“Deal with it,” Morgan said, wiggling as if to get comfortable.
“What do I do now?” Gift asked, sorrow tightening his chest.
“Stay the course,” Payton said.
Gift frowned, dodging Morgan’s elbow. “Meaning?”
“Meaning do the things you always do. You have dinner every night together. Just…go have dinner.”
“I told him to stay away from me,” Gift managed, voice raw.
“It’s your right to change your mind. If you really want to fuck with his head, show up for dinner tonight like nothing happened, all those hickeys on full display. It will drive him crazy.”
Gift flushed. Park had marked him. That shouldn’t have been hot. It should have felt barbaric and weirdly territorial, but it stirred this deep throbbing ache in Gift’s core.
“Yeah. Yeah, okay. I can do that,” he said before repeating in a stronger voice, “I can do this.”
Maybe if he said it enough, he might believe it.
“I have an idea that might help,” Payton said, tone smug.
* * *
Gift stood outside Park’s door for far too long, trying to build up the courage to just do it. He ate dinner with him every night. He would be expecting him, no? With one final deep breath, he raised his hand. His knock sounded hesitant to his own ears, and when Park yanked the door open, he appeared surprised to see Gift standing there.
Gift was surprised, too—not to be there but at Park’s appearance. He stood barefoot in soft gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt that clung to well-defined biceps in a way that made Gift remember how Park’s arms had caged him in on that desk just hours earlier while his tongue had explored his mouth. Gift shivered at the memory.
Park’s hair was damp and messy and starting to curl into the natural waves he wrestled into submission each morning with gel. He wore his glasses, the gold-framed ones that should have made him look nerdy, but really just made him look soft and cozy. It made him look like a boyfriend. Like he could beGift’sboyfriend. His mouth went dry at the thought.
Gift never saw him like this anymore now that they no longer shared Park’s home. Something about that stabbed at his insides, knife sharp and indecipherable. Not loss. They’d never really been close. Longing, maybe? A longing for a life they could have had if not for this school, if not for Gift’s age and Park’s friendship with his mother.
There was an intimacy to sharing a space with a person day in and day out, navigating around each other each morning and every night. Sharing a bathroom, brushing up against each other in the hallway, catching glimpses of each other in nothing but a towel, still damp from a shower.
It had created this false narrative in Gift’s head, one where he and Park had meant more to each other than they did, whereGiftmeant more to Park than he did. Gift knew what toothpaste Park used, the shampoo he liked, the deodorant he preferred. He even knew he lined his colognes up from most to least favorite, but still rotated them out based on some arbitrary system known only to him.
Gift blinked at him, then took a step back. “Are we not having dinner?” he asked in Thai, his nerves stealing his ability to converse in his second language.
Gift had finally gotten a taste of that intimacy he’d craved for so long, but Park felt further away than ever. He was inches from him in proximity, but miles from him feelings-wise. Still, as awkward as it was between them, he couldn’t ignore the effect Park had on him, this low simmer deep in his core, this throbbing want that seemed to catch and grow whenever he was in Park’s presence, especially now that Gift knew the softness of Park’s tongue against his.
Park frowned. “You said…” He trailed off, examining Gift’s face for a moment before seemingly shaking himself out of it. “Of course, Kla. Come in. I haven’t cooked anything, but I’m sure I can whip something up.”
Gift swallowed hard. Maybe this had been a bad idea. The tension between them felt electric—like static—causing the hairs on his arms to raise, the almost magnetic pull making him want to close the distance between them.
This was a bad idea.
“I can—I can just go,” Gift said, heat flooding his face.
“Don’t be ridiculous,ouen,” Park murmured, his large hand wrapping around Gift’s bare bicep, pulling him inside before letting go like he’d been burned. Gift fought the urge to rub the spot where Park had touched him. He really was such a virgin.
Park shut the door but didn’t step away. Instead, he planted his hand on the door frame overhead, taking in Gift from head to toe, so close Gift could smell the spicy bergamot of his soap. It took every ounce of strength he had not to take a step forward and bury his face in Park’s neck, inhaling him like a drug.
“You look…comfortable.”
Gift blushed to the tips of his ears. At Payton’s request, Gift had also forsaken his usual school uniform for more casual clothes. But not just any casual clothes. He wore Payton’s black joggers that hugged his narrow waist and rounded ass and a sleeveless white graphic tee emblazoned with the Givenchy logo. Park’s t-shirt. One he’d let Gift sleep in the night he’d first arrived at his apartment with his mother before she’d forwarded his stuff.
Gift lifted his head to meet Park’s gaze, resting his head against the door. For a moment, they just stood there, breathing in each other’s air. Gift’s heart was pounding so loudly, he was sure Park could hear it. He swallowed as Park raised his hand, his finger hooking into the arm hole of his shirt and tugging it away from his skin, voice raw when he said, “That’s where this shirt went. Little thief.”
“You gave it to me,” Gift said, breathless.
