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The sun has yet to set when the bus drops Palm off several hundred meters from the mansion. The sky is a quiet shade of turquoise, the ambiguous overlap between green and blue; ironically reflective of Palm’s current state of mind.
Wow.
Chopper whispered into his mouth when the kiss finally ended.
I didn’t think you’d kiss like that.
After the five-minute walk back to the front gate, the fever is still hot on his cheeks, just like the rest of Bangkok. Equatorial regions and their tropical climate mean capricious weather from day to night; intermittent periods of scorching heat and torrential rains keep everyone on their toes.
Oh shit.
Chopper swore, his breath hot and heavy against Palm’s skin. His brown eyes lifted hesitantly, and Palm met them with caution. In that proximity, Palm’s vision was blurring. He didn’t dare consider the reason for the warmth in his eyes; he saw a grin grace Chopper’s lips, like this obvious mistake was a joy to make.
I have to go now. I — I’ll text you, alright? I’ll text you.
Palm glances at his phone. No missed calls. He puts it back in his pocket.
I hope we’ll get a storm soon. There won’t be, but I’d like one now. Palm thinks to himself as he stares out the window from the room he shares with his father, the compact space barely enough for two teenagers, let alone adults.
Palm has felt like an adult for a long time. He was raised by neighbours instead of parents, with little to no chance for childish behaviour; why would anyone let him stay if he couldn’t behave? He was sent to the boat the moment he could swim; there was no time to waste.
Palm!
His name sounded different in Chopper’s mouth. Like someone was happy to see him. Like it was safe. Like he belonged, the way the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, not for any strings attached but a natural kind of—
A breeze replaces his thoughts with a chill. The lake is the same as before, quiet and calm and accepting of everything but lies. Every gentle ripple coaxes the truth out of him, even ones he is too afraid to put in words.
Nueng isn’t home yet, but he will be soon. By the time his young master returns, Palm will have to explain the defeated look on his face. What will he tell Nueng? What should he tell him? The kiss? Which kiss?
Maybe he should mention Chopper, just to get a rise out of Nueng. Maybe part of it was about getting back at Nueng. Nueng who takes him for granted. Nueng who jumps from friend to master like playing hopscotch, changing his role conveniently as he sees fit.
Nueng who does not understand that Palm is his father’s son.
Chanon has sworn to give Kiattrakulmethee his life, and by extension his son’s service. In return, Kiattrakulmethee will house and feed them; they will never have to worry about roof or food again for the rest of their lives — of course, they don’t get to leave either.
The day Palm arrived, Chanon lead him inside through the backdoor. Palm didn’t question it; he immediately understood the implications. When he was brought to see Ms Tanya, she didn’t ask about his life nor his ride from Chonburi to Bangkok — no, people like her are all about business. There was no smile on her face either — perhaps there was nothing to smile about, not when her son’s life is in danger — all that she spoke, she spoke with absolute authority.
How could someone protect somebody else’s physical and mental wellbeing, when they can hardly protect their own? Palm doubts he was capable of such a task, but he was in no position to question. Sometimes, Palm wonders if Ms Tanya sees him as a person, or just a body to stand between her son and potential shooters.
Nueng’s footfall reaches Palm before his words. Even in his walk, Nueng exerts power.
“You left early.”
A simple fact, when paired with Neung’s tone, accuses Palm of insubordination. Palm glances up and then down again. He cannot meet Nueng’s eyes without risking his secret.
“Aunt Nid told me to come back and help her.”
Nueng considers Palm’s response for a second. Whether he realises it was an excuse or not, he doesn’t show. Instead, his tone softens.
“You make me nervous about our paper.”
Palm doesn’t say much to that. He still doesn’t look at Nueng.
“Palm.” With one word, Nueng demands his full attention. Impatience laces through his name and suddenly it sounds like involuntary duty. “Look at me when you speak.”
Palm feels like he’s back in the principal’s office, but this time he’s dealing with his boss. If Nueng were to punish him, would he give Palm a suspension too? Does that mean Palm can have two weeks off from playing bodyguard?
Regardless, Palm does as he’s told. Reluctantly, no less.
“It’s nothing.” His words don’t match his blank stare. Even his voice sounds weak. “May I be excused? I need to go help Aunt Nid.”
Slippers probably aren’t the best choice when the lake is lined with uneven rocks; one misstep and Palm would bestow another layer of meaning to his footwear. The lake is no ocean, for fresh water does not give the same buoyancy as salt water; still, water is water — it holds you all the same. He wouldn’t drown if he fell, but he also wouldn’t want to leave its embrace.
Nueng catches Palm by the wrist. The conversation is not done until he says so.
“No.” His verdict is sure and final. “You need to talk to me first.”
Nueng gauges Palm’s expression with the scrutiny of an inspector looking for faults. It takes everything in Palm to maintain eye contact. A moment later, Nueng gives up.
“What’s your problem?”
“Nothing. I don’t have a right to me mad at you.”
“Just tell me what’s going on.”
Nueng insists. Like it was easy.
“Aren’t we friends?”
Like it was true.
“If we are friends, we should be able to talk to each other about everything.”
Are we though? Palm knows the answer. He has known it since the first day they met — they won’t be friends. They can never be friends. What’s more ironic, is that Nueng has never sounded more like a boss than he does now, declaring a 100% transparency condition on their supposed friendship.
Terms and conditions are for contracts, Palm thinks to himself. You sure are your mother’s child.
Once again, Palm looks away. The fuzzy feeling Chopper left him has vanished entirely. As though sensing his distraction, Nueng takes one step forward.
“If you have something to say, just say it. You’re too easy to read—you can’t hide your feelings from me.”
Palm wonders if that is true. Is it that he does not have the ability to conceal himself, or is it that he could not be anything but vulnerable with Nueng? The truth lies somewhere in between, deep beneath the murky waters. Palm doesn’t feel digging through dirt to fetch it.
“When I was looking for you at school, I went to the music club. I saw you with Ben.”
“What did you see?”
Visibly startled, Nueng asks. What’s next makes Palm’s stomach turn, but he says it nonetheless.
“I saw you kissing Ben.”
Still, he withholds what happened next; he has the knife in his hand but he doesn’t stab.
“I don’t feel anything about it.”
A lie.
“I just want you to be more careful.”
Not a lie.
“You never know who wants to hurt you. I saw it by accident—that means anyone could’ve seen it too.”
Erasing himself from the equation is easy; Palm has honed this into an art. It’s a comfortable midground for them both: Palm doesn’t have to lie about safety concerns, and Nueng immediately realises the potential risks.
“You can’t tell anyone about it,” is Nueng’s first request on the issue.
Palm thinks of Chopper. He didn’t tell Chopper anything, but he has a feeling Chopper already knew.
“You can’t tell your dad. Especially not my mom.”
“Why not? Ms Tanya loves you very much.”
“Exactly,” Nueng retorts, pained. “I don’t want to disappoint her.”
Why would she be disappointed? A beat later, Palm asks this instead.
“About Ben, can he be trusted?”
Lips pursed, Nueng finds a boulder nearby and sits down on it. Apparently, the matter requires a seat and proper thought.
“I’m not sure. Knowing that someone wants to be close to me, to be with me, to touch me… It’s an amazing feeling.”
Palm can see it, how good it felt for Nueng; he wonders if Nueng could see how awful it felt for him. However, when his young master looks at him again, he has already forgotten about Palm’s avoidance less than a minute ago.
“Have you ever felt that before?” An innocent question, like a paring knife; not made for harm but capable of it nonetheless. Then, as though a stab isn’t enough, Nueng gives it a twist. “That you are wanted by someone.”
It hurts. Instead of his parents, Palm thinks of Chopper again. Palm shakes his head.
“No.”
Tension has eased, at least for Nueng. With the softest and most genuine smile, he says, “When you find that person, you’ll see. You’ll know how it feels.”
Temperature drops. The sun must be setting.
“Thank you for watching out for me. It feels nice to have you watching my back.”
Of course. That is his job. Palm nods and accepts his deserved compliment.
“Are you going to the party? The dance club party.”
“Yes. Maggie asked me to go help her.”
“You two are close enough for her to find you a job?” A pause. “Do you like her?”
“Not yet.”
“Not yet?” Another pause. “But it’s possible?”
Nueng is talking about Maggie, but Palm is thinking about someone else.
“I’m not sure. She’s nice to me, so I’m nice to her. We’ll just see what happens.”
✦
19:20
[CHOPPER] is everything okay?
[Palm] yes
[Palm] you?
[CHOPPER] me too
[CHOPPER] does nueng… know
[Palm] no
[Palm] i didn’t tell him
[CHOPPER] okay
[CHOPPER] palm
[Palm] ?
[CHOPPER] can i ask you a question?
[Palm] yea
[CHOPPER] how many people have you kissed?
20:39
[Palm] why
[Palm] jealous?
[CHOPPER] no
[CHOPPER] curious
[Palm] three
[CHOPPER] three?
[CHOPPER] so we have Casanova here
[Palm] what does that mean?
[CHOPPER] it means you’re popular, lover boy
[Palm] what about you
[Palm] how many people have you kissed
21:19
[CHOPPER] one
[CHOPPER] just you
21:47
[CHOPPER] can i see you tomorrow?
✦
Despite Nueng’s frequent badgering, he doesn’t forbid Palm from seeing Maggie. While territorial and often temperamental, Nueng does try his best to be more of a friend than a boss, and Palm is thankful for that silver of freedom he is granted. Every time Palm goes out, Nueng naturally assumes he’s seeing Maggie, and Palm doesn’t correct him.
To see Chopper, Palm has realised, he must be everything he is not allowed to be: disobedient, secretive and reckless.
Rusty in all three, Palm is haunted by a looming fear. Just like Nueng said, Palm is everything you see. He can imagine the fury he’d face if his father discovered his impulsive tryst with Nueng’s cousin; if the news reached Ms Tanya, she might never trust him again. Surprisingly, Nueng is the least of his concerns on this matter — surely, Nueng would be mad, but it wouldn’t be the first time.
But with fear comes thrill, like a breath held seconds before the drop; you won’t know what’s out there at sea unless you starting sailing. In his own words: he’ll just see what happens.
Besides, letting Chopper down a second time might just kill them both.
With a nature as easy as a breeze, Chopper agrees happily when Palm suggests to meet downtown. Cautious and meticulous, he also has his driver drop him off several stations from their meeting point then takes the Sky Train alone.
Every day, Silom keeps its patrons fed with a delightful array of street food, all served as you order to enjoy standing or on stools. There is no fancy décor or plating, just simple food to satiate the hungriest of souls.
Meandering through the buzzing streets, the pair fall into a modern type of dance routine. With Palm leading and Chopper keeping up, the fisher boy turns his head to check on the rich boy several times, part concerned and part curious of how Chopper will fare away from his element.
Fashionable as always, the front of his dress shirt tucked in, Chopper does not sacrifice his strut no matter where he is. Perhaps Palm has misjudged Chopper, to assume he would not thrive close to the estuary. Like euryhaline species, Chopper swims freely between fresh and salt water; he moves with confident grace, navigating crowds as though parting waves.
He’s magnetic, Chopper Kiattrakulmethee; it’s impossible to look away when he’s around. His proper name must be captivating, too, just like Nueng’s, picked from a tongue foreign to Palm but home to the cousins. One that evokes mystery, the way his eyes do.
By the sixth glance, Chopper catches Palm’s gaze and grins. Palm doesn’t play chess, but the spark in Chopper’s eyes foretells a checkmate move; instead of running away, Palm stays still and waits to be netted.
“Worrying about me?” The midday sun paints Chopper in a holy light, his silver earrings glistening like the gleaming sea. And, as if to set Palm alight, Chopper rests a hand on the crook of his arm, fingers curling against bare skin. “I’m right here.”
Embarrassed and maybe shy, Palm keeps his eyes on the ground for the rest of their walk.
It’s noon, which means lunch hour. Every restaurant is swamped, and the queue comes in sight before the actual stall. It’s yet another Maggie’s pick, this noodle stall they’re visiting, critically acclaimed by locals for its refreshing flavours and filling portions.
“Maybe we should’ve avoided the peak hour,” Palm says apologetically as they wait in stifling Saturday heat.
“It’s nothing,” Chopper insists despite the sweat on his smile. He is wearing black again. Black seems to be all he wears these days. Droplets roll off his neck and deep into the opening of his satin shirt, unbuttoned down to his chest, likely to disperse heat.
…Well, likely.
Thirty minutes later, they are finally seated.
“We’d like the special. We want everything.”
It’s a certain privilege, to be in Chopper’s company, a rare moonrise in broad daylight; his charisma balances out the assertiveness in his words, and his diplomatic personality takes away the burden on Palm’s awkward mind.
They watch from their table how the vendor prepares their meal: blanched egg noodles, flat and thin, steaming hot, landing in a bowl as round as a full moon; a second chef assembles the rest, crushing a few limes in her palm for a zesty splash, bean sprouts for a crispy bite, fried garlic and onion for a tangy punch, then a yolk to tie it all together; she gives it a good swirl before topping the dish with half boiled egg, crispy pork belly, minced pork, barbeque pork and fish balls; finally, a scallion shower to add colour.
“Fascinating,” Chopper whispers. Palm angles his head towards him quietly, hoping to catch a glimpse of that child-like wonder on his face.
With several people sitting across them and a several more standing behind, Palm soon realises this is no place to talk — there is barely personal space, let alone privacy. The one good thing about this lack of room, however, is that for the entire duration of their meal, Palm’s arm is pressed against Chopper’s, and he can feel the way their skin heats up under the contact.
Naturally, neither mentions it. In fact, they both make a point to not bring attention to it.
From the corner of his eye, Palm notices how Chopper eats: he holds his chopsticks most elegantly and properly, a spoon in the other hand to scoop up whatever the cheap wooden chopsticks cannot catch. Every mouthful, Palm has noticed, contains at least two different textures; when Chopper runs out of sides to go with the noodles, he tosses a spoonful of chili oil into his bowl and mixes until the noodles are coated with spice. Every bite, he bites with gratitude; every lick, he licks with joy. Chopper is honest when he eats — he savours every single ounce of flavour with the exact amount of appreciation he displays.
Every now and then, Chopper makes a happy sound, sometimes bumping his shoulder into Palm’s just to express his excitement.
While the noodles were delicious, Palm feels as though he tasted the flavours through Chopper’s devouring. It’s a delightful sight, appetising even. Palm would’ve gone for seconds if he weren’t so stoic.
“This is so good. So good.” Chopper says as he wipes his mouth, lips red from the blanket of chili he put in his bowl. Palm is just as much as a spice fiend — the two of them have jointly consumed half of the chili oil and flakes on the seasoning rack.
“I see you handle your spice alright,” Palm comments with a smirk.
Seldom does Palm show his smile, not at school and definitely not in Kiattrakulmethee territory. Everywhere he walks, he walks with a misguided sense of duty; and, to fulfill such, he has buried personality deep under a mask of professionalism. Like tropical fish, he can only thrive when the water is right.
Realising this, Chopper beams.
“You’re not so bad yourself.”
Impossibly, Chopper inches closer. Palm can feel the satin pressed against his skin, smooth and chilly despite the outdoor heat. Palm swallows as quietly as possible.
“Is the food this spicy too back in Chonburi?”
“Pretty much. Like khua kling, we use three chilis at least. That’s how hot we like it.”
Palm raises three digits to get the point across. He almost looks proud. Mirroring Palm’s action, Chopper raises three fingers too.
“Three. You’re masochistic.”
Surprised at Chopper’s response, Palm raises a quiet brow. Chopper immediately changes the topic.
“—So, how’s it like in Chonburi?” Chopper purses his lips but it does little to conceal his enthusiasm. His words bubble up like soda pop. “It must be peaceful there, right?”
The roar of traffic from the main road, the chatter from pedestrians walking every direction, the cling and clang of pots and pans at the assembly station — all come together in a downtown anthem. Palm closes his eyes. Even now, surrounded by all this noise, he can hear the waves lapping at Chonburi shores clearly.
“Mostly busy,” he mumbles, eyes cracking open just a little. “I get up when it’s still dark. We sail early.”
“How early?”
“When not a soul is awake.”
“Not a soul except you and your crew.”
Palm chuckles. “They’re not my crew… But yes. Not a soul except us.”
Normally, people would stop asking at that. Palm is not too talkative a person — even Maggie has teased him about it. Where Palm lacks in speech, he makes up with patience; he is a good listener, many can testify to that. Conversations where Palm does most of the talking are rare, and rarer still are ones where someone is genuinely interested in knowing him better.
“Then what?” Chopper asks, anticipation written all over his face.
Palm remembers the first day in Mandarin class. when the teacher assigned Chopper as his buddy helper. Chopper asked where he was from, and what he used to do back there. When Palm told him he worked on a fishing boat, he said it was cool. Then, the time they talked outside the mansion, when Chopper asked whether Palm went to the basketball team’s audition.
Those conversations, though brief, fill his chest with tenderness.
“Then we fish. On good days, we’re back within an hour, but some trips take longer. How much fish, what kind of catch — it all depends on the season. No matter how much we net, we return before sunrise and head for the market.”
How is everyone in Chonburi? Palm can’t help but wonder. Do they miss me? Or have they already replaced me?
“And you do this every day?”
“Every day.”
“No rest at all?”
Palm gives him a look at that.
“So many questions. It’s almost like you’re interested in me.”
Yes, he is testing the waters. And Chopper bites gleefully.
“Oh, finally! You’re catching on,” Chopper quips. Then, leaning in, he whispers, “I’m interested in you. Aren’t you interested in me?”
It’s hard to not get crossed eyed in this proximity, harder still to not let his gaze wander down to Chopper’s lips. Chopper’s expectant smile curves like the gentlest hook, extending towards Palm on an invisible line. A feverish shade spreads on Palm’s cheeks the way sunset dyes the sky red.
“You keep asking about me.” Palm can hear his voice cracking. How embarrassing. Nonetheless, he continues, “It’s your turn to talk. What do you usually do outside of school?”
Chopper’s grin grows two times bigger, like a child who finally has their wish granted. He’s a sight for sore eyes, impossible to turn your gaze away from.
Just as Chopper opens his mouth, his phone rings. His grin vanishes when he sees the caller ID.
“It’s my dad,” he pauses for a soft sigh, then reaches for his wallet and pulls out a few notes. “I have to go now.”
“There’s a party at the dance club tomorrow night,” Palm blurts out. “Do you want to come?”
“A party? Do I have to dance?”
“Do you know how to dance?”
They volley, then they stare. A beat, and they share a matching smile.
“Do you?” Taking the last word, Chopper lifts a brow.
Vanity looks good on him.