of his head and Fighter swallows, breathes in the heady smells of the salon and tries to block out all of the sound and colours as he focuses on Tutor’s eyes.

In them he finds his answer.

“Okay, yeah. I like that.”

He smiles at Tutor and Tutor smiles back, patting his cheek gently before placing a soft kiss there as he steps back.

Everyone sighs, a dreamy sound that makes Fighter feel impossibly flustered.

“What do you think for me then phi?” Tutor says.

Playfully he turns his head back and forth, tilting it in such a way that his neck looks longer, more beautiful. Fighter regards him with care, taking in the lean line of his shoulders, the slope of his nose, the sunken sockets of his eyes. The sickly tint of the light here makes him look a terrible yellowish green but it doesn’t matter; Tutor is beautiful no matter the light he’s in and Fighter’s hands fall away from his waist but find his arms, rubbing up and down them. Tutor waits for a response with a deep, dimpled smile.

“Nong would look good with any style” he says, and there are a series of pleased giggles and shouts.

Tutor rolls his eyes.

“Make a choice phi. Come on.”

There’s a confidence in his voice that holds Fighter stable and he seriously considers. He could go with something chic and exciting, could go extreme or crazy but honestly, Fighter doesn’t know much about hairstyles, he just knows what he likes on himself and what he thinks is hot on other people. 

Every boy he’s ever been attracted to has had a certain look to him – a distracting innocence that hides the wolf within. He’s seen Tutor go through a few different looks over the two years they’ve known each other and all of them have been good but if you asked him to just pick out one then he honestly couldn’t. 

There are pictures on the wall though, of various cuts and colours and Fighter lets his eyes drag over them distractedly as the seconds tick by. He likes the idea of the blonde pictures he sees. Tutor would look irresistible with a shock of pale hair, his skin appearing darker for it, the red lights of his room casting it into a scruffy cloud of pink as he fucks himself onto Fighter’s…

“Uh” Fighter says, cheeks colouring, “what about shaving it shorter on the back and sides, leave the top long.”

He cards fingers through Tutor’s hair, a mimicry of what Tutor had done mere moments ago and Tutor hums approvingly.

“I thought about dyeing it maybe, but I like your hair how it is.”

At that Tutor smirks, leaning up to peck his lips. Fighter accepts it with a pink tint to his ears, ignoring the chiming shouts of the staff as he considers the other services available. Tutor has been feeling so terrible lately and Fighter knows it wouldn’t be much but a little bit of pampering wouldn’t go entirely amiss. 

Tutor brushes their noses together, eyes sharp and oh, he’s really going for that discount but Fighter doesn’t even care, too busy playing pretend. 

He wants this.

It doesn’t matter how real it is right now.

“Um hey, can I also get waxed”, Fighter asks a woman nearby.

There’s embarrassment in his voice and regret in Tutor’s eyes but the woman just nods.

“What do you want waxed?”

Fighter’s throat bobs.

“Um...all of it. Uh, everything.”

He can’t meet anyone’s eyes but he hears a low whistle and a few women volunteering as Tutor laughs, batting them off. He steps back from Fighter then and drops down into one of the nearby chairs. Fighter glances at him and smiles gently.

“Hey, can we also maybe get a massage and a manicure and pedicure for my...boyfriend”

Tutor frowns, his mouth opening to say something but there’s a member of staff already adding up the total and Fighter doesn’t hesitate, just asks to pay in advance. He can see that Tutor is trying to stand back up, to argue but he holds him with his eyes and reaches into the pocket of his jacket. 

There’s a wallet there, italian leather, expensive. He’d bought it on a trip to Milan three years ago and it’s worn but still nice looking. He has a few pressed bills in there, some change, but for this he pulls out one of his credit cards (the least austere one) and hands it over.

“Thank you so much sugar! For being so cute we’ll give you 25% off!” 

That at least seems to please Tutor, even as he narrows his eyes. Fighter just shrugs helplessly and when the group around them clears, he moves closer again.

“You need a day for you”, he whispers to Tutor, “we can even go to your favourite hotpot place for lunch after all of this.”

Tutor levels him with an unimpressed look, but he can hardly hide the excited glimmer in the corner of his eyes, the twitch of his lips when he hears about Fighter’s plans for food.

“There’s actually an amazing street kitchen nearby as well that I’ve been meaning to show you.”

“Yeah? Whatever you want.”

Fighter asks a little breathlessly as Tutor grins up at him and reaches out to pry one of Fighter’s hands out of the pocket of his jeans. He plays idly with Fighter’s fingers, turning them over, knitting them together. Fighter wants to stay here for a while longer and bask in these little affectionate touches. He’s been so afraid his entire life but Tutor makes it look so easy, like there’s no one in the world whose judgement or disappointment could matter (excepting Hwa Hwa). 

With a sigh Tutor lets go of his hand and lets it slide under Fighter’s tank top.

!What are you doing?” 

Fighter hopes he sounds only half as startled as he feels when Tutor’s fingers brush over his happy trail from navel down to the low-riding waistband of his jeans and back again. A pout appears on his face as he leans back in the chair, head falling against the backrest so he can look up more easily at Fighter. The fabric of his shirt is riding up with the motion, giving everyone a peek at his stomach if they care to look – and they all do in this shop.

“I just realized I’m going to miss this a bit.”

“Miss what?”

Tutor pointedly looks at his crotch, his thumb now brushing over the hair directly above the hem of Fighter’s jeans. Fighter squirms a bit, shifting his stance. Tutor’s hand is way too close to his cock and Fighter is way too familiar with how it feels when he lets it glide lower. It takes a moment before he gets what Tutor is talking about, and when the realisation hits him he can’t fight the blush.

“I don’t have to. I mean – you were the one who said I should?”

“I know”, Tutor sighs with a bit of theatrical regret before removing his hand, though not before giving Fighter’s lower stomach a little pat as if in final farewell. 

“The job requires it because there’s more who like it clean but, the happy trail can live a little longer because we have haircuts first.”

With this Tutor shoos him into the styling chair next to him. 

It’s all in all an entirely different experience to what he is used to. Usually he has an appointment already booked in advance – which reminds him that he actually needs to cancel the one he’d made for next week, or well, maybe he should keep it in case anything goes wrong... 

The salon he usually goes to is on the upper floors of World Central, with a view over Siam station and the busiest crossing of Bangkok. He gets greeted with coffee or champagne as chill, ambient music plays in the background, breaking up the otherwise dead silence as they work with a professional efficiency on his hair. It’s a nice impersonal experience where everything smells like clean fresh jasmine and linen.

Here Fighter doesn’t even know what to concentrate on. Seemingly everyone is chattering and he’s not even sure if they’re talking to him, each other or Tutor. When he sends a confused look to the side, he sees how Tutor easily joins in, looking more bright and alive than at any point during the last couple of days. It’s obvious it’s not his first time in this salon, that pretty much everyone knows him and dotes on him, and Tutor plays into it perfectly. 

He’s all smiles and charm, playfully teasing, a couple of giggles here and there. He still slaps their hands away when they want to poke his cheeks and stands his ground in a way that might verge on impolite if his sweet laughter didn’t make up for it. It’s strange, because it doesn’t look like as much of a pretense as usual, but rather just a natural side of Tutor that he usually keeps hidden away. It’s more similar to the way he acts around Hwa Hwa, maybe a little less amicable.

Fighter is  struck by how Tutor is not only beautiful or fierce but also hopelessly adorable. After a while Tutor notices that he’s being stared at and meets Fighter’s eyes, winking at him. Before Fighter has the chance to smile back, his head gets turned to the front by the woman behind him.

“First a haircut, then you can eat the cutie over there up.”

“Sorry.”

Fighter nods as the woman behind him. She looks to be in her late 30’s, hair a honey gold color, worn in the same style as everyone else and a certain no bullshit air to her kind features. The nails she drags through his hair are painted a startling pink that hurts Fighter’s eyes a little, but when she smiles at him it feels calming. She looks at his hair with a determined focus. 

“Your nong showed me a picture of how he’d like you to have your hair. You’ll look like such a handsome oppa, honey and it will be very versatile, I promise you that. We’ll make you into an idol just you wait!”

He’s tempted to ask what picture Tutor had shown her or when he had managed that without Fighter noticing, but in the end he just opts for nodding along. Even if it goes horribly wrong, Fighter can’t see himself getting mad at Tutor, even if he’s decided Fighter’s new hair should be powder blue.

The actual cut and styling is similar to what he’s used to. Despite the noise and the chaos going around him, it’s clear that P’Ruby (as she had introduced herself loudly) knows what she’s doing and she knows it even while keeping Fighter engaged in a conversation with a surprising unforced ease that has Fighter finally relaxing in his chair. When she asks him how long Tutor and him have been a couple, he barely hesitates before he answers that it’s been two years since they met but that they’d only started seeing each other a month ago. It’s as easy as breathing to keep the lie so close to the truth. Tutor barely spares Fighter a glance, so he can’t appreciate the deception.

“Let me guess, you were the one chasing after him right?”

Fighter bites his bottom lip but can’t help the smile.

“Yeah. I know he was...attracted to me but things didn’t work out because there were obstacles and then we were both in denial and it was just, I don’t know...a lot happened but I guess I just knew the first time I saw him that he was perfect. Tor is beautiful sure, but it was more than that, he just made me feel...less alone. When I’m with Tor, I feel safe.” 

He says it aloud for the first time and even though it’s all wrapped in the pretense of a lie…it’s the truth. His eyes flicker over to Tutor, who is distracted by a conversation with his own hairdresser and two other staff lounging on chairs next to him. It sounds like they’re talking about one of the girl’s boyfriends.

“Oh nong, stop being so adorable! Young love is the sweetest! You know, I can’t even remember what that feels like, my husband is useless. The last time he said something nice to me was so long ago I don’t even remember it...”

This leads her into a whole rant about her husband, which makes Fighter laugh so often that she slaps him on the shoulders more than once to remind him to sit still, especially when she starts with the clippers. He also finds out that the little boy getting a haircut before was her son. He hangs around the salon most days and is one of four boys that Ruby absolutely adores. 

It’s nice and Fighter finds himself relaxing, the much needed freedom from the condo lifting him into a state of peace. This place might be run down, but it’s full of so much life compared to what he’s used to.

With a last snip of her scissors and a go at his hair with product and a flat iron, Ruby sighs. The time had flown by faster than expected and Fighter blinks into the mirror at his new style, finding himself pleased with the end result. Ruby urges him to look, holding up a second mirror to see the back of his head as well. 

He regards himself with a quiet sense of wonder. Not long ago he’d been trying so hard to blend into the background, so scared of standing out that it made his chest feel tight. When he was just a boy his father had made him get the same haircut as everyone else, that perfect bowl cut that said ‘good respectful son’ and as he’d grown, he’d never thought to step much past that, just went with whatever War thought looked good, or whatever he’d seen the wallflowers sporting. 

Standing out meant attention and attention meant being caught in the act. The thing is though, he has nothing to hide anymore, and now standing out isn’t so terrifying.

Ruby is waiting for his reaction and he smiles at her, so big and bright that his eyes are closed, his cheeks appleing, teeth on show. She makes a pleased sound and when Fighter opens his eyes, he finds that she’s blushing.

“Well”, she starts, “since you’re going to be waiting for your nong, you should tell me everything.”

Fighter laughs, feet tapping on the linoleum as he considers.

“What do you want to know?”

Ruby touches his hair, shaking out his bangs, nails scraping delicately against his temples.

“Well, first of all, how do you feel about Nong King.”

A cold panic grips Fighter and he pulls away from her touch too quickly to be casual. His heart is racing as he looks around to see if anyone has heard, eyes darting from face to face. Everyone seems disinterested. There are a handful of other stylists and beauticians around but they’re all reading magazines or gossiping or fixing their own hair. Ruby is staring him down in the mirror and he can’t meet her eye.

“You – you know about that?”

Ruby smiles at him. It’s a kind smile, more a stretch of the lips, as she gives him the space he needs.

“Honey, we all know in this salon. You’re safe here and I mean – I saw the new posts, so it was only a matter of time before he brought you around.”

Fighter nods at that, his cheeks burning. 

He knows in theory that people will see him and watch them, that his existence is now out there for everyone to see. Still, it’s a lot to take in, to actually meet someone that’s seen Tutor’s mouth on his skin, that knows all of the things they’ve been doing in the privacy of the condo.

“I’m okay with it obviously, I guess.”

“It doesn’t scare you at all to be so public with this? I know Nong Tor has his reasons but what are yours?”

Fighter’s eyes dart around him. Tutor had been done before him, his hair cut and styled but Fighter hadn’t gotten to see it before he was ushered away to get his nails done. Now he really wishes he was here to take the attention off of him because Fighter feels nervous in a way he can’t put words to.

“I mean – I want to be with him and I want to help and –”

“Yeah but honey, what are you getting out of it?” Ruby asks.

She fixes her lipstick, watching him out of the corner of her eyes. When she dips forward, Fighter can smell the floral scent of her perfume and he breathes it in to calm himself. It’s a sweet smell that reminds him of War’s mother and there’s something so familiar about that, that he finds himself leaning back in the chair.

“It’s exciting and it lets me be who I want to be”, he says after a beat of silence.

He knows he sounds unsure but Ruby seems to nod in understanding.

“My eldest had such a hard time telling people he liked boys. Then he met his own nong and suddenly he’s got so much confidence. If this is what you need, then good, you take that opportunity.”

Fighter nods, cheeks burning and he can’t help the smile that crosses his face. It feels nice to talk to someone about this that isn’t Tutor (or Paper) and knowing there’s no judgement...well it’s more than he could have hoped for.

“Is – is your son happy?”

Ruby squeezes his shoulders.

“He’s very happy, in fact he’s planning a wedding in America next year, isn’t that exciting? Are you happy though, nong?”

Fighter considers. 

Things are a mess right now, he isn’t foolish enough not to realise that. Things with War are tense, Dew won’t talk to him, Dang does nothing but spit venom at him, Hwa Hwa...well the less said there the better. He’s been too scared to talk to his father about any of this and the idea of him finding out from someone else scares Fighter half to death. If he thinks about the likelihood of that for more than a minute or two, it sends him into an awful panic attack.

Then there’s Tutor.

He’s been so sad and tense and nothing Fighter does can fix it. If anything, his fussing just seems to make Tutor feel worse. They barely touch each other except when Tutor wants Fighter inside of him, barely even talk – today being the exception. Fighter doesn’t know what to think or feel and even being the one in Tutor’s bed, the fear that War is still going to be Tutor’s first choice makes him want to cry.

“I don’t know...but I think I could be. With him, if he’ll let me stay, I think I could be.”

“Don’t pin your happiness on a person nong. I learned that the hard way. You need to guard your heart and with Nong Tor, while he’s softer than he seems, there’s still a wall up. Don’t let yourselves get hurt.”

Fighter frowns.

“I could never hurt Tor.”

Ruby smiles at him but there’s pity in it.

“Oh sweetheart.”

Fighter clears his throat and shrugs uncomfortably. He should change the subject.

“Um, so I know he had an uh, an ex – what was he like?”

Ruby hesitates, like she wants to press the issue further but she doesn’t.

Instead she moves to sit down next to him.

“You want the tea on Nong Mark? Oh, now that boy, he was gorgeous.”

Fighter’s face must show his immediate reaction of hurt because Ruby’s eyes widen.

“I mean you’re so handsome nong and it’s clear Nong Tor loves you a lot. It’s just, you know, Nong Mark was all of that too and I really thought those two would go the distance.”

It shouldn’t mean anything.

People have relationships in their pasts. That’s how it is and it’s not like Fighter is begrudging Tutor that. What right would he have anyway? He himself has dated around, albeit disastrously. 

Of course Fighter couldn’t stop himself from checking out Mark’s Instagram profile at least.

It would be perfectly fine, but the way everyone around Tutor talks about Mark sets Fighter on edge. 

He’s not blind. 

Going through Instagram it’s hard to not see the obvious: Mark is devastatingly handsome, tall, more than just a little well built and his smile is just plain dazzling. He’s the kind of godly perfection that makes Fighter’s mouth water and his stomach get tight. There’s a natural confidence there that Fighter envies too. Mark has probably never felt ashamed in his life. No one could be faulted for wanting him and Fighter even has to look away after too long, too taken with his perfect features.

Every picture with Tutor is still there for everyone to see, those abruptly ending right before Mark had boarded his flight to the UK. Fighter finds those hard to look at. In each one, Tutor is happy in a way Fighter has rarely seen him. He and Mark fit together seamlessly, the love they shared evident in each flash of the camera.

“What happened? Do you know?”

Tutor doesn’t talk about it and when he does he dismisses the conversation abruptly. ‘Things just didn’t work out’, that’s the best Fighter ever gets, said with a bitter kind of apathy that only ever reads as fake. It’s too simple of an answer to be the complete truth.

It didn’t work out and yet everyone keeps gushing about Mark, about them as a couple as if they’d expected a wedding within the next year. Ruby isn’t the first who’s said she believes these two would have lasted forever. Hwa Hwa has mentioned more than once that she held some hope Tutor and Mark would fix things.

It doesn’t matter and yet it does.

“He never talked about it.”

Fighter hums. 

So there’s no more information to gain.

“Hey sweetie, cutie, cupcake” Ruby soothes him, giving his arm first a squeeze that’s a little bit too tight, before slapping his skin lightly a couple of times. 

“Don’t worry yourself about things you can’t change, nong! That’s in the past now and you’re his present and if you don’t let him run away, then you’re his future as well. Nong Tor chose you. Forget about tall, handsome boys who fucked off over the ocean. Who cares! Stop frowning like that!”

She leans even further into his space and pinches his cheek. It’s comforting, as if she’s known him for years instead of just for an hour at most. That just makes the tightness in his chest worse though and he wishes he could just spell it all out for her. Tutor didn’t choose anything. This is just a business arrangement and Fighter is nothing but a responsibility, maybe a friend at this point if he’s lucky, and this is only going to last for the next two years. After that, who knows? Mark could come back in a couple of weeks and then Fighter might lose Tutor and there’s nothing he can say or do about it. 

“I just want him to be happy”, he mutters in lieu of confessing.

The words ring true though. That’s all Fighter has ever wanted for Tutor.

“Oh baby why are you so adorable? Where did that boy get a cutie like you?”

She beams at him and Fighter offers her only a faint smile.

“Come on now, get up and let’s distract you a bit. Do you have a problem if I take care of your situation down there?”

Fighter startles when Ruby stands swiftly, already trying to drag him out of his chair by the wrist. The distraction part is working at least, because now he remembers with bewildering clarity that his ‘situation’ was on the agenda.

He hesitates and looks around himself. After the initial excitement of their arrival, everyone in the salon had gone back to their usual business of talking, checking phones, reading magazines and not much else. Only a few heads turn in their direction with distant interest, one being Ruby’s son who cares only for whatever it is his mother is doing.

“Don’t worry, I’ve seen plenty of dicks in my life. See one and you’ve seen them all. Actually, I’m the reason your Nong Tor is soft and smooth like a baby’s butt.”

Fighter thinks this is supposed to calm him down but it has more the opposite effect. He suddenly can’t stop thinking about just how smooth and soft Tutor is everywhere. 

Fighter has touched him. 

Everywhere. 

He knows firsthand and it haunts him.

So Fighter follows her. What else can he really do but chicken out as she leads him towards a narrow staircase up to the first floor. There’s nothing up here but a long, thin corridor with doors leading off to the sides. There’s no natural light, giving it a dim and questionable appearance, the floor laid with dark wood that matches the doors and the ceiling and every couple of metres there’s a small table with an orchid arrangement. It makes an attempt to be nice. Whether that attempt is successful, Fighter isn’t sure.

Up here the scent of coconut oil and tiger balm is even sharper but the relaxing spa music is only muffled now. He guesses these must be massage and treatment rooms. Tutor might even be behind one of those doors.

Fighter tries to guess which one but they all bleed into each other, too similar for him to distinguish a difference until he feels dizzy with a lack of coordination. Ruby opens one door seemingly at random and behind it is a nice and clean room, walls painted a deep purple. Ruby enters and opens the wooden blinds at the back of the room and immediately everything is flooded with light. At the centre is a treatment bed made out of bamboo, topped with a thin mattress covered in plastic and a floral sheet thrown over it. Fighter stands lost in the doorway, unsure what the procedure is, as Ruby takes things out of a cupboard in a corner.

“How long – how long have you known Tutor?” Fighter asks, the awkward silence killing him.

“Oh, for two years now I think? It feels like it was only yesterday when he came in here, all rosy cheeked and adorable – just turned nineteen. He actually lived here in the area before he moved in with that sweet girl Hwa. He’d been thinking about working here actually – before he started the whole King idea.”

“Can he cut hair or something?” Fighter asks with confusion

Ruby turns to him, cocking her head to the side. She looks like she genuinely doesn’t know if he’s joking. 

“Oh. No honey. That job wouldn’t have been cutting hair or doing nails.” 

It takes time for the words to register. 

Fighter stands in the middle of the room, basking in the heady scent, the tick of a metronome, the way Ruby works fast and efficiently to set the bed up for him. 

He’d imagined Tutor sweeping floors free of hair, applying makeup as he had on Halloween. It would be menial work but those beautiful hands would be perfect at it, sweeping bold strokes of colour across the pallor of a cheek, laughing and singing along to the stereo as he spins his broom.

What Fighter had never considered was this place offered those kinds of services. His cheeks colour crimson, heart slamming against the wall of his ribcage, seeking freedom and he wants to be sick. The idea of Tutor like that? Well it’s something Fighter never wants to think about. His slender body bared under the warm lights, pleasing some stranger with the sweet shudder of his hips, the swipe of his fingertips painting oil across the planes of them as he sells himself.

Being on camera, doing the things he does for money is one thing, but this would be little more than prostitution and it makes Fighter’s stomach churn. He wants to break through these walls, find Tutor and take him home. He wants to cocoon him in love and safety, to throw his money at him and say: ‘ here, be happy, stop struggling, you don’t need this anymore ’. If he did though, he knows he’d be no better than the men that tipped King for cumming, or the ones that would have grabbed him while laid out on this bed.

Ruby looks at him and he stares back, a little awkwardly shell-shocked.

“ Oh. I um...yeah.”

He strips his jacket off and hangs it over the back of a chair, avoiding the pitying look Ruby aims at him. He doesn’t want to see it. It makes him feel small and naïve and foolish and Fighter knows he is every one of those things, but it’s enough to see that look from Tutor; he doesn’t need that look from a stranger.

“Life isn’t always a bed of roses, honey. Your boy has had to struggle.”

Fighter mumbles an agreement but doesn’t meet her eyes. 

Ruby sighs and steps close to him.

“Okay, you need to strip down. You wanted a full body yeah?”

He’s glad of the distraction even if it does make him nervous.

“Yeah. It’ll look better on camera. Like Tor.”

Ruby hums and gives him a quick up and down. He doesn’t know what she sees but he imagines it pleases her because she bites her lips in consideration before turning her back. That at least is something he’s accustomed to. 

People always find him attractive. He could be humble about it, but at this point it would be insulting not to acknowledge the truth of it. He’s handsome and built and he has a nice cock. Girls want him, boys want him and even Tutor takes his time to devour him with his eyes. Truthfully the latter is all that matters though; Fighter only ever wants one set of eyes on him.

He makes quick work of undressing. It’s perfunctory, stripping down until he stands naked and a little chilled, trying and failing to cup himself with one hand to cover his cock as Ruby turns around with a smirk.

“Nong, it won’t be anything I haven’t seen before and judging by how much you’re struggling there, you’re a big enough boy that a single hand won’t cut it.”

She laughs and Fighter joins her, a little uneasy as he walks over to the bed with a deep breath, climbing up onto it. There’s a contraption on a small table next to the bed, filled with hot wax. Fighter eyes it nervously, imagining the molten burn of it coating his skin but Ruby taps his thigh comfortingly, the latex of her gloves strange where it touches him against his skin.

“Just breathe. It will be over sooner than you think.”

She wasn’t lying. It feels like nearly no time has passed, Fighter’s body tingling with pain and adrenaline as he peels himself from the bed. Ruby admires her handiwork with a low whistle, disposing of her gloves and tidying up as Fighter moves to get dressed.

“Your boy is going to miss that hair, but I think you look good enough to eat. When you need a redo, you come to P’Ruby okay?”

Fighter nods at her, dipping into a wai as he hops back into his jeans. It makes Ruby laugh and he smiles a little sheepishly at her before maneuvering himself back into everything. When his arms are in his jacket, he pauses, the tick of the metronome matching the snik, snik, snik of his heartbeat, the catch of his breath as his mind falls once again to Tutor.

The entire time he’d been getting waxed he’d thought about him. 

He’d thought about Mark and how much his leaving must have broken Tutor, about the long stretch of time where everything was a fight to survive, each day a slow crawl to safety that he could never quite reach. He’d thought about Tutor laying his body across the wrinkled, puckered skin of an old man on a massage bed, cringing away from it. He’d thought of his body, supple with oil, laid out a few doors down, moaning at the kneading touch of a woman Fighter doesn’t know.

“Can I – can I um, go to him?”

Ruby blinks.

“You want the massage room honey?”

Fighter’s cheeks hurt with how hard he blushes, eyes closing.

“Um, yeah if that’s okay. I mean I can pay for any inconvenience I just want to see him and –”

Ruby cuts him off, pressing one manicured finger to his lips.

“I think your boy would love that. Go get him, tell Noo I said you could, okay?”

He thanks her with a shy grin and nods.

“Um, I don’t actually know which room though…”

Ruby pats his cheek gently. She has a motherly quality to her that makes him feel at ease in a way that few things do. In some ways it reminds him of War’s mother and in others, his own mother before she’d deemed him a burden. There’s a perfumed sweetness about her, a safety in the press of her nails to skin and the steadiness of her gaze on his face.

“Okay, then I’ll take you there and kick her out myself.”

Ruby grabs him by the hand and in an instant they’re out of the door and walking down the long corridor. They make it four doors down and then she knocks loudly enough that Fighter cringes.

“Ah Noo! I need you for a moment.” 

There’s no reaction coming from behind the door and it leaves them standing in front of it in awkward silence, Fighter shifting from left to right. He’s uncomfortable in his jeans after the waxing, despite Ruby having taken utmost care to put oil and lotion on the abused skin.

His bravery is draining quickly, running thin with every second that passes by that the door doesn‘t open. It feels like hours when truthfully it’s likely only minutes but that’s enough time for his mind to conjure the most ridiculous of images.

Now that Fighter knows what this place has to offer, he can‘t help it. 

He hasn‘t seen who took Tutor to the massage room, but downstairs there had been more than one young, pretty girl. Fighter might not be attracted to women (a truth he‘s finally coming to terms with) but he knows Tutor is and Fighter can recognise a beautiful girl when he sees one. Maybe Noo is one of those beautiful girls. For Fighter, finding his place inside of Tutor’s body had forced him to accept that nothing could ever compare, he hadn‘t even been able to find a fraction of the same pleasure in the body of a woman. Tutor however had had nowhere near the same revelation. Any single one of those salon girls could take his fancy and be the perfect way to blow off steam.

Fighter knows the other boys go to these types of massage places every once in a while. Not ones exactly like this of course, those that showed a veneer of posh civility, whilst behind closed doors, there was a stunning woman with talented hands ready to offer her special services. He had come along once or twice but only walked out with relaxed muscles. There was never a  happy ending for him.

His mind taunts him with the vision of Tutor naked on his back with one of the pretty girls in his lap while he thrust up into her. Her sweet moans would fill the room as he spread the oil on his own skin, over her hips and the tender swell of her breasts, both lost in the slow drag of their bodies.

“Nong Tor is really going to have a lot of fun with you" Ruby muses, amusement obvious in her voice.

She tugs on his bangs where they’ve fallen into disarray. Fighter startles but manages not to flinch.

“Not in the way everyone expects... but, you two look like a match made in heaven.” 

He doesn’t really know what to say to that. How did Fighter tying himself in mental knots over the most ridiculous scenarios bring her to that conclusion? A moment too late he catches onto the fact that Ruby has admitted freely that she’s watching Tutor’s content as the door finally swings open.

Noo, as it turns out, is Ruby’s senior, her skin dark and rough. She’s small but sturdy in a way that speaks of years of hard labour and there are streaks of grey running through her top bun. She wipes her hand on a towel, shoots first Ruby and then Fighter a withering look. 

“You pay extra for this” she says, pointing a finger in his face.

Fighter nods and hears her harumph.

Fighter is careful to close the door behind himself gently, letting it fall shut with barely a sound.

It’s similar to the waxing room. The blinds are closed almost all the way though and it takes Fighter a moment to adjust to the relative darkness. He’s not surprised that the strong scent of coconut oil outside has been banished from this room, in its place, a floral mix of  jasmine and white magnolia that Tutor has a preference for. 

From somewhere Fighter can’t pinpoint, a low relaxing tune plays. It’s a sound like falling rain or rushing water, interspersed by a flute here and there and bamboo hitting stone, the usual fair of spas; an attempt to transport your mind to a different place. 

With the dark, the strong scent of the oils, the music and the way the aircon is turned low, the whole room turns cosy and Fighter feels like an intruder, scared to make a wrong move or else bump into a chair or the wall and disrupt this tranquility. 

His eyes fall on Tutor who lays in the centre of the room on a bamboo bed that looks about the same as the one Fighter just spent the most painful time of his life on. In the faint light of the room, his skin shines golden and wet. Looking at him makes the nervous beat of Fighter’s heart settle as he remembers what he’s here for. 

Tutor is on his stomach, face turned away from the door, every muscle relaxed. Before Noo left, she put a towel over his back to keep him warm and so far he isn’t paying attention to Fighter, just resting comfortably.

 Fighter isn’t sure if he’s even realised that it’s not Noo who came back into the room. 

Carefully, he strips out of his jacket, hesitating for a moment and then following his instinct and a sudden wave of bravery, he also gets rid of his tank top but falters around his pants for now. On bare feet, he tiptoes closer over the worn wooden floor. The boards creak under his weight but Tutor doesn’t stir. Fighter wonders if he might have been lulled by the whole setup and has actually fallen asleep. He’d deserve it. In the last week Fighter had met Tutor more than once in the flat at times where he usually wouldn’t be awake. 

Unsure of what to do next, Fighter looks down on him and then decides to slowly roll the towel covering his back away, discarding it somewhere at the foot of the bed. 

He bites his bottom lip to hold back any noise. 

No matter how many times he’s seen Tutor naked by now, it never fails to take his breath away. Fighter’s eyes roam with a low burning hunger over the broad set of his shoulders, the line of his spine, the dips of his hips. His ass is round and firm, shining with a thin layer of oil and his legs are a long, smooth, soft stretch. 

Fighter can see the marks he left on Tutor’s body, fading at this point. He can remember every single one of them. The map of hickeys scattered over his shoulders and on his thighs disrupting the otherwise perfect canvas of his body. In this light they look more like cruelty than passion. 

Fighter takes a steadying breath, any and all idea of what he even wanted to do has left him. All he knows is that after everything he’d heard, it felt unbearable to not be with Tutor, to not see him and touch and make sure that no matter what happened, he’s still here, as strong and beautiful as Fighter remembers him. 

Next to the bed is a cart with different bottles and he takes one without thinking, opening the lid and smelling it’s contents, making sure it's either jasmine or magnolia. He coats his hands, warming the oil between them. Fighter’s heartbeat is nothing but a nervous flutter, but he pushes past it, no hesitation anymore as he places his palms on Tutor’s shoulder blades.

His skin is warm to the touch and despite the appearance of relaxation, Fighter doesn’t have to be a professional to feel the tension under his hands. Tutor doesn’t flinch though, just stays perfectly still as Fighter lets his hands glide up and down his spine, again and again and again.

With a deep sigh Tutor stirs.

“P’Fight.” 

Tutor’s head turns, his eyes open and one of his hands reaches out, holding onto Fighter’s lower arm to stop him in his motions.

“How did you know?”

Fighter’s cheeks heat up at being found out.

“I know how it feels when you touch me and – ” 

Tutor stretches a bit, pushing onto his forearms and turning his head so his nose brushes against the skin of Fighter’s arm. 

“I know how you smell.”

If Fighter were someone else, he might brush those words off and carry on, pin Tutor down with confident ease and fuck him until they could both forget the last few days. 

He can’t though, it’s not in his nature. 

Fighter has a heart like a hummingbird and it flutters fast as a hurricane in the cage of his chest, begging for release. The idea that Tutor knows him so well already, that he takes the time and care to recognise him, it fills Fighter with love that overflows, his face falling into softness more quickly than he can conceal.

“What do I smell like?” he asks rather dumbly.

Tutor smiles at him, dragging his nose up Fighter’s arm, lips grazing the smooth skin. He takes a deep breath and Fighter stands perfectly still, his free arm falling to his side as he focuses entirely on the way that Tutor closes his eyes, tasting Fighter’s scent with the delicate parting of his lips.

“Hmm...you smell like…tobacco and vanilla and something a little spicy I can never put a finger on. It’s warm, like fire only, I guess muskier. I don’t know, it’s nice.”

Fighter has never seen Tutor blush before, not really beyond maybe a quick shameful flush once or twice or the colour high in his cheeks during sex. So the way his face now turns a sweet shade of pink, makes Fighter’s chest feel tight. He steps back from the table a little, arm pulling from Tutor’s grip and drops to kneel. His arms rest on the bed, head pillowed on them as he stares Tutor down.

“P’Fight?” Tutor asks a little uneasy.

He looks suspicious, eyes bright and calculating despite their tiredness.

Fighter doesn’t say anything in response, just presses a hand to the warmth of Tutor’s cheek and leans close. Perhaps a little braver than usual, he sniffs a kiss against Tutor’s temple, dragging it down his cheek as Tutor laughs, trying to throw him off.

Eventually he pulls back with a considering look.

“Nong smells like jasmine and white magnolia, sweet and like flowers and there’s this kind of...sexiness I think.”

Tutor laughs at that. 

It delights Fighter.

“Phi thinks I smell sexy?” he teases, leaning forward to brush their noses together.

He bites his lip and Fighter’s eyes drop to his mouth immediately.

“I think you already know that”, he whispers.

When he looks up again, Tutor’s eyes are boring into his own with a sweltering intensity. He reaches out elegant fingers to Fighter, pulling him close by the back of the head and kisses him, deep and hard. It’s perfect, the soft curling of their tongues against each other making Fighter sigh. It feels right in a way few things do anymore.

“Is that the only reason you came in here phi? To smell me?” Tutor says against his lips when Fighter pulls back.

Fighter’s cock twitches as he remembers why it was he’d asked to be let into the room. Suddenly his naked chest feels cool with sweat and he wants to hide it away, to turn tail and leave and pretend he’d never been so presumptuous. He needs to think of something to say though, he can’t just back away with no explanation.

“I um, wanted to show you that I got waxed”, he blurts out nervously.

It’s exactly the wrong thing to say if he wants a hasty escape.

Tutor’s eyes darken, dropping heavily as he smirks. Fighter stands back up in a rush, trying to back away but he finds himself caught by the wrist, Tutor’s hand like a vice, grinding the bones together as he props himself up once more. His eyes rake over Fighter from top to bottom, only his lower half concealed.

“So show me. Let me see you phi.” His voice is low and rumbling and it sends a shiver down Fighter’s spine.

He feels like a deer in the headlights, one arm dangling awkwardly at his side, the other dropping from Tutor’s grasp to do the same. A mottled pink spreads across his face and down his chest, disappearing into the hem of his jeans as Tutor cocks his head and watches. There will be no escaping this. Tutor wants Fighter and Fighter wants him in return and they are caught up in the force of each other, unable to do anything but ache.

Fighter’s hands move to his jeans as if by themselves, popping the button slowly under Tutor’s scrutiny. His pulse beats butterfly-wild in his throat but he ignores it, pushing it down as trembling fingers lower the zipper. Tutor licks his lips and arches in a stretch then; the lean, beautiful line of his body glimmers under the light, slick with oil in a way that has Fighter already half hard.

“I don’t know how to do this in a way that’s sexy”, Fighter admits.

He feels embarrassed to say the words out loud but Tutor doesn’t mock him, just smiles fondly, the bat of his lashes against his cheek so soft that Fighter wants to stop time and live in the gesture.

“Just relax. I want to see your body phi, you don’t need to do anything but be you.”

Fighter takes a deep breath, the thick scent of the room swimming in his senses. Then, easy as can be, he slides his jeans down to the floor, stepping out of them. Tutor is a foot away, eye level with the hard line of Fighter’s cock in his boxer briefs and he bites his lip, the sweet blush from earlier turned deep, lusty.

“Your arms and legs are so smooth now. I’ll miss the hair”, he says absently.

Fighter notes however, that he doesn’t look away from the stretch of fabric around Fighter’s erection and when Fighter hooks his thumbs in the soft cotton, Tutor’s breathing slows, getting deeper.

“You said the camera prefers everything bare”, Fighter replies, “so I took care of it all.”

Tutor’s throat bobs.

“All of it?”

“All of it.”

Fighter pushes his underwear down, the swell of his cock revealed at an almost agonisingly slow pace as his eyes stay on Tutor’s face. Eventually it bobs free of the confines of fabric entirely, his boxer briefs dropping to pool with his jeans as he kicks them both away. 

Tutor looks up at him hungrily.

“Phi, I want you to fuck me, right now.”

This naked, rushed admittance of desire makes Fighter shiver. 

All he can do is nod dumbly, stupidly as Tutor draws him in with a hand on his hips. His mouth kisses shamelessly just under Fighter’s navel, the skin tingling from the previous abuse so that Tutor’s tongue is comparatively cold. Fighter finds himself painfully aware of how Tutor refrains from using too much pressure or suction, much less his teeth. It fills him with a bit of regret. 

No matter the torture, his skin stays sensitive and even the barest touch has arousal spiking in his veins. It has him helplessly stumbling forward until his thighs hit the edge of the bed, the dull sound of his skin hitting the bamboo loud in the relative silence of the room. Tutor looks up at him through his lashes, eyes shining with intent and a trace of calculation that gives Fighter pause, as he explores the now hairless area around his cock. His hand wraps around the base of it and he starts mouthing along its length, slow and languid until he reaches Fighter’s cockhead, dipping his tongue into the slit.

“It looks bigger like this” Tutor purrs, and there’s still some regret hidden in his tone under the genuine appreciation. 

It should look funny how Tutor goes cross-eyed to take in his size, so close to his face, his hand slick with oil jerking up and down, but Fighter’s head swims. He searches for purchase with his hands on the edge of the bed, lost in the heaven of his grip.

Tutor keeps going, slow, explorative motions with zero intent. It’s the worst and best at the same time and Fighter could drown in it, as soft fingers trace low over his balls and then behind them. Fighter holds his breath when he feels them teasing further, slipping between his cheeks, over his hole, now bare. 

For an exhilarating second Fighter believes that Tutor will dip his fingers inside of him, finally have him the way Fighter is so desperate to be had, but will not dare to put into words yet. He thinks about it every single day, Tutor has to know that. There’s just no way he doesn’t, considering how he’s already caught Fighter with two fingers buried inside of himself, nothing but a poor substitute for Tutor’s cock. His knees turn weak and he subtly pushes against Tutor’s fingers, eyes fluttering closed for a second to savour the sensation.

But Tutor simply brushes past his entrance, nothing but a whisper of a touch, before he retrieves his mouth and hands completely and lays back down on the bed, head resting on his folded arms. 

Without Tutor’s touch, Fighter feels immediately cold, despite knowing that the room is sticky with heat. Confusion crawls over him, heart beating hard at how easily he was coaxed into complete hardness. Fighter looks down at Tutor and sees his own hands either side of him, clenching around the bamboo frame of the bed. When the frame cracks under the pressure, Fighter immediately loosens his hold. 

“Tor?” he asks quietly, genuinely lost as to what it is he’s supposed to do and how Tutor wants this, wants him. 

“I was just thinking… phi interrupted the end of my massage, so phi should finish it.” 

There’s a playful smile on Tutor’s face and when Fighter still doesn’t move, he sighs contentedly and tips his head backwards.

“Keep doing what you did before. It’s not rocket science P’Fight, just get on top of me.” 

Tutor doesn’t have to ask twice. Fighter climbs onto the bed and then on top of Tutor, kneeling above his ass. His cock is mere centimetres from it, but Fighter hovers, doesn’t dare to lower himself down, no matter how enticing the sheen of Tutor’s skin is. There’s a shift and Tutor lifts his hips to grind them against Fighter with a pleased sigh.

“I wanna feel you phi.”

Fighter lowers himself, basically straddling Tutor. There’s no way he can stop his shaky moan, the minute his cock nestles between the dip of Tutor’s cheeks. The bed creaks under their combined weight but, considering the business that’s conducted here, Fighter is fairly certain it won’t break.

“Tell me what you need.” 

“I’m lazy. I don’t know, just make me feel good.”

The words are muffled between his arms and the pillow his head is resting on and Fighter nods, following his gut instinct and doing what first comes to mind. He grabs for the bottle of oil he’s discarded, pouring some over his hand and drizzling some over the slender planes of Tutor’s back. 

Carefully, Fighter aligns his hands at the base of Tutor’s spine, thumbs either side of it and then he pushes upwards, conscious not to put too much pressure on it. The deep content groan coming from Tutor surprises him, as does the way he practically melts under Fighter’s touch.

“Harder”, Tutor murmurs and Fighter obliges, repeating the motion and digging his fingers deeper into the skin.

“ Fuck that feels good.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah – ah I love to feel you – on top of me like that…”

Fighter remembers one of their early conversations, when they’d confessed their turn-ons to each other. It was supposed to relax Fighter, so it had been a trade of information, but Fighter realises now that it was really just another test to see if they were compatible. Part of it he supposes was to get him to be honest about his desires but the flipside was Fighter had learned just as much and all of it was tucked snugly away for future use.

I love hands – specifically having them hold me down...

Does Tutor like to be held down in general? Does he want Fighter to press him down and take him? 

When Fighter’s hands reach Tutor’s shoulders again, he kneads them in a serious attempt to release some of the tension sitting there, before letting them glide a bit further over his upper arms. Fighter bends low over him, so that his chest touches Tutor’s naked back and he kisses his neck, letting his teeth sink into the skin tenderly. He doesn't hold back in letting Tutor feel his size, pinning him down with his weight.

Subtly Tutor squirms but there’s barely any room for him to move under Fighter’s body. It’s so easy to hold him like that, the difference in their physical strength clear and there’s no doubt in Fighter’s mind that it’s this that makes Tutor groan, head turning so it's hidden between his folded arms as he lets out a deep, guttural moan. There’s not even enough space for him to roll his hips up against Fighter’s cock and it adds a needy edge to his voice that makes Fighter tremble with each low noise of pleasure. 

Fighter can’t get enough of it; he wants to hear more and keeps the languid rhythm, working up and down Tutor’s back with his hands, only changing where he puts pressure with his palms on his way up. He’s doing a shitty job for sure, one that will make any chiropractor cry, but it’s not like it matters when Tutor softens underneath him, one continuous song of pleasure. It’s enough that he nearly forgets the hard press of his own cock.

“P’Fight. Stop – I need – ah –”

Fighter’s never heard him this whiny. His words slur at the edges, melding between exhaustion and desperation. 

“What is it? Anything you want Tor.”

Tutor turns his head, face flush and eyes glassy as he looks over his shoulder. It steals Fighter’s breath away.

“Please touch me here .” 

Tutor reaches behind himself, fingers digging into the skin of his left ass cheek, pulling it to the side to reveal his hole. It’s shining with oil that’s run down from his spine, glistening and wet and puckered.

There’s something about the sight that feels both divine and forbidden. 

Tutor bares himself with a comfortable ease, sloe eyed and slack mouthed, the sweat that beads across the concave of his back mixing with the oil and pooling golden in the dimples above his ass. Fighter wants to press his mouth to them, so he does. Shifting down the massage bed to lap his tongue into the hollows there, damp, filthy kisses that claim Tutor in a way that makes them both shake.

It’s a nectar, delicious and wrong on his tongue as his hands slide down Tutor’s flanks, curling around the perfect curvature of his ass. Fighter kneads the flesh a little rougher than usual and it’s less a matter of carelessness and more because Tutor drops these small, perfect gasps with every press of his fingers. 

Fighter has seen him in various states of wanton in the time they’ve known each other, drunk on pleasure and shaking apart, faking it for a camera, pleased but sleepy – this though, this is something entirely new.

Tutor falls apart under his touch, keening, biting down on his own arm when Fighter drags his tongue down, kisses at a cheek as he trails his fingers lower, letting them graze the parting, the very tips skating across Tutor’s oily entrance. A gasp of wonder escapes Fighter’s mouth and it’s mirrored by the way Tutor clenches his hands into the flesh of his shoulders, desperate for some kind of foothold as he comes unmoored.

“Phi stop teasing”, Tutor pants.

Fighter can’t see his face but he can hear the pout in his tone and it makes him smile. There’s a confidence rushing forward inside of him that he can’t explain, a sense of control that fights with protectiveness. In this moment Tutor is at his mercy; Fighter is physically stronger and could easily throw him around as he wished. Usually that doesn’t do a lot for him, but there’s something about the way Tutor would only let him push so far, that thrills Fighter. 

With Tutor there’s always a limit, always a line Fighter can run to but has to stop at. It’s part of why Fighter loves him so much. In a world where Fighter is expected to be strong, Tutor lays him low. Even caged under Fighter’s body as he is, he’s hot and demanding and it has Fighter so hard that he wants to slide between Tutor’s legs without even so much as a whisper. Instead, he nips at the flesh of Tutor’s ass cheek and moves his fingers back and forth over his entrance, a cheeky touch that has Tutor letting out a low moan.

“I want to know what nong likes”, he says.

Tutor glances over his shoulder, cheeks pink. There’s a look in his eye that’s halfway between want and consternation; Fighter wants to kiss it away. He has other things to do right now though. He bends his neck, squaring his shoulders and bears down on Tutor, fingers swirling around his hole and rubbing the oil in, applying only the slightest of pressure. 

His mouth works to suck a bruise into the fleshy curve of Tutor’s ass, a mark that will say ‘ I was here, I was here and you can never take that from me ’. Fighter wants Tutor to wear it like a tattoo of his name, a brand that speaks of devotion unparalleled.

“P – P’Fight…” Tutor gasps.

Fighter’s free hand is pinning one of Tutor’s thighs, the other now pushing a single finger inside of him, faster than he had that first night. 

He’s practised on himself enough that he has the hang of it now and wants to see the way it makes Tutor’s head drop and his lips part wetly. He stretches beautifully around the thickness of Fighter’s finger and even more so when Fighter grabs the oil and pours more of it over him, the slick of it enough that he shimmers under the light. Fighter’s hand slips between his cheeks easily, one finger curling inside.

Tutor bows his forehead to the bed, moaning and arches up but Fight pushes his hips back down, curious to see this through. Inside he feels a hot, burning shame but his want overrides it. It makes him drive his finger deeper, seeking that spot he’d found inside of Tutor before and pressing against it until he hears a loud, wet sob. 

Bingo.

Fighter’s entire body is aflame with nervous embarrassment but he feels so proud of himself he can’t put words to it. It’s like he’s just run a race and won, panting as he presses against Tutor’s prostate while he trembles beneath him.

Around them the scent of oil and incense and beading precum merge into a haze that assaults Fighter’s senses and he lets himself fall into a stupor, hands moving as if on their own. Fighter presses another finger inside of Tutor, the stretch of it almost impossibly tight even as it’s eased by the oil.

“F–Fight – fuck me.”

The words hit like a gut punch, pushed out between Tutor’s lips with a rare, reedy desperation. He’s coming undone on Fighter’s fingers as with each curl and thrust, they hit his prostate with a newfound precision. Fighter continues thrusting his fingers, lost in the sensation of Tutor clenching around him. 

“How do you want me? What would make you feel best?” he whispers.

Tutor grunts in aroused frustration and glances at him with eyes that seem to look through him.

“L – like this, just fuck me like this – Fight...”

Fighter swallows hard and rushes up, entire body laid flat across Tutor, chest to back.

“I’ll make it good Tor, I promise.”

Tutor’s head twists, a sloppy lazy kiss meeting the corner of Fighter’s mouth. 

“Now Fighter – now .”

Fighter lets his fingers slip from between Tutor’s cheeks, dragging them wetly across his thighs before lining himself up. It’s a little awkward and he thinks he might have to change positions but he doesn’t even care. He’s ravenous for Tutor in this moment, his beauty enough to drive Fighter mad. Fighter thinks if he doesn’t get inside of Tutor right now, he may very well die.

“Nong is so beautiful.”

Tutor laughs at that, breathless and with an edge of self-deprecation that Fighter hates to hear from him. His head hangs low, neck a beautiful line, especially now with his hair cleanly trimmed. Fighter bends down, mouth fitting itself against that tense point at the nape of his neck and kisses it with such tender care that Tutor shivers. It’s an affection Tutor won’t afford himself right now but Fighter can give this to him.

“You – ah  – already have me desperate for your cock. No need to sweet talk me P’Fight” Tutor mutters, face between the folds of his arms as if he wants to hide away from Fighter. 

Despite knowing that this is Tutor’s attempt to make light of Fighter’s words, Fighter doesn’t want to let him shrug the compliment off.

“I mean it. Nong is the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.” 

He doesn’t want Tutor to slip away from the sincerity of his words. He means it. He would mean it even if Tutor was still sneering at him. It’s been on his mind constantly from the evening he first saw him and that hasn’t changed in two years of being nothing but an annoyance to him. It most definitely hasn’t changed now that he’s slowly revealing all the parts of Tutor, even the ones that Tutor might deem ugly and wouldn’t want anyone to see. It certainly rings true even when Fighter can barely see him in the dim light of the room, pressed so close that he can feel every breath Tutor takes or the way a tremor runs through his body.

“P’Fight stop .”

Tutor cringes and Fighter grins before his mouth finds the line of his shoulders. He drags his cock across Tutor’s hole three or four times as Tutor spreads his legs a fraction underneath him, arching his back instinctively just before Fighter finally decides to press the head of his cock against the ring of Tutor’s entrance.

Fighter can feel, rather than see all the ways in which Tutor tenses briefly, tightening his hold on the bed, and how he wills himself to relax his body to open up for Fighter. 

He does so beautifully .

Fighter grabs his waist, steadying himself from the rush of arousal and anticipation of being buried inside of Tutor’s body, before proceeding to pull him slightly up at the same time as he presses his own hips forward. Tutor shivers and groans softly, enduring the feeling of being filled. He holds his breath until the last few inches of Fighter’s length slip inside him, after which he breathes out shallowly, soft noises between hurt and pleasure slipping from his lips.

Fighter is never prepared for this. Tutor’s tight heat clenching around him is too utterly perfect to ever grow accustomed to. 

“ Tor ...” Fighter pants, teeth scraping over the skin between Tutor’s shoulder blades.

His cock is throbbing inside of Tutor and he can hear the thunderous sound of his own pulse beating loudly in his ears. It’s becoming painfully clear just how bad he has it for Tutor. Fighter is completely irrevocably lost for him; any touch since that first night feels like static while Fighter is rapidly developing an addiction for being shocked. The feeling now only intensifies with Tutor underneath him, every inch of them touching and Fighter feels the surge of it throughout his entire body.

He’s eager to start moving and at the same time he can’t. 

The hold of one of his hands on Tutor’s hips loosens so he can stroke up his sides, still slippery with oil when it glances across his ribs. His mouth keeps working on Tutor’s shoulders, breathing him in whilst willing himself to calm down enough that he can start actually fucking him. He’s too afraid though that if he moves right then, he’s just going to cum straight away. All of his senses are filled with nothing but Tutor.

Tutor breathing is uneven, his hips subtly canting back into Fighter with impatience, but there isn’t much room for him to actually achieve anything, buried as he is beneath Fighter’s body. 

“Are you already close?” Tutor asks in the space between their irregular pants.

Fighter wants to say something but he doesn’t trust his voice right now as he reaches up and places a hand on the massage bed, beside the pillow underneath Tutor’s head. It fists the sheet as his other hand rests against Tutor’s waist.

“Goddamn…” is what Fighter manages eventually under his breath, as he rolls his hips shallowly, cock having barely started moving inside Tutor before he can feel pressure swirling in the pit of his stomach. 

“It’s okay. I got it. Just – give me a second –”

Tutor groans, trembling beneath him, his tight heat clenching hard around Fighter’s cock and not making this any easier. Fighter doesn’t understand how he can be so perfectly, impossibly tight.

“Fuck I love it – I love to feel you like that – fuck P’Fight –”

Fighter blinks, pushing himself up a bit and watches with fascination as the simple shift of position alone makes Tutor moan, deep and guttural, head turning to the side to greedily suck in more air. He’s already completely lost in it and it’s all thanks to Fighter, even when he’s barely done anything yet.

Tutor keens when Fighter begins to roll his hips, fucking him slowly. Fighter pushes himself further up still, using his arms for leverage on the bed as he cages Tutor in between them. His bangs fall in his face, the product Ruby used burning his eyes as it mixes with sweat.

Moaning weakly, Tutor hisses and moves one of his hands down from the pillow to reach back and grip Fighter’s hip. He does so gently at first but Tutor’s fingertips gradually dig into his skin with each movement of Fighter’s hips. In answer, Fighter only bears down harder on him. 

With concentration, he listens to every little noise, every movement or hitch of breath from Tutor, changing and shifting his angle accordingly, Fighter’s sole focus making him feel good. 

This time he doesn’t need Tutor’s guidance and then there he is, hitting that sweet spot inside of Tutor that makes him moan so loudly that Fighter would be worried about the other customers of the salon if he cared (he doesn’t). All of his attention is captured by how Tutor curves his back, how he pushes his ass up against Fighter’s cock with a slap of their skin.

“S–so deep – there – Fight – yes –” 

On instinct, Fighter uprights himself further, so he’s kneeling above Tutor once more. He’s buzzing with a mix of arousal and giddiness, a high he’s never felt before making him dizzy. With one hand he presses Tutor down between his shoulder blades onto the bed, the other holds his waist, stopping him in his motions and the impatient demands for Fighter to go faster, to take for himself whatever it is he wants from Fighter.

“Let me take care of you Tor. I’ve got you.” 

Fighter wants to do it. He wants to learn and find out what he can do to make Tutor feel good, because he deserves someone treating him with the same care as he treats everyone around him. Tutor has been so good to him and he wants to give that back. 

Fighter slides his hand down even further and places it on Tutor’s ass cheek, squeezing gently before he spreads him open and goes harder, deeper. Tutor’s body jerks in response with each jab of Fighter’s hips as he’s forced to abandon his attempts to dictate the pace and can only take what Fighter has to offer.

It must be maddening for him. 

Tutor is a being of pure control, every cell in his body tuned perfectly to his intentions and whilst it frustrates Fighter at times, it’s so much a part of who he is that it’s inescapable. So to be pinned so helplessly, his supple body parting for each deep, stretching thrust of Fighter’s cock, it must be driving Tutor out of his mind. Fighter thinks that he shouldn’t like that quite as much as he does.

He digs his fingers deeper into flesh, feeling the reverberations of Tutor’s moans as he drives himself into him again and again. It feels electrifying; jolts of pure energy shoot down his spine and make Fighter almost frantic with his want. It’s the same slow pace but each time it drives deeper, grinding against Tutor’s prostate and making him clench around Fighter.

He’s never felt something so good.

“S – shit”, Fighter hisses.

He tosses his head back, eyes falling closed. Like this he can focus on the scent of Tutor, a field of flowers that engulfs him, transporting him away from the salon. He pictures laying Tutor down in the dirt, kissing each inch of his body. It doesn’t compare to the warmth of his skin right now or the way Tutor keens, fingertips clawing at the massage bed as though trying to struggle off of it. He can’t though, not with Fighter’s weight atop him.

All it takes is one twitch of Tutor’s shoulders and Fighter is pressing him further into the bed, angling his hips to fuck into Tutor harder.

“P–P’Fight – ah fuck – l–like that – oh god...”

Tutor’s voice is high and trembling, loud enough that it almost bounces from the walls. Fighter wishes he could live in the sound. A groan escapes his lips and he fucks into Tutor faster but it’s still not enough. 

It’s like heaven, like swimming through a fog of pleasure until he can’t think straight. All that Fighter is aware of is the slap of their skin, the way Tutor’s body cradles his cock, the struggle of his legs as he tries to thrash and can’t. Fighter has never felt more powerful or more sure of himself. Before he might have tried to deny this part of him, hiding it away from the light, but when he fucks Tutor...he can’t help but to drag it out, to present it to the world with pride. He wants to shout ‘ this is my truth ’, he wants to cry ‘ this is my truth and I would press our bodies nose to cheek, hip to groin and stay there forever ’. 

“T – Tor you’re so – oh – perfect.”

Fighter bites down on his bottom lip almost hard enough to pierce it, pace increasing again, moving the bed, fucking Tutor hard enough that he’s once more scared it will collapse under them. His cheeks colour at the idea even as some part of him preens over it. This is the kind of sex that feels like a claiming, like ownership.

Tutor isn’t his though, not in the ways that count. Sure he’s under Fighter, squirming and shaking and falling apart – but outside of the sex, it’s all an act and even inside, there’s a pretense that Fighter tries to shy away from but just can’t. He doesn’t want to think about that though. Doesn’t want to be selfish when this moment is all about making Tutor feel good.

Ever since Hwa Hwa had caught them he’d been fraying around the edges, a shadow of his usual self. All of his walls had gotten higher, all of his hope drained away and Fighter had felt helpless in the face of it. At least here he can do something though. Fighter is in control and he can fuck Tutor harder, faster, bury himself deep enough that Tutor screams out.

Tutor doesn’t cry, doesn’t beg or plead but his body tries in vain to press up against Fighter, to shift his weight as Fighter moves and hits that perfect angle inside of Tutor that sets his shoulders to tensing, drool leaking from the corners of his mouth. He looks almost mindless with it when Fighter opens his eyes and the sight of that makes his cock twitch inside the impossible heat of Tutor’s ass.

“Oh – oh F–Fight – ah shit there – d–don’t stop…”

It’s almost a whine, half sticking in Tutor’s throat as his eyes roll back. Fighter loves the sound of it, punching it out again and again with each punishing thrust of his cock against Tutor’s prostate. 

It has Tutor shuddering around him, hands scrabbling weakly as the bed rocks beneath them. Fighter is surprised the screams haven’t been loud enough to spur the salon into frenzy.

Fighter wants them to hear. 

He wants them to know that he can make Tutor feel this good, that even in his inexperience, he is capable of pleasuring the man he loves. 

Tutor’s head hangs low, body almost slack with the inability to escape the waves of ecstasy that come from Fighter fucking him. He screams loud enough to make his throat hoarse, backed by the percussive noise of their skin meeting, the erratic panting of Fighter as he picks up his pace until it’s almost unbearable.

“B – baby p–lease…” Fighter begs.

He feels so close.

His belly roils with the build of his orgasm and he knows Tutor has been inching closer. Oil and sweat mix on their skin and in mere moments they’ll swirl with cum, a mess that Fighter wants to paint across their bodies.

“Fight – oh phi – I – I – ah I can’t –”

Fighter lays his palm flat between Tutor’s shoulders, each finger a brand like fire as Tutor’s breath comes in great gasping swallows.

“Tor…”

“P–Phi, I’m close…”

Like that Fighter can’t hold himself back. His arm goes underneath Tutor, drawing him up and Fighter fucks into him with abandon. It’s wild and untamed and everything he’s wanted for two years and when Tutor begins to cum, it hits Fighter right in the gut.

Fighter honestly doesn’t know how he manages to keep himself on the edge of that cliff, balancing dangerously ready to fall, when he feels Tutor’s body clench around him almost painfully with his orgasm. 

It’s the sheer will to be better than all of the other times, to be able to hold on that little bit longer so he can keep up the pace of his hips, keep his cock hard and full inside of him and fuck him through his climax with deep, searching thrusts. 

Distantly he feels Tutor’s cum warm on his hand, thinking a little too late that he should hold him in his palm, milk his cock in the same rhythm as he fucks into him. The orgasm has Tutor’s mouth falling open, breath knocked hard enough out of his lungs, that he’s incapable of making any noise. Fighter can feel his entire body tremble against him as Tutor scrambles to cling onto Fighter’s arms, nails digging into his flesh without a care.

”Too much – phi – Fight – ah – too much ...”

It’s the closest he’ll ever come to pleading for anything and it’s so sweet that Fighter can’t help but wrap his arm tighter around Tutor, pulling him against his chest with ease. Tutor whines and shivers, clinging onto Fighter’s arm for balance as Fighter fits his mouth against the curve between Tutor’s neck and shoulder, rolling his hips shallowly into him, filling him completely as he groans against his skin. 

It’s then the pressure in his stomach snaps and Fighter finally allows himself to stumble over the edge and take the fall. His hold on Tutor strengthens, forcing him down on his cock as he comes to his own release, spilling inside his body with the rush of a tidal wave and making a further mess of them. He jerks languidly forward into Tutor, barely any movement needed with the way Tutor’s heat quivers around him. 

Their skin almost sticks together, glued by the oil and the sweat and Tutor eventually remembers how to breathe again, sucking air back into his lungs, panting in a way that sounds pained, Fighter matches his rhythm, their chests bellow, pressed together and breathing out warmth into the now chill air. The room has fallen into a buzzing silence but neither of them notice.

Fighter shivers with the aftershocks of his own orgasm, cock still twitching inside of Tutor as he lets him down gently onto the soft sheets of the massage bed and practically collapses on top of him. His forehead falls against Tutor’s shoulder blades but he tries to leave Tutor room to move this time around. 

Distantly he registers how Tutor shifts and squirms beneath him, Fighter’s cock slipping free of him as both of them groan with the sensation, a mix between relief and loss. Fighter chances a glance down, a low whine stuck in his throat and fighting its way free, as he sees the milky white of his cum spilling from Tutor’s abused entrance. Fighter could die on the spot at the sight.

“ Fuck ”, Tutor curses without shame and twists around, far enough to look at Fighter.

Their hot breaths mingle in the barely there space between them and Tutor smiles, a lazy barely there grin.

“I love your cock.” 

The words come out in an exhausted slur, shameless and so obviously deeply satisfied that Fighter wants to scream it from the rooftops that this was his doing. Instead all he does is laugh, more than a little bit bashful. 

“Yeah? Did I do good?” 

Tutor groans, face drawing into an expression Fighter has grown familiar with; it’s Tutor’s patented ‘ Are you for real?’ look that he levels Fighter with several times a week. He loves though how the underlying tone of that expression has changed from irritation to fondness and that’s as big of an achievement in Fighter’s books as it is making Tutor cum like he just did.

“P’Fight is a quick learner. We need to work a bit on pacing and how you use your strength but yeah, you did good”, Tutor murmurs as he runs one lazy hand through Fighter’s hair. 

Even though he doesn’t sound like all of this really bothered him, it has concern welling up in Fighter, his eyes roaming over Tutor’s body as if he’ll be able to see any genuine damage done.

“Did I hurt you Tor?”  

Carefully he shifts their bodies, turning Tutor around to lay on his back underneath him. Tutor rolls his eyes, hands coming up to hold Fighter’s face between them, squishing his cheeks a little bit in a mirror of this morning.

“Only in a good way so stop looking at me like that. I’m more than fine and I don’t think I have to ask if you had fun.”

Tutor cranes his neck up and Fighter only too willingly meets him halfway, finally able to properly kiss him. It’s slow and without any purpose beyond craving the contact of their lips against each other. Tutor sighs happily and Fighter is brave enough to take the opportunity to brush their tongues against each other, deepening the kiss. 

There are a hundred things running through his mind that he wants to say or to ask. Fighter needs to make sure that Tutor understands that all he wants is to make him feel only a fraction as good as Tutor is making him feel. That Fighter is there for him and even though everything looks awful, he’s trying his best to make it a little less awful. He doesn’t know how to say it though, not without making Tutor mad or risking that he understands it all the wrong way. It’s hard to say I love you without actually saying it. 

What he doesn’t expect is that it’s Tutor pulling away from the kiss first, thumbs drawing little circles against Fighter’s cheeks.

“I’m sorry P’Fight.”

“What?” 

Fighter blinks, confusion clouding his expression.

“I’ve been awful the last couple of days and you were nothing but sweet even though I…”

Tutor clears his throat wetly.

“Um, anyway I’m sorry for that. But I’m also sorry for everything that happened. I really, really am.”

Tutor’s voice sounds rough around the edges. Fighter knows that it’s mostly from the way he’d moaned just a few minutes ago, but there’s a choked up quality to it that betrays a fear he must have carried around with him for a while now. They briefly talked about it that night and Fighter had thought he’d made it clear enough that there’s nothing for him to forgive but now he’s not so sure.

Before Fighter can open his mouth though, Tutor pulls him into another kiss.

“I hope this makes up for it a little though.” 

Tutor makes it sound like a joke even when Fighter can’t find the humour in it at all. 

“Shut up Tor”, Fighter says suddenly.

Tutor sends him a look both startled and indignant but Fighter feels a wave of upset surging over him in such a way that it sweeps any negative reaction out to sea. Fighter sits up, pulling Tutor with him until there’s enough distance for him to take Tutor’s hands, holding them tightly as he stares into his face.

“P’Fight, what the hell?” Tutor says, trying to pull his hands free.

Fighter doesn’t let him go, just starts speaking. He can’t soothe Tutor physically anymore but he hopes there will be some comfort in his words, some kind of understanding of the whirlpool of his mind.

“You don’t have anything to apologise for and you damn sure don’t need to make up for anything. This last week – it hit you harder because you weren’t expecting the loss the same way I was, but that doesn’t mean you’re the one to blame.”

Fighter takes a shaking breath. 

He wants to look away but it would be cowardly when Tutor needs to hear this. There’s an absurdity that comes from the mess of their naked bodies, where they are, the sheer circumstance of their grief but still, he persists. Fighter’s thumbs rub circles over the jut of knuckle on Tutor’s hands as he continues.

“I had my entire life to speak up and I didn’t. I couldn’t even be honest to the people that wouldn’t have judged me. I had my reasons and I’m not going to pretend I didn’t – but I hurt people and I lied and I’m the one who suggested this whole thing with us in the first place. You don’t owe me anything, not an apology, not some kind of make up fuck. You have always done good by me and you gave me a voice when I was too scared to speak. This wasn’t just about me Tor. I...I wanted to give you a moment where you didn’t have to hurt.”

Tutor’s throat works but his face remains a mostly implacable mask. There’s a cool calculation to it, the porcelain of his skin drawn tight over the turmoil beneath; Fighter sees it all anyway. He watches the feathery flutter of Tutor’s lashes, dipping with each slow blink and the way his lips part, thinking, ready to retort but not quite sure of how to phrase it in a way that won’t sound callous.

Fighter knows he’s not a smart man. He has no illusions about his own intelligence or his ability to understand the world around him, but with Tutor, something just locks into place. It’s like one of the mysteries of the universe has been revealed to him and he marks each inch of Tutor’s face with a kiss of his eyes, tucks secrets away into each shallow, uncertain breath.

“I outed you P’Fight. I almost fucked your best friend and I was talking to him for weeks without telling you. I drove Hwa away from you too and for what? I wanted more money , I wanted my life to be easier. I didn’t even like you. Fuck. I just thought you were hot and dumb enough to follow orders so I thought why not.”

He stares down at their intertwined hands and Fighter feels the flex of them between his. He squeezes them gently, pressing forward to bump their noses together.

“I was an asshole”, Tutor exhales.

“Hey, I outed myself by kissing you where I knew others could find us. That was my choice. Sure it might have been nice to know if you were interested in phi, but you’re allowed to do whatever you want, with whoever you want and, Tor, we both fucked up with Hwa. This isn’t just yours to carry and I don’t blame you for the way you saw me. You didn’t know me then.”

Tutor laughs a little bitterly.

“I’m not even sure I know you now.”

Fighter tries not to let that sting.

“That’s okay, it takes time to learn about your friends and I know you like to be in control but this isn’t that easy and it’s not just you that has to deal with it. We’re in this together, whatever burdens you have, they’re mine too.”

Tutor hums and Fighter knows that no matter what he says it won’t quite crack that veneer of mistrust but he doesn’t care. He wants to try anyway. 

A wave of terrible nostalgia hits him then.

When he was just a boy of seven, they’d gone on vacation to Rome. His father had been out somewhere with his uncle but his mother had stayed behind at the hotel with him and he remembers the way she’d been drunk and tired, wavering on the edge of hysteria for most of the night. 

It had scared him as she’d screamed about his father and his ills. That night she’d told him of how they’d met, how she was just a girl, not long out of a French boarding school, all pleated skirts and smiles. His father had lied about almost everything, from his family to his career, to how many women he was sleeping with and she wouldn’t find out for years. 

She’d stared into the middle distance in the same way Tutor is now, opening her mouth with a sickly laugh as she declared that his father had ‘ un cœur comme un artichaut ’, a leaf for everyone but a meal for no one; Fighter hadn’t understood it then but it had alarmed him. 

Thankfully, it eventually came time for her to put him to bed and when she did, Fighter remembers the words she had painted across his forehead between a goodnight kiss.

‘ The girl who gets your heart my boy, will feast forever…’

The pronoun had been off and his mother had proven to be ultimately unreliable in many ways, but Fighter felt there was a fundamental truth to what she had whispered that night. 

There is a well inside of Fighter willing to sate Tutor, to nourish him and help him grow and thrive. He presses their foreheads together even as Tutor begins to argue.

“P’Fight –”

“I know you think I’m an idiot and I understand why but trust me for a moment Tor. I want to be your friend, that’s it. I don’t expect anything from you, I don’t want you to make anything up to me. I just want to help you stop being so fucking sad .”

Tutor’s expression cracks momentarily, eyes soft, mouth falling and then he catches himself, clearing his throat, blinking harder than is entirely necessary.

“Everyone wants something”, he says cynically.

Fighter lets go of his hands and grabs his face, cradling it.

“I told you, I want to be your friend and I want to be good to you. That’s it, nothing more.”

Tutor examines his face and Fighter thinks he might give in, might let Fighter in.

“What do you want Tor?”

Tutor lets out a rasping laugh and closes his eyes, a wry smile curling up his lips.

“I want a shower and some food and to stop having this conversation.”

Fighter’s heart drops at the dismissal but he accepts it. There’s so much more of him left to give to Tutor.

Tutor doesn’t have to gorge himself all at once.

The spa music is still running in the background, changed now to the sounds of the ocean, wind chimes tinkling over the push and pull of a tide. There’s a crackle to the sound that suggests that this is a track decades old. They’re both silent, unmoving. Just when Fighter wants to drop his hands from Tutor’s cheeks, Tutor leans his head into his right palm, closing his eyes with a deep sigh. 

“You’ve been really sweet this last week P’Fight. I’ll stop apologising, but I want you to know I’m grateful. You’ve been a good friend even if I haven’t.”

“Tor...”

“ No . Don’t start. We’re in this together now and I want to be as good a friend as you have been to me, starting now.” 

Fighter’s heart flips awfully, sticking in his throat. 

On the one hand, he’s overflowing with a giddy joy that Tutor has finally acknowledged their friendship, accepting Fighter into his life. He knows how much that’s worth because Tutor doesn’t call many people his friends. Where most people apply the term liberally, Tutor is always careful to distinguish between classmates, colleagues, acquaintances and the people he actually considers close. When he calls Hwa Hwa his best friend, Fighter knows it’s  because she means the world to him.

On the other hand, there’s a greedy part of him, the part that’s gotten a taste of Tutor that goes beyond friendship, that craves him in a way that such a paltry term can’t satisfy and that greedy, ugly part gives Tutor’s words a bitter taste. 

Fighter shoves that part aside. 

He doesn’t want to give it any room when what Tutor is offering is so precious.

There’s so many things Fighter could say about all of the ways in which Tutor has been more than good to him. He gave him an entire life, the confidence to live his truth, a home he doesn’t dread coming back to. Fighter doesn’t think this is the moment to spill any of this out though, not when they’re both sitting in a dingy beauty salon, sticky with sweat, oil and cum. They’re wrung out and exhausted; it doesn’t feel like it should happen here and Fighter isn’t sure if he can find the right words yet anyway, not when those three words press hard on the tip of his tongue.

The moment passes. 

Fighter can see when Tutor decides for both of them that he’s had enough of being sentimental. He sits up a bit straighter, whatever frustration and pain had warred in his eyes gets tucked away and a smile blooms across his face that doesn’t even look fake.

“I haven’t looked at you yet!” 

Tutor reaches out to run his hands through Fighter’s hair. He busies himself with tucking at strands, pushing them this way and that, before his he drags his fingernails over the short part of the undercut, humming contentedly with the feeling of the soft stubble under his fingers. Fighter doesn’t know how much is still left from the careful styling Ruby had done downstairs and he feels a bit regretful. 

“Do you like it?”

That’s all that matters. He can’t change it if Tutor doesn’t, but he’s hopeful and can’t hide how eager he is for an answer. He’s been complimented many times on his appearance, but when Tutor calls him handsome it hits him in a different way.

“I love it. Phi was really handsome before but this new style is doing good things for you. P’Ruby did a great job taking you from mushroom bottom –“ 

Tutor illustrates his point by combing Fighter’s hair forward even though Fighter can’t see himself. 

“– to sexy top.” 

Fighter blushes. Thanks to the product Ruby used, it’s not a lot of effort to push the hair back into a side parting. Tutor chuckles and Fighter can’t help but mirror it, alone for the fact how genuinely excited Tutor looks about it.

“You look handsome as well, but I mean – you did already.”

Tutor rolls his eyes, but moves to run his hands through his own hair. His new haircut certainly hasn’t fared as well after being pressed into the bed, but it takes just a couple of practiced movements by Tutor to push it all back into order. Fighter pouts contemplatively, reaching out to tuck a curl into its place, his hands brushing over the clipped sides. 

Before there was something boyish about Tutor’s style, soft and if worn air dried, the image of a picture perfect, proper student. This new style gives him an edge, it puts Tutor’s jawline into focus, the symmetry of his features, the perfect line of his neck. It’s more masculine and fits Tutor’s casual wardrobe way better, fashionable and sexy without trying. Or maybe that last part is just Fighter’s personal taste. 

He thinks it fits him better. It marks a new beginning.

“P’Fight is so cheesy”, Tutor laughs.

“Thank you though, I like it short like this too.” 

Tutor sighs, rolling his shoulders as he nods to the other corner of the room. Fighter hadn’t paid much mind to it before but now he sees that there’s a curtain with a gaudy orchid pattern printed on it that leads to somewhere. Before Fighter can even ask what, Tutor gives him the answer.

“There’s a small bathroom with a shower there. We should use that.”

“You really know this place well.” 

It slips out before Fighter can hold himself back and with more bitterness than intended. 

Tutor eyes him from the side, frown on his face. Fighter tries to escape the look of scrutiny by slipping off the bed, shivering a bit. With his skin covered in cold sweat the aircon is running too cool now after all, and in a useless attempt to cover his modesty he takes one of the colourful silk scarves that rest, neatly folded in a stack, on top of a low table next to the massage bed, wrapping it around his waist. It looks a bit ridiculous with how bright turquoise it is, not evening mentioning the elephants. 

“P’Ruby and you gossiped.”

“No, it’s not like that.” 

Fighter shakes his head. 

“She totally did, don’t pretend. Besides, even you should have figured out what the special services of this place are by now.” 

He really wants to deny it but there’s no real use in such protestations. 

“She told you why I came here initially, right?”

“Yeah. She did.” 

Fighter knows Tutor well enough by now to realise he would just ask Ruby as soon as they’re back downstairs.

“So what do you think about that?” 

Tutor doesn’t sound angry or annoyed or defensive, just curious and yet Fighter feels like this is another test. 

“I’m glad you didn’t do it. Not that there would have been anything wrong with it or that I judge the people working here. It’s just…I’m glad you didn’t do it.” 

He hopes Tutor won’t misunderstand what he’s trying to say. He has no problems with sex work because frankly that would be hypocritical. Fighter just doesn’t want to imagine Tutor doing this kind of sex work. Mainly because he can’t imagine Tutor selling himself in a way where he would be at the mercy of others. As King he holds power and complete control over what he’s doing, Fighter can see that. Here? Fighter’s not sure whether that’s possible.

“I’m glad as well. I did the math and the payment is really bad compared to what I’m doing now with a lot less work. I could have never made it work.”

The dry answer startles a laugh out of Fighter. Leave it to Tutor to see this as nothing but financially unfeasible. Fighter doesn’t really like that response but it’s so Tutor that it has fondness welling up inside of him. 

Maybe in the future there will be a chance to talk about this in a little bit more detail and Fighter can finally gets to know more about what actually happened that made an 19 year old boy consider what is essentially prostitution. 

He wants to say more, but the words get stuck in his throat when he sees that Tutor has swung his legs over the side of the bed, sitting on the edge of it, feet on the ground with a look Fighter can’t quite place. If he didn’t know better, he’d call it flustered as Tutor makes no attempt to get up.  

Fighter pulls himself to the side of the bed and stands easily. 

Tutor remains.

He still isn’t moving and there’s an expression when he looks at Fighter that manages to be at once both sheepish and annoyed. Fighter’s brow scrunches in consternation and he regards the way Tutor’s toes flex against the floor, brushing over the fake wood shakily. He glances back up and Tutor sighs, arms braced either side of himself. It’s like he’s trying to lever himself up but nothing is happening, just a tautness to his muscles as he stares Fighter down.

“Tor, what’s wrong?” Fighter asks. 

He gives up all pretense of covering himself, letting the scarf drop so he’s unashamedly naked and moving towards Tutor to cup his elbow. Tutor smirks, leaning up to brush his lips across Fighter’s shoulder. It’s only then that Fighter realises the annoyance wasn’t directed at him but rather at the situation. He feels Tutor’s elegant hands wrap around his neck and startles but doesn’t step back just opens his mouth on another question.

He doesn’t get the chance to speak though.

Tutor cuts him off with the arch of a singular brow, his voice quiet and horribly sultry despite the circumstance.

“Phi fucked me so good and so hard and so, so deep, that now my legs don’t want to work. You’re going to have to carry me into the shower.”

Fighter shivers and dives down to steal Tutor’s lips only to have him pull back before he can. A laughter bubbles up from Tutor’s chest and he bites his bottom lip, eyes twinkling mischievously.

“You haven’t already had enough?”

Fighter feels his cheeks heat and he casts his eyes to the other side of the room, to the curtain where the bathroom sits. It’s not much of an effort to lift Tutor, he’s light as a feather truth be told. Still, even Fighter is feeling a little unsteady after his orgasm. It’s like the mechanism of his body needs re-tuning, the gears too loose, everything running in fast forward. He settles himself in front of Tutor, cradled in the spread of his thighs and then hitches them up either side of his waist.

“Keep holding onto my neck nong”, he whispers.

Tutor tightens his grip and nods. 

Then it’s happening. 

Fighter lifts him with ease, Tutor’s full weight resting upon him as he backs away from the bed and then pivots, walking towards the door. It’s easier than he’d anticipated but he has to readjust his grip twice, thighs trembling. Tutor seems to appreciate the effort though; his cheek pressing warmly to Fighter’s neck, lips cresting the soft join of throat to shoulder.

He pulls the curtain back and inside there’s a small room. It smells damp, bleachy and Fighter wrinkles his nose against it. On the opposite wall there’s a small mirror and sink, a shelf of various products like shampoo and soap but for the most part it’s just a bare showerhead over tile and a small plastic bench bolted into the floor besides a questionable toilet. Fighter deposits Tutor on the bench carefully and glances around himself to get his bearings. 

He turns on the water and it burns his hand when he holds it under the spray, so he turns the cold up until he deems it the right temperature. Their shower at home typically runs cold but here it’s a good pressure, much warmer. Tutor will probably appreciate that. It will eke out the last of the tension that the massage and the sex haven’t touched. 

“I can get you clean first then clean myself”, Fighter says.

Tutor nods, acknowledging the practicality, and gestures to the shelf. 

“There’s a body wash there that smells the same as the oils they used, grab it.”

Fighter does as he’s told, fishing out a small purple bottle with a hand pump. He bends down to pick Tutor back up and maneuvers them both under the spray, one arm wrapped around Tutor to keep him standing while the other grabs one of the clean washcloths and works the body wash into a lather on it before starting the methodical scrubbing of Tutor’s body.

He works efficiently and carefully from shoulder to groin, from groin to ankle. It’s awkward at times, his grip on Tutor adjusting and Tutor stumbling a little with a wince but he does the best he can, turning him around to clean his back of oils.

“You’re going to have to clean me out”, Tutor says then.

Fighter hadn’t considered it before now but he looks at Tutor’s abused hole, cheeks spread by one hand and he feels embarrassment scurry up his chest and into his throat.

“Oh, I uh...”

Tutor laughs.

“Okay, just hold onto me tightly and I’ll do it myself.”

Fighter doesn’t think, just shakes his head abruptly and reaches his fingers inside of Tutor to scoop out his cum. It’s a slow, laborious process; Tutor is full of so much sticky, wet cum that Fighter can’t bring himself to think of it lest he slip right back in. The fingers inside of him make Tutor gasp, more out of the ache of it than pleasure but the reaction still startles Fighter’s cock to twitch and he wills it to stay soft out of shame.

“I want to take care of you”, he whispers in Tutor’s ear.

The answer he gets is Tutor’s hands tightening on his biceps, letting Fighter continue to clean him. When he’s done, Fighter lays out a soft towel on the bench and sits Tutor there to rest. 

He washes himself much faster, less carefully. It doesn’t matter as much today and he just wants to get out of here. He’ll buy Tutor food and let him steal all of Fighter’s favourites and get him something nice from one of the stores they pass on the way. When they get home he’ll put on that horror show Tutor loves so much and break out the blankets, they can watch it together cuddled up, maybe eat some snacks that Fighter will pick up at the convenience store. 

It will be easy and good and Tutor will have at least today to breathe out.

Fighter steps out from under the spray and turns the water off, grabbing his own towel. Tutor is watching him thoughtfully and when Fighter looks at him he smiles a little softly.

“What?” Fighter asks

“Nothing,” Tutor says, “phi is just cute.”

“You’re one of the only people that says that” Fighter mumbles, as he towels himself dry. 

He’s heard himself described as many things but the word cute has only ever been used by the boys, mostly War and usually only when teasing him for something or other. Handsome, manly, attractive but never cute. Tutor isn’t teasing him as far as he can tell though and Fighter doesn’t know what to do with that.

“Do you mind me calling you cute?” 

Heat rises to Fighter’s cheeks as he steals a glance at Tutor. He’s still relaxing on the low bench, completely confident in his nakedness. His legs are stretched out in front of him, just as alluring as ever. Fighter could sink between them all over, freshen up the marks he left on the inside of Tutor’s thighs.

“No. I don’t mind even if I don’t know if it really fits.”

“Everyone who hasn’t realised how cute phi is, is an idiot.”

Fighter is so in love with this man he can’t breathe.

“Help me up.”

Fighter is ready to carry Tutor back inside the room, but Tutor (much to Fighter’s instant disappointment) only needs his help to get up on his feet but does just fine staying on them. Yet Fighter keeps a steadying hand on his waist, a persistent mix of shame and pride swirling in his stomach at the thought that he’s responsible for Tutor being unable to walk. They make a quick job of getting dressed again. Fighter crinkles his nose when the fabric rubs over his sensitive skin but he’d been warned about that part so it doesn’t surprise him. 

Unsure, he looks back on the mess they’ve made of the massage bed, not knowing what the etiquette in this place is but feeling bad just leaving it like this. Tutor seems to notice Fighter’s inner conflict at their cum stained sheets, so he gathers them quickly up, stripping the bed quickly and tossing them in a basket in the corner.

“They usually clean up way worse stuff.” 

Tutor pats Fighter’s cheek with a wry smile, before he tugs him along by the hand. Only when the door to the massage room opens, Fighter becomes aware of how humid and heavy with essential oils the air was inside. Magnolia and jasmine gets replaced by incense and coconut oil again and with it, they’re transported out of their safe cocoon.

A moment later Fighter is faced with the reality that they’re now coming down into a salon where everyone knows they had sex upstairs. 

He shuffles closer to Tutor, hands on his waist, half wrapped around him. Tutor doesn’t seem to mind at all. He’s fine with how the last stains of their aroused, exhausted flush still sit high on their cheeks, how his cautious gait gives away everything else anyone would ever need to know. 

To his surprise though, barely anyone looks up from their magazines, phones or the TV in the corner that plays one of the lakorns on Channel 3. Barely anyone, except for Ruby behind the counter at the register, a smug smile on her face that makes Fighter want to hide even further behind Tutor.

“Happy with our service?”

”With your service...with other services. Sure.” Tutor answers with ease, smile broadening into a grin when Ruby laughs, unashamed and unapologetic. 

Panic rises in Fighter for a moment and he realises that old habits die hard. Twenty years of shame and disgust aren’t easily shaken off and he hates himself for it. Fighter wishes he were  less of a coward even if it comes and goes, lasting barely from one laugh track on the TV to the next one. It fights with a sense of pride though and he pushes the shame down, bold enough to fully wrap an arm around Tutor’s mid section and draw him against his chest, nose sniffing a kiss against the back of his head as he tries to hide a pleased grin. 

“That costs a little extra though sweetheart and you know how it is – no money, no honey .” 

“Of course auntie.”

“ Auntie? No need to get so mean.” 

It’s bickering but it’s familiar and warm. Ruby’s fondness for Tutor is obvious. Her gaze flickers to Fighter for a brief second to wink at him conspiratorially and Fighter manages to smile back. It distracts him enough for Tutor to be able to get his own wallet out of his pocket. It’s a battered leather thing that has seen better days but like all things of Tutor’s, no matter how used or old, it’s been taken great care of. 

“No Tor I’m going to –”

“No phi you aren’t. Leave me some pride, I’m your boyfriend not your sugar baby.” 

Before Fighter can protest any further or can get his own wallet out, Tutor hands bills over to Ruby with a polite wai. 

“It’s not that.” 

He wants to take care of Tutor today. 

The money doesn’t matter to him at all but it makes so much of a difference to Tutor and he knows that. Fighter doesn’t want him to spend anything, especially not when it was Fighter’s idea to book the room for private fun. 

“Hush phi, you paid me well enough. Let me spoil you a bit.”

Tutor turns his head, sniffing a kiss against his cheek, much to the audible delight of the entire shop and the fake exasperated sigh of Ruby. There’s hardly anything that Fighter can say in the face of Tutor’s easy affection, every word silenced, helplessly lost in the small fantasy of what he could do if any of this were real. 

His eyes fall to Tutor’s rosy lips and feeling like the bravest man in the entire world, Fighter actually does what he wants for once and kisses the boy he loves with not a single shred of shame. 

It’s past midnight, but Fighter can’t bring himself to move. 

The living room is dark. The only source of light coming from the amorphous light pollution beyond the windows and the TV, volume turned down to a murmur. It doesn’t matter anyway. He hasn’t been paying any attention to it for quite some time. The series they were watching had been turned off hours ago, the moment Fighter noticed Tutor wasn’t watching anymore.

They’d stuck to the plan for the rest of the day with some small variations. Instead of going to the hotpot restaurant, they picked up food from the street kitchen around the corner that Tutor had mentioned. Tutor had confessed in the car that he couldn’t see himself sitting in a booth in his favourite restaurant for the amount of time eating and actually enjoying hot pot would take. All Fighter could do was agree sheepishly. Even outside the salon Tutor kept close, leaning into Fighter’s side, head resting against Fighter’s shoulder as they waited for their order in the humid afternoon air of Bangkok. There was no need to play pretend anymore but Tutor probably still felt unsure on his legs and Fighter didn’t really care. He’d take any excuse to just have Tutor closer for a little longer. 

They went home, way too many bags of food in their hands because Tutor had insisted on ordering all his favourites and having Fighter try them. It was a sweet gesture that made Fighter’s belly erupt with butterflies and when, in the car Tutor had pulled out the tiny plastic bag with the pork sausage skewers, Fighter had been more than happy at the pleased hums coming from him as he nibbled away. At red lights he used the time to feed Fighter bites, laughing with delight when Fighter gasped, surprised at the rich flavour. He’d been far hungrier than he’d thought.

They ate, they talked, they laughed and suddenly their condo hadn’t felt as gloomy anymore. Tutor excused himself to call his sister at one point and Fighter had used the time to sneak into his room and clean it up as planned. 

Even in his most chaotic state, Tutor isn’t really messy in the way of most people. There’s not even enough stuff around for him to make a mess of, so it was a faster job than Fighter would have expected. He’d changed the sheets of his bed, putting all his dirty clothes away, stacking papers and books and placing them neatly back on the desk. He’d taken out dirty dishes and cups, tidied up a mess of wires and camera equipment, until, by the time he was able to open the windows and let the fresh air in, the demons of the last week had been exorcised. 

While talking to his sister Tutor had leaned in the doorway, watching him. He’d obviously been disgruntled but had made no move to do anything, eyes heavy on Fighter’s back. A lover’s kiss in the silence.

Eventually however, as all things do, the day had ended. Fighter could only describe the circumstance of it as comfortable, simple domesticity. 

The evening was spent on the sofa, watching Netflix and for once Tutor looked genuinely relaxed. Fighter couldn’t stop him from sneaking glances at his phone of course and that was a drop of sourness in an otherwise sweet moment. 

No matter what, he’s still waiting for some life sign from Hwa Hwa and if it comes Tutor will see and respond to it immediately. No message came though, just the roar of the television and the shiver of the cold, until eventually Tutor put his phone face down on the coffee table. Without as much as a word, he’d leaned into Fighter and Fighter, scared to disturb the fragile atmosphere, hadn’t dared to question it. How could he ever question the comfort of Tutor pressed against him, his wishing star, his silent night.

Now it’s late and they should be both going to bed but Fighter is still too scared to move. 

For the last hour he’s been telling himself that he’ll get up any second now, just another minute. The problem is, after that he thought: why not one more minute? So it went on and on without end. At this point they’re both laying on the sofa, Tutor deeply asleep in Fighter’s arms, head resting against his chest. He’s warm and soft, face completely relaxed. There’s a laxness that comes with sleep, all of the world’s evils scrubbed from the mind until only peace and the soupy thickness of dreams remain in its wake.

In his sleep Tutor looks even more beautiful. Fighter never gets tired of studying his features and how the different colours from the TV shade his skin. If he were an artist like War, he might paint this, etch Tutor in shades of blue and green and yellow, a patchwork man that covers Fighter’s body like a quilt. He looks so young, so beautiful. 

No one has ever been this beautiful.

No one has ever been so precious.

There are a million thoughts going through Fighter’s head. He thinks of Tutor a year ago who lost someone he must have loved. He thinks of the nineteen year old Tutor, around the time Fighter met him, scared and hopeless in Bangkok and at the same time so fierce and resilient. He thinks of an even younger Tutor, tries to imagine him when life was easier for him, a young Tutor who surely couldn’t imagine how he’d grow up. 

He thinks about the lonely one, the strong one, the beautiful one, the smart one, every single crystalline facet of him that Fighter has been allowed to see so far. 

He even thinks about the ugly ones. 

Tutor with his mouth devoured by War.

Tutor playing pretend in front of a camera.

Tutor still keeping a stack of his ex’s clothes in the bottom drawer.

This day was supposed to be for Tutor, but this night, this time after midnight, this is entirely and selfishly Fighter’s. 

With Tutor sleeping in his arms, wearing one of Fighter’s hoodies, his nose buried against Fighter’s chest, Fighter doesn’t hide anything away. Instead, he lets Tutor fill his lungs and rush through his veins. He is the matchstick that when struck sets Fighter to burning and when Fighter holds Tutor it’s with possession. If Tutor opened his eyes now there’s no way he wouldn’t see it all spelled out on Fighter’s face. 

“I love you”, Fighter whispers on an exhale for the first time in his life, bowing his head down, lips gracing Tutor’s forehead. 

His mouth is clumsy and quivering around the words. 

Confessions should be better planned and they’re meaningless anyway, cowardly where no one can hear them but the darkness. Still, the words matter because there’s heart behind them, so Fighter says them again.

“I love you Sattakhun. I love you Tutor. I love you so much I don’t know what to do.”

Tutor sleeps, none the wiser; there’s a comfort in his silence.

Unsure whether he’s damned or absolved, Fighter closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and keeps wanting.

Sleep comes easy tonight.