Under the White Light

Chapter 5 : I Found You & It Was Everything

Listen to my heart and feel

"Don't you think the moon feels insignificant sometimes?"

Tine lifts his head from where he lies on the couch to look at Sarawat, who's seated on the floor beside him, an elbow on the coffee table, facing the back door. It's dark out, it must be close to midnight now. Sarawat has a joint pinched between his thumb and index finger, some of the wispy smoke rising to dissipate in the air.

'What do you mean?' Tine writes, groaning a little as he shifts to lay on his side and turn to Sarawat. They're nearly face-to-face now, and Tine can see the steady rise and fall of Sarawat's chest under his t-shirt.

"You know," he says, letting some of the smoke in his lungs go, "Because she's gotta borrow light from the sun." His tone is matter-of-fact, as if Tine should know these things.

'O,' Tine writes a little lamely. His mind is numb from the weed, even though he stopped actively smoking half an hour ago.

Smoking with Sarawat always ends this way, historically — Tine half asleep on the couch, Sarawat waxing poetic shit about something until he's too weighed down to roll another blunt.

'But wouldn't that make the sun feel good?' Tine continues, focusing hard on not shaking as he tries to write the letters right, 'They're in love, right? Wouldn't the moon be happy to know that the sun likes making her shine?'

Sarawat inhales deeply and Tine watches him through the thin haze in his living room. The gentle, curved slant of Sarawat's nose is apparent against the light of the lamp behind him, as is the pucker of his lips as he thinks. His eyes are half-lidded, his lashes throwing shadows on the apples of his cheeks.

"Maybe," he says finally, taking the joint between his lips and breathing in again. Some smoke seeps out through his nose when he takes what's left of the rolled paper out of his mouth and places it on the table. "But maybe the moon wishes she could shine on her own."

Tine wrinkles his nose and manages to stretch his arm out and brush the side of Sarawat's face with a knuckle. Sarawat lets his eyelids fall completely at the touch, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth that Tine can see.

'If the moon shone on her own,' Tine writes with his index on Sarawat's open palm, 'she wouldn't need the sun.'

Sarawat chuckles once, quietly, and turns his face towards Tine, eyes still closed.

"But the sun will always be the sun with or without her, right?"

Tine furrows his eyebrows then, continuing to brush over the skin of Sarawat's cheek. He wants to say something; he is the sun, but he doesn't know if he should. He knows exactly what this conversation means, they've had dozens like it, and somehow, he never says the right thing.

'Sara —'

He's stopped by a finger pressed to his lips.

"Shh, Tine," Sarawat whispers, "I'm thinking."

Tine can't help but smile, and Sarawat does, too.

"Love it when you smile," Sarawat says, gently tracing the curve of Tine's lips. "Feels good."

Tine kisses the tip of Sarawat's finger and grabs his wrist with his other hand. 'Come up here with me,' he urges, 'Please.'

"You're needy when you're high, have I told you that?" Sarawat mumbles, crawling up onto the couch to settle into Tine's arms.

'You've mentioned it,' Tine writes, hooking a leg over Sarawat's hip and pulling their hips and chests flush. 'You're not complaining, are you?'

Sarawat scoffs, one of his hands making its way beneath Tine's shirt. He drags his fingernails gently over the skin of his back, rising goosebumps on Tine's skin. "Of course not," he says as Tine presses forward to kiss the corner of his mouth. "I like it, you know I do."