Somewhere Only We Know
He’d known coming back would give him what he needed. He’d also readily admit he’d forgotten the particular taste of salt in the air before the drizzle and breeze would give way to stormy seas and angry clouds full of thunder.
This was were he’d always found solace before, though. Almost 20 years later and a good few inches taller, this apparently hadn’t changed.
There, on a secluded part of the island where tourists never treaded and even islanders had limited access to, there was a small little beach house - a cottage really. Old, but sturdy. Small, but charming. A little wooden porch, eroded in some places, looked out over the stretch of beach and rocks the sea lapped against, its waves growing with the tide and a fast approaching storm.
The havoc to come from above was almost laughable in comparison to the one that had wreaked havoc in Type though, before coming to rest on the very steps he hadn’t moved from for hours at this point.
Type went ‘missing’ a few days after an unexpected...episode not quite 5 years into the last bad memory of childhood trauma that had felt fresh with every nightmare. Years into therapy, the trauma (or rather his explosive response to it) had subsided but it had taken incredible effort, much like the waterline fighting for every inch against the tide - it would never be truly gone as it had become a part of Type he’d come to understand made him who he was and that was something he could live with.
Now, all that was left of this fight were annual check-ins with his therapist and the odd dream chased away by a warm circle of arms as well as the occasional video call with Tar later than appropriate if it were anyone else. Of course, it would probably remain an eternal scar but Type was dealing with it as best as he could.
Granted, the most recent episode hadn’t lasted for long but the impact had been much bigger due to both the intensity as well as the fact that it had been quite a while. This paired with the recent move to their ‘forever home’, as Tharn had affectionately called it, had flared a kind of homesickness in him. Type suspected this longing for home was also instrumental as to why he’d found himself on the steps he’d last seen when he was small enough to need a stool to reach the upper cupboards of the cottage’s small kitchenette. No secret place Khom’s parents had ever hidden sweets in had ever been safe from Type.
So Type had gone back home - the island he grew up on - but not to visit his family home; that would come later. Instead, he’d gone to the only place Type’s parents had never known about. He’d needed to go to a place that connected him to the few things capable of rooting him back to the ground that were not Tharn or, oddly enough, Tar’s small studio atelier in Paris. So, Khom’s family cottage it was.
With the warm wind in his hair and his eyes closed to lose himself to the song of waves that had accompanied him, a trusted companion, through his childhood. Eyes closed, Type centered himself on the white noise of water rushing against the shore and slowly distanced his thoughts from the chaos he’d dragged with him from Bangkok. The tension in his shoulders unraveled, bit by bit. He fully found back to himself when a hand softly settled onto his shoulder, startling him out of his quiet solitude - opening his eyes, Type’s gaze settled on Khom, who carried a mug in hand, cocoa by the smell of it. Type smiled as memories of skinned knees and soaked clothes accompanied by childish laughter flooded his consciousness.
Type must have been pretty out of it not to have heard Khom come in the back entrance and roam around in the drawers. But he was grateful it was his old friend. He was not quite surprised Khom was the one who found him either. After all, Khom had given him the only set of spare keys the day he’d left for uni all those years ago, and for this precise reason - a safe heaven to return to. Back then, Type had never thought he would actually make use of it but had nonetheless appreciated the gesture.
Wordlessly, Khom joined Type on the porch and handed over the mug before looking out onto the sea and quietly waiting for Type to speak, his own silence companionable. Khom was one of the few people who knew, come hell or high water, Type in a mood would sooner leave than talk if pressured. So, wait he would.
“Thanks,” came Type’s voice, a scratchy, rough sound from not having used it in a few days, most likely.
“I figured that, if you’d ever make use of the keys, you’d probably appreciate mom’s trusty recipe.”
Sipping slowly, never quite taking off his eyes from the shoreline, another moment passed before Type spoke again.
“How did you find me?”
“Aow, Type...give me some credit. You may have left the island a while ago but I am still your best friend.”
“.......don’t tell No.”
“Oh, he already knows. Trust me. We had a whole drunken thing about it at your last birthday party. He’s one of your best friends, I was simply the first. He’s not mad about it.”
Type looked apprehensive but Khom’s tone was too calm, a subtle note of mirth in it, to spark any real doubt he was lying to reassure Type.
Khom continued, scratching the side of his nose, “Besides, we’re all grown up by now, Type,” and upon Type’s less than convinced look, he added “sure, some more than others but we’re all way past the friend-pulling stage, don’t you think?”
Type was sure there were some people who would never get past that stage, but luckily none of them were people he knew, so he didn’t bother to speak.
Khom watched Type take another sip. At the rate he was going, Type’s cocoa could only be lukewarm by now. Type’s silence marked an end to this particular line of discussion and a peaceful quiet washed over them.
For a while, that was how they stayed: shoulder to shoulder, watching the rain fall, the droplets disappearing in the sea by the thousands without ever making it rise. It was in a deliberately hushed question that Khom broke their silence.
“What happened?”
“The usual. Just...it’s been a while. Took me by surprise.”
Khom nodded to himself and turned his body a fraction closer to monitor Type’s facial expressions a bit better, subtly.
“...Do you...want to talk about it?”
Type took a while to respond. Khom almost thought he hadn’t heard the question over the waves growing more ferocious by the minute but then...
“Honestly? I don’t know what to say...or where to start.”
Khom huffed out a chuckle.
“Well, you know what they say. Maybe start at the beginning?”
It took Type a while to gather his thoughts and even then the words only came out very hesitantly.
Type had been sent to one of the company’s warehouses fairly later than usual, tasked with picking up some important samples. As his visit came mostly unannounced and the guy on closing duty hadn’t noticed someone entering the warehouse after his troupe was done for the day, the guy turned off the lights leaving Type completely blind, surrounded by nothing but pitch black darkness.
This made the sound of the heavy metal doors slamming shut all the more jarring. It was this unfortunate combination of sounds and environmental impressions that triggered memories of the personal hell of his childhood.
“And suddenly I was back there, Khom. I was eleven again and tied to that chair...or at least it felt like it.”
Khom winced in sympathy but didn’t want to interrupt.
“I couldn’t breathe and when I eventually came to I was just cowering on the ground. I don’t know how long I was in there, honestly...but I eventually started knocking on what I thought was the door. The security guard must have heard me and let me out. I don’t really remember how I got home but next thing I knew I had packed some stuff and was on the ferry.”
The silence between them now was heavy. Khom knew about what had happened to Type, but he still felt at a loss at how he could help.
“Okay...but are you feeling better now?”
“....I’m getting there? I think.”
“Can I help in some way?”
“You are helping already. I’ll be fine, just sitting here is enough.”
Assured by Type’s response, Khom shifted and rested his head carefully and slowly against Type’s shoulder - giving Type an out if prolonged touch still proved too much. Khom’s hair had gotten long enough to tickle Type’s chin, drawing an involuntary smile from him.
“So, your man likes the shaggy look?”
Khom barked out a small laugh and punched Type’s thigh lightly.
“You know it suits me, don’t deny it, you ass.”
Khom couldn’t see it from his position but he would bet his husband’s whole-ass TikTok account but he only does cover dances of girl groups (and he’s damn good at it too) that Type had his trademark smirk on his face - the idiot.
“Does Tharn know I’m here?”
“Take three guesses who called me for help because a certain someone disappeared without warning and ... well, he knows you, Type.”
Khom felt Type nod slowly and could hear the cogs turning in his head, worry creeping into their crevices.
“I told him you were safe and I’d call him once you’re ready to be picked up,” Khom added in an attempt to stop Type’s worries from manifesting any further.
“...thanks, really, Khom. I mean it.”
Well ... that just ruined the mood, Khom thought and laughed.
“Love you too, stud.”
“Oh, shut up.”