I know it was just a facade - but it's amazing how Tanwa went from "everyone has the right to follow their own heart" regarding his mother's suicide, to getting tunnel vision and doing everything in his power to prevent Trin from going to the protest.
Because Tanwa is genuinely selfish at heart. It's not the worst thing but it is expressed in so many of his choices. And Trin has finally become part of that selfishness while for a long time Tanwa held to only being selfish about himself and to living a life of pleasure to escape his own inner turmoil rather than ever face it.
Tanwa is facing that his selfishness has resulted in losing so much that he no longer knows if he can be selfish. He tried to protect Trin but did it in an inherently selfish way and is starting to see his own reflection come back to him in that regard. Being selfish, choosing Trin's safety over his own choices...
He tried to say that he would let everyone have the right to leave him but he never meant it. He used it as a facade to cope with how his mother left him but now he's seeing that his facade was a selfish comfort that didn't ever let him face the trauma of his past the way Trin is currently being forced to through Victor and the student revolutionaries.
Tanwa claimed that everyone should follow their own heart because the only way he can escape is by following his every impulse and ignoring the reality of the situation. And then he faced the very real chance of Trin being in danger and he realized that he couldn't do it. He couldn't let Trin pick danger. He couldn't risk losing him.
And when Trin realized what Tanwa had done... everything truly crashed down. Because Trin has to believe that if he had been there from the start he'd have been able to save Victor. He has to believe that because that is his selfishness, filled with grief and regret, the idea that he could have saved the people he cared about if he was only there.
Do you see the tragedy inherent in two people's desperate need to protect the people they love and the conflict of how to define protecting and how to define love?
That's some serious silent communication for two people who barely know each other. They're both trying to keep Trin away from what's happening, and I don't think Trin's gonna thank them for it
yesss what was so brilliant about this is that even though they barely each other they intimately know who each other ARE and what the other is thinking because they are so similar in status. tanwa already knows what’s going to happen due to his father’s warning and knows there isn’t any way krailert is not involved, being military dog himself. krailert has already guessed tanwa and trin’s relationship and can see the panic and fear in tanwa’s body language. knowing tanwa is THE chatbodi son, he is aware that tanwa has an idea or knows what will happen at the protest and will also want to keep trin out of it.
we don’t get to see a lot of communication and connection between members of the privileged class that aren’t for military or social reasons. but trin is all they need to have in common for this to work. and trin is also what they stand to lose
i do love what we are seeing with Trin and Victor. yes yes Trin Thanwa woohoo. but the relationship being explored here is very beautiful, not romantically, but still very beautiful.
mileapo - school!au, student council president apo, delinquent mile
rated G, 2k words
twitter / based on these photos
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“P'Mai, you’re late again.”
Mile glares at Apo as he passes by, making sure their shoulders brush against each other. It sends a shiver down his spine. Whether it’s simply from the touch or the knowledge that with everyone else Mile would have no issue bumping straight into them out of spite, he’s not sure.
Apo doesn’t let Mile walk far without him, trailing hot on his heels, heaving his backpack higher up as he goes.
“Have you been smoking again? Is that why you’re late?”
Mile throws a cold glare over his shoulder but doesn’t respond. It’s fine - Apo is more than used to this by now, having spent almost the entire school year worming his way under Mile’s skin enough to just get him to look at him. And so what if he had to pull out the ‘I’m the president of the student council’ card one too many times? It barely worked anyway, considering Mile’s general lack of respect and interest in such a hierarchy, only made worse by the fact that Apo is a few years younger than him.
“P'Mai, you -” Apo jogs so they can walk side by side, although the view of Mile’s broad back was nice while it lasted. He likes looking directly at the other boy, eyes tracing over the contours of his build - wide shoulders, only made more obvious with the bulk of their school blazer, then the gradual taper down into his slim waist. It makes Apo sweat a little under his collar, his tie suddenly feeling too tight around his throat.
“Slow down for a second!” Apo finishes, grabbing a hold of Mile’s bicep.
He finally stops, those narrowed eyes zeroing in on Apo again. “You were telling me off for being late, but now you want me to be even later?”
“Well,” Apo shuffles, his white trainers squeaking against the linoleum flooring. He doesn’t let go of Mile’s bicep and uses his other hand to push his glasses back up his nose in a nervous gesture. “It’s been a while since we last spoke, so I just wanted to check-in. How’s your music class going?”
Mile sighs, the fight leaving him. He always turns up to school like this: pent up, his muscles wound up tightly like he’s gearing for a fight. Usually, he is, but not because of his own doing - the neighbourhood kids and other nearby schools all seemed to revere him as some type of prize to beat. You take down Mile Phakphum, and you’re the king of the area, earning the respect and fear of hundreds of others. Apo finds it completely pathetic and unnecessary, especially considering that they were all nearing their 20s.
“You could’ve texted me and asked this,” Mile replies flatly, his eyes straying to where Apo is still gripping him.
Apo jolts, hurriedly letting go. He tries to ignore the flush blooming across his cheeks. “I would’ve done, but you take forever to reply.”
Mile raises an eyebrow, looking down the straight slope of his nose. Apo clears his throat, heart hammering away behind his chest. He always feels so small when he’s in front of Mile, despite their height difference barely being even a few inches.
Taking over the student council had been easy. Rallying everyone into some form of subordination to show his authority had been easy, too. It had taken plenty of work, endless days of continuously proving himself, but it’d worked out. The worst thing about it was that Apo looked like a walking target for bullies. He’s not ignorant of his outward appearance and the way he carries himself - for him, it’s a matter of his personal pride. He likes looking smart, with his small circular frames and neat hair, pristine uniform and spotless track record, along with straight A’s in all his classes. Trying to get people to take him seriously and look at him as anything other than an object to ridicule was something he didn’t think would be possible, but he still did it.
Being faced with Mile’s handsomeness, on the other hand? That’s still something Apo is trying to manage. He’s seen the same face, the same features, heard the same voice and admired the same silhouette now for months, but it never gets easier. His pulse still speeds up, his stomach explodes with butterflies, and his cheeks go pink without any proper reason apart from just being within the general vicinity of Mile. Apo’s gone through worse and conquered a whole lot more, yet this one seems like the only mountain he can’t reach the top of.
He’s not sure when it started. It was as if he woke up one day - normal, no Mile centric thoughts - and then the next, he was head over heels for him and it was all he could think about. After that, his brain was completely infested with thoughts of Mile’s sharp jawline, his piercing deep brown eyes, his thick eyebrows, and the soft scent of smoke sweetened by a vanilla cologne. His strong arms, even stronger calves that he only saw when he peeked outside the classroom window during the other’s P.E class to watch, and -
Apo hears a sigh, and then there’s a hand on top of his head, ruffling his hair.
“Stop worrying about me and get back to class yourself, prez,” Mile says gently.
Apo startles out of his thoughts, but not quite.
Maybe it was the time that Mile finally responded to him with more than a glare. Or maybe it was the time that Apo managed to break up a fight that was brewing outside the school gates, and Mile gave him a curt nod of thanks before walking off. Or, maybe, more recently, it was when Mile started to truly pay attention to him, letting him stay with him in the music room during lunch, listening to Apo’s complaints and ramblings, even chuckling at some of his jokes. Then, if it was around that time, it could’ve been when Mile smiled properly at him for the first time. Not just a small upward quirk of his lips, but a real, genuine smile that completely transformed his whole face. It lit him up like a golden halo, making his eyes crescent into delicate moons, his lips pulling across his teeth as he beamed, his cheeks bunching up sweetly, two sets of dimples appearing with the action. It stole the breath right out of his lungs, looking like a fish out of water as he gaped, and even now at the mere thought of it, he fears he may do anything to try and see it again.
Apo swats his hand away, delayed in trying to smooth down the wild strands of hair that Mile had messed up, caught up in his daydreaming about Mile’s smile. “I’m allowed to be a little late, you’re not!”
Mile rolls his eyes, shoving his hands into his blazer pockets. His tie is barely done up, loose underneath his shirt collar, and his shirt is half-untucked into the waistband of his trousers. It’s enough to have him written up for a dress code violation. Apo should write him up. Yet, if he does that, it’d mean losing sight of the effortless dishevelled look that Mile pulls off. He supposes he finds it… somewhat charming, after all. Even if it means he’s showing bias amongst the pupils, he can’t find it in him to care.
Apo never said he wasn’t perfect, and he definitely never said he wasn’t selfish.
Especially when it means that he can reach out, trying to steady his shaking hands, to redo Mile’s tie for him.
“You’re always so messy,” Apo mutters, the toes of their trainers pressing against each other, the warmth of their bodies radiating between them from their close proximity.
Mile’s breath hitches. He’s seen Mile’s football teammates initiate physical contact with him easily, and Mile accepts it just as quickly, only batting them away from his hair but nothing else. Apo wants - he wishes - he had the courage to do that. To reach out without a second thought, without being bogged down with all these fluttering nerves and the sound of blood rushing in his ears from a simple interaction between them. Apo wonders if he tried to brush down the stray strands of hair from Mile’s bedhead, would he be pushed away too? Maybe Mile would let him get away with it, just like a lot of other things the student allows him to do without more than a mumbling complaint.
Apo glances up at him through his eyelashes above the tops of his lenses, curious, but Mile isn’t looking at him. He’s staring past them with a scary amount of concentration, the muscles in his jaw twitching from being clenched so tightly, his cheekbones pinkened. Apo’s stomach sinks. It’s clear from that alone that Mile is fine with everyone else touching him, just not Apo. He supposes that’s fine - if anything, considering Mile is somewhat of a delinquent, and Apo is the equivalent of a thorn in his side, he guesses that it wouldn’t be the most ideal situation for Mile to feel comfortable in. It doesn’t take long for him to sort it out, the sting of rejection fuelling him to go quicker as he’s used to doing it with practised ease on himself. Within a few twists and tugs, Apo pushes the tight knot up to the base of Mile’s throat, making sure it settles nicely in the middle of his collar.
“There,” Apo declares, patting Mile on the chest.
Mile jolts beneath his palms, his pectoral muscles tensing and then relaxing. He peers down, running a hand over the newly tied tie.
His expression gives nothing away, not even when their gazes meet. “Not gonna nag me about my shirt as well?”
“Unless you want me to shove my hands down your pants, you can do that bit yourself,” Apo scoffs, crossing his arms petulantly.
The air thickens around them, Mile’s neutral expression falling into something else. Something dark, dangerous, a twinkle in his eye forming. Apo feels cornered, a piece of fresh meat in front of a starving lion. He adjusts his frames on the bridge of his nose again, wishing that the lenses were tinted so he had some form of physical barrier between him and the way Mile is watching him.
“Shame,” Mile says vaguely, tucking the hem of his shirt lazily into his waistband. It looks even worse than before, sticking out at odd angles, and Apo’s hands itch to get a hold of it and sort it out for him.
Instead, Apo wrinkles his nose at it in distaste, his ears burning with the insinuation of Mile’s response. “Just… be on time tomorrow, okay? Then I won’t have to nag you so much.” His voice comes out more venomous than he intended, biting and exposing the fact that it hurt his feelings a little.
“But then I wouldn’t have an excuse to see your pretty face first thing in the morning,” Mile replies, smirking when Apo looks at him in pure shock.
“P'Mai!”
Mile leans in, his breath hot over Apo’s lips, sending puffs of condensation across his skin. His skin ripples with goosebumps, tiny spikes and shivers working their way down his whole body. Mile’s hair tickles across his forehead, catching behind his glasses.
“I’ll see you later, prez,” Mile whispers.
He pulls back as quickly as he comes, walking away down the hallway to his next class. Apo remains still from shock, enduring roils of embarrassment and something else he’d really rather not put a name to stirring in his gut until Mile is almost too far away to see.
“I knew it,” Apo unfreezes, delirium powering him as he spins around on the balls of his feet to face the same way Mile went.
“Your breath stinks of cigarette smoke!” He yells after him, pouting when all he hears is Mile’s laugh echoing around him in reply.
"Being in love is easy, but falling in love with someone with a higher social background than you is deadly. Despite all this, he gladly accepted the harsh punishment. He prays that in the next life, they will be together, loving in the vicious world."
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