Chapter Text
Khem tends to lose track of time.
Once his hand starts moving in tandem with each flying thought in his head—stroke by stroke, brush by brush, line by line—the seconds, minutes, and hours pass by him without a glance.
He’s been cooped up in his university’s art studio, working on his latest project for his portrait drawing course. His fingers are stained with charcoal as if he’s dipped his hands in soot. In pursuit of perfection, the ashy charcoal has landed on his cream button down, up his arms, and somehow his face. It looks as if he’s fallen down a chimney.
When Khem finally steps away from his portrait, the evening has already begun to leak into the sky. The hallways are noticeably quieter without the stampedes of students surging through.
He didn’t even notice it’s already getting late, Khem thinks to himself. Mostly satisfied with his progress for now, Khem packs up his belongings, his canvas snug under his arm, and heads out.
The streetlights illuminate his path as he walks back to his dormitory. He falls into a steady step, idly humming along with the chirping cicadas, as he mulls over his art project. The semester was coming to a close and he needed to pick a subject for his final portrait. He’s been practicing the past few months, drawing self portraits, those of his mother, and his friends—all typical and easy subjects. But he needed to find something more compelling.
Lost in his thoughts again, Khem fails to notice the creeping shadows trailing on the ends of his footsteps. He stops to a skid when the shadows emerge in front of him. A group of three guys who appear much older and rugged than Khem, but judging from their maroon colored uniforms, he assumes they must not be far off in age.
“Hello…” Khem says tepidly.
“Hi there,” the one in the front of the pyramid greets. He looks the most kempt out of the three, his hair swept back and his face clean shaven. He’s grinning, but there’s something unsettling and predatorial lingering at the edges of his smile. “What’s a pretty face like you doing out here so late?”
“Um… I was just walking back from studying…” Khem answers back timidly.
“You go to Chula right?” The man gives him a stare from head to toe.
“Yes…” Khem says cautiously.
The reply is mustered out against his instincts. He shuffles, trying to slowly sidestep away, but the two guys behind them have their eyes pinned on him, as if daring him to make another step.
“Woah-oh, you must be real smart then,” the man goads. “Real fortunate too. That tuition isn’t cheap, is it?”
Khem swallows, unsure of how to reply. The hair on his arms prickles. He knows he has to get himself out of this, but he doesn’t know how. The three of them are already closing in on him, like a pack of hyenas that have selected a target—and that target is him.
“What’s that you got with you?” the one on the left asks. He’s sporting a buzzcut, hands in his pockets.
Khem’s grip on his canvas tightens. “It’s just my art project.”
The one on the right, the tallest and biggest out of them, tilts his head. “Art? You’re an artist then. Cute.”
“Show us what you’ve been working on,” the centered man says.
“Ah… it’s not quite finished yet…”
The right-facing guy snatches the canvas from his hold, handing it to his friend and apparent leader of their posse. He studies the portrait, eyebrows raising in either mock or awe.
“Not bad,” the man whistles.
“Please give it back,” Khem says, firm and quiet.
“Hm… I’ll tell you what, Khem. I’ll give this back to me if you do me a small favor. I’ve been running short on… funds… times are tough, you know? And I’m sure you’re kind enough to help an unfortunate guy like me out. What do you say?” He asks all of this casually as if he hasn’t left Khem with much of a choice.
Khem knew that such people existed, always ready to prey on their victim, but he couldn’t fathom that it would happen to him. Although his university was prestigious, he was far from the rich city boy these guys were envisioning, but that wouldn’t matter to them even if he said so. This was all just a pretense for Khem to become their next casualty, all because he was in the wrong place and wrong time. He knew he couldn’t be roped into this, because once he was, he would be stuck in their transaction.
“No, I’m good. You can keep the drawing,” Khem says, quickly darting away to sprint away.
Instead of heading in the direction towards his dormitory, he backtracks, trying to duck into a nearby university building. But just like he feared, the footsteps behind him grew louder.
“Hey! We weren’t done talking!”
Khem’s legs pace faster.
His efforts are futile though. Soon enough, he’s yanked back with a tight grip on his arm. Two of them flank his sides while their leader approaches him, the smirk no longer on his face.
“That’s rude, you know, walking off like that before I could even answer,” he says, no trace of amusement in his voice. “I was being nice, but looks like you’re not as smart as you look.”
He nods at his friends and with that signal, they tug at the messenger bag slung across him.
“Stop it! I’ll… I’ll report you!” he yells, the words sounding futile even to his own ears.
The man in front of him chuckles sarcastically. “Sure. Go ahead, sweetheart.”
Khem thrashes, but their hold on him is unyielding. They dig through the contents, fishing out his wallet. Khem’s heart sinks as they flip through the loose bills. It’s his monthly allowance from his parents, a sum that they’ve worked hard to send him from their jobs in his small hometown while he studies in the city.
Just as he slumps in defeat, he hears a low whistle. His head lifts, watching as the three bullies freeze, still as statues.
The whistle comes from an approaching man, sauntering across the street towards them. Khem notices that he’s donning the same uniform as the three perpetrators. He doesn’t even spare the three men around Khem a glance. Instead, he looks straight at Khem.
“Do you know them?”
Khem’s stunned, taking in the soft voice of the strange man despite his sharp and striking features. He looks almost bored, hands shoved in his pockets, but his squared shoulders are postured with an intimidating edge. Khem simply shakes his head in response.
“This isn’t your business, Pharan,” the main guy says lowly.
The named Pharan, gives a glimpse at Khem’s wallet in his hand. He scoffs. “Mommy and daddy don’t give you enough to bum off of, Mong?”
“Watch your mouth,” the now named Mong glowers.
Pharan tilts his head, arching a brow. “Or what?”
“You’ll find out,” Mong answers, lifting his chin. His chest puffs up in bravado, but his wavering eyes betray him.
Khem looks between Pharan and Mong, studying Pharan’s relaxed stance. The two guys holding onto Khem’s arms haven’t loosened their grip, but their expressions are uneasy.
“Looks like I hit your head too hard last time, you’re speaking nonsense. Should I hit it again to see if I can set it right?” Pharan says bluntly.
Mong’s jaw tightens, his fists balling up. After a tense beat, he jerks his head at his friends and the two drop Khem’s arms. They begin to retreat when Pharan stops them, nodding at Khem’s wallet in Mong’s hand.
“Something really must be wrong with your head. Aren’t you forgetting something?”
Mong snarls, throwing down the wallet. He throws down Khem’s portrait canvas too, sending a strike to his heart at the heavy crash it makes against the pavement. With that, he and his friends slink back into the shadows, grumbling under their breath.
Pharan simply bends down to pick up the wallet and the canvas, flicking the dirt off. He walks over to Khem, silently offering them back with outstretched hands.
Khem’s gaze flickers up and down between his belongings and the man’s dark eyes. He gingerly takes them, cradling the scratched canvas to his chest. He bows his head. “Thank you… Pharan, was it?”
Pharan nods. Up close like this, Khem finds himself straightening up a bit, eyes taking in the man’s sharp jawline, honey brown deep-set eyes, thick brows, and full lips. He’s handsome, that’s for sure.
“I’m Khemjira… Khem, for short,” he says bashfully. Pharan is quiet and his face doesn’t betray any expression, so Khem is unsure of what to make of this hovering tension between them.
“Alright, Khem. Where were you headed to?” Pharan asks evenly.
“Just to my dorm. It’s right up this path, that building over there.”
Pharan simply nods again, gesturing his head towards the path Khem has pointed out. “I’ll walk you back.”
He smoothly slides Khem’s messenger bag off of him onto his own shoulder. Khem’s heart flips at the action. Then, he waits for Khem to start walking, falling into step beside him. They trudge in silence through the flickering street lights and rustling trees, the enveloping night around them.
Khem steals glances out of the corner of his eye, trying to make out the school emblem on his maroon shirt. He finds himself undeniably drawn to the stoic man, but he’s hesitant to break the peace between them. Based on the way Pharan and Mong talked to each other, those mentions of “last time” and apparently some sort of tussle, it would be safe to assume that Pharan is someone who involves himself in that same kind of trouble. At first glance, he appears polished and proper, carrying an aura like that of your typical class president or the son of your mother’s friend that she always brags about. But somehow, the dark and quiet shadow that radiates off of him gives Khem the sense that he’s even more dangerous than Mong and his lackeys.
He swallows. Surely since the guy saved him, he wouldn’t turn around and punch him or something, right?
“So… do you know those three?” Khem asks hesitantly.
Pharan’s straight gaze flickers to Khem. Khem tries his best not to flinch under the man’s strong stare.
“Mm. We go to Mahankorn.”
That’s all he offers. No room left for discussion. Khem licks his lips, mind scrambling to pull more answers out of him.
“Oh, the vocational school, right? What are you studying?” Khem asks, trying to sound casual.
His palms are sweating for some reason, nervous for what would be any ordinary conversation. He’s normally a pretty sociable person—he doesn’t know what’s come over him. If Pharan can sense his nerves, then he makes no indication of it. He’s lax as ever, strolling with one hand on the strap on Khem’s bag.
“Electronic engineering.”
“Ah, cool… I don’t know much about engineering… I’m an art and design major. My best friends are both studying engineering too, actually! Um… they’re named Jet and Charn. We usually walk back after class together, but I stayed behind today to work on this project… well, it’s a bit scruffed up now, but good thing you jumped in or else all my work would’ve been ruined! I would’ve been robbed too and that… that wouldn’t be… good. Yeah. So thanks. Again.”
Khem presses his lips together into a straight line and looks up to the night sky, pleading to the heavens to put him out of his misery.
“It looks good.”
“Huh?” Khem says, whipping his head.
Pharan flicks his chin at the canvas under Khem’s arm. “Your drawing.”
“Oh… thank you… yeah, I try to be good… at drawing…” he finishes lamely. He gives a smile that probably looks pained.
“I would hope so,” Pharan snorts.
Khem laughs politely. He wants to go climb a tree and stay up there forever.
Soon enough, the heavens do hear his plea and take pity on him, bringing him to the entrance of the dormitory building.
“Well, this is me. Thank you again for helping me back there and walking me,” Khem says, looking everywhere except at Pharan.
Pharan gently hands him back his bag. “It’s no problem.”
Khem takes his bag, fingers tight around the strap. “I’ll see you around, then?”
Pharan just looks at him with those dark, unreadable eyes, but the corner of his mouth tilts up. “See you around, Khem.” With that, he turns on his heel, leaving Khem to watch his retreating back.
Khem stands there on his doorstep, long after Pharan has disappeared from his sight. Something scratches at him and even though every logistical thought tells him that whatever he’s thinking probably isn’t a good idea, his heart surges forward, pushing those voices down.
Pharan, huh? He definitely doesn’t seem like the type of person to say things without meaning it. So if he told Khem that they would see each other, then Khem would hold onto the hope that he would run into his quiet savior again.