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Family’s a fickle little thing.
Even with Tine’s intelligence and imagination and cleverness, he never really understood what that entailed.
When he was seven, holding his swollen cheek and trying to blink past the blood dribbling down from the cut on his eyebrow, biting onto his bottom lip so hard so he wouldn’t make a sound, he thinks he gets it.
Family means an abusive father with a gambling problem who always comes home just to scream at him or his brother and slap them just because he wants to. Family means a mother who was always too scared to stand up for her sons or herself. It means either obeying to the harsh man or getting a black eye for just talking.
Family is the hell he was born into. Cold and unwelcoming that brought nothing but pain. Family is an obligation and a burden he and his brother had to deal with, and he doesn’t know why there are so many people speaking so highly of it when Tine just wants to be free from it.
“Fine, be that way!” Tine shouted, anger bubbling in the pits of his stomach, eyebrows furrowed harshly, a sneer on his lips. “Don’t even talk to me!”
“Why are you always so stubborn?!” Sarawat screams back, a threatening scowl on his face. “Listen to me, for once!”
“I always do!” Tine snaps, crossing his arms over his chest. “But you never listen to me! Can you please, for once, just stop being your oblivious self and accept what I’m saying?!”
Sarawat scoffs at him, mouth dropped in indignation. “I’m oblivious? I’m the one who can’t accept it? You’re literally describing yourself!”
“I am not!”
“You are!”
“Okay, why are the two lovebirds fighting?” Man asks, arriving along with Boss with bags of beer in their hands and sitting down on the couch, taking the deck of cards Type had prepared for him and kissing him on the cheek. Phuak, Ohm, and Fong groaned out in frustration, tired of listening to the said lovebirds bicker back and forth for about what seems like an eternity.
“Someone please save me from here.” Phuak mutters, running a hand down his face. “This is just unbearable.”
“I can’t listen to them anymore.” Ohm gritted his teeth in annoyance, shoving earbuds in his ears, playing music loud enough so he doesn’t get to hear anything else.
“Please, both of you, just stop.” Fong pleaded, which Tine responded to with a huff and Sarawat with an eye roll, both pointedly not looking at each other. They were both facing the other sides of the wall, sitting on their mattress, both angry and exuding steam from their heads, their backs facing each other.
“What... what happened?” Man asks, brows knitted in confusion, looking at his boyfriend for an explanation. Type gave him a smile full of amusement, glancing at his brother and how he still refused to back down from the argument he and Sarawat were having.
“They were fighting about who had the better hands.” Type summarized, glad that his boyfriend wasn’t here to witness the ridiculous fight. It really was hard to listen to them because they’d always aggressively compliment the other and deny the good things the other would tell them. At first, it was hilarious how Sarawat looked absolutely scandalized when Tine told him that his hands were better than his own but then it got annoying and unbearable to listen to the two of them actually argue about their hands and use as much adjectives as they can to describe it. Type winced when he remembered the deadly look Sarawat and Tine sent Ohm’s way when he said that both their hands could be as equally as good, immediately shutting that idea down because apparently, only one of them should have the better hands. “They’ve been at it for a while now.”
“Don’t even get me started!” Phuak yells, capturing everyone’s attention. He started to talk in a high-pitched tone, mimicking Tine’s voice which in no way sounded like him at all. “Wat’s hands are so talented and skillful! He plays the guitar with it, which obviously means his hands are better!”
“It’s true!” Tine exclaims, turning his head to look at them with a frown. “See? It’s definitely better!”
“Tine’s hands are better because whenever I hold them, they’re always so soft and it makes holding it so much more better!” Ohm whines in an absurdly deep voice, imitating Sarawat and actually sounding very far from him.
“Exactly!” Sarawat yells desperately, turning his head to glare at them, something so vicious, challenging them to say anything different. “My hands are nothing compared to Tine’s!”
Tine looks at him, an offended expression on his face. “How dare you even say that! My hands are veiny and weird!”
“Well, my hands are calloused and scarred!”
“It just shows how hardworking you are! It holds experience and labor, something my hands don’t have!”
“But your hands are always neatly trimmed and so soft! I can never get tired of holding them and feeling at home when I do!”
“I told you multiple times that’s impossible because my hands are sweaty! Who likes holding sweaty hands?!”
“I do!”
The group just groaned again, tired of the two fighting and shouting how much they adore each other. Man decided to take out the beer from the plastic he and Boss bought and handed each of them a bottle. They gratefully thanked him as they both started to play cards, outright ignoring the couple in favor of drinking and playing.
Tine grumbled again, looking down on his hands. He knew, a somewhat small part of him, that they really are beautiful. The skin was soft and his fingers were long and delicately thin. They were also well taken care of, along with Tine’s face and figure. His mom would always hold his hands when he was a kid after their father would leave, coo at how soft they were, and how lucky his special someone would be to have the privilege of holding them.
She tells him to be careful when choosing someone to spend his life with, begging him not to have the life she had to live through. She tells him that unlike her, he’d be more lucky. He’ll get to have a partner that would stroke and caress his palms lovingly, giving them the attention and affection they deserve. She’d always tell him that no matter what, his hands would be beautiful for as long as he’ll live, and he should also take care of them before someone eventually comes along and showers it with endearment and cherishes it forever.
But no matter how hard he tries, Tine just can’t see the beauty his mother sees in them.
He crosses his arms again, not wanting to see the cracks and scars on his pale skin from years of abuse and torture. It makes him sad, sometimes, to know how ugly his hands look compared to his boyfriend’s. Sarawat’s hands were much more calloused, a result for always playing the guitar his whole life and playing football on top of that. They were imperfect, but so much more prettier and beautiful than Tine’s in every way.
“Tine.” He hears Sarawat whisper from behind him. He tilts his head slightly, still angry that Sarawat doesn’t think of his hands as perfect as Tine thinks they are, but also slightly curious. “Can I give you a hate massage?”
Tine blinked, processing the words in his brain.
A what?
“What are you talking about?” Tine mutters, annoyed and frustrated and confused.
“I know we’re fighting and all,” Sarawat started, voice low and filled a worry that never fails to make Tine’s heart flutter at the tone. “And that you probably hate me right now but I can tell that you’re stressed and I can help you with that.”
Tine is undoubtedly stupefied at Sarawat’s words. How can he even think of such a ridiculous idea? They literally fought for twenty minutes about hands and Sarawat still manages to think about something as comical as a hate massage? What does that even mean? Is Sarawat proposing to massage him while they’re both clearly angry and hate each other in the moment? Is that what he’s trying to do?
Tine bit his bottom lip, actually considering the offer. He has been stressed for the couple of days. His professor isn’t so easy on them and gave them projects after projects to deal with, the deadline also incredibly absurd from how short it is. That’s why his friends suggested to hang out today, in Sarawat and Tine’s apartment, to drink and let loose before diving in to work on the project again. Everything was going well until the beer ran out and Man and Boss had to go out to buy some more. Tine and Sarawat were just on their bed, Sarawat’s head on Tine’s lap, Tine’s fingers brushing through his hair. Sarawat offhandedly told him how perfect his hands were, which Tine responded to with a blush and a curse. But then, insecurities nibbling in his insides, Tine said how Sarawat’s hands were better than his anyways, which caused Sarawat to open his eyes and stare at him like he was crazy. Thus began their light teasing that turned more serious with every minute that passed, which then lead to them having a big fight about it because they disagree with the other’s opinion.
Tine sighs in resignation, head hanging low. A massage does sound about good now. “Fine.”
He feels the bed dip, Sarawat probably shifting in place behind him. Tine tensed when he feels hands sprawl itself on his shoulders, but instantly relaxed when he realized those were Sarawat’s hands; his hands that Tine trusts to take care of him, his hands that were so imperfectly perfect with its hard skin.
Tine blows out a breath as Sarawat’s hands started to massage his tense muscles, carefully and with the right amount of pressure. Tine drops his shoulders, trusting Sarawat enough with what he’s doing. Sarawat’s hands trail down from his shoulders to his back, his thumbs pressing and circling the area with a softness he always had when handling Tine.
The knots and tension in Tine’s back started to loosen, vanishing away as Sarawat continued to massage him, unmistakably tender and meticulous, making sure every skin and curve of Tine’s skin was given the same amount of attention. He kneads his fingers deeply and thoroughly, inching closer and closer to him, his legs hanging on each side of Tine’s legs. Tine leans towards him, eyes fluttering shut, letting himself relax against his boyfriend’s hands.
Sarawat, after almost two years of dating him, always had a way to surprise Tine with doing the sweetest of gestures, something he’s always grateful for. He always shows how much he loves him, and how much he cares for his wellbeing, something that none of his past lovers had done that well before.
After minutes of Sarawat giving him his so-called hate massage, he wraps his arms around Tine’s middle, pressing a gentle kiss to his nape before letting his chin rest on his shoulder. Tine was as relaxed as he’s ever been against Sarawat’s chest, raising his hand to place it on Sarawat’s hair, playing with his soft locks.
Tine exhales another breath, leaning closer to Sarawat’s warmth, letting his scent engulf him. “I’m sorry for yelling at you.”
“No, no, Tine, I’m sorry.” Sarawat quickly says, sounding apologetic and sad. “I shouldn’t have been so angry–”
“But I was the one who started it.” Tine whispers, closing in on himself from the guilt he feels stirring in his gut. “I... I know how stubborn I can be sometimes and I know you hate that about me.”
“What? No!” Sarawat immediately exclaims, eyes wide as he turns to look at him. Tine also faces him, shocked at how much emotion he finds in his eyes. Sarawat kisses his cheek and Tine melts at the action. “Tine, I love your stubbornness. That’s why we’re together, right? Because you refused to leave me alone no matter how many times I turned you down.” Tine laughs, remembering the days where he used to chase him around to be his fake boyfriend because Green wouldn’t leave him alone. “I just... I just don’t like it when you’re stubborn about taking compliments.”
Oh.
Tine looks down, feeling guilt coil tightly in his stomach.
“I know that it’s hard to accept them because your self-esteem wouldn’t let you, but Tine,” Tine looks back at him when he feels Sarawat’s hand on his cheek, gently tilting his face up. Tine’s breath stuttered in his throat when he saw the soft and fond look on Sarawat’s face, gazing at him with an intensity that makes him curl his toes. “Tine, you’re absolutely perfect to me.”
His heart skipped a beat at the words, a small smile finally making its way to his face. “Really?” He asked in a small, timid voice, slightly scared of the answer even though he knows Sarawat wouldn’t say anything bad.
“Yes, really.” Sarawat murmurs, nuzzling his nose against Tine’s, making him laugh because of how ticklish it was. He didn’t notice how Sarawat smiled fondly at him, gazing at him with love and affection in his eyes. “So please, Tine, next time when I tell you that you have perfect hands, trust me, okay? Because it’s true.”
Tine smiled at him shyly, giving a small nod. Even though he doesn’t know if he should believe him about that just yet, he does know that he trusts Sarawat, and he knows he’ll never lie to him. “Okay.”
Sarawat grinned and they both leaned in, their lips meeting halfway.
When Tine was twelve, his mother’s life was taken away by his father, who soon went to jail afterwards to repent for his crimes. Tine and Type were left all alone, fending for themselves, but they eventually met Fong; whose family took them in without hesitation when they heard about their situation.
It was... weird, so to say. Fong’s parents were nicer, much more better than his ever could. His mother is strong-willed and outspoken unlike his own, who was always silent and submissive. His father is soft and always had a smile on his face, whereas Tine’s father was always angry and cursing them every time they try to speak up.
It took some time to get used to it– the kindness and the generosity Fong’s family offered. But eventually, Tine started to crave it more, dreaming about a family of his own in the future, wondering if the gaping hole in his heart would be filled.
It happens, quite often.
They’d always fight about something completely ridiculous, and then Sarawat would always offer to give him a hate massage and they’d always apologize to one another after and forget what they were even fighting about.
Once, Tine had just went home after a stressful day of classes, irritation rolling off him in waves. None of his group members would help him with their project and it was completely infuriating because that means that Tine had to do it all by himself, again. He sat down on the bed, bouncing slightly at the force, as he started to take off his socks, muttering curses underneath his breath. He wasn’t even surprised when he feels hands against his shoulder blades, gently coaxing him to relax, which he instantly did. The anger slowly diminished in his veins as Sarawat started to massage him, whispering sweet nothings in his ear, soothing him until he eventually fell asleep in Sarawat’s arms.
It wasn’t even a hate massage anymore. It was just a regular massage that Sarawat was doing to him that always makes him relax or calm down. But he didn’t mind calling it the hate massage anyways because that makes it all too unique, a somewhat knowing agreement between the two of them. A secret, of sorts, that only they knew.
He’s glad he found him, that their relationship is amazing and weird and unmistakably theirs. This was their life, their bond, their romance that develops more and more everyday. It’s something that Tine cherishes, something he didn’t believe he’d get to have after being rejected and being left behind by multiple people, his parents included, before.
He hopes he’ll stay with him forever.
When Tine was old enough to understand about trauma, he actually cried for three days straight because he realized that he was damaged, and nobody liked damaged people.
Type was there to comfort him, telling him that it didn’t matter what happened in the past because all that mattered is how he’s going to deal with it now. He tried to be reassuring, but Tine couldn’t bring himself to believe him.
People like him don’t get their happy endings. People like him, broken and traumatized from their childhood, didn’t get to be happy or enjoy the little things in life that other people did. People like Tine, who had a buck load of insecurities and scars, were always destined to meet people in his life and watch as they come and go.
He’d always give his heart out to them, open and trusting, but they’d always drop it to the ground and let it shatter.
They’d always make him happy, then they would get annoyed and they’d fight and they’d snap and then leave because so far, no matter how many times Tine tries to be hopeful, no one has ever stayed.
“You know,” Tine starts, eyes blinking dazedly, exhaustion settling in his bones, trying his best to hold back the urge to shut his eyes, keeping his gaze on Sarawat above him. “Now that I think about it, I never did get to tell you I love you.”
Tine feels tears prick his eyes when Sarawat sobs, holding his broken and ragged body closer, cradling his head delicately. He wants to raise his hand to wipe the tears that trailed down Sarawat’s cheeks, but he was so weak. He can’t move, and he’s barely hanging on right now. But even if he can’t move his shard-covered hands, he still pushes himself to keep his eyes open, staying awake for a little while longer.
“Wat.” He calls softly, his heart twisting when Sarawat kept crying over him, eyes raking all over his damaged body, mouth moving quickly that Tine couldn’t keep up, his heartbeat thundering too loud on his ears, his swollen eye making it harder for him to keep it open, his dislocated shoulder numbing from the pain.
His eyes trailed to the scenery behind Sarawat; there was a group of people surrounding them, whispering and screaming and some calling an ambulance. He saw the car that crashed into him about five feet away, the driver stumbling out from it, a shocked look on his face while he held a bottle of what Tine assumes to be gin.
Tine looks back at Sarawat, his lungs constricting inside, feeling his broken ribs every time he so much as breathes. “Wat...”
“Tine, please, stay with me.” Sarawat sobs, his beautiful fingers covered with the blood that was pouring out of Tine’s head, Tine’s stomach, heck, even his own hands. Sarawat grasped his palms, even with the glass embedded in his skin, but no matter how much Sarawat gripped onto it, he couldn’t feel it. He couldn’t feel his regular warmth, or his familiar callouses, or anything at all. “Stay with me.”
“W-Wat.” Tine breathes out, biting his lips harshly, preventing himself from screaming in agony as shots of pain magnified all over his body because Sarawat’s here. Sarawat’s looking at him, crying like a mess, and Tine will endure any type of pain so Sarawat wouldn’t feel any more.
“Tine.” Sarawat says brokenly, his voice cracking at the syllable.
Tine started to sob, not because of the pain, not because it was getting hard to breathe, but because his vision was blurring, his head spinning from all the blood that was spilling from him. Tine cried, hot tears escaping his eyes and trailing to the wound on the side of his head, trying so hard to blink the blurriness away because he wants to see Sarawat’s face. He wants to see his eyes, his hair, and oh gosh his smile.
But he can’t.
He can’t see him.
He can’t see him.
And that’s much more painful than all of the physical pain his body was going through right now.
“W-Wat, I love y-you.” Tine sobs out, blood gurgling in his mouth, crying painfully because he can’t see Sarawat clearly, he can’t see his face at all and that scares him more so in this moment. It scares him not being able to see his face properly just when he’s about to die.
Sarawat cries harder, his tears falling on Tine’s face. Tine hears the ringing of ambulances nearby, but still so far away. With all his willpower, he squeezed Sarawat’s hands that were clasped in his, only managing to give a light pressure. But Sarawat somehow felt it, and he squeezed harder, leaning down to connect their foreheads together to whisper, “Tine, please, just a little longer” and, “I love you too, don’t leave me” just above his lips.
“O... one of y-your hate ma– massage would be g... good about n-now.” Tine wobbly laughs, feeling the blood in his mouth dribble down his chin from talking. He does his best to focus his vision, to focus on Sarawat, but he can only see blurs and lights and Sarawat’s hand that was clutching tightly to his own.
And now, in crystal clarity, he understands what Sarawat was saying before; how his hands were perfect the way the were. He now realizes that, realizes how perfect his hands are because it was interlaced with Sarawat’s own. He finally managed to admire its beauty, the absolute perfection it is clasped with the palm of his lover. He should’ve realized this sooner– maybe then his insecurity would’ve washed away, maybe then he would’ve held Sarawat’s hand more tightly before the car made him fly across the street.
“I-I love you... so m-much... so, s-so m...”
He didn’t get to finish his sentence when he feels all the little oxygen he has left leave his cold lips. His slowing heartbeat did one last thump against his weak chest as everything darkened from the corners of his vision.
If Tine thinks about it, dying with the blurry image of his fingers intertwined with Sarawat’s isn’t so bad.
Tine gasps in the darkness, turning and turning to see something, anything, when he thinks he hears the voice of his mom calling to him.
He thrashed around, hands flailing at the abyss of black, tears stinging his eyes from how much he wants to see his mother again.
She may not be the perfect mom, but she is the only person who always assured Tine that even when there are hard times, there’s always tomorrow to look forward to and that his future will shine brighter than before. That no matter how sad and messed up his beginning may be, that doesn’t mean he can’t choose what he wants to do for the rest of his story.
He wails, feeling himself drifting away, fighting harder against the darkness because he wants to see his mother one time, just one last time before he’s pulled back to living. He wants to tell her how much he loves her, how much he wishes she could’ve seen him grown to the person who he was today, how much he wants to say everything that happened in his and Type’s life after she died, how much he wants to thank her for giving birth to him.
He wants her to know that he’s so damn grateful to be her son.
And, he thinks, with the way soft and tender hands found his, a familiar sensation tingling in his bones as those delicate fingers squeezed his, that she probably already knows.
Tine groans, opening his eyes. He hisses, shutting them back quickly when he sees blinding lights fill up his vision. After trying to collect himself, he opens them again, his eyes hurting at the fluorescent lights that were shining above him. He tries to sit up but hisses when he feels a sharp pain aching all over his body.
He steadily breathes in and out, pushing himself up again, flinching at the jolts of pain that burned from the action. He focuses his vision, the blurriness fading away with every blink, confused when he realized that he’s in a room he doesn’t recognize. He tries to shack up in his mind how he got here, or where he is, but all he got was an throbbing headache that made him groan even more.
Suddenly, all of it came flooding back; crossing the road with Sarawat, kneeling down to tie his shoe, and a car rushing down the road even though the stoplights were red, and he remembers slowly slipping away as Sarawat holds his hand.
When he looks around the room, he was surprised when he saw his friends sleeping peacefully on one another. Fong, Ohm, and Phuak were sleeping on top of each other on the floor while Type was sleeping on Man’s shoulder, whose head was thrown back to the corner of the wall from where they sat. Tine blinks when he suddenly notices a weight on his hand. He looks down and catches his breath in his throat at the sight.
Sarawat.
Sarawat was on a chair, hunched over and sleeping peacefully on his bed. His hair was messy, and he still seems to be wearing the clothes he wore from that night when Tine got into the accident. His shirt was stained red, probably from all the blood. His hand was also holding tightly to his own, making Tine soften when he sees how perfect his bandaged hand was in Sarawat’s grasp. He truly never did get to admire whenever their hands are entwined, and maybe now he’ll appreciate his hands more because at least they get to be held by Sarawat.
He leans back on the bed, breathing out heavily, his eyes tearing up as he looks over the room, seeing the faces of each and every one of his friends.
No, not friends.
Family.
After all the years Tine gets to be with them, he knows that they’ll always be here for him. He knows that they’ll never stop supporting him, or helping him, or care for him. They’re here today because they cared about Tine, cared about him in a way that means their friendships ran deep and transformed into something else, blossoming into a beautiful relationship they all seem to share. He relaxes into the bed, settling into the familiarity of the room.
Familiarity.
Family.
This is his family.
Not the one he ended up with, not the one he wished to have all those years ago, but a completely new and different type of family he didn’t expect to have. Chaotic, weird, contrasting personalities that seems to get along just fine, a bit messy but undoubtedly his.
Family’s a fickle little thing, but he thinks he understands it a little better now.
This is his version of family, and he’s damn well gonna keep it.
He closes his eyes, imagining his mother’s proud face beaming at him, and he smiles.
(Later on, Tine was scolded off by Sarawat, who told him that he’ll never let him cross a road again and that he’ll never let him out of his sight for even just a second. Tine just pouts, thoroughly embarrassed, as his friends laughed at his suffering.)
(After that, though, each and every one of them took turns in hugging him, telling him that they’ll also never let him out of their sights. Type’s hug was the longest; his arms wrapped around him in desperation and relief, and Tine knows that he probably gave him a scare. Type snapped at him, through glistening eyes, that he’s his only family member left and if this ever happens again, he’ll kill him himself. Tine only hugged him back tighter, assuring his brother that he’s not going anywhere.)
(When they all finished hugging him, Sarawat wasted no time in cupping his cheeks and kissed him, which Tine gladly accepted. He places his hands on top of Sarawat’s, loving the way they fit together, and kissed him back.)