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du bist anders

Chapter Text

"Um... have you come to fix the wiring?"

"Not really."

Type looks curiously at the guy standing on the threshold of his house. Dark, with pale yellow strands, hair, brushed back in glossy waves. Smiling amber eyes, the outer corners of which are slightly raised. Broad shoulders and a well-built body, the muscles of the torso are clearly visible through a white T-shirt. The overall picture is complemented by slender legs, dressed in black skinny jeans. He doesn't look much older than Type, sixteen, maybe seventeen. But obviously still a schoolboy, apparently, he works after school, which is actually not prohibited.

"Really?.. And then what?"

The guy smiles mysteriously and bites his lower lip:

"As far as I can see this should be a surprise for ... Type?"

"Yes, it's me... but what sort of surprise are you talking about? I don't really understand anything."

"About a very pleasant one. You'll like it. May I come in?"

Type steps back, allowing the guy to enter the hall.

He nods toward the hallway:

"Where can I find a shower?"

"A shower?" Type has no idea what is happening now, and already doubts whether he did the right thing by letting him in.

"Well, yes... I think it will be more pleasant for you to do this if your partner refreshes a little. After all, it's plus thirty outdoors."

"Partner"?.. "This"?

"Okay, stop!" Type crosses his outstretched arms. "Who are you anyway?"

Type, of course, is not such a naive idiot at the age of sixteen. He perfectly understands what the situation smells like.

"Can't you guess?" the guy winks at him with a smile, licking his lips.

"Let's say so... but what do you need here?"

The guy shrugs his shoulders:

"I was ordered for two hours. The client's name is Type. I didn't seem to make a mistake with the address."

"That's not what I asked you about!" Type begins to get annoyed. "What are you doing in my house? And who told you to come here at all?"

"The name of the customer is confidential for me, we are usually told only the address and how we can apply to the client."

"The customer?! What the fuck?!"

"I'm sorry… If I don't suit you... because of my appearance, someone else can be chosen for you."

"What the fuck are these jokes about?!"

"Don't worry, please… Still, it can be settled peacefully. Let's discuss your preferences. I've started working recently, they haven't stretched much yet, so you'll be able to enjoy it. If there are some necessaties - a blowjob or rimming is required, then this is not a problem, I will do everything at the highest level, you will not regret it."

Type stands and just fucks with how his peer easily operates with "terms", which are more related to some street whore or porn actor.

"Get out of my house!" Type clenches his fists, and then opens the door for the guy. "Get out of here, now!"

"Please, calm down... we can still solve this misunderstanding, let me make one call and in a few minutes someone else will drive up to you…"

"Are you deaf?! Get out of here! Or whatever it sounds like in your professional slang?! I'm sorry, I don't speak the prostitute language!"

"You see..." the young "prostitute" is clearly confused, "I... I am going to have problems... our customer pays the main part after the finished order, and so it turns out that my boss will have financial losses…"

"I somehow don't give a fuck what and how it is arranged there! Go away or I'll call the police!"

The guy nods resignedly and, muttering "I'm sorry, I wish you all the best," walks away.

Type slams the door behind him with all his might and angrily clenches his teeth. Then he fishes his phone out of his jeans pocket:

"Techno?!.. What are you laughing at, you idiot?!.. Yes, just a fucking surprise! I will turn your knees in the opposite direction tomorrow in gratitude!"


"Type, come on! We just tried so hard for you, but you're like a little one… You could have had a fucking good time and finally start using your pistol for its real purpose."

"Fuck off, Techno!"

"Oh, come on."

They are sitting in the school cafeteria. Type and two of his classmates, Techno and Champ. Guys can't stop picking Type on his failed sexual debut.

Type just shrugs it off. Only these two people know about his "preferences" in relation to the partner's gender, and Type is already beginning to regret that he once shared a secret with them. Actually, for the captain of the school football team, it's somehow "not very valid" in his own opinion — to be gay. However, judging by his school, such complicated problems exist only in his head. And yet he is in no hurry to "come out of the closet".

He tries not to think about that failed "first time" of his. Only it still hurts that his peer wirks in such a business.

However, you never know what could have made him spread his ass in front of men… And is it my business, actually?

Type is ready to forget about the incident, but hardly does the biology lesson begin, when the door of the classroom opens and there appears on the threshold… he?

Type is sitting almost at the very end of the class, but apparently he is so staring at the newcomer that Techno, with a cretin smile on his face, shoves him in the side:

"Oh, look, we have a new one! How do you like him, huh?"

"Shut up, huh?" Type snaps back.

"Oh, you are such a splinter in the ass!"

"Fuck you!" Type rolls his eyes and drowns his face in the notebook.

Meanwhile, the guy comes into the classroom, and the devil pulls Type to tear his eyes from the notebook and cross it with the anxious look of this new guy.

He is already taking an empty seat somewhere in front, and Type seems to continue to burn through the void with his eyes.

"Why are you staring so hard? Do you know him? Have you ever met him before?"

Type purses his lips, and then says in a quiet voice:


Chapter Text

Today, Type can't even focus on the teacher's simple explanations. Also, Techno constantly pokes him in the face with a screen with some stupid meme.

"I don't understand a simple fucking thing, stop doing it now, okay?"

"Wow, our smart guy has studying problems, this day should be recorded in history, I knew that sooner or later it would come!"

"Oh, shut up, huh?!"

Type doesn't want to be rude, but he can't hold back. And the new guy, without raising his head, diligently makes notes in his notebook during the lesson. Type can't calm down: well, how can this seemingly decent guy, an ordinary Thai schoolboy in shorts, do such a low, disgusting, most disgusting job in the world? After all, it's really disgusting: surely among his clients there are old perverts who drive up to the hilt into the guy with their wrinkled, smelly dicks, which he probably takes in his mouth beforehand… How does he not feel disgusted with himself afterwards? Does he really need money so much? And his parents? Do they even suspect what their son is doing? Does he ... does he have them?


Techno snaps his fingers in front of his face.


"The lesson is over, are you coming?"

Type is so stuck in his thoughts that, looking around, he realizes: they are now alone in the classroom, Techno and he.


"Yes, I'm coming... now."

And why am I thinking of him… By and large, what do I care? I'm not the vice squad.

Still lost in the clouds, Type heads to the restroom. Techno and Champ are trying to pick up some school beauties, persuading them to go to a party with them at the weekend, so Type got a break from the chatter of Techno over his ear. Hardly does he finish with his stuff, opening the door of the stall, as he rests his gaze on a newbie, standing near the washbasin, who is cleaning his nose. Type notices the scarlet stains on the sink.

Of course, it would be necessary to make a poker face and calmly pass by, but the devil pulls the Type to linger at the mirror:

"Listen," he begins in a rather studiously indifferent tone. "So you can't stop the blood quickly, lean your head forward a little, only slightly, and you need a cotton swab soaked in peroxide in your nose."


The guy nods, but puts forward his hand:

"I know, don't poke in," — this is how Type reads this gesture.

Well, fuck you... why did I just interfere with my advice, here I am an idiot!

Type clenches his jaw and walks away.
The school day is coming to an end. He is already on the porch of the school, waiting for his friends who are stuck somewhere again. He also hears a familiar voice from the back:

"Hey, Princess ... yes… I missed you too… I won't stay away very long in the evening... yes ... yes... and immediately come to you ... Kiss you, baby."

Yeah… And his princess, if not his parents, is aware of this… Stop. Princess? That means he dates a girl, and ... at work, he fucks with men? Or not only with men? With everyone in a row, who will pay him? Fuck… How's that? Have I been asleep for a million many years? When did the world turn upside down? When did my peers start…

By an effort of will, Type slows down the flow of thoughts: well, why is he steaming again because of some…

Type realizes that he still does not know the name of his "almost-lover". But time quickly corrects this mistake.

The guy is already walking ahead of him, as Type hears quite sternly:


An adult young man. A student. Maybe he's even working already. He is dressed in expensive and stylish clothes.

His classmate instantly stops and turns to the guy applying to him:

"Phi Sun ..." he lowers his anxious gaze.

It doesn't look much like a meeting of good old friends.

"Tharn," the guy comes closer and unceremoniously puts his hand on this Tharn's shoulder, sliding it along his forearm. "We really missed you. And we would like you to keep us company this weekend."

Us?.. Type holds his breath, involuntarily starting to listen to their conversation.

"It's been over with you for a long time... and with your friends, too."

The grown-up guy grins:

"Well, you want to take good care of your Princess, don't you? And it's not so cheap, I understand. Why are you pretending to be an innocent babe, Tharn? You know that we will not harm you, everything will be only by mutual consent. And you and we will just have fun, and you will also earn good money."

Here, Phi Sun takes out his phone, quickly types something, then shows the screen to Tharn's face:

"Tell me, how many clients do you need to serve to earn so much? And it is also unclear in what conditions. But there are many men over fifty among them, who are so flattered to cuddle your young elastic body. And I suggest you spending the weekend in a good young company, we rented a house by the ocean. I promise," Phi Sun's hand is already touching Tharn's thigh, "no pain. You'll like it."

"What a bastard you are…"

"Well, why so rude, Tharn, babe. My offer is clearly worth considering. I'll give you time to think until Friday," Phi Sun's hand - what?! - slaps Tharn on the bottom.

He has already left, and Type is standing rooted to the spot on the penultimate step. Slouching, Tharn suddenly looks around sharply and looks at him, and in his eyes you can read: you heard everything, right? Run, tell the whole school what a dirty nobody I am!

But Type is not going to do that. He generally dreams of one thing now: to rewind the tape back and hear and see what was just before his eyes.

Next morning, Techno is lying at home with a fever, and the biology teacher informs Type that, since he was left without a partner for a few days, they will prepare a project together with Tharn, who also has not yet found a partner for classes.

"So? At yours or at my place?"

Type asks the usual question, but for some reason it scares Tharn. The look becomes hunted and wild. Having managed to strain himself with such a reaction, Type goes to the door, throwing:

"At five in the evening. You know the address."

Like this. Without emotions.

And yet, it flashes through Type's head: how many times has this guy heard something like this at his sixteen? When it was arranged, when the time and place were reported so coldly…

And for some reason, Type's soul is now feels so empty and ... lousy.

Chapter Text

"Would you like something... tea, coffee?"

"No, thank you… If possible, let's start the project, I don't have much free time."

On the threshold of his house, Tharn appears exactly at the appointed time.

A professional dick.

Type can hardly refrain from a caustic comment. Having indifferently invited the guy to his room and asked a regular question, he only grunts, having received a negative answer to his proposal.

"Mhm ... shall we start?"


Type notices how he constantly tries to avoid eye contact.

"To carry out sexual reproduction, it is not enough for the body to simply form germ cells-gametes, it is necessary to ensure the possibility of their meeting. The process of merging a sperm and an egg, accompanied by the unification of their genetic material, is called fertilization. As a result of fertilization, the…"

"We got the right topic, yeah?" Type kind of trying to lessen the tension. But Tharn does not smile and does not join to the joke. Just waiting for Type continue reading.

Type frowns and clicks his pen.

"Should I read it then?"

He doesn't look like a jerk at all. He is dressed modestly, but not in rags either. So what are you doing in this cesspool?

"Tharn," Type calls him by his first name for the first time. "Tell me, do you feel... okay? Like... like nothing happened, right? And is it okay that a few days ago you were ready to lie under me for money? And now... mhm ... two classmates are just preparing a school project? And both of them pretend that nothing happened, dont they?"

Tharn doesn't even show that he's offended:

"Did something happen? Type... you don't like my presence, I understand. I didn't ask to be your partner, the teacher decided that."

"I don't like?! That's not the point."

"So, what's it?"

"The fact that… The fact that a sixteen-year-old guy, my age, allows the others like this... and sees nothing shameful in it."

"I'm seventeen."

"Does it make any difference, in your opinion?"

Tharn gets up from his seat:

"Okay… Let's just divide the material and prepare everything individually? Before the lesson, we will somehow connect at school."

"There are no arguments in your defense, did you shit yourself and now you are escaping, right?"

"Goodbye, Type."

Tharn is almost at the door when he hears a loud:

"Don't strain yourself, I'll do everything myself, otherwise you have a working weekend ahead of you, right? Do you care about such little things as school classes!"

Again those hunched shoulders and the painful look sharply thrown at Type. He is already alone, but for a long time he looks at the door, biting his lips.

Well, who was pulling my tongue again?..

Friday night. So the party expected by Techno and Champ at the house of their mutual classmate, to which Type trudged more out of boredom. He noticed from the very threshold that the house was full of adult guys and girls, among whom that Sun stood out unmistakably. Next to him — a couple of his peers and ... Tharn. In his "professional outfit" - black skinny jeans and a white, tight-fitting T-shirt.

Mhm... and what about the house by the ocean? Or what... have you decided to start here?

Type tries to behave as usual, without giving away anything that he remembers that scene at the school porch.

A bastard, you say, Tharn? Well, this bastard is now squeezing you by the waist, and you don't even move an eyebrow.

"Champ —" Techno nods toward the door "May's here."

The guy smiles, but soon the smile is replaced by frowning eyebrows: for no reason at all, Type takes off from his seat and goes to meet that May. He kisses her on the cheek and, judging by the gestures, offers to bring her a drink. They are laughing about something, but both Techno and Champ — both notice — that he constantly looks back in the direction of adult guys in the company of their new classmate.

When Type returns, since May obviously needed to visit the bathroom, Techno stands alone.

"Where's Champ?"

"What do you think?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Since when have you switched to girls here?"

Type shrugs his shoulders:

"Maybe it's all bullshit that I'm gay... I should try to become normal."

"You're normal, Type. And the bullshit is what you've just done. You know that Champ has a crush on May, why did you cling to her?"

"Well, is it my fault that he even doesn't try to talk to her?"

"Without you, she would definitely not have stayed alone. Stop fooling around, Type. You were standing there with her, and just staring at our new guy. And then you're going to say that you don't do the bullshit?"

"Shut up, Techno," Type salutes him with his middle finger and goes to the exit.

It just happened so that while he was talking to Techno, Tharn's adult friends were also at the exit with him. Type is sure: he would have managed to pass by with a completely indifferent look, if not for Phi Sun's mocking remark in his direction:

"Hey, I see you liked our young friend? You couldn't take the eyes off him all evening."

Type stops, but silently scans the entire company with his eyes.

"Come on, Nong, don't be shy," Phi Sun, grinning, slightly pushes the weakly obeying Tharn forward, "I'm not greedy, my treat."

Type clenches his jaw and answers through the teeth:

"Thank you. But somehow I'm not used to dipping my pen in the common inkwell."

There is guffaw and hooting, but even as he leaves, Type has time to notice how sad the eyes of the already not too happy Tharn have become.

Until morning, Type tosses from side to side in his bed. He can't forget his words. He can't forget the pain in Tharn's eyes.

What a complete asshole you are… Well, why was it necessary to say such a thing?

And he doesn't mean Phi Sun.

Chapter Text

"Champ, wait! Just wait a minute!.."

On Monday, Type will make an attempt to talk to a friend before the classes. Champ will stop a little further away, without the usual greeting and a slight smile:

"What do you want, Type?"

"You left so abruptly on Friday… It's because of me, isn't it?"

Champ shrugs his shoulders:

"You see... it's not even about you. Although you know how I feel about May... just, why give her hope? Okay, let's say you're my friend. Well, I'll spit on my feelings for the sake of friendship. And then what? You probably don't know girls at all. Yes, everything was already planned out in her head right up to the wedding.… And as a result, May should not even count on a date with you. And then how can she trust the guys? That's what sucks, Type. You don't care about the feelings of others. Including those who care about you."

"Come on... We hung out for less than an hour… In general... I'm sorry that I'm like this. I didn't mean to offend you."

Champ nods and is about to move on:

"Still, think about what I told you, Type. Think carefully.

Type stands still for a while, and then, turning around, almost collides head-on with Tharn.

A glance over his shoulder. Tharn walks around him in silence, but Type decided the day before that today would be the day when he would have to correct his past shit.

"What's going on with the project?" as if "from afar" he begins.

Tharn, without turning around, quietly answers:

"Everything is ready. Before the lesson, I will hand in my part to the teacher."

"We have to submit a report on it together."

But Tharn is already disappearing around the corner.

Well, fuck off! And I was still worried about him… Just an enchanting start to the week!

Type is angry. Angry at himself

After school, Type is in no hurry to leave the school yard. Techno and Champ still hasn't forgotten about Friday, so they went home without him. To some extent, Type understands them. Moreover, he is glad that today he does not need to come up with excuses for them to stay after school.

Tharn, leaving the school doors, does not seem to notice his presence. But he does not have time to leave the school yard, as Phi Sun is drawn next to him.

"Hi, baby, how are you?"

Tharn passes by, but he is grabbed by the elbow:

"Why are you not in the mood to yalk yo me? Everything was just fine. We are very pleased with you. But next time we'll do without my friends, because we feel good together, right?"

Type can't stand this sugary abomination. Taking a deep breath in he approaches these two:

"Tharn, there's ... there's something wrong with our task, we need to discuss it. Do you have any spare time now?"

They are looking at him with all their eyes, both of them.

"Hmm, well, he's definitely free until Friday," Phi Sun smiles falsely. "I have to leave you, my dear schoolboys. Adult things. You know."

Even when they are alone, Tharn continues to stare at him in silence. Type decides to take matters into his own hands:

"Let's talk. Please."

In response, Tharn shakes his head:

"There's nothing to talk about here. Go home, Type."

"Why, Tharn?.. I wanted to apologize. I shouldn't have said such things to you… I'm sorry for those words."

"No need to apologize. You said it like it is. And also, do me a favor: leave me alone. Just let me finish my studies this year. And we'll never see each other again."

"Well, fuck you, since you're so proud!" Type quickly heads to the bus stop.

Type will leave, not knowing that this evening, for the umpteenth time in his short life, Tharn will pray to heaven to turn him into ashes. The ashes from which he will still be reborn. Tharn will take in another portion of the poison that has permeated his entire body since the age of fourteen. Ever since the only adult person who could always protect him, whose love and tender care would be enough to become an antidote, was no longer there. She is gone, and somewhere in her cozy room, her little copy will be sleeping, cuddling a teddy bear to her. The little girl is smiling sweetly, she's watching a wonderful dream, not knowing that it is for her alone that Tharn, like a Phoenix bird, is reborn every morning from this poisonous ash, she does not know that her brother is doomed to turn into decay again and again, when rough hands — the hands of his first man - crumple the exhausted body, when hard flesh drives into him up to the hilt, when at the temple, mixed with drops of saliva, that beast exhales:

"You know I love you so much, my boy."

And in Tharn's head there will be an answer that is not destined to be heard:

Of course I do. You just love me…


Chapter Text

From now on, Type firmly decides to ignore his wayward classmate. But they seem to be deliberately pushed against with each other even outside the school walls.

Techno and Champ still "educate" him, so even after a football practice on Wednesday, Type returns home alone. The path from the stadium to the nearest bus stop goes past the park, and there Type finds himself sitting on one of the benches, slowly sipping the sugar free iced tea he bought. He is already leaning back, trying to collect all the thoughts that have filled his head for the day, when his attention is attracted by two people who are having a picnic on the grass a little further away. In one of them Type recognizes Tharn, and the other - is a little girl of six or seven years old, with beautiful long hair and huge eyes, deeply absorbed in what she is doing: next to her, on a blue plaid blanket, Type notices about two dozen paper origami cranes, and small, still childishly knobby fingers, are deftly folding another bird. Type is really surprised: his always sullen classmate, whose fake smile he saw only on the day they met — his classmate seems so peaceful and... happy now. And his hands are busy with the same things as the baby's hands — although, of course, it's worth admitting that he doesn't make a good crane. Type can't help but chuckle to himself.

Type thinks: these two little people seem to stand against the whole world, and it even somehow becomes awkward to watch them surreptitiously like this. Type is so lost in this thought that he does not immediately notice how a little beauty appears in front of him with a paper crane in her hands.

"This is for you," the little girl babbles in a thin voice.

Type is astonished, he does not know how to react, and in such situations, as usual, he retreats:

"No, thank you, you've been messing with it so much, keep it for yourself."

"No, I have so many of them!" here the girl shows with her hands from top to bottom how many such things she has already made, "this is for you, you are so sad, and this crane is magical, it will definitely bring you happiness," the girl looks so pleadingly that it is difficult to refuse. And yet…

"Why do you need so many cranes?"

"This is for my brother. I will make a thousand cranes — and his dream will come true."

"That's the thing... and what is your brother's dream?"

"And you should ask him that!"

The girl again hands the craft to Type:

"Come on, come on, take it," she shoves a paper figure into his hands, smiling broadly, which makes cute dimples start playing on the apples of her cheeks. Then, realizing that she did not say hello, she puts her hands together and slightly tilts her head:


Type reflects her gesture with a smile:



Both are now looking at Tharn, who has risen from the blanket, a smile and calmness on his face immediately disappear — as if something wrong has happened.

"Of course, Tharn, of course, it's so disgusting to see my face that you'll probably vomit now," Type clenches his jaw, and the girl shrugs her shoulders in frustration:

"I have to go, Phi Type," Thanya gives him one last smile and skips back to her brother.

Type stares at the unremarkable crane for a while longer. Of course, all this is childish babble... can a paper figure bring happiness? Of course not. And no one can. And nothing. I will never have the courage to admit who I am... so I will spend my whole life alone.

Low gray clouds are gathering in the sky. A heavy shower is about to pour down. Type gets up from the bench and goes to the exit of the park, along the way noticing that his brother and sister are also hastily folding a blanket and the girl's cranes.

Type manages to get to the bus stop before the rain, but Tharn and Thanya get under the first drops — it's good that the bus arrives without delay, and soon all three are inside. But here, too, Type is given a disapproving look, which makes him even shiver. Tharn puts Thanya on an empty seat and slide his hand in the pocket of his jeans to get out his wallet and buy tickets. He frowns. He reaches into another pocket, but nothing is found there either. Thanya notices her brother's concern:

"Tharn, we probably dropped it in the park when we were in a hurry… We have to go out now, right?"

Before Tharn can answer, the conductor appears in front of him. It is to him that the guy turns in a guilty voice:

"Sorry, Phi, I seem to have lost my wallet and will not be able to buy tickets, we will get off now…"

"No need, I'll pay for them," trying to avoid eye contact, Type takes out the necessary amount and buys two tickets, and then shoves them to the startled Tharn. "Here you are. Take them."


"Why? Can't you see what's going on outside? Did you want to get pneumonia?" Type goes to a whisper. "You are so proud, arent you? Okay, but is it the girl's fault?"

Tharn looks down:

"I'll give you everything back. Tomorrow."

With a wave of his hand, Type goes to the other end of the bus.

The next morning, Type is stopped in the hallway when he goes to the restroom.

"Here you are." Tharn hands him fifty baht.

'No need," Type shakes his head, "you've already lost your wallet, you need it more."

"Take it! I''m used to paying off my debts," Tharn insists.

Type is already on his way, but Tharn does not intend to give in:

"If you don't take the money, I'll pay in a different way," without letting Type come to his senses, he grabs his hand and drags him to the restroom. Quickly closing the door behind them, he kneels down in front of the dumbfounded Type, and his hands are already straightening the zipper on his jeans.

"Are you completely fucked up?!" Type pushes him away in anger.

Tharn rises from his knees:

"I have to pay you back. You don't take any money… How else can I do this?"

Type is so angry, he's just furious.

"Do you suck everyone off for fifty baht? Or have you just sold it cheap today?"

Dropping this, without looking at the drooping Tharn, Type jumps out of the restroom, slamming the door behind him.

Tharn disappears. He's not in class until the end of the week. He does not appear even after the weekend. And no matter how angry Type was at him, no matter how much he convinced himself that it was none of his business… He can't, he can't stay away in any way.

"Techno, I need the contacts of those from whom you tried to order your failed surprise for me."

"What for? Finally tired of playing with your little friend alone at night?"

Techno — as always - bursts out laughing, but Type is not up to fun:

"You have thirty seconds to find the right number for me, or you'll say hello to my shoe, okay?"

Chapter Text

"How do you want me, Phi?" Tharn's gaze is so sharp now, piercing the feverishly beating heart.

Half an hour earlier, Type was standing in front of the administrator of the place where Tharn works when he doesn't visit his clients at home.

"I want to buy —" Type doesn't know what word is used in such a situation, but he manages to control the tremor in his voice: "I want to pay for an evening with a young guy named Tharn. We talked about this on the phone."

"Yes, I remember. Please, forgive my curiosity, but are you twenty years old? According to our laws, neither girls nor men can be taken for the evening if the client is under this age."

Type wants to shout at this fake-delicate woman at the top of his voice: men?! Seriously?! And when you hire them, are you at least interested in these "twenty years"?!

But instead of shouting, Type pulls out a pile of banknotes from his pocket — his parents have gone to Phangan to buy a hotel, so he has cash at his disposal for a whole week:

"I think there will be enough here to not doubt my age."

The lady breaks into a satisfied smile, small black eyes light up with excitement.

"Of course, Phi. Come in, please!" the administrator claps her hands and immediately a girl appears, obviously an assistant. "Show the young gentleman out. And hurry up Tharn, the client must not be waiting."

The girl who came bows in front of Type and offers him to follow her.

And here he is. The room is quite sparse in terms of furnishings, more like a room in a cheap hotel. Lamps-lanterns imitating candles are placed on the floor, in the middle of the room there is a bed covered with a golden blanket. There is a door to the shower and toilet.

The sound of footsteps is heard. The door swings open. Tharn appears in the room, wearing his uniform that Type already hates. For a couple of seconds, it seems to the guy that Tharn is freezing when he sees his "client" for this evening. But then, with his usual restraint and submission, he begins to offer his services.

"How do you want me, Phi?" he repeats his question.

"What?" Type can't believe his ears. "Are you kidding me? Do you really think that I came to you for this?!" Type comes close to Tharn, but he only takes two steps back to the wall.

"You have paid, Phi, how can I satisfy you?"

Type does not want to listen to this nonsense, he just covers his ears with his hands, but Tharn does not let up:

"Should I undress myself, or will you do it? Do you want me to stay like this or should I lie down?"

"Stop ... stop, please!" Type's voice is trembling again, his eyes are filled with moisture. "I beg you, shut up, I don't need any of this!"

But Tharn doesn't seem to hear:

"Maybe I should get down on my knees, bare my ass and spread it so that it would be more comfortable for you? Or do you want me to satisfy you with my mouth? Do you want me to lie down in front of you and touch myself, and you look… Why are you silent, Phi?" it seems that Tharn stays on his feet only thanks to the wall at the back. "Do not hesitate, you have paid, you can use me and do whatever you want with me," here Tharn's voice turns almost into an old man's wheeze, dark memories roll in like a pile of heavy stones

"Shut up!" Type can't stand the last words; unable to control himself, he slaps Tharn on the right cheek, leaving a crimson mark that makes its way through the snow-white porcelain skin.

Tharn's head flies off from the wall and hits it painfully... but he just shakes it and continues with the same piercing look, but very quietly:

"Thank you, my master, if it gives you pleasure, then hit me again…"

It's way too much.

Down the wall.

Shaking in no longer hidden sobs.

Type does not understand what to do. He expected that Tharn would be surprised, but he has nowhere to go, because the paid time must be "worked out", which means that they will be able to talk calmly and Tharn will not run away anywhere.

And now?

What should I do now?

Tharn's sobs grow louder. He tries to drown them out, hiding his face in his knees, but then only starts to suffocate. Type drops to the floor next to the guy who is shaking there. He puts her hands on boy's shoulders and pulls him to her, without any resistance.

"What are you talking about?" Tharn sobs aloud on his chest, obediently, without trying to escape, clinging to the alive warmth of Type. "Why did you tell me all this? Why?" he begins to stroke the back with his palms, then stops his hands on the neck, at the very border of the hair, and lightly touches the skin there with his fingertips. "How can I do this to you?" Type whispers bitterly. "Never, do you hear me, never in my life will I take advantage of you, when will you understand this?" Type tightens his grip on the unfortunate boy, and he buries himself more and more in his chest, as if he is afraid that another second and there will not be this closeness... this connection will break.

This is the first time that Type hugs another guy like this, not in a friendly way, like Techno and Champ... but exactly like this.

Finally, he pulls away first, but only to wipe the tears from Tharn's scarlet cheekbones with his thumbs. Both of them are breathing heavily, chest-deep, with wheezing.

"Tharn, wash up and let's get out of here, please, let's go together," Type looks into this tarnished amber. "Don't stay here any longer... please, let's go."

Tharn just sighs heavily, shaking his head.

"And then what? I'll come back here tomorrow anyway... there's no other way out," the faded look and shrunken shoulders again.

"Why, Tharn? Who makes you do this? You've been out of school for the second week… I didn't know what to think."

"And that's why you came here and ordered me, right?" Type hears a hint of a grin in his voice.

"They wouldn't let me talk to you for free, and you wouldn't want to, even though we didn't talk anyway," Type gets to his feet. "Come on? Wash up and let's get out of here. Your sister must have been waiting for you. And your mother is even more crazy."

"Thanya is staying at her aunt's... And we don't have a mother."

"Well... is there a father?"

Tharn closes his eyes with a kind of resignation, nodding.


"I won't go home. I do not want."

"Why, Tharn?" Type bites his lip, but still decides to ask further. "And your father… Is he ... is he an alcoholic, maybe? And ... hits you? Yes? You... Please, don't think, I won't tell anyone, if anything, don't think so, Tharn."

"No. Father ... father loves me."

This is the first time Type has ever heard that love is being spoken about in such a dead voice.

"You know, then here's what: I'm staying alone at home, if you don't want to go to your place, let's go to mine. You can't sleep in the street now."

It does not escape from Type how wild the look of his classmate becomes.

"Tharn! Sleeping is just sleeping. Do not think that I have already fucked up what I just told you: I will never take advantage of the situation, understand this, please!"

To be sure, Type gets to his feet and holds out his hand to Tharn:

"Come on."

Chapter Text

"So, Tharn, look: I have rice, two vegetable mixes and fish fingers. Oh, and Sprite. Well, if tea-coffee does not suit. What will you have of it?" Type meticulously examines the shelves in the refrigerator, and, smiling, turns to Tharn, who is sitting, slightly hunched, at the kitchen table. "Well, I am taking out everything — we'll figure it out together! There's also a bag of chips left in the room, if I didn't eat everything at lunch."

When Type plucked up the courage and suggested that Tharn go to his place, he, indeed, did not expect a positive answer. And now, by and large, he was not sure that the guy would not jump off his chair at any moment and run away because of one his careless word or look. So - everything is as calm as possible, without sudden movements. Of course, Type is not going to behave with him as with a mentally ill person, even though there are many reasons that have broken the psyche of this unfortunate, but he is not a madman. Tharn is simply exhausted. He is exhausted by his problems, which are by no means childish or adolescent. Type has a lot of questions that need answers, but he understands that Tharn is sure: he is a burden for most of the people around him. And there are many things that he hides, but maybe someday he will allow Type to uncover this veil ... after all, he is unlikely to do it without Tharn's permission.

After a little tinkering with the microwave and the stove, Type puts two plates in front of the still silent Tharn: with rice and vegetables and fried fish fingers. Next, two cans of cold Sprite appear on the table.

"It's... not enough here, but I tried, honestly," Type sits down across the table. "Come on, it'll cool down!"

Tharn shrugs his shoulders gently and looks up at Type with a tired look.

"You shouldn't have brought me home, I just ruined your evening."

Again… Why are you so afraid to accept someone's help?!

"You're making it difficult again," Type rolls his eyes. "Let's have dinner and go to bed. My parents are coming back on Sunday, tomorrow I will have to scrub the apartment, clean up the week-long disaster."

Tharn seems to be smiling a little.

That's better. And then he's always so gloomy.

Tharn looks down and timidly reaches for the rice sticks.

Damn... well, of course he's hungry, but he's shy to take it. You definitely won't be full of cum alone... Type is glad that he keeps these thoughts on his tongue. Otherwise, he is sure, Tharn would have been blown away.

Type takes the initiative in his own hands. He picks up a fish finger, bites off half, and brings the other to Tharn's mouth:

"Should I feed you or can you handle it yourself?"

The hunger of a young male growing body takes its toll. Slowly chewing, but Tharn empties the plate.

After a quiet dinner, Type washes the dishes. Then he finds a T-shirt and shorts for Tharn in his closet and sends the latter to the shower.

"My bed is yours. All right, let's do it here. If there is something you need - a toilet, water, a night hunger will overcome — where everything is, you know. I'm in the guest room, it's the last one down the hall… okay?"

Tharn nods:

"Thank you, Type."

"Never mind," Type smiles. For some reason, he suddenly wants to hug this poor guy so much. But, of course, he wouldn't dare now, knowing Tharn, knowing that he would begin to suspect something was wrong — he wouldn't dare.

He notices that Tharn's gaze is now directed at the small crane on the bedside table.

"Mhm... your sister gave it to me."

"I guess so."

"She said that it has magical powers… It should bring me happiness."

How does Tharn's gaze warm up at the mention of his little sister:

"Just listen to her more, she has everything magical - dolls, puppies with kittens, and even a rainbow with rain.

"But is it so bad? Believe in magic... hmm?"

Tharn shrugs his shoulders. They are still sitting on the edge of Type's unmade bed.

"Thanya also said that you have some cherished dream and that I must ask you about it," Type looks away a little embarrassed.

"Did she say 'must'?" Tharn raises one eyebrow.

Type rubs his lips with the tongue:

"Well, not exactly like that… But if it's a big secret — then you don't have to... I mean, you don't have to tell me about it.

"I want to buy a house for her, a big, light one, on the oceanshore, and so that she will grow up and be happy with her family in it." 

Type's jaw just drops:

"And you? And for yourself, Tharn… What do you want for yourself?"

The young man looks at him with such sadness that Type understands: it is pointless to pry from him. Perhaps the day will come when Tharn will be ready to share with him.

Type leaves him, heading for the shower. He's only been gone for ten minutes, but when he comes back, he hears muffled sobs from the doorway.


"Hey, what are you doing, what's up?"

I can't even touch him carelessly, but it's unbearable to see how he shrinks into a ball under this blanket and shakes — it's unbearable! How can I calm him down?

Type runs to the kitchen and soon returns with a glass of water.

"Tharn, come on... well, calm down," Type strokes him over the blanket, "drink some water, it will make you feel better."

Kirigun suddenly quiets down at once. As if he only realizes that he is not alone in the room. He sits up on the bed and wipes the tears from his flushed cheeks. Then he takes the glass handed to him and takes a couple of sips. Then another.

"Type... I'm sorry... forgive me," the guy babbles, still sobbing a little. "So... something came all at once… It became so hard."

"Why should I forgive you?" Type takes the half-empty glass from him.

"If you only knew how tired I am… I'm tired of myself, Type…"

"Everything will get better, Tharn... you should only get out of this "job" first..." Type understands that a question of the kind "does your father not support you and your sister?" will cause a new attack of hysteria, so he prudently does not voice his guesses. "So... if it's easier, lie down, I'll sit with you for a while and go to my bed."

Tharn lies down facing Type. But the blanket hads slipped to his feet.

"I'll cover you, okay?" Type whispers in the semi-darkness.

The guy just shyly nods in response. Type carefully pulls the blanket over his trembling shoulder. He gently runs his hand over it, calms Tharn down.

Tharn closes his eyes:

"Thank you, Type... for the last few years, besides Thanya, you are the first person who is so kind to me… Despite how dirty I am... and you shouldn't have blundered in this dirt."

Type just shakes his head, but is silent: well, there is no way to persuade Tharn not to think in such a way.


It's Monday. They don't even show that they spent part of the weekend together. Type is still hanging out with Techno and Champ, and Tharn is still avoiding everyone, and, judging by the smile, he calls Thanya during the break.
And everything would be fine. And Type has already planned how he will escape from Techno after school, who will start practicing his wit again and will fill up with questions about "so you were in that place?", "so did you have everything or not?"

Phi Sun.

Where did you just manage to draw yourself from?

Type has just noticed Tharn coming out of the school gates and wanted to follow him under the pretext of "we are going one way".

"Tharn," Type still catches up with him, grabbing his elbow involuntarily. "Tharn, pretend that he just isn't there, please... don't talk to him."

"It's you, Type, you pretend that I'm not here... and go home, I've already told you, "Tharn frees his hand, "you don't need to blurt out in such dirt like me."

"Really?! Are you in a hurry to lie down under him?! Or under his friends?! Who will pay more, yes, you will exhibit your ass for him?!"

Type knows how much excess is now escaping from his lips. But how it hurts him: after all, he sincerely tried to help Tharn, but, apparently..."

Again the familiar pain in his eyes and trembling lips:

"I'm sorry, Type."

"Ah, fuck you, Tharn! I will not forgive you, I don't need your sorry!"

At full speed, cutting through the humid air, Type rushes away.

Fuck you, Tharn! I'm fed up with this shit! I deal with him as with a kid, I try to help him at least in some way… And he?! That's it, Tharn! From now on: I am on my own, you are on your own. I'm not going to get into your fucking right relationships with your ex-friends-clients, or interfere in your fucking wonderful life without me! Live as you want! You can suck your Phi Sun right in front of his gorgeous car! I don't give a shit!

What the hell... why do I even care?!

Type spends the evening stupidly scrolling the screen. Type does not sleep until the morning, tossing and turning from side to side. Type, out of frustration, crumples the blanket with his hands — the one that smells of Tharn, and finds himself awake, clutching the pillow tightly to himself.

A pillow with his scent on it.

Cursing at himself, Type begins to get ready for classes.

As soon as he gets into the school hall, he is met by the head teacher, who asks him to go to the principal's office.

"What happened, Phi? What have I done?"

"Nothing, Khun, but you were the last person seen in the school yard yesterday with your classmate, Thara Kirigun. We would like to ask you a few questions."

"About what?" Type's heart jumps in his chest. "Has something happened?"

The woman takes a deep breath:

"Yes. We will have to tell you in any case, but others should not know this. I hope you understand me, don't you?"

"Yes... sure."

"Khun Kirigun was taken to the intensive care department. Suicide."

It's good that she is walking ahead. At least she doesn't see Type, who now hates himself and that poor idiot and who's pouring his bitter tears onto the floor behind her.

Chapter Text

Today, the sun seems to have pierced through the sky and flooded the earth. Today is exactly a week since Type is afraid to cross the school threshold, fearing that again, whether intentionally or inadvertently, he will learn something about Tharn.

Type barely remembers answering questions in the director's office. Only one stuck in his memory, the one when he was asked how close their relationship is, whether they are friends, or…
' We're just classmates. We did a biology project together. Nothing more."

Just classmates.

During these days, Type was tired of reproaching himself for cowardice and stupidity.

It is not difficult for him to find out where Tharn is. But while he is in intensive care, of course, there can be no question of any visit. On the fifth day, in a trembling voice, he quietly asks the head teacher if she knows "how is Khun Kirigun. After learning from her that his classmate has come to his senses, Type flows into a new dilemma: well, if I go there, it's not yet a fact that they will let me see him... and will he want to see me?

Type is ashamed. He's sad and ashamed.

But today he pulls himself together.

Today, he finds himself standing at the reception desk in the clinic where Tharn is lying.

"Visiting is only for close relatives. Who are you to him?"

"Me?.. I'm his brother."

"Can I have a look at your id-card?"

"Yes... please."

"You have different last names."

"Well, yes. We're ... we've got different fathers. What? Doesn't that happen?"

The receptionist looks at him carefully through her glasses, then smiles mysteriously, nodding:

"Come in."

Type folds his hands and tilts his head, saying thanks, to which he is answered:

"No fraternal hugs, please. He is still very weak."

Type, without turning around, mumbles:

"Y-yes… Sure."

Tharn is alone in the ward. The second bed is free. When Type appears in the doorway, he finds the young man leaning against the headboard of his hospital bed; Tharn's head is turned to the wall, and his eyes are blankly fixed on one point.


They don't even turn their heads to him.

"Tharn, it's me, Type."

Type may not be able to see his whole face, but it seems that Tharn is closing his eyes.

"Why so, Tharn…"

Type forgets: the day before, he made a promise to himself that he would not pour salt on an unhealed wound.

"Go home, Type —" there comes a quiet voice from the bedside "And you shouldn't mess your thoughts up. It's not your fault. So that… I don't need these parishes to clear your conscience."

"I will not go away. I'm not leaving until we talk… Until I'm sure you won't do it again."

"I don't want to see you," Tharn lowers his head on the pillow and covers himself tightly with a blanket. "But it's not because of you… I don't want to see anyone.

Type pushes his cheeks from the inside with his tongue, goes to the bed, on which Tharn is lying sideways under the blanket.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything, Tharn… I know I've been beastly to you many times… I don't have any excuses… But the blade, Tharn… How the fuck did you think of such a thing? Swallow the blade!.." Type sobs loudly with despair. "What do you need to have in your head to do this?! And if it hadn't happened... if you had damaged everything inside… Did you want to flaunt with a pipe in your throat?"

Tharn comes out of his hiding place, looking over his shoulder at Type:

"You're right. Next time I'll try to leave more poetically."


Type kneels down, his head and hands remaining on the edge of the bed. Type is crying. It hurts Type to a broken heartbeat to hear such a thing.

Tharn's hand gently touches his head:

"Don't you cry, Type... Stop it. I know you're good. And I realized this much earlier than a week ago… But I'm not blind, Type. I can see how you're starting to look at me —" his hand keeps stroking and stroking the hair of Type, who has not raised his head. "I've already tried to warn you. I said: it is not necessary for such a good boy to blunder in such dirt as I am."

Type looks up at him, his eyes wet with tears:

"It's too late, Tharn. I've already… I'm already in you. Up to the ears..."

"You don't know what you're talking about..."

"I know everything, Tharn."

"No, Type... you're just imagining things."

"I don't think so."

"Do you know how many men I've been under? And how many times have I taken their dicks into my mouth? Sometimes not one at a time. I lied to you then, the first time we met. I'm perfectly stretched. Some clients —, yes, yes, do not look away, - clients, - can easily slide with a whistle inside of my ass!"

"No, Tharn, it's not working..." Type gets to his feet, wiping his eyes and cheeks with the palm of his hand. "Come up with better arguments."

"Go and rent a cleaner boy for yourself, since you really wanted to have sex so much. Apparently, no one gives it for free — " a fake-malicious laugh is heard.

"It's not working again, Tharn. Think of something else."

Tharn closes his eyes. Type hears with what difficulty every word is given to him:

"They want to take Thanya away from me... so that she can live with her aunt. And how will I live without her? With this…"

Type sits down on the edge of his bunk:

"And that's why you decided to cut own life? Seriously, Tharn?! Okay, fuck it with me… But have you thought about your sister?"

"Not just that… you wouldn't understand, Type. And you don't need to understand it."

"Try it, Tharn. Tell me. Maybe I'm not so hopeless and I can understand you?"

Tharn's hand trembles on the blanket. Type timidly covers it with his own.

"Tharn, I…"

They both freeze and turn to look at the door. There, Type notices a tall man, whose facial features are not difficult to guess who he is to Tharn.

Hmm... he looks like a normal guy. A father is like a father.

But within the next five minutes, Type begins to doubt his assumptions.

"Hello, Phi Jirigun!" Type gets up and makes a wai, greeting the newcomer with a smile.

In response, they do not even deign to look at him.

"Who let him in here, Tharn?! Did you ask for this?"

"I'm sorry… I had to tell them that I am Tharn's brother. But we study together. I'm not a stranger."

They turn to Type and his heart almost freezes under such a stern look:

"Get out of here and don't let me see you and my son close."

Type sees how Tharn is looking at him with plead at this moment.

Type nods, whispering "I'll see you later", and leaves the ward, but before he can close the door behind him, he hears a strange "I missed my boy so much, and did my boy miss me?"

And it is not strange because there is something wrong in these words, Type finds Tharn's reaction weird:

"Please, Dad… Don't do it... Just not here."

During the next week, he does not manage to see Tharn: the reception has been strictly instructed not to let him in.

When Tharn crosses the threshold of the school for the first time after his absence, Type does not expect that he will be the first person he will come to:

"If you're not busy after school, do you want to go to the park with us? Thanya wanted to fly a kite. Don't you know how it should be done?"

"Oh, no problem. Easy peasy lemon sqeezy!"

They arrange time, and Tharn does not need to know that during the entire break following the lesson, Type Googles "how to fly a kite?".

Chapter Text

"Tharn! Look how cool it is! Phi Type is a real wizard!"

Watching how the girl is happy with the first time he successfully flew a colorful kite, Type involuntarily remembers the words of her brother: "everything is magical for her."

Type feels so easy and free now. And as if there is not a single secret in his heart, neither his own nor someone's else.

They spend a couple of hours together, during which Type manages to make his contribution to the fulfillment of Tharn's wishes — under the guidance of Thanya, he makes four cranes with curved wings and crumpled tails, but the girl is delighted with his crafts. Only Tharn, covering his face with a palm, laughs to the side, and Type is ready to make a dozen more such absurd cranes - just to see that Tharn smiles.

"Phi Type! Tharn and I made a pie! You should definitely try it!" Thanya is already pulling on her brother's sleeve. "Invite him to our place, Tharn, please!.." the little girl whispers, and Type pretends not to hear, although he is tempted to ask for a visit.

Tharn pats his little sister on the head and turns to Type:

"Actually, we are alone at home until tomorrow's lunchtime. If you are still not tired of our company, then…"

"I'm not tired of it!" Before he can finish, Type blurts out overjoyed. "I agree!.. Oh... I mean, I wanted to say..." Type suddenly feels so embarrassed for his haste.

Thanya saves the situation. Taking both boys by the hands, she boldly leads them to the bus stop.

"You can tell who's the head of the family right away," Type exclaims with a smirk.

But Tharn doesn't smile back.



"What is it?"

"The lighthouse on Amrum."

The pie was delicious, the tea was fragrant, and the warmth of the two young hosts of the house was pleasant and soothing. Right now, Type is looking at the photos on the wall in Tharn's room. The usual situation, the usual socks lying under the table and on the chair. There are blue curtains on the window, and the entire wall opposite the bed has a lot if photos. In some of them, Type recognises Tharn's mother, hugging her very young children. There are photos where Tharn is only with his sister. But there is not a single frame where Tharn and Thanya were presented with their father.

A picture with a lighthouse attracts Type's eye. Majestic. Standing on a high hill. A saving light source. And below — the roaring sea.

"So," Type's face takes a thoughtful look, "this is your dream, am I right?"

Tharn puts a finger to his mouth: shhh.

Type nods understandingly: I'm silent.

His work uniform. Black jeans and a white T-shirt that Type hates so much.

"This is… Did you prepare this for work? I'm sorry, but don't you understand anything? How long are you going to keep stepping on the same rake, Tharn? Probably already arranged a date with Phi Sun? It was he who pushed you into this profitable business, wasn't he?!"

"Be quiet, Thanya is already asleep."

Tharn turns to the window, and again, unable to restrain himself, Type does not dare to approach him. Only hears:

"What about Phi Sun? Phi Sun... Phi Sun wasn't even my first man."

"And who was?"

How much pain now strikes Tharn's voice:

"Are you sure you want to know?"

Type has flashes of burning light before his eyes.

"Father loves me"

"Did my boy miss me?"

"Dad, please, not here..."

Type's ears are exploding and his heart is itching from his own dreadful guesses.


Gaping blackness in the eye sockets.

"Tharn... your..." Type doesn't even know how to pronounce the word out loud now. "Is he... is it he?"

It seems that Tharn barely has time to walk to his bed so as not to collapse on the floor.

This face… The face of not an alive man This is a wax mask. Such posthumous casts are made from the dead in order to preserve the features of their face. But this is not an alive man. In front of Type now — not a seventeen-year-old boy. In front of Type — a decrepit hundred-year-old man is hunched over on the edge of the bed.

"Tharn… Say something," Type is like blown by the wind, he is already sitting next to Tharn. "Just tell me that I'm an idiot, that how could I just imagine such a thing!.. I beg you, say it!.. Say it to me!"

Does he understand, does he understand who I'm talking about? I never said that word…

But Type is wrong to doubt. Tharn understands everything.

"You see, Type," Tarn wheezes on an exhale, "it differs... father's love."

"Love?!" Type hisses,, beginning to choke his tears. "Love?!.."

The palms cover Tharn's face.. Type forcefully tears them away from him, covers Tharn's cheekbones with his own hands and presses his forehead to that wax mask:

"Do you even understand, Kirigun, that I will not leave you alone for the rest of my life now! Do you understand this?!"

Tharn's tears heat his cheeks, mingle with his own:

"Then I should try to finish it as soon as possible…"

Type presses his forehead closer to him, their faces are blurred before their eyes:

"I'll just kick you now for such words!"

"Do it, I deserve it."

Type squints until his eyelids hurt, and then with all his strength he embraces this miserable boy and hugs him tightly. What Tharn has to live with blooms in the foreground of his consciousness, like the feeling of a close push in a car accident, except that the blow still catches up, the car crashes, and he sits among the ruins and sorts out the fragments.

Grief is crippling.

Both of them.


"Sorry for talking about this again… But it doesn't fit in my head. How is this even possible?.."

After sitting silently in the arms of Type for at least half an hour, feeling the palms of his hands stroking his back, calming him, Tharn somehow imperceptibly turns out to be on his back with both of them, and Type who does not let him go from himself remains next to him, only wrapping his arms tighter.

"I was fourteen when my mother died," they are now lying so that they can see each other's eyes. "One evening, my "inconsolable" father came to my room and lay down next to me… At first," Type hears Tharn's voice begin to disappear again, "at first he just stroked me, kept saying, I love you... I really miss our mother... you will comfort your beloved dad, won't you... The worst thing... the worst thing is to realize that I really still loved him then. Then his visits began to be repeated… I wasn't thinking of their true nature... And he kept touching and touching me..."

"Why didn't you push him away… You weren't four, you were fourteen… Well, you could have punched him in the face. Of course, he looks like a strong man. But still? Why… Why didn't you tell anyone about this? It is necessary to take him into prison! Neither you nor Thanya should have been allowed to stay with this beast. And for a long time… He is… He raped you, didn't he?"

"I knew you'd say that," Tharn looks down, or rather, he simply can't stand Type's gaze right now. "Why didn't I push him away? My mother had just passed away, and I - believe it or not - at first thought that he just wanted to comfort me and find this comfort in me. Thanya had been crying all the days, I myself tried to hold back until night, and then it like a dam was breaking… So when he came to me for the first time, I didn't even understand anything. Only much later, when it was pointless to deny it — and I was naively trying to convince myself that dad really just loved me...when his hands were shamelessly dominating between my legs... then there was no point in looking for excuses for him anymore. And convince myself that all this is just my imagination… I myself, Type, gave him the green light. It's my own fault that my father became my first man... and even now he can't leave me alone."

"It's not true, it's him... it's not you! He took advantage of the situation, took advantage of your state of a heartbroken child!"

Tharn shakes his head:

"You asked why I didn't tell anyone? And how was it possible for anyone to admit that your own father was doing such abominations to you?.. And then - Thanya. What would have happened to her? Would she have gotten a little older and found out what a dirty, pathetic jerk her brother was? Well... would they have imprisoned him... and we? Would we have ended up in different orphanages? And I have no one, you know, no one but her! She is the only living reminder of my mother and the most important person in the world to me. So I am not yet twenty years old… I can't take her away from this monster. It will be easier there. I will wait until she comes of age, I will know that she is firmly on her feet, and I will disappear from her life. Sooner or later, she will find out everything… And about my work, too. And I just can't stand it."

Type is no longer crying. Only, without looking away, he stares at the Tharn's darting gaze:

"I know this seems wild to you… But what could I do then? As absurd as it may sound now, but he is my father… And I... I'm just a dirty weak-willed creature, still trying to rinse out the poison of this fatherly love in the hands of other men. That's who's in front of you, Type…"

"I know who is in front of me, Tharn," Type pulls his palm to the young man's face and wipes the tears from his chin with the bend of his fingers. "A poor, unhappy child who was maimed by his own father. The best older brother in the world, who gives everything to taking care of his sister… I wouldn't be surprised if you even braid her plaits," Tharn laughs softly through tears. "Here, I'm right, yes... and also," for the first time during the evening, Type looks away, "a very handsome and kind guy who does not want to admit that another guy really likes him."

"There's not a single reason to like me, Type."

"Well... if there's no reason then we'll assume that I like you without any reason."

Type manages to get his face very close, his lips are about to touch Tharn's lips but these very lips whisper to him:

"No, Type... Don't do it. Please."

Type nods. He knows. He promised. He would never do anything against Tharn's will. He will never use him, as they did — dozens? Hundreds? ...once before him.

"Tharn," Type puts his head on the boy's shoulder, feeling Tharn lower his chin over it, "You just promise me never to do anything with yourself... I know you said that you have no one more important than Thanya… But know it, Tharn Thara Kirigun, know that you are very important to me. And this is not a temporary emotion… And not a tumor that will disappear under the laser. This…

"It's a pity, Type. You're just too kind to me."

"No, Tharn, not just a pity. It's different here. Even though you don't want to admit it."

They are silent for a while. Everyone thinks about his own. But in fact - about the same thing.

"If you want to... if you can, of course… Stay with me until morning. He'll... he'll only be back for lunch."

Type bites his lip — just not to burst into tears:

"And I didn't know how to ask for it…"

The night wind barely ruffles the curtains. Tharn is dozing, warming the edge of his hair near the forehead with his breath.

Type is not sleeping.

Type is thinking.

It is as if he is rewinding the film with the events of today back and once again reviewing everything in a new way, frame by frame. He asks himself: will I dare? Now that Tharn has shared his secret with me, when he forced himself to voice what he would like to forget forever... will I dare?

Be honest.

With myself and the others.

No, still, he admitted it to himself long time ago. He has not denied for a long time, he does not persuade himself, saying "I am not gay".

But what about the others?

Type's mother, as it seems to him, has guesses on this score, father… Here it is more difficult.

Close friends know. But his football team, classmates, teachers, other relatives besides his parents…

Not only for the sake of Tharn and his nascent feelings for him, but also for his own sake, does he have the courage to be who he is?

Type doesn't know what awaits them tomorrow. But today, Type puts his arm around Tharn, closes his eyes and smiles in the darkness.

Today, Type decides to be another man.

Today, Type decides to be brave.

Chapter Text

"Type," they shake him gently by the shoulder to wake him up, "Type, wake up, you still have to get home before school."

If only it could be the truth: to wake up, and everything is just fine. And there is no grief that crippled Tharn, and there is no real nightmare in which this boy has been living for the third year so far.

Type opens his eyes: Tharn is already dressed for school. Swollen eyelids, but the corners of his lips are slightly raised. Type is happy about this, too.

"You've been up a long time, haven't you?"

"Yeah. Thanya still need some help to get ready for school. She, however, does almost everything herself."

"Damn... Why didn't you wake me up right away? I've sprawled out here like a seal on a rookery," Type gets out of bed, rubbing his neck.

"Well... I think you didn't fall asleep right away yesterday… So I just didn't want to wake you up."


Tharn sits down on the edge of the bed:

"Please, don't start feeling sorry for me, okay? Don't be overprotective, please… It's even more humiliating."

Type moves his hand and intertwine Tharn's fingers with his own:

"But you should understand that I can't stay away. I warned you yesterday. And I wasn't joking: you can pull me away, push me away as much as you want… But I won't leave you alone. At least until I know you're safe."


"I can't leave you with him… No, Tharn, not that. We must definitely come up with something."

"And what can you come up with here, Type?.. Officially, he has the right to be with me... as a father. And I can't just leave him before I come of age."

"Really?! Are you going to stand abuse of this beast for three more years?!"

"What else can I do?"

"Tharn," Type just drops his head on Tharn's shoulder, feeling like he's being hugged, "my father bought a resort on Phangan. You said that your aunt wants to take Thanya… I understand everything, but maybe at least for a while she will stay with her, and I will talk to my father so that I can take you there, to Phangan. There will be a place to live. There is a normal school in the district, and in the evenings you will earn extra money at the hotel. I know that: you won't take money so easily. But it's better than a brothel… You will save up for your dream. Well, Thanya will help with cranes."

"And what will you say about me to your father? How wil you explain this?"

"I won't let you down. If it were my will — I would do everything to put this beast away, but until you give me permission, no one will know about it from me. Mhm... what do you think?"

Tharn pats Type's head, lightly inhaling the smell of his tangled hair after sleep:

"Oh, Type... if only I were different... not with this dirty load."

"Then what? Would you... would you be able to fall in love with me in return?" Type looks into his eyes with hope split in half.

"In any case, I would allow myself such a luxury. But being up to my ears in shit… To dirty you and your family in it... no, Type. No. It won't work."

Type tightens his fingers on Tharn's palm, his eyes, as on the previous day, are at the level of Tharn's eyes:

"Listen and remember, Tharn Thara Kirigun, I will not repeat it: you are the brightest person I have ever known, with the kindest and purest heart."

"It's a dead heart, Type, it's dead."

"It can still be resurrected, Tharn, I believe in it. You know," Type's head slides down on his shoulder again, "it's like in a fairy tale about life water and dead water… I was thinking about it last night, Tharn. Dead water will heal all wounds… But in order that your heart is reborn, you need life water."

Type almost does not feel it, but the edges of the hair near his forehead are being touched by Tharn's lips.

"Think about Phangan, please... we will definitely take Thanya to you, but first we need to get you out of here. And I will find something to say to my father. I'll lie if necessary, I'll get out of it, but I won't give you away! Just trust me, please…"

"How kind you are, Type," Tharn hugs him tightly before getting up, "how kind you are."




"Oh, Type, are you running away from us with Champ or something? And what is this about yesterday's alleged "overnight stay" at my place? When your mom called me, I almost got pissed off! So where did you really spend this night, huh? You picked up some handsome guy and now keep silent?"

Before the first lesson, Type looks for Tharn in the hall with his eyes. He knows that Tharn still needs to take Thanya to her building, so Tharn always comes just before the class starts.

"Techno, we'll talk later, okay? Go to class."

"Huh," Techno elbows Champ standing on the side, "our Type turns into the same unsociable scarecrow, like this new guy, what's his name, huh? Oh, yes, Tharn."

"An unsociable scarecrow?!" Type grabs him by the shirt "Do you even know what he has to live with?!"

"No," Techno tries to escape, Champ leans on him from behind, but in vain - Type throws Techno on the floor with anger, a fight begins, "and you, apparently, managed to get to know him better?!" Techno hisses through his teeth, fighting off his friend.

"I'm going to rip your fucking tongue out!"

They roll on the floor, each trying to put the opponent on the shoulder blades. It all ends with the fact that both of them, bruised, are now sitting opposite the principal.

"I'm listening to you, young people. Who has started the fight?"

"I have."

"I have."

With a difference of a second, Type and Techno respond.

"So, stop this trick, you should have been a hero earlier. Now I want to hear the truth."

Type squints at Techno, then starts talking:

"It's my fault. I was jealous of the person I like for Techno. It seemed that he also has plans for him."

Techno's face shows how he wants to object, but Type glares at him: keep quiet, it's necessary.

"I see," the principal's voice sounds sternly, "and from now on, because of your every sympathy, you will get angry at people?"

"No, this will not happen again." Type puts his hands together and tilts his head.

"I would like to believe it," the principal opens his folder. "For the first time, I will forgive you. If you do not come to your senses — we will bring your parents to responsibility and suspend you from classes. Do you understand me?"

"I do."

After leaving the principal's office, both are in no hurry for the class, which will end soon enough.

"All right, come on, tell me… What's up with you and Tharn?"

"Guess what."

"Are you dating?"

"No... and we probably won't. But I like him. Even more than just like..."

"So he knows about it?"


"Well... Did he say that you're not his sort of a guy? Or does he have someone? I'm just not catching up on something."

"No... everything is very complicated there. I won't tell you… But, I beg you: never speak ill of him again. He doesn't deserve it."

"I didn't know that you were so serious about him… Fuck... Why did you tell the principal about some kind of jealousy, huh?"

"Would it be better to tell the truth? So that you would have problems?"

Techno rolls his eyes, examining Type from all sides:

"Damn it, dude, have you seen Thiwat?"

Type laughs, shaking his middle finger at his friend:

"Isn't it enough for you? Add it?"

They enter the classroom ten minutes before the end of the lesson. For the first time this morning, Type exhales: Tharn is sitting there and anxiously examining Type's bruises.


"What happened this morning, Type?"

They intersect at the big break. Having found a quiet place under the stairs in front of the assembly hall, they sit next to each other on a ledge, dangling their legs hanging from it.

"It's nothing… Techno's connection between the tongue and the head sometimes fails. But he is a good friend, although he does not always talk in senses."

"It's because of me, isn't it? I just saw him and Champ squinting at me the whole next lesson."

"No," Type hides his face on Tharn's shoulder.
"Everything is fine. Never mind, okay?"

"Okay," Tharn touches Type''s swollen cheekbone with his fingertips, his eyes are filled with anxiety again. "Does it hurt?"

"Not anymore," blinking from a sweet moment of happiness, Type reaches for Tharn's palm with his cheek, but to his disappointment, Tharn removes it.

"The lesson will start soon."

Type highlights the phone screen:

"We've got seven more minutes."

Tharn swallows nervously.

"I can't let you go back to this hell today. You will spend the night with Thanya at my place today, and there…"

"No, Type, today Princess and I will return home... he will sleep until tomorrow after the night shift. He won't touch me today."

"And tomorrow? And the day after tomorrow?! And I... am I going to go crazy knowing that this bastard is out there raping you? It hurts me to even think about it, Tharn!"

"Tomorrow is tomorrow, Type. Let's not talk about it now."

Type grabs him by the shoulders:

"I won't let you go to Phi Sun or your job anymore, either, keep in mind."

Tharn stands up, smiling, and holds out his hand:

"Come on. You've had enough of your first missed lesson for today."

Thanya is being taken away together today. Tharn lets him walk them almost home. Type understands: he is afraid that father will see them together. Before saying goodbye, he gathers up the courage and asks Tharn for a phone number.

And just before going to bed, after sending him "good night, I hope you're all right.", he receives an answer:

"good night, Type, sleep tight and don't worry about me."

Type already puts the phone on the pillow next to him, as the screen lights up again from the incoming message:

"you are my life water."

Chapter Text

After rereading Tharn's message several more times in the morning — two dozen times at night, of course, was not enough — Type crosses the school threshold with a smile on his face. In the evening, he intends to talk to his father about Phangan. If only Tharn could hold out these days: Type is confident of success, he has already thought of everything, his kind and understanding father will not refuse his request. And he also decided that one of these days he would tell his parents about himself. It's just that the most important thing right now is to help the unfortunate boy, Type will cope with the rest.

At lunch, they meet at the same place as the day before. Type's head rests gently on Tharn's shoulder.



"Have you thought about Phangan?"

Tharn sighs:

"I don't know… He won't let me go."

"And we will not tell him: if he chases — we will threaten him that you will apply to the police. Stop being afraid of him!"

"Type, I'm underage, I can't live on my own... of course, I've been earning for myself and Thanya for a long time," Tharn feels Type twitching on his shoulder, "but... I can't live without a legal representative."

"And if... if we persuade your aunt to take both Thanya and you at least "on paper"? Well, or... at the very least, I'll talk to my friends and they will issue temporary custody?"

"It's not just that easy, Type…"

"What else?"

"Phi Sun… He won't just let me go either."

"Ah!" Type can't hide his indignation. "What the fuck is he doing here?! Fuck him off, and if he ever bothers you again with his "offers", he will get acquainted with my shoe, okay?"

Tharn just shakes his head.

"How could you even get in touch with this asshole?!"

Type, of course, understands that the conversation is turning into a dangerous direction, but he can't help himself.

"I met him when I first escaped from home, then it was especially painful to tolerate my father. And it seemed to me that he was ... he was older, and I guess I was looking for some kind of protection in him... at first it was like that, Type. In any case, next to him, I forgot about what they were doing to me at home.

Type shudders again.

Because of pain. And because of jealousy.

"But at one point everything changed, he brought friends... and at first they just watched, and then…"

"That's enough!" Type grabs him by the shoulders and presses him to himself, "don't say anything more."

But Tharn doesn't listen to him.

"In the end, when they contacted me and offered me this ... job, I understood that there was nothing much to lose, and I needed money."

"Does your" Type can't call him that — "does he know?"

"About Phi Sun and the brothel? No. He thinks that I work late at night. Although ... maybe he began to guess. But it doesn't matter anymore. And no one... except you, no one knows about him."

Type, thinking that Tharn will not notice, kisses him on the shoulder. And their fingers get intertwined again.

"I'm not going to leave you and betray you, okay? Whatever it is."




"Phi Sun... what else do you need?"

"No, Tharn," Type says, shielding the boy with himself, "he will talk to me today."

They barely have time to go out of the school gate, as they almost drive face-to-face with the malice and arrogance of a tall adult guy looking at them.

"Mhm, Tharn. I see, you have found a young defender, haven't you? What are you paying him with, Tharn, as usual? Or — " here a vile voice turns to Type, "what did you say about a pen and a common inkwell? Could you please remind me?"

Type is still ashamed of those words.

"Yes, I said it then... out of stupidity and not at all out of conscience. But I had enough strength to beg Tharn for forgiveness. And you?" Type spits on formalities. "You hardly have the conscience and courage to apologize to the guy for all the abominations that happened to him, not without your fault. But," Type feels Tharn's hand squeezing his from behind, and this gives him even more courage, "maybe you have enough of it to leave him alone? Just don't pass by him. This is all that you can do to at least partially clean dirt out of your karma that has clung to it from top to bottom."

Demonstrative applause follows. Type understands that it is pointless to appeal to the conscience of a person who does not have it at all, so he just takes Tharn's hand tighter and pulls him along, hearing the caustic in the back:

"Very well, Tharn. If you don't want to be nice, I'll have to explain it in a different way. After all, you forgot where the place is for people like you. If you come to your senses - tomorrow we are waiting for you in the "Lagoon"."

Type understands that he's talking about a well-known bar in the district. Seeing how Tharn's shoulders have sunk, he whispers to him:

"Don't listen to this windbag. I won't let him hurt you."

They are standing at the intersection, very close to the building where Thanya studies.

"Type," Tharn can't let go of his hand, "what you suggested about Phangan... is it really possible to do?"

Type can't believe his ears. Some relief in his eyes. He impulsively puts his arms around Tharn's neck:

"Sure! I'll be talking to my father about this in a couple of hours... come on, take Thanya and let's go to my place. At the same time, you will communicate with my father yourself. We'll decide on your things later. Just talk to Thanya quietly about your aunt... by the way, is she surely doesn't mind taking her in, at least temporarily?"

"She doesn't mind… Of course, she doesn't know what's going on at ours, she just believes that a girl "can't grow up without her mother." But she doesn't treat me so warmly. And I'm afraid that I won't be allowed to see Thanya… I'd rather put up with it for three years then…"

"What else! No! You're not going to take it anymore, okay?"

Tharn nods almost imperceptibly.

"We will take Thanya to Phangan as soon as possible. I have already said: now we need to free you from this inhuman!"

"Type," Tharn pulls back a little so that he can see his eyes, "at least I need to take the documents... or he might not give them back later... or burn them."

"Tharn… Here we go again!"

"No, Type… I would calmly collect at least some things. I'll close the room. He won't get to me today."

"Aha," Type is indignant, "and if he breaks in, will you call the police? I know you… The same rake again, Tharn!"

"Well, don't get mad," Tharn pats his wrist. I'll scare Thanya if we leave the house so suddenly… We must also come up with something else for her. And besides, you haven't talked to your father yet... what if it doesn't work out, huh?

"It will work out, I'm sure!"

"Type, I promise: if he comes to me today, I will not tolerate it. I'll go... even to the street, but I'll go away. I'll take Thanya and that's it. And come what may."

"Not on the street, but to me. And just try not to answer me at least once today, I will call every ten minutes, so you know!"




With what happy eyes, Type is waiting for Tharn coming today. He told him yesterday that everything worked out. Plus, the principal of the local school is Type's father's former classmate, so even without the permission of this monster, they will try to take Tharn there. Of course, Type kept silent about many things, he only said that his close friend has a difficult situation in the family — his father drinks too much and constantly takes women home - and the guy just risks failing exams.

Tharn is not visible yet, but Type's attention is attracted by high school students who, one by one, receive something on their phones.

The alert sound is also heard in the pocket.

Link to the video.

The user's nickname in their school chat is completely unfamiliar.

Even without clicking on the link, Type sees the reaction of those who opened it… Dumbfounded faces, exclamations, stifled laughter, contorted faces…

And one single name.


Type's heart is thumping into his knees. The finger trembles, getting where it should, not the first time.

Tharn. Without clothes. Sprawled on the floor, as if crucified, and above him - two men, faces are not visible…

Type quickly locks the phone. His heart is about to break his ribs.

Trying not to look and not to listen to this hum around, he quickly finds himself at the door, where the crowd makes way for Tharn who has entered.

He is not in the chat, and therefore complete bewilderment is read on his face. Type is already very close, but some idiots turn on the video at full volume.

He recognizes the voices of those bastards on the video.


Type tries to grab him by the sleeve, but he recoils from him and, with dead eyes, runs out of the school.

Type turns around, those idiots are still enjoying the performance. One of them, looking at Type, makes the same disgusting gesture at the mouth with his hand, pushing his cheek from the inside with his tongue and throwing to him:

"Does he really suck so good, Thiwat?"

There is laughter, Type is ready to rush at this asshole, but Techno, who has arrived in time, is ahead of him, now standing right in front of these mocking faces:

"Has no one cleaned your fucking faces for a long time?"

Type has no doubt whose dirty hands this belongs to. He leaves the school building, takes out his phone with shaking hands, presses "call".

Blocked... you're my poor idiot… Well, what are you doing?!..

Type understands: now he needs to get away a little and be alone. It's useless to go home to him, it's unlikely that he went there. As long as he doesn't do anything stupid.

Type does not return to classes. He just can't stand these faces and this hum in the wild hive today.

After spending a day in the park, he dials Tharn every few minutes.

Not available.

And by the evening, Type finds himself in that bar.

He sees Phi Sun rom afar.

"Do you know," he stands close to this impudent man, "that according to the law of our state, Tharn is a child? And for the possession and distribution of child pornography, you deserve a life sentence. Not to mention the punishment for gang rapes."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Phi Sun sincerely laughs at his warnings.

"Well," Type clenches his fists, "justice can be delayed, so for now, catch it in advance, you bastard!" One of the fists hits Phi Sun in the jaw, and Type's knee slams into between the thighs.

Writhing in acute pain, Phi Sun shouts threats "you'll feel sorry!" and everything like that, but Type does not care: now he must find his unfortunate boy, hug him and tell him that together they will come over everything in the world.




He has just left the "Lagoon" when the phone screen lights up.

"Tharn?.. Finally! Just don't hang up, Tharn, I beg you! This asshole, this fucking Phi Sun got his own!"


"I dragged him so much for all your pain... Tharn, just hold on there, please! We'll figure something out! We will definitely come up with... just don't block me anymore, do you hear? I almost lost my mind… You understand, Tharn, I will not leave you in this trouble, we are together…"

"Type... my dear Type…"

Type does not immediately understand what is so alarming him.

"Tharn… Who's crying there, huh?.. Is this Thanya?.. Tharn, your... this… This bastard... he dared to touch Thanya?!"

"It's all right, Type, she'll cry and stop. I ... I freed us from this monster. He won't hurt anyone else… It's all right, Type, it's all right now. We are free."


A burning sensation pierces Type's eyes, everything dries up in his throat.

"Tharn, what do you have there… What have you done, Tharn?.." Type hates himself for what is now poisoning his mind.

No, no, no, Tharn, you couldn't!.. you couldn't!..

"It's all right, Type, it's all right, we're free, he won't hurt us anymore.


Type screams his name into the phone. Type, having a bad command of his fingers, not thinking clearly with his head, calls a taxi. Type, barely moving his weakened legs — and you can't say that they belong to a football player, crosses the threshold of Tharn's house. He didn't even have to ring the doorbell. It's wide open.


The baby is sitting on the floor with her knees pressed to her breast. From the side — either a doll, or a bunny — from a premonition of imminent trouble, everything becomes blurry in front of Type's eyes. Thanya is not crying now. But het face, wet from the shed tears, is thrown back, and from her lips every now and then a plaintive one flies off:

"Tharn… Dad ... Tharn… Dad ... Tharn…"

"Thanya, baby," Type, trying to pull himself together a little, kneels down in front of the girl, "what happened, Thanya, what happened to you? Where is your brother, where is Tharn?"

"Tharn… Tharn… Tharn…"

"I'm here, Type."

Type looks around at the sound of an old man's hoarse whisper. Tharn is sitting in the doorway that leads to the upstairs."


After patting Thanya on the head, Type gets up and goes to Kirigun. Now he is sitting on his knees in front of him. His hands grab Tharn's fingers, and there are splashes of blood on them — as well as along the entire length of his arms.

"Tharn?.." Type bites his lip, shaking his head like a madman. "You've not... Tharn, have you?"

The familiar wax mask. But the look is bright and detached.

"He got a call from the school, they explained the situation… He didn't even finish the shift," Tharn pulls every word out of himself as if with red-hot tongs. "He rushed over, attacked me, I didn't have time to close the door... pushed me onto the bed," Type wants to close his ears, but he needs to know what happened. "And the door was left unlocked... Thanya needed something, ran to me… And I'm there... under him... Are you sure children don't understand anything? She screamed like… And he didn't even come out of me right away. He wanted to cum in his son first," Tharn smiles painfully.

"Where is he now?" Type pats the broken boy on the arm, "where is he, Tharn?"

"In my room… He fucked me with especially hard today. Right there, on my bed, and fell asleep."

By inertia, Type wants to get to his feet, but Tharn holds him back.

"Don't go there, please... don't do that."

"What have you done, Tharn?"

Tharn intertwines their fingers, and then Type hears a quiet:

"Once he came to me in the middle of the night and stuck his sting into me… And today I stuck a knife into… I'm free, Type… Thanya and I are free."

"Tharn, what have you done… Tharn!" Type, not holding back sobs, falls on his chest, then abruptly pulls his head off. "Ambulance! We need to call an ambulance! He... he might still be alive."

"No, Type... the ambulance will come, along with the police… I called. I won't deny anything."

"Tharn," Type takes his face in his hands, "what have you done, Tharn!.. What have you done!"

"It's all right, Type, because he won't touch me again. And Thanya will be safe. Give me your word that you won't leave her... that she won't end up in an orphanage."


"And you," Tharn embraces him with one arm and pulls him closer, "live a normal life, please, do not waste your time on regrets about unfulfilled hopes… I'm not worth it."

"I've already told you everything… You won't get rid of me for the rest of your life, Kirigun! Just don't be silent, I implore you, tell them everything, tell them how he raped you... they must understand!.."

"My dear Type," Tharn keeps stroking and stroking the boy's head swallowing burning tears.

Thanya will appear in the doorway.

And the police, who arrived a few minutes later, will find Tharn sitting near the stairs, hugging a guy and a little girl crying on his chest from both sides.

Chapter Text

Yo no soy yo.
Soy este
que va a mi lado sin yo verlo,
que, a veces, voy a ver,
y que, a veces olvido.
El que calla, sereno, cuando hablo,
el que perdona, dulce, cuando odio,
el que pasea por donde no estoy,
el que quedará en pie cuando yo muera.
(Juan Ramón Jiménez)

I am not I.
I am this one
walking beside me whom I do not see,
whom at times I manage to visit,
and whom at other times I forget;
who remains calm and silent while I talk,
and forgives, gently, when I hate,
who walks where I am not,
who will remain standing when I die.



Neat, unhurried movements of the fingers. Fold by fold. Type smiles: he has finally managed to tame the paper. His eyelids are closing, but he promised Thanya that today they will definitely have two hundred. And he did not notice how it turned out to be one more.

If not to start all over again, if in the turmoil of the past black days, the ones made earlier were not lost; if every day to add one from the very beginning, from that fatal starting point, this cherished thousand would have been in their hands long ago. But the whole point is that they make these colorful birds at very rare, special moments. And Type does not mind sitting with a paper craft at all. For him, this activity is like a silent retreat. While his fingers are busy, his thoughts are also busy. He is immersed in memories. Quite recent and from their past. He rewinds the film again, lingering on each frame.

The endless stream of tears of a little girl, her fingers clutching at her brother, the last hug that Tharn gives her... . Tharn is being taken away. And Type didn't even get the last long look. But Type doesn't dare blame him. Only holds Thanya in his arms, whose tears have soaked through the T-shirt.

One wing does not want to straighten out in any way, and a single tear falls on the very edge.

A conversation with parents. Type decides — there is nothing to lose.

"I'm gay. I like men. Or rather, one. I've talked to you about him, Dad… And he's in big trouble."

The frozen surprise on his father's face. The mother's exclamation, covered by a palm, "as if you didn't understand everything earlier, Mom! - a soft slam of the door — the father goes out to "smoke", the mother's hands pulling him to her, a gentle voice saying: maybe this can be cured?

"I'm not sick, Mom, I'm in love. My love is not a disease."

Finally, it is possible to straighten the stubborn wing.

In the morning, his mother goes somewhere, leaving breakfast on the table for him and my father. For the first ten minutes, there is only a dull thud of chopsticks on plates. Then Type hears:

"So what's up with this… What's his name?

"Tharn. His name is Tharn, Dad."

"Well, that's right, yes. What's wrong with this Tharn?"

"It's very bad, Dad... worse than I told you then…"

Type remembers how confused his confession was, he already knew then that Tharn had confessed to the investigation of the abominations that his father had done to him, so it was pointless to hide from his father. But there was still hope for help, and Type got it: half an hour later, his father called a lawyer friend."

"What about me?.. I told you and my mother yesterday."

The father, shrugging his shoulders, buried himself in his plate:

"We'll see."

The court. Deathly silence at almost all sessions. There were very few witnesses, and where can they come from... and bastard Phi Sun — not without the help of a rich daddy - left the country in advance. And even if he hadn't, how could he prove that his monstrous revenge for Tharn's refusal had created this new circle of hell for Tharn and his loved ones?

Ten years.

And this is taking into account all the mitigating circumstances.

Type does not remember himself at that moment. But he remembers the familiar detachment in Tharn's eyes, as if he took everything for granted. His last request before being taken out of the courtroom: take care of Thanya.

At some point, due to teenage maximalism, Type thought that his life was over, along with this sentence. It was only after a few years that he realized how much he was wrong.


"It's his birthday today, Phi Type."

"I remember, Thanya... of course I remember."

And Thanya is a real beauty. She was not yet fourteen, but her thin, aristocratic features and slender figure were already clearly visible. So, when she is visiting his parents on Phangan during all the holidays, Type has to become her personal bodyguard, protecting a very young charmer from the unkind looks of men vacationing in his father's hotel.

Two dates with relatives per year. And so far, Tharn has not come to them on any of them. Type remembers how eight-year-old Thanya cried hard. On the evening before the trip, she and Type's mother baked a cake for Tharn, prepared a lot of other goodies, and Tharn did not even come to their meeting room. Their visits were repeated, and each time they left with nothing. After another such time, Thanya, who had grown up a little, said to Type:

"So it's easier for him, Phi Type. He hasn't ... he hasn't stopped being my brother anyway, has he?"

"Of course he hasn't, don't even think so."

Today, Type came to visit the girl who lives in her aunt's house. Thanya has her own room, there are no other children, so her niece has become a true happiness for a single lady. Type still can't understand why she doesn't like Tharn so much, even after all the horrors that have been revealed about his life.

However, Type is glad that he at least partially fulfilled Tharn's request: Thanya did not go into the wrong state hands. And Type's parents are always happy to see her, having sincerely loved the girl as their own daughter.

"Which one is that?" Thanya meticulously examines the wings made of golden paper.

Type is calculating something in his head, saying with a smile:

"It'll be five hundred and forty with him."

"We need much more... Will we manage to do it in time?"

"We'll do, Thanya. Don't worry."


That very long-awaited day. Long-awaited and disturbing. Unpredictable.

The day before, the girl was so excited about the upcoming event that there could be no talk about any crafts. Somehow forcing her to drink tea with chamomile, Type's mother put the disturbed Thanya to bed. So early in the morning, Type is busy doing the last, thousandth crane.

And a new string of memories.

Type graduated from high school with good final results, entered the sports department of a decent university, along with Techno and Champ. But already during his last year, he realized that he would not connect his life with sports.

Has he betrayed his dream?


He has just changed his dream. He set his priorities differently.

Type remembers how, out of the kindest intentions, his friends tried to distract him. How they dragged him out of the house and, as they thought, out of depression. But there was no depression. There was pain, despair and hopelessness.

Type was inferior to his friends. For the sake of a company, he clinked his beer with a smile. He chatted on general topics. But when Techno nodded in the direction of some, in his opinion, passable handsome, Type shook his head.

"Type, let's be honest, don't you really want sex at all? No one forces you to fall in love with him… But purely for the sake of physiology, huh? Yes, it's time to exhibit you in the museum!"

Type shrugged his shoulders and looked away.

"I see. Are you waiting for him? Is there anything to wait for, Type?"


"Oh, fuck you. Maybe he won't need you yet, you'll start complaining about your stubbornness yourself, just wait."

"Maybe. But I can't be different."

Type closes his eyelids, and then abruptly opens them: that's it. One thousand.

And on the bedside table there is another one, a little faded over ten years, but no less dear to his heart.

The promise of his happiness.

"Phi Type.." a beautiful face appears in the doorway of his room.

"Yes, Thanya, I just finished it right now… Are we ready?"


Chapter Text

"Will he recognize me, Phi Type?"

"Sure!" Type pats Thanya on the head. "If I remember the photo with your mother, you more and more resembles her."

They are stuck in a traffic jam at the exit of the city. They have been waiting for so long, but, Type knows, they are both a little afraid: did he expect to see them? Type has no doubt: even if he did not have the courage to go out to them during their visits, but at least he should want to see Thanya. In relation to himself, Type does not count on much. Perhaps, in the eyes of Tharn, he is an extra reminder of the past pain.

Is it the past one? Has it passed, Tharn? Or is it still picking at the erosion in your heart that does not stop bleeding because of the blunt needle end?

"And if he doesn't want to see us again?" Almost at the entrance to the checkpoint, Thanya asks in an anxious voice. "Or ... he'll see me and run away."

"Oh, where will he run away," Type parks and turns off the engine, looking at the watch.

"Do you have to go to work?"

"No," Type tries to force a smile for this almost eighteen-year-old beauty. "I took a week off for my vacation."

Thanya pins her hair tighter:

"Is he supposed to be... released soon?"

Type looks at her, his smile becomes softer and more sincere: oh, Tharn, how proud you will be of your Princess, her success in school, her wisdom beyond the years and a kind heart that loves you so much and is waiting for you so hard!

"Soon, Thanya, we have been waiting a lot... a few minutes will not make any difference."

Type is the first to leave the car. His gaze is directed to the sky, where a flock of birds is painting clouds, as if with calligraphy. The sound of the automatically opening gate is heard.


A sleeveless T-shirt tightly fits a slender, elongated body over the years. A baggy backpack is slung over his shoulder, which is tightly held by sinewy hands. Instead of the once thick, dark strands covering the high forehead and temples, there is a stubbornly bristling short haircut. From this distance, Type can't see his eyes, but he can clearly see the features of Tharn's face - adult, sharply defined, with the imprint of what he had to go through in this life.


Before Type can even blink, Thanya is already jumping out of the car and rushing to her brother, hugging him by the neck with all her ten-year-long for him.

Type holds her breath: Tharn, come on, hug her back, she's been waiting for you so much…

A quiet exhalation: at first, standing as if rooted to the spot, Tharn slowly puts his hands to his sister's cheeks, looks at her face for a long time, and then impulsively hugs her back. And even from afar, Type hears his incessant "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry" and Thanya's response: "what are you talking about, Tharn, stop it, I love you so much..."

Thanya does not let him go until the car. When they are level with Type, he manages to catch Tharn's eye for a moment:

"Hello, Type. You... you haven't changed much. Matured, of course."

Type feels a little cold with such a dry greeting, but he understands everything: it was hard, but everything is not easy ahead.

"Hello, Tharn," Type would be happy to add - you too, but it will not be true. Tharn has changed. And he didn't just grow up by ten years. He is like a boat moored by a storm, hewn on the rocks and soaked in sea salt.

They are sitting behind his back, Thanya is snuggled up to her brother, and he keeps stroking and stroking her shoulder, constantly kissing the top of her head. The night has turned out to be restless, so the girl falls asleep, snuggling up to Tharn, and in the mirror, Type again catches his gaze, as if saying thanks. Type isn't sure if he's interpreting it correctly, but he nods anyway.

It seems to me, Tharn, that it will be most difficult for you and me.

Type remembers who they were "before" - two teenagers who shared Tharn's grief in half. And who are they to each other now?

Type tightens his grip on the steering wheel, Type focuses on the road.

Of course, Tharn is wildly embarrassed when he is met by Type's parents. The father is reserved, but with a light smile he puts his hands together when Tharn bows his head in front of him, saying in an undertone:

"Will I ever be able to thank you for taking care of Thanya…"

And Type's mother, in response to the greeting, simply goes to Tharn and, hugging him by the neck, puts the guy's head on her shoulder:

"It's a pleasure for us, son, and please know that you can always count on us."

And at this moment, Type is once again convinced that he has the best parents in the world and that it is necessary to appreciate the time while they are near.

At lunch, Tharn is sitting with Thanya. He talks again about how awkward it is for him to embarrass everyone here. While serving his sentence, he worked, so he managed to get out of prison not empty-handed. Type understands what he is driving at, so he tells him in advance:

"That's good, Tharn, you'll have enough for the first time. Don't worry about Thanya, she has everything. And most importantly - now there is you.

"But I have to thank you somehow."

Type has a vivid memory of how Tharn does not like to be in debt, and here his mother comes to the rescue again:

"If you allow us to continue to see Thanya, we don't need more. And you, please, live here as long as you want."

"What are you…"

Type's mother understands his embarrassment and how difficult it is for him to get used to people again:

"Life will get better, son, not all at once. Everything will still be fine for you."

Later in the evening, they sit in the living room while Type's father talks to the staff. According to the time, there is a news program now. One of the first:

"The son of a well-known businessman in Bangkok has caused an accident, in which he himself suffered the most. A thirty-year-old man has a broken spine and a serious eyes damage..."

To the right of the newsreader there a photo is shown in which it is difficult for Tharn and Type not to recognize someone who, even without this accident, was blinded by lust a long time ago and lived in the blackness of his heart.

Phi Sun.

Type looks at the fragments of memory in Tharn's eyes, as if saying to him: you see. No one in this world will escape from retribution.

When they find themselves in the room that Type's mother has prepared for Tharn, the first one has a feeling of déjà vu. Tharn is sitting on the edge of the bed, and Type doesn't know what to say to him. But Tharn speaks first:

"How do you live, Type... do you work?"


"Is there something with sports?"

"No," Type is not sure whether it is necessary to specify.

"I see… Well, in general? How about personal... are you dating someone? I mean… You've probably been living together for a long time."

Type still gathers up the courage and sits down near him:

"I made a promise "to live". And I kept it. I have lived, Tharn, I have lived. And all these years I've been waiting for you. But I also once promised you something else: I will never put pressure on you. And my loyalty does not oblige you to anything. Just know that there is a person in this world whose heart is forever open only to you."

Tharn barely manages to hold that look.

"Perhaps I should say that I regret my action. I regret that I did not see Thanya grow up, I did not see how you turn into a real adult man… I'm really sorry about that. But I don't regret what I did, Type. Even if there was another way out… It hurts me that I myself took ten years out of my life and forced you to live with all this… But I'm free, Type. And not just now. All these ten years I was free for the first time."

Type listens to his confession in silence. He has no doubt that Tharn knew that he would be waited for. But how difficult it is for him to trust the other person, even Type.

"I suppose you think I'm a cowardly egoist?"

"Why do you think so?"

"I knew you were coming to see me... and I never once found the courage to see you. I wanted it so much… And I couldn't. I thought I couldn't stand your eyes, and if Thanya would cry again, then my heart will stop. This is the kind of coward you were waiting for, Type... don't you regret it?"

"No," Type answers without thinking. "And I have no right to judge you and reproach you with anything. None of us has experienced what you have."

It hurts to look at Tharn again, but Type does not look away, only the edge of his little finger touches his fingers:

"Come on, settle here. Tomorrow afternoon we'll go to some place: You, Thanya and I, okay?" Type gets up from the bed.

"Good… And where are we going?"

"You'll see — " Type winks at him with a smile. "You'll like it."

"Okay… Type?"


"Maybe there are some photos of Thanya, where she is younger… I'd like to see them."

"Sure," Type almost cries, but he must hold on. "And photos, and videos from her Birthdays, and her drawings for you — I have kept everything, I will give them to you."

"Thank you, Type."

At night, when Type goes to get a glass of water, he is drawn by a magnet to look into Tharn's room: he just wants to make sure that Tharn is resting, and not sitting on the edge of the bed in the same position in which Type left him there.

Tharn is lying half-sideways to the door, the blanket pulled up to his chin. Type tries to keep silent, but accidentally hits the doorjamb with his elbow and hisses in pain. Tharn wakes up instantly, jumping up on the bed and staring with all his eyes at Type who does not know what to do with himself:

"Tharn, I'm sorry, don't think anything wrong, I just stopped by to see how you are here… I'm sorry," Type, his face burning with shame, quickly disappears into the corridor.

I'm an idiot!.. That… That bastard used to come to him like that in the middle of the night. My poor Tharn… How could I not think about it…

Already lying in his bed, Type will scold himself for such stupidity for a long time.

The promised trip. On the way, Tharn says that he managed to finish his studies — of course, the education there is not so high-quality, but he tried. And it would be necessary to solve something with work now, and then it will be possible to talk about continuing education. Distant, of course.

"Take your time," Thanya, who is sitting next to the driver today, smiles, winking Type who knows their mutual secret. Better think of what you wanted so much once."

Tharn notices their exchange of glances, but decides to keep silent.

They are in place. A high rocky cliff, and below — the ocean. While Type takes out a bulky bag from the trunk, Thanya checks the wind direction with the palm of her hand:

"Just the thing, Phi Type "


It seems that Tharn is beginning to suspect something:

"So… Is there anything you want to explain to me?"

Thanya takes him by the hand and leads him to the cliff, stopping at a safe distance from the edge. Type stands next to him, opening a bag in front of Tharn, where colorful paper cranes are tightly pressed together, wing to wing.

"Come on, Tharn," Type winks at him. "You know what to do."

Covering his eyes with his palm, Tharn can't hold back the tears. A strong wind stifles his sobs, Thanya strokes her brother's hand:

"Then together, okay?"

She puts a crane in each of the three hands, which they release almost simultaneously. Then another, and another, and another. Soon the sky in front of them is filled with hundreds of birds, as if alive, and the wind shuffles them, taking away all the pain of these years with them. The wind dries Tharn's tears, and his arms on both sides embrace the most important people in his life. Just like then, ten years ago, with the only difference that Type and Thanya do not cry. Snuggling up to him, they smile at each other: they did it all right.

In the evening, Tharn will find an envelope on the bed. And in a week, all three of them will be waiting for Tharn to board a flight to Germany. A keeper's place has been vacated at the current lighthouse on the island of Amrum. It was not without the help of Type's father, they managed to collect all the necessary documents in advance. Tharn hugs his sister for a long time, gives her instructions. Type can't hide a smile on his face: he knows that Thanya will not be lost. And even though she missed her brother so much all these years, she was wise enough to understand that it was so important for Tharn to accept himself now. To truly be alone with himself, having his cherished dream come true. And Type understands this, too.

Let the salt sea, like dead water, heal your wounds, Tharn.

"Okay, I'll go buy a drink."

Once again, Type is grateful to Thanya for her wisdom and understanding.

They are left alone together.

"Can I hug you goodbye?"

Without answering, Tharn hugs him first.

"I understand," Type's nose begins to sniff treacherously, "it can be shitty with the connection there, but at least don't ignore calls and messages from Thanya on purpose, please."

Tharn gently strokes his head:

"I won't."

"Take care of yourself," Type's lips reach for Tharn's shoulder. "And remember what I told you... one your word and I'll be there, Tharn. No matter what it costs me."

"My dear Type," Tharn presses her cheek to his face. "How I wish you were happy."

"I'm happy."


They announce the flight and out of the corner of his eye, Type notices Thanya returning.

It's time.

Tharn did not deceive: he regularly responds to Thanya, sends greetings and endless thanks to Type and his parents. And one late evening — probably, Tharn began to forget about the time difference - Type receives a message from him:

"Do you remember when I texted that you are my life water?"

Type begins to hear the pounding of his heart:

"Sure... How are you, Tharn?"

But instead of answer, Type gets:

"Wash my heart with it."

Chapter Text

"Um... have you come to fix the wiring?"

"Not really. It should be a surprise... for Tharn."

Today, a celestial artist spilled tubes of gray and blue watercolors over the sea. It worries, breathes, keeps its secrets. It is beautiful, majestic. It beckons to its depths and distances.

Has Tharn's heart managed to find peace in your waves?

Type pulls the hood of his rain coat tighter. Twelve hours of flight, half a day of waiting for the ferry and, without half an hour, he is on the island. It seems that a light is visible in the distance and the features of the saving giant begin to be seen.

He did not warn Tharn about the arrival date. To his luck, it coincided that it was necessary to take the remaining days off from the vacation according to the schedule. So this is also a kind of trip abroad on vacation.

And here he is standing in front of him, all wet, chilled because of climbing from the pier to the top, but wildly happy.

Tharn, in jeans and a sweater reminiscent of Hemingway, pulls him inside, hugging him tightly.

"I'm wet to the underwear, I'll soak you all over," not really resisting, so, for the sake of habit, Type tries to object, and he clings even more tightly to such a long-awaited warmth.

Tharn's hands stroke his shoulders and back, his cheek clings to his cool face again, as at the airport:

"Why didn't you warn me, huh? I would have met him."

"Tharn," Type sees such a clear and shining look in front of him — like the sky after a summer thunderstorm. "I didn't want to bother you… You're at the lighthouse, it's the season, there's a lot of work, right?"

Tharn touches his forehead with a smile, which suddenly begins to disappear:

"So, let's really change your clothes, and I'll put something on the table. I managed to note the weather, everything is working properly at the lighthouse, so don't have go there until the morning.

Type chuckles softly:

"To be honest, I first poked my head in there. I thought that's where you live."

"Oh, come on," Tharn takes a heavy hiking backpack from his shoulder, "I only work there, but I live here, very close."

Type nods, and then, seeing Tharn weighing his luggage in his hand, explains:

"Mom and Thanya have collected a whole menu from Thai cuisine for you. It would be better if you put all this in the fridge as soon as possible."

While Tharn is busy with dinner, Type manages to change a hoodie and jeans and look around Tharn's place: a couple of cramped but cozy rooms, a kitchen with light cupboards and shelves on the walls, where, in addition to dishes, there are books and several pots of flowers. Type notices books everywhere. And a few more photos, of course, with Thanya. And one - with their mother.

"How do you feel about wine?"

Tharn holds a dark glass bottle in his hand. There are plates of smoked fish and a couple of salads from home on a narrow table in front of the Type sitting at it, - I definitely can't do it alone, Type!

"So-o-o," Type pulls with a smile, " does someone want to get me drunk?And then," he looks up dreamily, "you can easily seduce me, right?"

Blinking, Tharn feel how his cheeks flush:

"I'm sorry..." - with a sigh, he sends the bottle back.

"Tharn," Type rolls his eyes, "really? Give it here, after such a sea shower, I will definitely not do just with hot tea."

Tharn winks at him:

"There are no glasses... but there are two mugs. Will it work?"

"It will."

He fiddles with the corkscrew for a long time and finally pours the wine, and then sits down opposite Type.

"Is this how the lighthouse keeper lives on Amrum?" Type once again looks around the kitchen and raises his mug, - quite new, hmm, I wonder why? "So... A welcoming drink?"

"A welcoming drink."

Type is so hungry that he is ready to eat everything that he chews. But he doesn't have to make such sacrifices: smoked fish melts in his mouth, and good German wine warms him pleasantly inside. Tharn does not touch seafood, but happily eats homemade salads

"Do you like it here?"

The wine is almost finished, but Type does not feel much of it inside, only the warmth still spreading through his body.

"I like it, Type."

"I'm glad… We're all happy for you."

Here he is. His adult, his life-beaten, but unbroken Tharn. Perhaps for the first time that they know each other, Type does not notice the sadness on his face. It is light and calm. His hair had grown out and is combed back in a wave. And hands… They are like a map of life, with dozens of branching roads. On one of them, they once met.

"Type... my message… Have I broken your plans? You didn't take off from work... or maybe you wanted to spend this time differently?"

Type wants to shout to him: I've been waiting for ten years for you to call me... when you let me drown in your arms for even a brief moment, and you sit and talk about "broken plans"?!

But instead of shouting, he whispers, covering Tharn's hand with his palm:

"I would break the sky for you... and you talk about some plans…"

Tharn turns his hand around and intertwine their fingers with a cute grin on his face:

"So… Don't pour any more for this table."

"I'm not drunk, Tharn. In any case, not so much for not evaluating my words."

Tharn is still holding his hand, stroking the wrist with his thumb, and these ten years without him suddenly flash vividly in front of Type. What was it really like to wake up every day and face that life - formidable, complex and inexorable? What was it like to go to school, university, to work, pretending "I'm all right" every day? But how could he have done otherwise? He gave his word to Tharn. And Type had long ago realized that Tharn was not just the love of his life, Tharn was the very light in the ocean, the landmark and lighthouse, the star twinkling in the north of the sky that would never let him go astray. Tharn is the measure of his conscience. No matter what Type does, no matter what step he decides to take, he always asks himself the question: what would Tharn say to this?

But Type does not know, or rather, is even afraid to hope for such a thing, but he has long been a light and even more than a light for Tharn. Type looks into this clear gaze and reads in it: you are like the moon and the stars, Type. You are the beacon of my universe.

The gusts of wind hitting the narrow kitchen window make both of them stand up.

"Is everything all right?"

To Type's annoyance, Tharn separates their hands.

"It happens here, don't be afraid."

"I am..." Type suddenly bites his lip, it suddenly begins to seem to him that this is a beautiful self-deception, that he is not a beacon for Tharn, that…

Unable to withstand his own thoughts, he suddenly stands up like a hurricane, ready to run without looking back from this cozy abode, again under a raging downpour, but Tharn intercepts him halfway, presses his back to his chest, where his pure heart beats like a wounded bird on the left under the ribs.

"Well, where are you going, huh? lips smear on the temples and cheeks, palms crumple the edge of the hoodie. And a whisper, hotly creeping along the neck: "You wanted to run away, didn't you? Run away from me?.. But I won't let you go, do you hear me? I won't let you go!.."

In an instant, everything begins to seem in vain: an internal struggle with doubts and the wish to suppress desire. In an instant, everything that has been dormant in him for these years, drowned out by the voice of conscience and the purity of thoughts, awakens, as if it was just waiting for this explosion of feelings, something that does not generate chaos, but only orders all thoughts.

Type twists in his arms, they fly up and wrap around Tharn's neck; Tharn's hands convulsively stroke his back; he searches for Type's lips with hisown, the eyes are closed. The lips give a living warmth, and Type is like a hot, pliable wax in his hands. How many long years have both longed for this moment!

Type doesn't remember — should he? — as they get to bed, the moment when they both find themselves without clothes is not postponed at all in their head. Only with the palms of his hands he feels Tharn's body and feels his hands on the skin. Having bared their souls to each other for a long time, they do not feel shame when they bare their bodies. Only with a bleary eye catching the happiness on Tharn's face looming over him, Type will confusedly whisper:

"When I said that all these years I was waiting for you alone, I was not lying. It was just like that, Tharn."

"Type," kisses are pouring down his face, "there was no one at all... at all?"


"Mm... at all? I mean… At least you..."

"Do you want my death, Kirigun?!"

And as if on a breakwater, Tharn smashes the small sudden rage of Type against the sharp attacks of his tenderness for this adult man-boy.

"There's something in the backpack in the inner pocket, on the right..."

"Something?" A playful smile does not melt on Tharn's lips who is brushing the hair from Type's forehead with the tips of his fingers. "So, you expected that we would have "something"?"

Type again becomes uncomfortable and a little scared. It is terrible to scare off such Tharn with any careless word-hint — strong, resurrected by the heart, tender and so desirable.

"Okay, you're right. I shouldn't have…"

"Type," Tharn buries his nose in his shoulder. "I want it. With you. And even though my body hasn't known anyone else for ten years... it's still better if you use what you've prepared yourself."

"No, Tharn!" Type grabs his cheeks with his palms, looks into his eyes in the semi-darkness. "No. I don't care who was there and how it was before… But from now on, you will remember only me!"

Type belatedly bites his lips for his selfish cry, but Tharn kisses his open palm:

"Only you."

And something new, previously unknown, overwhelms Type, and both of them no longer feel each other as something separate. They will never forget the oncoming rush of all the innermost lines of bodies that have never known such caresses before. For every touch of the lips to the chest, stomach, thighs, Type's body arches, as if struck by electric discharges, but they that is not enough. Type is sure that none of Tharn's past lovers cared about whether he was happy with them. He weaves his arms and legs around him, like vines, only made of flesh and blood, they seem to be soldered together, painfully sweetly surrendering to the desperate transience of the moment. Tharn prepares him for a long time and carefully, slowly penetrates, not allowing himself to move on until he is sure that Type is at least a little used to the sensations inside him. Thoughts swirl, consciousness fades and just before the final chord — a bright, blinding flash, they seem to fall for a moment into the heart of a red-hot celestial giant, and then fall into the icy abyss of the deepest ocean. It hurts him physically, but it is much more painful to realize: how to part with Tharn, how to let their bodies separate, when after so many years of waiting, he finally belongs to him?

They are now facing each other. Tharn gently removes a stubborn curl that does not want to be tucked behind Type's left ear. And Type, swallowing the last desperate doubts, whispers to him:

"I love you, Tharn Thara Kirigun. And you will never dare to take my love for another feeling again."

Both remember those cruel revelations in Tharn's who mistook Type's awkward confession for pity.

"Type," Tharn's eyes fill with moisture, his lips again reach for those that have not cooled from his kisses, but before he can connect them, Tharn hears:

"I've been waiting a long time to say these words to you. And I'm not in a hurry to hear them in back… Just remember: when you're ready, let me know. To know that everything will be real, Tharn. To know that "we" will be real. And one more thing, Tharn: without you, I wouldn't be the way I am now. Not afraid to be myself. At first, I thought that thanks to you, I became another. But then I realized: in fact, thanks to you, I became myself. You gave me this courage, Tharn, without even knowing it."

Until the very morning, Tharn will not let him out of his hands, rocking Type like the sea below, on the waves of which ships are drifting, sailing to the unquenchable light of the twinkling lighthouse.

Two weeks of happiness, intimacy — not only physical, but heartfelt, intimate, saving grace, which both of them lacked for so long. Strong hugs before parting, dozens of kisses, — this is definitely the last one, Tharn, they are already signaling to me from the pier, — and a quiet but bright sadness: Tharn's heart, washed by Type's love, really seemed to come to life.

In two months, the morning will find Type at the workplace. He sits down at his desk, switches on the computer and puts on a headset. On the side — a cup of his favorite coffee and a paper crane from Thanya, the magical one that promised him happiness. Type no longer doubts this. He already wants to turn off his phone, as his screen lights up with a message


Why aren't you sleeping, huh? You have a night there.

Maybe something happened?

With a sinking heart, Type reads his message:

"We will be real, my dear Type. I believe it."

With a gentle smile, Type texts an answer:

"We are already real."

The phone is switched off, Type opens the program.

The first call. Only heavy breathing and convulsive child's sobs are heard on the other end of the line. In a sympathetic, friendly voice, Type begins to speak:

"Hello. I'm Type. Let's try to calm down? I'm here to help you."