When words don't work, hearts shout louder.
The campus was hopping at night, but Fah's life had been sucked out of him. The weight of the presentation had been lifted, replaced by something lighter—and far more dangerous. Every time he replayed the scene on stage, what hit him wasn't the applause, or even the satisfaction of fixing the robot.
It was Tawan.
The way that he'd said the words. The way that his eyes had anchored Fah through stormy waters. The way that his slow clap had drowned out everyone else's with the sound of background music.
And here they were, the two of them, walking in the amber glow of the streetlights that stretched along the length along the way outside campus.
"You were good up there," said Tawan, taking a swig of his iced coffee. "Almost smooth."
"Close?" Fah narrowed his eyes.
"You did hesitate on 'autonomous,'" Tawan jeered.
"I did not!" Fah snapped, though his ears were burning.
"You did," Tawan said with a triumphant smirk, leaning forward as if to inspect him. "Your voice squeaked all high. Really adorable, too."
"Adorable?" Fah's voice cracked out the word, and Tawan was laughing so hard he nearly spilled his cup.
"You're insufferable," Fah muttered, speeding up his pace. But he didn't move fast enough to escape when Tawan reached out, fingers brushing against his sleeve. Just a light touch—barely there. But it was enough to slow him down again.
"Hey," Tawan whispered. His tone had shifted, harder corners giving way to something warmer, more concentrated. "I mean it. You were great today. You didn't give up. You got it running in a minute. That takes guts."
Fah stared at him, surprised by the real warmth in his tone. Tawan wasn't teasing anymore. He was. complimenting. He was proud, even.
Fah looked away quickly, his eyes on the sidewalk beneath his feet. "You saved me. If you hadn't—"
"Don't make light of it," Tawan interrupted, quietly. "You would have come up with it yourself. You're too stubborn not to."
The words filled Fah's chest, inflating him in a way he couldn't define. They walked in silence for a few moments, the only sounds the swishing leaves in the wind and the occasional hum of passing motorbikes.
And then Tawan simply stopped. Just—stopped walking. Fah turned around, confused, and found him there, face impassive.
"What?" Fah demanded, trying to be annoyed and not quite succeeding.
Tawan tilted his head. "Do you ever wonder why I keep showing up?"
The question was gentle, almost careless. But the weight behind it crashed into Fah's chest.
Fah swallowed. His mind was racing a mile a minute. A dozen excuses—jokes, dodges, sarcastic one-liners—fluttered through him. But they weren't good enough. Not with Tawan looking at him the way he was.
".Because you like to torment me?" Fah tried half-heartedly.
Tawan smiled weakly, but his eyes didn't waver. "Perhaps. Or perhaps it's because I like being around you."
The world stopped. Fah's heart skipped, then ran crazily. He opened his lips, but his words were lost.
Tawan moved in a step. Not close enough, not by any means—but close enough to smell the soft coffee-and-mint flavor on his breath.
"Tawan," Fah whispered softly, hardly rolling the sound of his name around his mouth.
Fah's throat went dry. His heart was racing. Had he? He thought he had. He hoped he had. But to hear it, almost hear it—nearly hear him say it—was something else.
"Tawan…" His words lingered, suspended between hope and wonder.
Tawan's gaze fell, briefly, to his lips before racing back up. The space between them tightened, charged, crackling with all the unspoken things. Fah's breath stilled—half-hope, half-fear—
And then a car beeped its horn loudly as it zoomed by, making them both leap back from one another. The moment shattered like glass.
Fah coughed, trying to find his balance again. "We should… uh, depart. It's late."
"Yeah," Tawan said, but his voice was lower, richer. There was still a grin attached to his lips—one that promised this wasn't over.
They set out again, though the air between them was now different. Thick. Charged. Every brush of shoulders, every shared glance was like teetering over something the other did not wish to say.
For the very first time, Fah silently—betrayingly—admitted that he did not wish Tawan to ever cease showing up.