Oasis
แฟนผมเป็นประธานนักเรียน | My School President fanfiction
Tinn Tinnaphob Jirawatthanakul/Gun Guntaphon Wongwitthaya
3.7k words
on learning how to live without fear of loss
Read on AO3
“...n. Gun. Are you listening?”
Gun focuses back on his kitchen, his soggy instant noodles, and his boyfriend on the phone.
“Yeah. Of course. You—”
He hears a sigh from the other side of the line.
“Have you slept well since you got back? Are you eating well?”
He slouches on his chair. He can absolutely take care of himself.
“I can take care of myself, Tinn,” he says as much.
“I know you can,” says Tinn, his voice softer, a lot less like a doctor and more like the man he’s in love with.
Not that Gun minds doctor Tinnaphob. He loves him too. But he’s tired, and finally back home after a full month of promotions and concerts and public appearances, and his boyfriend is several miles away and he can’t be with him.
“I just don’t want you to sulk,” Tinn continues, as Gun slurps up some of his noodles. They’re not that bad.
“I’m not sulking. I think it’s perfectly reasonable to be upset that I can’t attend my boyfriend’s first conference.”
“They’re grossly overrated, you know,” Tinn says, and from the breathy sound of his voice, Gun can tell that he just lied down on his hotel bed. He probably has a great view from his window. Gun can see a few skinny stray cats from his bedroom window sometimes, and they even look up at him when he makes sounds at them.
“I know I’m too stupid for them—”
“Gun—”
“—but I wouldn’t even make a sound in the audience! They’d let me in.”
“Gun, you’re not stupid. It’s just not your area, and that’s okay. You can sing flawlessly in at least four different languages.”
Gun pushes his bowl of soggy noodles away to lean both his elbows on the table and hide his face in his arms, as if it would help him with Tinn on the other side of the line.
“Yeah, but I don’t speak them. It’s just for the songs.”
“Baby,” Tinn says, and it’s unfair, because Gun is upset and he’s self-deprecating and Tinn’s voice is so sweet and he’s several cities away. “We can figure something out next time, okay? Don’t worry too much about it.”
“Okay,” Gun says, trying to sound like he’s not a seventeen-year-old anymore. And he’s not. He hasn’t been for some time now. It’s just...
“Will you tell me what’s really bothering you now?”
He really does wonder if Tinn can read his mind sometimes. Probably not. Would have made their dating in high school a bit different. Not too much, but a bit. Tinn still gets flustered when Gun professes his love for him, just like that day in the hospital, that many years ago, when he first told him he wanted to sing a song just for him. What would he have said if he could read all of Gun’s thoughts for him?
“I just want to be there for your accomplishments, that’s all,” he says, and Tinn is silent for a beat, and maybe he spoke too quietly, he does that sometimes, so he’s ready to rephrase it into something a bit... less when Tinn is speaking again.
“You are. Gun, you are there for me. You take care of me so much better than you take care of yourself that it honestly drives me a little crazy sometimes. But I’m really so— Gun, I don’t know if I’d have gotten here without you.”
Gun’s voice is muffled when he speaks next, as he tries to hide away further. “I do take care of myself.”
“You do,” Tinn says, voice crystal clear and kind, like the finest, perfect note of a tuned piano. “But I take better care of you just as you take better care of me, not because we owe each other but because it makes us happy to do so, hmm?”
Gun hums back, because it’s true. Tinn would have probably asked for takeout if they were both too tired to cook. Gun should have done that, damn it.
He wants Tinn back already, but he’s not selfish enough to say it.
“Do you ever get this upset when I can’t attend your concerts?”
He does get upset. But Tinn makes it to every concert he can, and by the time Gun sees him in the audience, he’s already forgotten those where Tinn had been absent.
“No,” he says, and means it.
“Do you feel I don’t support you enough? Be honest—”
“Tinn.”
“Gun.”
“I’d never feel that way. You know that, right?”
Tinn has to know. He has to. After all these years, all the times Tinn stayed up with him when he was scared about his future, anxious about failing, or just too damn wired about tomorrow to sleep and Tinn just listened, held him, looked over Gun’s papers and lyrics as if they were just important as all of Tinn’s books, how could Gun ever ask him to do more? He was already just quite...
Was everything too much to say?
“I know,” Tinn says, and he sighs again, and Gun feels the distance gets to him just as much. But Tinn knows, and it feels criminal that Gun can’t hold him about it. “So why would you feel that way about yourself?”
Gun hits his head against the table, and regrets it, because Tinn probably heard it.
“Because I’m dumb.”
“Gun. We have talked about this.”
“Okay, so I am sulking.”
He’s also pouting, and he almost wants to switch to a video call so he can throw it at Tinn.
“Is that just it though? You’re allowed to sulk, even if I’m not happy you’re doing it alone, but—”
“See? Now we’re both suffering from unimaginable unfairness.”
He huffs a laughter, and hears Tinn let out a chuckle from his side. The line goes quiet. There’s no sound coming from Gun’s closed windows, no music in the background, and Tinn’s breathing is quiet. Gun closes his eyes, his cheek against the table, and tries to imagine he’s lying on Tinn’s chest, so he can feel him breathe, more soothing than any lullaby.
“You should go to bed. You know mom doesn’t like it when you drive when you’re tired.”
Gun has to agree, picking himself up from the table and bringing his bowl to the sink.
“Yeah, okay.”
“I love you.”
Gun stops by the sink, turning the faucet off. He smiles at the unremarkable window in his kitchen, form which he can see only darkness at this hour.
“Sing me a song before you go.”
He hears a noise from Tinn’s side. It’s not exactly a snort or a giggle, but a very distinct noise Tinn makes when he’s embarrassed. It’s one of Gun’s favorite sounds in the world, but he just loves Tinn’s singing more. He loves those precious moments when Tinn trusts him with his voice.
“Okay. For my number one fan.”
Gun tries not to make any noise as he washes his dishes. Tinn is still singing by the time he’s in bed, calm and not quite as sulky, and his head finally quiet.
***
He’s at the sink when his mom asks, “So when are you going to spill it?”
“Huh?”
He doesn’t think he’s been planning on spill anything. His mom rolls her eyes at him, and he didn’t think he had done anything wrong just yet, he got there just two days ago?
“Whatever it is that’s bothering you so bad that I could see it the moment you walked through that door.”
Gun pouts, turning to look at the bowls in the sink, his hands still covered in dish soap.
He doesn’t want to lie, but putting his feelings into words has always been difficult for him, no matter how many songs he’s written in his career. It’s easier to sing his feelings out, to carry on for a few minutes, hit the high notes and then let them fade out. There’s hardly a follow up to that.
Gun’s not scared of talking about his feelings. The people he opens up to would never hurt him.
It’s the words themselves that struggle to form, heavy in his system like he can’t digest them.
Tinn has definitely noticed, but he’s been kind. Mostly because Gun hasn’t spent much time alone with him since he came back from his conference and joined Gun at the shop.
Gun looks over his shoulder, and sees Tinn at the register, putting his phone away and smiling when a customer arrives. He’s probably still tired, but too stubborn to rest while Gun is helping out at the shop. Gun has been counting the minutes until he snaps and kicks Tinn upstairs to lie the fuck down.
He turns his face back down at the sink, and says, “I talked about dad in a recent interview.”
He’s not looking at his mom but he can hear her coming closer, until he can see her in his peripheral vision. He keeps his eyes down.
“It was a good memory. I liked talking about him. It’s just...”
His mom doesn’t touch him or place an arm around his shoulders or hug him. She leans her hip against the sink and crosses her arms and looks closely at his face, even though he’s still looking away. If Tinn sees her touch him, he’ll know. He’ll be worried. Gun isn’t crying. He’s not even sad. He finds himself smiling, actually, just at the mention of his dad. But it fades away, dims like sunlight behind a curtain.
“I spend so much time away from Tinn and you and my friends now. Is it okay?”
“Why wouldn’t it be okay, dear? You’re doing what you love, aren’t you?”
“Yeah,” he answers easily. “Yeah, but...”
“We understand, you know. We’re happy for you, and proud. Tinn sends me everything he can, I couldn’t possibly miss it.”
“It’s not that,” he says, and finally looks at her.
He used to have to look up to meet her eyes. Now there are pretty wrinkles at the corner of her eyes when she looks up at him, her favorite shade of lipstick still on her lips.
“What is it then?”
He turns on the faucet, and starts rinsing the bowls. Over the sound of the running water, he says, “I’m scared that any moment might be the last time I talk or see you.”
His mom doesn’t say anything. He keeps up with his mechanical task, pretending there are no tears in his eyes. When the last of the bowls and spoons are put away, his mom turns the faucet off. She touches his cheeks and wipes the tears before they fall, and then she brings her hands up to brush his hair, as if he’s still a disheveled teenager.
“You must have missed us very much.”
He nods, drying his hands on his apron and trying really hard to keep eye contact.
“You know, not many people have a home to come back to.”
Her eyes are on him, but she’s seeing something else. He can tell how long she spends there, looking past him and remembering him as well. He feels bad for it, but she doesn’t cry as much anymore. She doesn’t cry now.
“You need to go out there, and live out your career, eat well, sleep well when you can.” She unties his apron and pulls it over his head, patting down his clothes to get of any wrinkles. “And at the end of the day, or the week, or the month, you pick the safest way home, where we’ll be waiting for you.” She places her hands on his neck, the weight of them more comforting than any blanket. “It doesn’t matter how long it takes. Don’t ever rush it. Take your time. You don’t ever need to rush anything, dear.”
Tinn has definitely seen them by now. Gun tries not to move or give anything away. Even if Tinn will be able to tell. He can always tell.
“Don’t ever keep your fears to yourself, okay? Talk to Tinn. They’ll grow too big if you keep them to yourself for too long. And...”
She pats him on the cheek.
“You can’t always think about the end like that. If you think about the end all the time, you won’t get to live the middle, and wouldn’t that be terribly lonely?”
He chews on his lower lip, and finally looks down. His mom messes up the hair that she had just brushed into place moments ago.
“Take Tinn upstairs, he’s yawned more in the past hour than I’ve ever seen him do since I met him. Order some food, take a nap. I’ll close up soon.”
Gun nods at her, giving her a hug. She pats his back, her hand soothingly moving up and down, then moves back and shoos him away. Gun can’t help but chuckle.
He walks to Tinn and hopes his eyes aren’t too red. Either way, he doesn’t make a lot of eye contact before he’s saying, “And you’re done here,” moving to untie Tinn’s apron.
“But—”
“Boss orders, come on.”
He takes Tinn upstairs by the hand, assuming the lead. Once in his room — their room, every time they stay over — he tells Tinn to shower first, nodding along to his complaints, but nonetheless pushing him out of the room with clean clothes in his hands.
His room hasn’t changed much since he moved out. There are old clothes that still fit him somehow, as well as worn-out shoes that he should really put away. The bed is new, and bigger. The family portraits are still in the same place they have ever been, not a speck of dust on them. His old guitar sleeps in its case in the corner, and he makes a mental note to check which strings need to be replaced. Even though he hasn’t taken it to his new place, he doesn’t neglect it. There are too many memories in it. Bad times, good times. One song on a certain birthday, many years ago now.
Gun only notices he’s given his own clothes to Tinn when he walks back into the room. He puts his phone down and beckons Tinn over so he can dry his hair for him. He can see Tinn’s shoulders rising and falling as he sighs, not out of weariness, but like a cat, comfortable and pleased, right before it falls asleep.
“Mom said we should rest a bit. She’ll call us when dinner’s ready.”
Tinn hums before he says, “I’ll wait until you’ve done showering.”
Tinn’s habit of waiting for him even when he’s exhausted always fills Gun with both endearment and exasperation. He throws the towel to the side and wraps his arms around Tinn’s middle from behind, hugging him tightly. Tinn lets out a little oof just to be dramatic, but he places his hands over Gun’s and keeps them there.
Gun sits there, with his world in his arms, and his mind is in complete silence. He just touches his forehead to Tinn’s shoulder, closes his eyes and breathes in. Time doesn’t seem to be running out. It’s a standstill, and he doesn’t have to move or rush or be anything or be anywhere. He’s here. Tinn is here. Mom is here. Sound sent him a message in their groupchat earlier, and slowly, the orange afternoon will fade into a purple dusk.
Gun breathes. Tinn smells like lemons and clean clothes. He’s wearing his clothes. He’ll fall asleep in Gun’s arms if Gun doesn’t get up to shower, but then, just then, Gun keeps holding him.
Letting go of Tinn still sends a wave of uneasiness through him, but he’s spent a long time away from Tinn. And he needs sleep. Maybe if he wakes up by Tinn’s side later, he’ll feel content enough to remember that it’s not going to end. Not like this. Or any time soon.
“Wait,” Tinn says when he gets up from the bed, and Gun blinks as Tinn gently pulls him back to the bed.
Tinn gets up and walks to his suitcase. His clothes and possessions are always neatly organized, so it doesn’t take long until he’s found what he’s looking for.
At first, Gun is confused at the sheet of paper. It’s obviously from one of Tinn’s notepads, the ones Gun has constantly tried to get Tinn to retire because he could just use his tablet, for God’s sakes, but Tinn insists on using because he prefers writing by hand. And Gun, who writes all of his song lyrics in a notebook he keeps with himself at all times, can only roll his eyes at him.
He thinks it might be notes from Tinn’s conference, but once he starts reading, it’s clear they have nothing to do with medicine. It’s…
“I couldn’t sleep the first night,” Tinn says, “so I just… well…”
“Tinn,” Gun starts, then stops. He puts the sheet down and looks at Tinn, who’s fidgeting in a way Gun hasn’t seen in a long time. “Baby,” Gun starts again, touching Tinn’s wrist and gently pulling him to sit down by his side. “Did you write a song?”
“It’s for you,” Tinn says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world to admit. Gun stares. “I mean, I can’t really compose on my own, and I didn’t have a guitar with me, and it’s meant for you to sing, so I thought you could—”
“Tinn,” Gun repeats, and Tinn stops, looks at his eyes. “You wrote me a song?”
Tinn smiles, finally. A small, timid thing. Gun wants to cry and kiss him and hit him and kiss him and cry some more, all at once.
“Do you like it?”
Gun forces himself to look down at the sheet again. Tinn’s handwriting is a bit messier now, after years in med school, but he must have rewritten it until it was presentable for him. He looks at the words, at every meaning interwoven in them, about staying with him wherever they are, being his home, his comfort, his safe harbor. Despite everything and everyone and even after everything and everyone. I will always be…
Gun throws himself at Tinn, and they both fall over on the bed. He’s saying “I love it” and “I love you” in such quick succession and with such emotion but he’s not worried about Tinn understanding him because he will. He does. Everything, all the things Gun doesn’t say, even if Tinn doesn’t know completely, every worry and thought that crosses his mind, Tinn is there, keeping them all in a safe net. Keeping him safe. Until he can pick himself up again.
Gun clings to him until his breathing stabilizes again, and then Tinn is softly saying, “You should shower,” and he goes, because he doesn’t want to waste a minute more.
There’s already a melody in his head as he showers, as he gets dressed, as he climbs in bed with Tinn. Maybe by the time he wakes up again, the song will be fully formed, and Gun will be able to present it, however imperfect it may be, to his biggest loves, on the stage in his mom’s shop that means so much to them all.
“Gun,” Tinn says, voice heavy with sleep. Gum hums back, to signalize that he’s listening. “I can handle the shop tomorrow, you should go out with your mom.”
Without opening his eyes, Gun says, “If I can convince her to go out. But why do you say that?”
“It’s been some time since you came over. You should spend some time together. Don’t worry about anything else.”
Gun can feel Tinn’s chest moving up and down with his calm breathing as they hold each other close. His hand on Gun’s back is still lulling him to sleep with soothing motions. His leg over Gun’s is a welcome weight, one Gun misses to the point of ache when they’re apart.
Tinn shuts down all of Gun’s worries just by being himself. Didn’t he know? He should know. He should.
“We should all go out together,” he says.
To live in the middle, instead of the end.
“Do you think she’d like that?”
Gun snuggles impossibly closer, his nose brushing against Tinn’s neck.
“I do.”
One of them falls asleep first. Which one, it’s impossible to tell. Limbs, breathing, hearts — they’re all tangled together as one.
As for their tomorrows, only Gun would know. As long as he let them come, one after another, after another, after another, never once too scared to say, “I love you. Take care.”
As long as they share the same sky, his feet would bring him back to the ones he loves.
***
ต่อให้วันที่ฟ้าไม่เป็นใจ ต่อให้วันที่ลมหนาวเท่าไร
Even when the day the sky is not happy, no matter how cold the day is
ต่อให้เธอต้องเจอเรื่องร้ายๆ สักแค่ไหน
No matter how bad things have happened to you
ขอแค่เธอหันมา และไม่ว่าเนิ่นนานเท่าไร
I just want you to turn around, and no matter how long it be
และไม่ว่าเธอไม่มีใคร
And when you don't have anyone
จะมีฉันที่คอยดูแลเป็นที่พักใจ
You have me who'll take care of you as a place to stay
I will always be your Oasis
Patrickananda – Oasis