Chapter Text
Black knows two things with certainty: one, the only person you can trust is yourself and, two, a sheep following the herd isn’t much better than the shepherd leading them astray.
“Holy shit,” Yok says, the first to pull off his helmet. He’s breathing heavy just like the rest of them, sweaty and covered in dirt and probably some gasoline, too. The smell of burning wood has followed them here.
“That was awesome,” Gram agrees. He gives him a high five that turns into a chest bump, riding the high of a mission well-done. Sean rolls his eyes at the two of them, extricating himself from his bike more slowly, but even he can’t hide how thrilled he is.
Black hangs his helmet on the back of his bike. He yanks off his mask, stuffing it in his backpack, and swings the bag over his shoulder.
“You’re leaving?” Gram asks, turning to him while Yok continues to vibrate with excitement. At that, Yok and Sean both turn to look at Black, too. Black says nothing. He pulls his hood out from where it’s squished between his back and the bag. Gram sighs. “Come on, man. At least stay and celebrate with us.”
“It was your plan,” Yok pipes in, ever the bandwagoner. “We fucking did it, Black. Let’s drink!”
Black considers while zipping up his jacket.
He knows the group won’t be able to read him. Black’s made sure of it, but it’s never been particularly difficult. Sean hates him too much to try. Yok is too naive.
Of all of them, Gram stands the best chance. They’re in the same university program, which means they see each other the most. He’s also the one Black is least annoyed by. He knows when to shut up, unlike Yok, and it’d be very difficult for anyone to be more annoying than Sean.
Gram’s too hesitant, though. He’s not a leader — he defers to Black or to Gumpa or to Sean, of all people. He’s a peacekeeper, as much as an activist can be. Even if he thinks he knows something, he’s not one to call someone out on it. So if he notices Black’s hesitation or how much thought he’s really putting into it, he doesn’t say anything.
“Fine,” Black concedes. “One drink.”
Begrudgingly, he has to admit that if there were ever an occasion worth celebrating, this would be it. Tawi, the corrupt head of the rotten body that is Thailand’s capitalistic society, is going to wake up to an absolute shitshow. His illegal house in the forest exposed because it’s gone up in beautiful, beautiful flames.
Black’s gratified, but he isn’t sated. There’s a lot more damage left to inflict. Tawi’s been racking up chits for years, and there is so much he’s yet to pay for. Black can’t unwind like the others — even to celebrate this small victory — because he’s already thinking about the next. How can they hit him even harder?
Black sips his beer, deep in thought. He’s in one corner of the couch, arm draped over the armrest, two spaces removed from the others. Every three minutes the couch shakes as Yok or Gram stands up to shout, or push each other, or throw themselves back down, laughing and drinking, high on adrenaline that’ll probably last for days. Sean’s taken the lone seat across from them, so Black is only irritated and not outright pissed at the two of them for continuously jostling him.
He’s just about to take another sip of his beer when his fingers twitch. The bottle slips, the beer missing his mouth, and he barely catches it by the neck before it spills all over his lap. Black stares at it.
“Lightweight,” Sean says, with the best view to catch the slip. He’s mocking him.
Black should tell him to go fuck himself because Sean is the last person who should be mocking anyone’s level of alcohol tolerance. But he’s still processing, so it takes him a second too long.
“Black?” Sean looks at him properly, frowning in disappointment more than concern.
It’s enough to draw the attention of the other two as well. They pause where they were laughing their asses off, and suddenly all eyes are on Black. Gram, beside him, glances between him and Sean before he leans closer.
“You alright?” he asks, sounding genuinely concerned.
Black opens his mouth to say of course I am, get the fuck away from me with your terrible fucking breath, but he’s cut off by a swift kick to the ribs. It’s invisible, but it has him doubling over, the bottle smashing on the ground and beer sloshing everywhere.
Vaguely, he can hear the others scrambling. He can’t process anything they’re saying — he can’t breathe. He could swear there’s hands wrapped around his throat. The strangling only lets up when a fist flies into his face.
He ends up on the ground, at some point. He thinks there’s a hand on his back, but it’s the last thing he can focus on. He wraps his arms around himself, trying to defend himself from an intangible enemy. His fingers dig so hard into his sides they must be leaving bruises, but it’s nothing compared to the pain coming from everywhere else.
Black wakes up in Sean’s bed.
If that wasn’t bad enough, Sean is in the room, and he’s not alone.
All three of them are sitting around on whatever makeshift chairs they could find, staring at him. It’s Gumpa that’s at his bedside, replacing the cold cloth on his forehead. He notices when Black opens his eyes, but he keeps his mouth shut.
Black smacks his hand away. He pushes himself upright, yanking his shirt back into place where it’d ridden up. The motion is sudden enough that it hurts — his muscles are still recovering from phantom pain. He glares at the four pairs of eyes that are on him.
“What the fuck are you all looking at?”
There’s nothing but stunned silence for a solid minute.
“Dude,” Gram utters, but he doesn’t follow it up with anything.
Gumpa picks up the cold cloth that’d fallen onto the bed and folds it up nicely. Mildly, he asks Black, “How are you feeling?”
Black’s immediate reaction is to scowl. “I’m fine,” he hisses. It’s more venomous than usual. He feels exposed and vulnerable, but he’s not about to let any of them know that.
Gumpa hums, obviously not believing him but also letting him have it. The others are not so considerate.
“What the hell, man?” Gram says, recovering from his bafflement. “What happened?”
Black remains stubbornly silent. He shoots them all a look that should convey that he’ll kill at least one of them if this line of questioning continues.
But internally, Black’s just as shaken as they are. Probably even more.
It can’t be what he thinks it was. It can’t.
He shoves himself off the bed, dodging Gumpa. Quickly scanning the room, he locates his wallet and keys in the limited space on Sean’s dresser that isn’t covered by empty beercans. If Black were the kind of person who cared, he might wonder if Sean has a drinking problem.
“Seriously?” Sean snaps, seething. He gets up, blocking Black’s path to the door. “Not even a thank you for taking care of your undeserving ass?”
Black can’t go around him without climbing over Gram or Yok. He glares and, when Sean still doesn’t move, shoves him hard in the shoulder so he can force his way past. Sean snatches his arm before he makes it. Black yanks, but Sean’s grip is bruising.
He fumes. “Let me go.”
Gram and Yok are scrambling to their feet, watching the exchange. Neither of them makes to pull them apart, or to stop Black from leaving. They’re not confrontational the way Sean is. As usual, this works to Black’s advantage.
He wrenches his arm out of Sean’s grip. His shoulder hits Gram when he moves past the barricade of confused idiots, but he doesn’t falter. He clutches his keys tight in his hand and slams the door behind him so hard it rattles the wall.
They won’t come after him when he leaves the garage. Yok won’t think it’s his place. Gram will worry about giving him his space. Sean will know that going to Black’s apartment is akin to admitting he thinks about him at all, so he’ll fume in the confinement of his little shoebox over the garage until the next time they meet.
Black throws himself onto his bed the second he reaches it. His shoes are still on, his vest bunched uncomfortably by his neck, minor irritations he doesn’t notice.
White.
The last time he’d felt him, they were kids. More than a lifetime ago. He didn’t even know White was back in Thailand. Though, that was the point of all those degrees of separation, wasn’t it? Indirectly. The real point is the intended consequence — that forgetting about each other’s existence would put a stop to this strange connection they had.
Have. Ten years, and there it is again.
What have you gotten yourself into?