100 Days Without You (COMPLETED)

5. Singto

Singto

It's been 74 days since he left home and his Father is calling him for the eleventh time. Once a week, always on the same day and at the same time.

He's picked it because Joshua has practice for one of the myriad of sports he seems to be a part of. It means he gets the room to himself and has the chance to cry to his father, which is what these phone calls generally become. He can't help it. He never, ever thought he'd get so homesick. He's always wanted to travel so badly that he just assumed he could.

Turns out he can travel.

But living away from home for a long period of time? Not so easy.

They're finishing their chat when the door swings open and Joshua lumbers in, tennis equipment over one shoulder, bundle of mail in his hand.

"Hey Gun," he calls out cheerfully as he dumps everything on his bed.

Singto smiles back at him and then turns back to his father on the screen calling out his goodbyes and I love you's.

Josh grins again as he sorts through the mail, "What were you saying to him? I'm so jealous you speak more than one language. I wish I did. All the girls think you're so exotic and want to get with you! Speaking of.." his roommate pauses and gives Singto a once over, "When are you going to choose someone to get a little friendlier with? Seems like your Mathilde is a platonic thing, but you must be used to the ladies lining up, handsome guy like you? Remember, sock on the door if you want the room to yourself! I'll totally respect that!"

Singto coughs into his hand, covering his shocked expression. It's not the first time that his roommate has mentioned it, but Singto had managed to wave him off the first few times, distracting him with a game or a drink.

"I just.. haven't met someone I like." He goes with, as Joshua drops a few letters on his bed. "I'm going to clean up."

"Gonna!" Josh shouts at his back with a laugh.

"Gonna.." Singto repeats.

"Who's Krist?" His roommate asks when he's brushing his teeth, causing Singto to choke on foam for a long moment.

His roommate slams a hand between his shoulder blades as Singto coughs repeatedly until all the minty foam is gone.

He glances over at Joshua and just shakes his head as he's passed a letter, eyes widening in surprise to see Krist's return address written in his scruffy scrawl in the top corner.

"Well? Seems like you were surprised to hear his name?" Joshua persists, reaching past him to grab his own toothbrush.

"No one." Singto says firmly, but he sees the way his roommate raises his eyebrows and he's aware that he himself is fighting a blush that wants to spread across his cheeks. He's grateful for all his training as he manages to force it down.

He wanders into their room and pushes the letter into his bedside drawer to read later when Joshua's at his hockey game.

"No one." He repeats as Joshua follows him. "Just, someone from home." He finally admits, not meeting his roommates eyes.

"Sure. You know I can't get used to Prachaya on your letters. Gun suits you much better I think. Hey," he continues, seeing Singto's closed expression, "My best friend writes me too, you know. Nothing to be ashamed of, getting a letter from another guy."

Singto nods, then suggests they might try the next level of GTA which distracts his roommate until it's time for dinner.

Later, when Joshua has headed out for beers with his course mates, Singto pulls the letter out of his drawer and strokes his fingers over Krist's name. He can't believe he's sent him something. It doesn't feel real.

Singto flicks on his bedside lamp for extra light before he slides a finger under the edge of the sealed flap.

It takes him almost a minute to open, slowly and carefully not wanting to damage any part of something that Krist has sent. Something he's chosen and addressed and, hopefully, filled.

When it's finally open, he slips out the piece of notepaper, three photos dropping onto his bedsheet.

He looks at them first. Which turns out to be a mistake.

Pluto and Muffin stare up at him. Their puss in boots, pleading eyes beseeching him to remember how much he loves them.

Probably, they just want their dinner, or a scratch or to play or something, but Singto's first thought is that they want him. They miss him.

And it hurts.

He feels the pricks at the corners of his eyes, and then he's sobbing, Krist's letter and the photos clutched to his chest probably getting creased in his grip.

But he can't help it.

He feels terrible.

He left them.

He chose to leave them.

He gave them up.

Krist too.

It hurts so bad.

He doesn't read the letter that night. But, when he's cleaned himself up, he tacks two of the photos up on the board: their fur babies and one of his favourite views of Bangkok from the top of the Banyan Tree; the final one, a candid shot of Krist quickly joins some of his favourite photos of him and goes safely in his drawer.

In it, Krist is sitting on a couch, a book in his hand, one of Singto's English ones that he'd always teased him about. He's slouched over, elbow on one knee, chin in his palm, hair messy and book held loosely between his spread legs. It's not a pose though, because his eyes are closed; and Singto knows that Krist is probably fast asleep.

In fact the tiny imprints of Thai lettering prompt him to turn the photo over and he sees that Krist has written, "Taken by Mae Yui. She said I was calling for someone. I don't know. I was asleep."

There's a tiny K in the corner and it's more than enough. It's more than enough to show Singto that maybe it's not quite as finished as he had thought.