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“Consequences. Accountability. It’s what we’ve been talking about all term. Last week you all showed me, and showed yourselves, what rewards you consider worth certain consequences. You discovered —”
Tangmo catches Vier’s eyes and makes a face, tongue out. Vier laughs silently. One of the consequences they’d both accepted in last week’s class had been downing half a glass of a liquid so bitter Vier can still taste it. Tangmo holds his gaze, laughing back, for just a few seconds before shaking his head and looking back to the front of the class. Vier’s gaze stays stuck on his face, the wide easy smile. He’d looked just that easy, just that laughingly casual this morning when he’d asked if Vier would kiss him. Stupid, trivial Tangmo nonsense. What he thinks he’s thinking half the time, even Vier can’t begin to guess.
Fortunately Tangmo can’t know what Vier is thinking either. If Vier’s spent most of the morning shaking off that conversation, no one has to know it but himself. He focuses back in on what the teacher is saying.
“Of course the accountability you can’t escape, no matter what you do, is to yourself. Even if you hide from everyone in the world, you yourself will know what you’ve done. You are your own ultimate judge. If ever—”
Vier tunes back out again. This is basic stuff, he’s heard it in at least two dozen variations. He only took this class so Tangmo would take it also. He’s been wishing Tangmo would take himself more seriously, would put in an effort. And hey, maybe it’s working. If this class was what inspired Tangmo to finally work for his black belt, then it’s worth a whole round of bitter drinks.
For a moment he’s on the floor again, staring up into Tangmo’s face as it sparkles with gleeful triumph. He wants that rematch. He needs it. Every time he thinks about that throw it roars into a blaze inside him.
The teacher brings out the VR headsets. They’ve used them a few times before in this class. “This time, it’s a little different,” he says. “This time, when you take the headset off, you won’t remember anything that happened while you were in there.”
There’s murmuring around the classroom. One hand goes up, and the teacher nods toward the student. “If we don’t remember anything, what are we supposed to learn?”
“That will be up to you. You’ll each have a chance to talk with me before taking off the headset, and we’ll discuss what lessons you might wish to carry forward. I promise you, previous classes have found this a very valuable exercise.”
There’s more murmuring. Tangmo catches Vier’s eye again and gives an incredulous headshake. An idea floats into Vier’s mind — not even an idea, just a thought — and he bats it away. He’s not going to waste this opportunity on something pointless. He can think of something worthwhile to do.
The headsets are passed out. Vier sets his on the desk in front of him, hands on either side of it. He’s sitting calmly but his heart, for some reason, is racing. The teacher is saying, “Remember, this is an opportunity to cheat your own mind and memory. It’s a chance to try something that you might be afraid of ever having to know you did. It’s a chance to do something that truly will not count, even for yourself. Make the most of it.”
Vier starts to get the bad feeling, the one that feels like ants are swarming all over his brain, in and out through the wrinkles and crevices. He grits his teeth and puts on his helmet, because everyone else is, because he has to. He just has to get through it, whatever it takes.
When he puts on the headset the world goes black for a second, then blinks back on. He’s standing in a boundless dark space. All his classmates and the teacher are there, standing just about where they’d been sitting. They look around at each other. A few giggle nervously.
“Whatever space or supplies you need for your experiments, just ask the system,” says the teacher. “Good luck.”
A few students start to walk away immediately, fading out of sight. Vier likes that plan. He can just keep walking until he has a real idea. Or if he spends the whole hour walking in a void, that’s fine too. He can tell the teachers he was meditating or something.
Once the sounds of nervous chatter die away, he realizes there are footsteps following him. He knows the springy, confident sound, and for once in his life he isn’t glad to hear it. He keeps walking, thinking fast. The problem with Tangmo is he picks the wrong times to be persistent. He’ll give up a serious project halfway through and then stick for days on something meaningless. What are the chances he’s moved on from this morning’s wild notion?
Vier steels himself and turns around. If Tangmo has any idea, any other idea, he’ll be glad to hear it. No one is as good at chasing away that ants-in-the-brain feeling as Tangmo. Hanging out with Tangmo is the closest he’s ever come to feeling like a normal guy.
Tangmo springs to catch up and throws an arm around his neck. “Got any ideas for what you want to do?”
Vier hesitates too long. Tangmo’s arm is hot on his neck, pulls him close. The twinkling eyes narrow dangerously and he adds, “If not, I was thinking we could —”
“Judo.” Vier shoots the word out of his mouth fast and hard. It works to stop what Tangmo was about to say. The arm around his neck slackens a little as Tangmo tilts his head.
“You wanna spar?”
Now that he’s said it, Vier can go with it. He thinks as he talks. “We’ve got the match coming up. We can find out how it’ll go, and then forget about it except for some training notes. It’ll make it more interesting.”
There’s no disappointment in Tangmo’s face. Why should there be? Instead he grins. “Afraid I’ll beat you?”
“In your dreams.” This is good, this is comfortable. This is how they are.
In previous lessons they learned how to ask for what they need from the system, so it’s simple to conjure up a couple mats and judo gis. This was a good idea, a perfect use of this exercise. They won’t be spoiling anything for the official rematch, but Vier will get some idea of what to expect, what to work on. He has to win the official match, and he’s almost sure he can, but it will be good to have a test run, here where it doesn’t count.
They face each other on the mat. Vier isn’t used to Tangmo looking like this, with determination behind the twinkling good humor. He’s known it was in there, but knowing isn’t seeing. It’s almost like facing a new person, someone he’s been dying to meet.
Vier's sparring style is usually decisive, taking control from the beginning, but with Tangmo he circles slowly, not sure what to expect. They make a few tentative passes, testing each other’s response, darting in then stepping back. They match on speed and reflexes, mirroring every quick feint. It’s time to make a direct move. Just as Vier thinks it, Tangmo moves like lightning, closing on Vier’s collar almost before Vier knew he was moving. Vier clasps his waist and there’s a furious scuffle of legs, each of them looking for leverage. Vier almost has it, but then Tangmo twists and he feels himself tumbling through the air before the mat hits hard on his back.
He doesn’t know how it happened. He stares at Tangmo grinning down at him. His chest is a swirl of rage and shock and some kind of fiery lapping greed. His brain is empty except for the one thought: he doesn’t know how it happened.
For the first time he admits to himself the fear: he might not win. This Tangmo, the Tangmo he’s been waiting for and pushing for, might actually be better. It's almost terrifying enough to make him want the old Tangmo back, the one who didn’t try, the one who maybe could beat Vier but never would. But that’s cowardly. Vier just has to be better. And anyway, this match doesn’t count.
“Again,” he says, and gets to his feet.
This time he’s deliberately a little slow, doesn’t give it his all. He wants to feel what Tangmo does. He does fight for it, arm reaching around Tangmo’s neck, throwing his hip into Tangmo’s stomach, but when he feels Tangmo pull he lets himself go down.
The third time Vier lands on his back, Tangmo’s eyes narrow.
“You’re letting me win.”
Vier doesn’t say anything. Tangmo straightens up, shakes out his hands. “No fair. I’m showing you everything I’ve got. If you won’t do the same,” he swings his arms back and forth and grins, “then we switch to my idea.”
“What’s your idea?” Vier can’t not ask.
Tangmo flashes his eyebrows. “Tell you what, if you can’t throw me this time, you’ll find out.”
This time he really does give it everything. They circle each other, grabbing and dodging, eyes sharp, feet light. Their breaths sound sharp in the empty room. Vier needs to win this time. Tangmo is just a little bit faster, so he has to be more solid. He picks his moment and goes in hard, going for his hold without hesitation. Tangmo grasps him back at the last moment, hooking on so that instead of being thrown they go down together.
Vier rolls on top and gets him in a cross choke. It’s not as secure as it should be, but Tangmo’s hands scrabble as Vier presses in on his neck. He watches Tangmo’s eyes go big. The world tilts with a vertigonous awareness: this doesn’t count and no one’s watching. He could choke Tangmo unconscious and then keep going, and nothing would stop him. If he wanted it, Tangmo would be erased. For a second he does want it; for a second he presses in and watches for the light in his friend's eyes to go out.
Then, shocked, he lets go. Tangmo gulps in air, then rolls free and over him. Vier is too stunned by his own impulse to react — and then it’s too late. Tangmo’s entire weight pins him down, and his right arm is captured under Tangmo’s. Tangmo’s chest is inches from his face. He tries to kick and shove free, but he can’t find any give.
Seconds tick by. Small beads of sweat shine in the hollow of Tangmo’s throat. He can feel Tangmo’s heartbeat against his inner arm. He can see, under the white robe pulled askew, the slope of Tangmo’s pec and the edge of a golden-brown circle. With a fresh surge of panicked energy he tries again to kick out of the hold, and Tangmo laughs.
“I already won,” he says. “I counted it out.”
“Fine,” Vier says through his teeth. “Just let me up.”
Tangmo doesn’t move. “First tell me why you let go. You had me a minute ago.”
“I just —” Vier scrambles for some explanation, anything. “I lost focus.”
Tangmo laughs again, throwing his head back. His neck makes a long arch and Vier’s head swims. “You? Lost focus? That’s like saying I took something too seriously. Try another one.”
Vier doesn’t have another one. He gropes and gropes for something, anything, that a normal person could say, and comes up empty.
“That’s what I thought,” says Tangmo. “You let me win, again. Which means…” he brings his face closer to Vier’s. “You wanna hear my idea?”
No. Yes. No. Vier doesn’t move as Tangmo lets go of his arm and shifts, elbows coming down on either side of Vier’s head. He takes in a scattering of impressions: the long sweep of Tangmo’s jaw; a damp spike of hair in front of his ear; the half-moon indent by the corner of his mouth.
“I’m just curious. Aren’t you? No harm in trying it out.” His tone is unforgivably jovial. Vier is not curious, has never been curious, is the opposite of curious.
Somehow, of all the things he could say, what he does say is, “You said two thousand baht.”
The half-moon deepens. “Sure, I’ll pay you, if you remember to ask me.”
He won’t. Neither of them will remember any of this. Vier feels momentarily weightless, and he hears himself say, “Fine.”
Tangmo dips his head to lay the lightest, darting kiss on Vier’s mouth. It’s over almost before he feels it, leaving him with an echo of warmth. Tangmo’s eyes aren’t laughing now; there’s a question in them. Vier doesn’t want to read it, much less answer it. Even from the light brush, his scalp feels electrified.
“Is that it?” he says, his voice sounding like it’s coming from somewhere else. “If that’s the best you can do, I see why you’re single.”
The searching openness in Tangmo’s look turns, mercifully, to a familiar gleam of challenge. “Oh, that was just a warm-up.”
The next kiss is firm, pressing Vier down into the mat. The electric crackle turns to fireworks, too much for his skull to contain. He’s fragmenting, flying outward in all directions. Tangmo’s mouth is hot and melting on his, shaping his lips to Vier’s while Vier flies to pieces underneath him. He can’t take this. He finds his hands, grips the sides of Tangmo’s face, pulls him closer.
He’s not Vier now, he’s someone else, someone who digs his fingers into the base of Tangmo’s skull, who opens his mouth and pulls Tangmo down into him. He burns with need. All of Tangmo’s weight is on him and he pushes up into him, needing to crush their bodies together. Through the robes he feels Tangmo growing hot and hard against his hip. He seizes Tangmo’s waist, grinding upward, finding friction between their robes. It’s maddeningly imprecise and he likes it, likes how frantic and needy he feels. He can’t get enough, and the harder he thrusts the more desperate he feels.
Tangmo’s kisses become looser, open-mouthed and sloppy. His chest heaves, hot rhythmic waves of pressure. His weight shifts to the side, and it’s unclear what he’s doing until a hand comes between them. Long firm fingers touch Vier’s cock. A lost cry escapes Vier's throat. Tangmo lifts his head, lips reddened, eyes gleaming.
The moment their eyes meet the spell breaks. Vier is Vier and he cannot be here. He throws Tangmo off and scrambles up, straightening his robes with shaking hands. Tangmo sits up slowly, eyebrows drawing together. “Hey, if that was too —”
Vier doesn’t wait for the end of the sentence. He simply stands up and runs. The walls of the illusory gym fade to black, become an empty hall, and he runs until his lungs burn, until his heart rattles, until his feet stumble and he goes down to his hands and knees.
He’s kneeling on tile. He’s in a bathroom, the gym bathroom. His panting echoes through the empty space. He kneels there until the blood has stopped rushing in his ears, then he gets up slowly. Runs the sink. Washes his face and neck and hands. His uniform is lying on the bench behind him and he picks it up, refusing to think about how it got there, about what is seen and known in this created space. He puts it on slowly, one piece at a time, and by the time his tie is around his neck, his hands have stopped shaking.
He walks out the door, and instead of the gym or the hallway, it’s the classroom, empty except for the teacher, who’s standing at the board with his back to Vier. Vier waits a minute, and the teacher turns around and smiles.
“Well, and how was your class time?”
Vier looks steadily at the teacher’s ear. He’s not going to search his face for whether the teacher knows how Vier spent the time, because he must believe that he did not. “I’m finished now.”
The teacher nods. “And is there something you would like to communicate to yourself, something you’ve learned from this experience?”
Vier barely hesitates. “No.” In a few minutes it will be erased. It will all be fine.
The teacher waits, as if giving him time to change his mind. “Alright,” he says at last. There’s no tone of reproach, or curiosity, or anything. “Then have a seat in your chair, and in a minute you’ll be returned to the classroom.”
Vier sits down, ramrod-straight. He counts out the seconds in his head, very deliberately, blocking out the moments and sensations his mind wants to replay.
“Just a little warning,” says the teacher, “in rare cases we have had students who retain their memories after all. We advise them not to say anything about it, so that other students won’t pester them to know what happened or what they remember. It’s best to just act as though the erasure worked for you.”
Vier meets his eyes for the first time. His dread is met with the teacher’s bland friendliness. “Of course, you can always come to me at any time if there’s anything you wish to discuss…”
The classroom fades away, and he sees only blackness, feels the pressure of the VR goggles on his head. He takes it off and blinks in the light of the real classroom, with all his fellow students sitting in their places.
It’s still there. He can still feel the warm give of Tangmo’s lips, can feel the weight of him. It was supposed to be erased. It was supposed to be like it never happened. He wants to leap over his desk and shake the teacher, to demand that he take away the memories Vier wasn’t supposed to keep. But he had warned him… too late. Vier wonders if that was on purpose.
It doesn’t matter. At least the teacher had offered a tactic along with the warning. No one even has to know what he remembers. He’ll put it away with all the other things no one knows. It doesn’t matter what happens or what you do or what you feel; only what other people know. Maybe that was the real lesson all along.
He lifts his head. Tangmo is looking at him, eyebrows lifted, half a smile. “Good class?” he asks.
Vier snorts, and judges that it mostly sounds natural. “How would I know?”
Tangmo laughs. Is there something strange about his look? No; that’s a trap. Vier won’t trick himself into self-consciousness. No one remembers anything and nothing happened. “At least it went by fast. You’d never know it’s been an hour.” As soon as he says it he second-guesses himself; is that how it feels for the rest of them, or did he just give himself away?
But Tangmo just slides his chair back. “Speak for yourself. I’m starving.”
Vier gets up. He’s going to be able to do this. Everything is going to be normal. “You would be, glutton. Let’s go get lunch.”