HYSM

Two

"Aaarrrrggghhh" came the unleashing of pent up frustration, teeth gritted as a rucksack was thrown violently to the tiled floor of the Traipi kitchen.

"Kanawut, stop" - it was his Mae's voice, soft yet scolding. "You can't continue on like this, finding yourself in trouble with the Chancellor every time you have to collaborate with Mew"

"But Mae, he started it! He took the last book and I know he did it deliberately just to-"

"-I won't hear it", his mother, eyes closed and flat palm raised towards Gulf, symbolising that he should halt there. "How old are you, my son? You're a grown man, but seemingly not yet grown enough that you shouldn't allow yourself to be provoked and antagonised by every little joke or prank that he plays? You know that's his way, he's always loved to tease you. Aiiieee. When, oh when, will you learn to simply ignore it instead of lashing out?"

"I try to ignore it. I try to ignore him! But everywhere I go, he's there..."

A sigh of weary exasperation from his mother:

"Then I still don't understand, Gulf, why you chose to stay at home here in Bangkok for your university studies? You knew he was on the same course, knew that he would be in the same year group classes after his accident. You could have made a fresh start elsewhere...?"

But her questions would go unanswered. Ultimately because Gulf himself had no answer to them. He knew she was right - it had been his opportunity to move far, far away and forget that face forever. Yet on the day of his admissions interview in Khon Kaen, he had found himself inexplicably unable to board the train. It was as if his mind had lost possession of the power to physically move his feet forwards - and all he could do was to slump down onto the cold, hard, graffitied metal of a station platform bench and watch in baleful confusion as that passage to his freedom and future screeched and chugged out of view and possibility.

"Ugh", he nodded now - simple acknowledgement without expansion, voice calmed at least - before: "I'm sorry Mae. These troubles won't happen again".

And he stooped to kiss his mother warmly on the crown of her head, before exiting the kitchen to bound up the stairs three at a time en route to the shower.

Time to forget about Mew Suppasit and freshen up - he had a date to prepare for.

//

Technically, could it be called a date? Gulf debated internally as the taxi motored through the humidity of a Summer Bangkok night towards his destination, their rendezvous bar.

He was already regretting his decision to wear a shirt and jeans, the black satin-threaded fabric clinging to his chest as he unbuttoned to create a deep 'V' in a vain attempt to release just a little of the heat that burned him to droplets on the slight concave of his sternum.

"Any air con, Phi?" He called through to the front seat with typical bluntness, only to be answered by a stiff head shake and dismissive wave of the hand. Negative.

Resting back against his seat with a frown, Gulf drifted further into the thread of his own musings - any distraction from his clammy discomfort, he reasoned - and his mind turned to Som, his 'not date' for the night.

Official ex girlfriend - after a year and a half together spanning lower university years - they had separated several months back. Yet as could so often be the way with long term relationships that ended amicably, the two had fallen into a casual physical arrangement. It had seemed wasteful not to, since neither was dating anyone new.

So as he peeled himself out of the taxi inferno - tip not included - to stride towards the entrance of the bar, Gulf was minty-breathed, musky-scented, and patting the condom packet in his back pocket with the confidence of a man who well knew where his night would lead.

Or so he thought.