#pangwave fics

Wave.

Socked feet pattering across the floor steals Pang's attention from the breakfast that he's meticulously putting together. Pang steals a glance, then decides to indulge some more. It's not everyday that Pang gets to see Wave in such a state, having just woken up, rubbing his eyes with a quiet sigh, his sleeves falling way past his hands.

"You're up early," Wave sighs softly, finally blinking back until his gaze focuses on Pang. "Earlier than me."

That is to assume that Pang has slept at all (which he hasn't), but he can only smile in response, peering at how adorable his boyfriend looks. His heart wants to leap out of his chest and land at Wave's feet, as though it isn't already his.

"What are you looking at?" Wave grumbles without heat, his face still scrunched up as he tries getting used to the bright light of the day.

Pang shakes his head, still smiling, and turns back to the omelette he was decorating. "Nothing," Pang replies, putting the plate in the tray with their cups of tea.

Wave is still pawing at his eyes when Pang walks over to him. He bends down to kiss his cheek. "Good morning," greets Pang. "You are very endearing when you're half asleep."

Wave flushes bright red, from the tip of his ears all the way down to his neck.

Pang grins wider; he can barely resist planting another kiss on Wave's cheek.

"Shut up." Wave's smile is gentle, his face relaxing minutely as he takes the tray from Pang's hand.

"Did you sleep well?" Wave asks as they shuffle towards the sofa.

Pang hums noncommittally.

"You didn't sleep at all, did you," Wave states, pulling Pang close. "You weren't there beside me last night."

Pang shakes his head, a bit guilty at that admission. "There was a lot to do," he says, apologetically.

"Don't you look guilty," Wave sighs, patting Pang's shoulder. "You need to rest, though."

Pang shrugs his shoulder in response. "Did you sleep well?"

Wave shakes his head, scuffling towards Pang, immediately burrowing his face in his neck.

"What are you doing?" Pang huffs fondly.

"You're warm," Wave answers simply.

"Because it is very warm," Pang answers softly.

Pang draws their teas in together, handing one to Wave, who takes it despite remaining plastered to him.

"Aren't you sleepy?"

They've both been exhausted lately, barely finding time to do anything but their coursework. Sleepy does not seem to cover the extent of their bone-deep fatigue.

Wave bundles in closer, running his cold hands over Pang.

"Ai Pang," Wave murmurs. "Let's go sleep after breakfast, yeah? We're both hungry and sleepy."

"I can't," Pang says, sipping his tea. "I've to study. There is still so much—"

"Pang," Wave chides. "What do you always tell me when I am working too much?"

"That you need to rest if you want to make it," Pang recites, having repeated that multiple times. He's about to protest why it's different for him, when Wave holds his wrist with the cup of tea.

"Exactly," Wave mutters. "It's not different for you either."

"Wave…"

"You need to rest," Wave says, matter-of-factly, pulling his knees closer to his chest, still scuffled close to Pang.

Idly, Pang starts running his fingers through Wave's hair. It is so soft. Pang doesn't know how — they use the same hair products there are, and yet his could never be as soft as Wave's.

"How is your hair so soft?" Pang asks in wonder, knowing full well that he's ignoring Wave's proposition to rest.

"You've to rest," Wave repeats with conviction, before his voice turns soft. "I don't dry my hair vigorously. Like you."

"You've got to dry it for me then," Pang replies.

"You're changing the subject," Wave replies, sipping his tea. "But fine. Only if you promise to sleep."

"Wave…"

"I'll wake you up in ninety minutes, okay?" Wave nods. "Do you have anything urgent due?"

Pang shakes his head.

"We're going to rest," Wave says, emphasising on the last word, "after we eat. Because you need it."

Pang presses a kiss on his hair. "Okay, if you say so."

Pang and Wave languidly finish their breakfast, put the dishes for a future wash, and make their way towards their bed.

Wave puts on the lo-fi playlist that he knows helps Pang sleep better, despite it hurting his ears a bit, and Pang draws the curtains, their room becoming a sudden envelope of darkness.

Sleep doesn't take long to grace them when it arrives. They've always known that they sleep better when they're surrounded by each other's warmth.

Pang startles at the answer, his arms that were sternly crossed against his chest falling at his side. 

"Really?" 

"Really," Wave confirms, looking at Pang again. "This is my reality. I have got to accept it because there's no way out of it but this."

Pang looks all out of sorts at that. "Why?" Wave asks, "Are you thinking about running away and starting anew?" 

Worrying his lip between his teeth, Pang clenches his fists again. "They're just fantasies, you know? Of running away, beginning again. It helps deal with the reality easier," Pang says in a small voice that Wave decidedly does not like. "I'm not actually going to do that, not when we have just started; certainly not when we have so much left." 

"Well," Wave starts, deciding to do something he'd only ever thought of as a mythical concept -- compromising, "As long as they're just fantasies."  He internally cringes at how sharp his voice sounds, when he actually means: please don't run away. I would not know what to do if you did. 

"It's just," Pang huffs, rubbing the flat of his palm on his face. "It doesn't hurt to imagine, you know? Running away from Rithda. A life where the director does not exist; a life where we can live in this bubble of ignorance about everything that's wrong with the education system as a whole."

Wave looks at him, at a complete loss for what to say. 

“You should imagine how you’d like to live your life away from this all,” Pang says. “It helps, I promise. Then you have an idea about the future that you’re fighting for. That we are fighting for. And we can get to building it right away, once this all ends. Or just away from it all, if it doesn't.” 

Wave chooses to ignore the multiple ‘we-s’ that scatter throughout all of what Pang said. "Yeah, right. As if you wouldn't do the same anywhere else. Running away from this responsibility of making things equitable for all is equivalent to running away from everything that makes you, you. A place would hold no power over it." 

Pang's eyes crinkle around the edges, his dimple deepening, as he lets out a laugh full of mirth. "Oh?” he asks, his tone teasing, “You know me that well, huh, Wave?” 

Wave hurriedly averts his eyes from Pang. “Shut up,” he grits out. 

“I thought you hated me,” Pang says, taking a step towards Wave. “I thought that you couldn’t stand to be around me.” 

“I can’t, you asshole,” Wave says, stepping away, ignoring the deeply contradictory feelings that run through him. “You’re the worst.” 

“You wouldn’t have agreed to work with me if that were true,” Pang hums, coming to stand beside him, their shoulder brushing against each other. 

Wave stares at the withering corner of the bulletin board, prepared to not look at Pang until he moves away. “I just hate the system more than you,” he says. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.” 

“Your friend, huh?” Pang asks, bumping their shoulders together. “You think of me as your friend?” 

Wave sighs, turning his head to steal a glance from Pang only to realise that he is already being looked at. Wave holds his gaze, not dropping it despite how much he wants to, scared of the emotion that might just burn him from inside. 

“I think of you as an annoyance,” Wave answers and does not move away. “An annoyance who wants to bring down the system and yet thinks about escaping from it all.” 

“I am a complex person,” Pang states, turning his eyes away from Wave. “I could want it all, you don’t know.” 

Wave does not say: I would come and live with you in the bubble of ignorance if you ever decide to. Or: I could help us escape without a digital footprint in a second. Instead, he says, “Let’s get back to this so you can stop building castles in your fantasies away from all this.” 

“Not castles, Wave,” Pang says with a small smile on his face. “A small apartment for us would suffice, no?” 

2. 

Pang meets Wave’s eyes from across the canteen, his eyes neither blinking in recognition nor in any sort of liveliness as it usually does. Just blank. Always blank, these days. 

It is not that Wave expects Khun Pom’s potential to suddenly weaken in a way that makes Pang remember everything, but he still hopes. He hopes and he wishes in a fervour, losing his mind over the empty eyes that Pang looks at him with. 

“We will get to him,” Namtarn softly says, nudging their elbows together. 

“It is taking him too long,” Wave replies with undisguised impatience, stabbing into his food. 

“Don’t take it out on your food,” she says firmly. “We are going to find a way.” 

“What if we don’t?” Wave asks, surprising himself with the words that fall from him. “What if he never remembers? What if he just never remembers us?” Never remembers me?

“Wave,” Namtarn says, holding his elbow. “He is going to remember everything and everyone that he has forgotten. We are going to make sure of that, remember?” 

“But what if--”

“We will figure it out,” Namtarn says, gently. “Whatever happens, we will.” 

Wave gets less optimistic by the minute. Pang’s memories don’t ever leave him. It consumes him whole; it takes up the very little space he has left to give and takes up some more. 

Wave wonders what Pang would say if he were beside him in almost every situation that Wave finds himself in, his laughter filtering through his mind whenever something remotely funny happens, his warmth holding him tight when he thinks that he might just fall apart at all the blank looks he receives. 

Right now, Pang’s own voice reverberates somewhere behind his ribs, saying, "Do you ever think about running away?" 

Yes, Wave wants to say now. He should've always said yes; should've convinced himself and Pang to run away from it all if it meant having Pang safe. We should have run away when we had the chance all those weeks ago. We should’ve run away all those days in between. 

That thought begins unravelling a lot more than he’d ever signed up for. In the comfort of his room (that looks too empty without Pang’s overwhelming presence), he turns to his paper and pen. 

Pang, he writes, in my imagination, we are living in a small house by the beach. The weather is somehow always pleasant -- not too sticky, not too cold -- just perfect, all for us. We can watch the tidal waves from the long windows that house, I’ve decided. There is no Rithda, no vicious Directors trying to take all of what you fought for from you, all of what you remembered from you, and… and all of what I love from me. I like you a little too much, you know? There is just you and me, our house by the beach beside our friends’ houses, and the world promising a better present laid out for us. Come back to us -- to me -- please.”

Wave stops short at the monstrosity that he has written on the paper in front of him and crumples it in a ball, ready to throw it in the trash. Fantasies of a future that wasn’t for him were dangerous waters he really did not want to sink under. Nothing good ever came out of it. 

3. 

“It is not your fault,” Pang softly says, sitting beside him. 

"How is it not my fault?" Wave asks his voice tethering on something that might resemble a cry if he thinks too hard. "I asked her to go there! I asked her to go. Me. This would not have happened had I not."

"You could not have known," Pang says, sounding more rational than he ever has the right to. "If it's anyone's fault, it is mine."

"How?" Wave asks, edging on incredulity. "How is this your fault?" 

"The anti-gifted was formed because of me, don't you remember?" 

"The anti-gifted was formed because of their ideologies," Wave corrects. "This is not on you."

"Exactly why it's not on you either," Pang replies with a shrug. "It's entirely on the anti-gifted." 

Wave sinks into the uncomfortable chair of the infirmary, unable to look directly at Pang. "I asked her to go, Pang," he says in a voice he doesn't remember as his own. 

"I am the cause of anti-gifted," Pang replies easily, sounding as though he truly believes it. 

"We've been over this."

"Exactly," says Pang. "If I am supposed to stop blaming myself for this and believe in it the way you and everyone has been insisting, then you're not either. Those are the rules."

"Your rules are as stupid as you," Wave counters. Blaming yourself for being the cause of a group that is determined to pull the system down with unnecessary violence is not the same as directing your friend to go to an auditorium while there's a live bomb in it. Wave does not understand how Pang can't comprehend the difference. 

"Do you guys think that everything in this universe happens because of you both, huh?" Mon asks frustrated. Startled, Wave looks at her looming figure above them both, a sharp contrast to her red-rimmed eyes and how pale she looks. "You can be the most considerate people out there and follow all your plans well and yet there are things that you can't control! Like this! We could not have controlled this." 

"We could've --" Pang and Wave both start, before Mon interrupts again. 

"Seriously, guys. Just because you're the leader, Pang, does not mean that we've to agree to everything that you say. If you're blaming yourself for the 'anti-gifted', then you might as well blame all of us because we did agree to it. It was a mutual decision." 

"Exactly," Wave says in half-hearted triumph.

"And Wave, you did what any one of us would've done. Namtarn was the closest to the auditorium," Mon says, choking on her name. "Besides," she adds, resembling someone trying their hardest to keep it together, "it's not going to be that bad. We're going to keep in touch with her. It's not going to be bad at all!" 

"Whatever," Wave says, standing up, knowing full well that Mon is 100% right. "Whatever," he repeats, leaving the infirmary altogether. 

It is when he reaches in his room that his phone screen lights up with a message. Wave ignores it, feeling scrubbed too raw with the long day that they've all had. 

Pang (21:33)

do u ever think about running away? 

Pang (21:37) 

we could run away from this all. i could make them never want to look for us. u could erase our digital footprint. only mom and our friends would know who we are and where we are. we could change our names and delete everything. 

Pang (21:49) 

we could begin again. 

Pang (21:56)

one word from u and the plan is on. we leave tomorrow. 

Wave (23:06)

As if you could order someone to do something without feeling guilty. (As if you could leave this school before doing something about it.)

Pang (23:07) 

i culd if it meant us having a chance to begin again. (it doesnt hurt to imagine, wave.)

Wave (23:07) 

What would our new names be, then? 

Pang (23:08) 

haven't thought that far. all I know is that we'd b together

Wave (23:09) 

Where would we go? 

Pang (23:11) 

anywhere u want. we could leave the country and move into the countryside. we could stay in the country and live by the beach. we could go on the moon, if you'd like. anywhere with u. 

Wave (23:16) 

Anywhere with me? 

Pang (23:16)

anywhere w you. it's all I'd need, really. 

Wave (23:22)

Yeah. That's all I'd need as well. 

Wave (23:23) 

we're going to have to destroy the director first, though. 

Pang (23:24)

duh -_-

4. 

Ohm slams the door shut, leaving a tightly wound silence in the air, leaving Pang, of all people, heavy with defeat.

"When you're done being emotional about all this, call me," Wave says, causing Pang to look away from the door, at him. "I'll be waiting." 

A slow smile creeps on Pang's face. "You're really with me?" 

"Idiot," Wave answers. "How dare you question that?" 

"How can I not?" Pang mumbles. "Don't answer that. And I will call you. I promise. Unless…"

Wave crosses his arms across his chest, sinking deeper into the chair, urging him to go on. "Unless, you want to have dinner together. Right now," Pang continues, looking away. "Only if you want to," he hurriedly adds, "it's okay even if you can't. I mean, I'm sure--"

"Pang."

Pang meets his gaze. 

"I have instant noodles in the pantry. We can make them and go to the rooftop." 

Pang's face loses all of its uncertainty in an instant. "Yeah, okay." 

They make the instant noodles in silence and Wave has this urge to fill it. It had been way too long since they'd seen each other and although there's familiarity in Pang's presence, he doesn't know what's allowed anymore. Their hands brush against each other when they try grabbing the Tupperware at the same time and jump away from each other as though scorned. 

"Sorry," Pang awkwardly chuckles. "I just. Uh. Yeah."

"It's okay," Wave replies, moving towards him. "Just carry the Tupperware and I'll carry the drinks and the mats, okay?"   

The rooftop has always held a sense of permanence that Wave has never before attached to a place. It would only make sense then, for Wave to make it accessible for him even at night. Wave taps on a switch effectively turning on the LED light strips attached to every nook and cranny of the walls. Wave watches Pang -- completely transfixed with the way the rooftop is now enveloped with a soft-golden glow.

"You really did all this?" Pang asks in wonderment. 

"Obviously," Wave answers, "How did you think we'd be able to see our food, Pang?" 

Pang sheepishly holds out his phone. "The torch, I'd assumed." 

"Idiot," Wave mutters. 

Pang moves to bump their shoulders together. "You love me anyway." 

Wave does not acquiesce that with a reply, focusing entirely on setting the boxes as a makeshift table and placing their Tupperwares on it. "Eat," he says, shoving the chopsticks in Pang's hands and opening both their Tupperwares. 

"Give me your phone," Pang replies. 

"Why?" Wave asks, handing him the phone. He watches Pang tinker with his phone before soft, lulling music fills the atmosphere. 

"What's this for?" Wave asks, focusing entirely on his food and not on how this looks like -- a dinner with someone he likes akin to a candle light dinner with sombre music playing in the background. 

Pang looks at him with a tiny, indignant smile. "I'm here, at my favourite place with my favourite person, after days, Wave. Let me have this." 

Wave huffs, adjusting his jacket draped over his shoulders. "Alright, weirdo." 

Pang shakes his head, finally turning towards his Tupperware. The music fills in the gaps in their conversation and it's so pleasant, that Wave could almost forget about the impending doom that lies beyond them. 

They shift to lie side-by-side on their mat, a while after dinner. Their elbows brush against each other as they stare at the stars above them. 

"Do you ever think about running away?" Wave whispers, the wind around then picking up pace. 

"All the time," Pang says. "But I can't, now. We can't. We're too close to changing it all, Wave."

"I know," Wave replies. "But it doesn't hurt to imagine now, does it?"

Wave feels the pressure of Pang's gaze on him and determinedly does not look back. "It doesn't," Pang replies, shuffling to his side, his head resting on the fold of his elbow. 

"So," Wave says, "imagine this with me."

"A home on the outskirts of the city," Pang replies. 

"Like an apartment?" Wave asks, turning to his side as well. 

"No," says Pang. "A house. A home. We go to the university nearby. The Director feels like a faraway nightmare we barely remember."

"How are we affording an entire house on a student budget?" 

"Shhh. This is just a fantasy, Wave," Pang says, moving to ruffle his hair. Wave swats at his hand before reaching over to pull his hair, reveling in the delighted shriek he lets out. 

"Evil. Wave is so evil."

"Shut up. Tell me more about this. Are we still Pang and Wave?" 

"Always. We don't need to hide here. We're safe."

"We're safe," Wave smiles. "Seems unbelievable, huh?"

"We are going to win," Pang says, a shift in his tone apparent. "You know that, right?" 

Wave sighs, turning to lie on his back again. "We're going to give our best."

"And we're going to win," Pang says.

"Another one of your fantasies?" Wave asks. 

"No," Pang replies softly. "In my imagination, we're away from this all, Wave. We're safe and happy and… ah, nevermind. We probably volunteer in an animal shelter on Saturdays. Have movie nights every Sundays. Have one of those chore lists stuck on our fridge." 

"I scold you for leaving the kitchen cabinets open all the time and leaving your socks everywhere."

"And I scold you for taking all my things and putting them away."

"You probably just made a mess of our living room, Pang."

"It has to look lived in," Pang insists. 

"Lived in, not like a garbage dump."

"Garbage dump my ass," Pang says, chuckling. "Then, I bring you the strawberry ice-cream that you pretend to hate as an apology."

"And I let you choose the movie," Wave replies, his heart suddenly full of the possibilities of how it would be like to live together, attend a university together, have a future mapped out around each other. 

"There we go," Pang says, threading his fingers through Wave's hair. "What a perfect world to live in."

Wave looks at Pang, the love of his entire life, and sighs wistfully. "Perfect, indeed."

+1. 

"I would've never pegged you as the last minute packing kind of person," Pang remarks, zipping open Wave's bag that lies haphazardly on the floor. 

"I was busy, okay?" Wave sniffs at Pang slowly shaking his head in his direction. 

They had all been busy, after all. The high of their victory didn't fade away with the conclusion of their exams, strengthening with every moment that convulates since that day. It was Punn's idea in the end, to take his dad's private jet to Phuket and to spend a month there at his beach house, until they've to come back and face the reality of university admissions. 

"We were all busy," Pang says, shoving his clothes in that bag. "And yet, Ohm managed to pack, and you didn't." 

"If you want to complain so much, then don't help me," Wave mutters, not even bothering to fold his clothes properly. They were to leave in three hours and half of Wave's room was still nearly arranged in place. 

"Kidding, kidding," Pang concedes, laughing. Wave tries not to dwell on how carefree Pang's laughter seems now and fails, miserably. 

Out of all the people in the world who deserved to be happy, Pang was the most deserving, after all. Wave would do everything in his power to keep him smiling just the way he does.

"I'll clear the bookshelf for you as well?" Pang asks, dusting his pants off. 

"Obviously," Wave answers, turning away, knowing that he'd only end up getting more distracted than ever if he kept looking at Pang. "Just shove them in that bag," Wave points and gets back to his clothes.  

"Yes, sir," Pang replies, doing just that. 

It's silent for a few minutes before a thud, a yelp, and a sharp intake of breath. 

"Are you okay?" Wave asks, after a minute of silence, still not turning towards Pang. 

"Yeah," comes Pang's high-pitched reply, before he clears his throat. "Just fine, but, uh… you want to live by the sea?" 

Wave's heart touches his feet. 

"You imagine us… living together?" 

Wave is frozen on the spot, the embarrassment turning his insides into hot ash. He should have thrown that letter away all those years ago; should've thrown it and burnt it until all that remained of it were the permanent ink stains crushing his heart. Except...he couldn't. Like all things related to Pang, he couldn't just throw this away. Hiding it in a book he rarely touched was, in retrospect a bad idea, was something that he could have avoided. 

He hears some shuffling until Wave's chin is lifted by Pang, his eyes full of something akin to unabashed hope. 

"Let it go, Pang," Wave says, trying to snatch the crumpled paper from his hands. "It was from two years ago." 

All the mirth from Pang's face vanishes in an instant. "Oh. Oh, okay," he whispers, something broken -- Wave, a little too frantic to notice that. 

What can Wave even say to explain himself? That he started building a future only after meeting Pang? That Pang, without fail, painted the walls of his imagination with his presence? That Pang was in every single one of the new beginnings he thought of?

"I'm sorry," Wave whispers. "You don't have to…you don't have to think about this. Or reply to this. Or anything. I value you above all and I don't care if this doesn't…mean a thing to you."

Pang continues tightly clutching onto the note. "This is addressed to me," Pang says. "Can I keep it then?" 

Wave meets Pang's eyes. "It was when you couldn't remember us," Wave explains. 

"I got that," Pang replies, his eyes lighting up again. 

"It was when you couldn't...remember me."

"I got that too," Pang replies easily. 

How much more obvious does he have to be before Pang finally gets that? 

"I like you," Wave grits out. "That is what you don't get." 

Pang takes a step towards him, Wave following suit. "I always felt a part of me missing, when I couldn't remember you," Pang says. "I think, subconsciously, my eyes always looked for yours." 

Wave is rarely ever rendered speechless. This just prompts Pang further. He takes a step forward and weaves their fingers together. "I think my eyes will always look for yours -- in crowds and empty spaces. You're the first person I think of when I wake up in the morning. I want to tell you everything and anything that crosses my mind. Do you get it?" 

"What?" Wave whispers, trying to wrap his head around the reality of it all. 

Pang leans forward to press their foreheads together, bringing their interwoven hand to his chest. "I like you too," Pang says. "I like you so much, Wave. I don't see a future for myself without you in it. In my imagination, we were always away from all this, but we were also always together."

All breath seems to have been stolen out of Wave's lungs. "You...like me?" Wave asks. 

"I like you," Pang affirms, dropping his hand and wrapping it around his waist. 

Wave leans into him, resting his head in the crook of Pang's neck, tightening his hands around him. "You like me," Wave repeats. "I like you too. I like you so much."

Pang moves his head to kiss Wave's temple. 

"Do you ever think about beginning anew?" Wave asks. 

Wave feels Pang nod. "A small house, 10 minutes from the university that we have enrolled in." 

("Well, it's 15 by foot," will say Wave, three months from now. "But I think it's good enough.")

"We live there for a year or two before moving to a bigger one." 

("We were supposed to live here for a year, at least," Pang will say, a year from now. 

"But that one is bigger," Wave will insist. "And better. You can't deny that. The faucet doesn't drip all night long despite multiple repairs there." 

"Alright," Pang will concede, kissing the top of Wave's head. "I agree.") 

"We'll figure things out," Pang says, "one day at a time."

"But, together," Wave adds. 

Pang, on the other hand, broke the mould he was designed for with a flick of his fingers, and carved a space for himself with the same self-righteous determination burning his eyes when he had first crashed into Wave; the same self-righteous determination that he sees burning embers in his eyes now. 

Pang wants to change the system. Pang believes that he is a part of something bigger than the litany they have been designed for. 

Wave hates him. 

(Pang believes that Wave is a part of something bigger too. He believes in him, despite it all. Wave doesn’t know what to do with that.)

Wave hates how Pang ignites the need for bringing about a change in him – the one he feels resonating inside his bones. 

Wave hates that Pang is right. 

Wave hates that he believes in Pang a little more than he has ever hated him. 

Wave hates that he wants to stand beside Pang when they burn the draconian system down. 

It would be fitting, Wave thinks, his gaze lingering on the same person who breathes revolution as easy as he smiles. It would be fitting to stand beside him and tear the predestined positions created for them with their bare teeth. 

It would be fitting to stay beside him through it all. 

***

Pang sees himself as the hero despite the layers of insecurities he carries himself with. Pang sees Wave as something extraordinary.

Pang sees them both as the only people capable enough to bring about a change that would set fire to the breeding ground for hatred and injustice. 

Wave is reluctantly inclined to agree. 

“You really think that this is going to work,” Wave states, watching Pang stand in front of his bulletin board. 

The evening light filtering through the window makes Pang look incredibly soft around the sharp edges he pretends he doesn’t have. 

Wave’s gaze lingers longer than necessary. 

“I don’t,” Pang says easily, with a nervous twitch of his finger and the quick inhale that he stifles in a moment.

Pang does that, sometimes, trying to hide the reactions he deems unfit. 

Wave sees it anyway. He’s always looking at Pang these days. 

Wave cannot look away.

(At some point he realises just how deep his feelings run for Pang, superimposing over his entire being in the most obtrusive way possible.)

(His stupid feelings can wait, though. They have more important things to accomplish right now.) 

“I’m not going to stop trying until something changes,” Pang says with a nervous roll of his shoulders. “We are not going to stop trying until it changes for the better,” he says with a smile meant to assure only those around him.

Wave would rather die than be compared to the ordinary others around Pang. He doesn’t say as much. 

“Or until the Director dies,” Wave says nonchalantly, coming to stand beside Pang. 

Pang gives him a disapproving look despite the laughter dancing in the depths of his eyes and his shoulders lose the tight posture. Pang lets his self-assurance crack, just enough to let the sliver of doubt beam through. 

This is Wave’s first time making a connection with someone who has seen him at his absolute worst and decided that he is worth it anyway. Wave wants to cherish it, nurture it, hold it the way it deserves to be held. 

Wave has no idea how. 

He holds Pang’s shoulders and feels him tense before he melts completely under his fingers. 

“We’re not giving up,” Wave assures and hopes that it is enough. “We’ve got so far. There is no way we’re giving up.”

“Even if we lose?“ 

"Even if we lose." 

***

They lose. 

Pang sees himself as a dumb kid from Class 8. Pang seems happier than what he was the first time they’d met, but Wave knows him better than that. Pang loses the spark of the revolution that had always glowed from within him. Pang looks like he’s always somewhere far away. Pang is completely different. 

Wave loves him all the same. 

There is no way that he’s giving up. 

***

None of the Gifted classmates (friends, he thinks reluctantly, joyously) has to be forced and convinced to join on-board once the plan is laid out in front of them.  

Pang had been sure of that when they’d prepared for the worst-case scenario in five different ways, each on differing levels of complexity. 

"You won’t even have to convince them,” Pang had said. “You don’t see them, Wave. They think that there’s no way but this." 

Wave had not felt the need to see anyone before. 

He had looked away from Pang, his heart stone heavy, and had looked towards the sky littered in heavy grey clouds. 

The atmosphere at the terrace had felt oppressive somehow, that day. Wave can still taste that air. It had always felt uncomfortable preparing for the worst-case scenarios. 

"You think that they’d be willing if they know that there’s a way out of this,” Wave states. 

“I know that,” Pang had said, a familiar firm determination set in his eyes. “They’re good people, Wave." 

Pang and his willingness to believe in the good of everyone. It would be their downfall one day, Wave was sure of that.  

"We’ll see,” Wave had answered. 

*** 

Pang gets his memories back. 

Wave gets his best friend back. 

Wave sees Pang as a leader, a just person willing to bend the world for everyone that it wasn’t made for. Wave sees Pang as a brilliant man with a heart big enough to encompass everyone, willing to fight for everyone and anyone. Wave sees Pang embody strength, courage, determination, and justice all in one. Wave sees Pang as someone always, always putting others before himself, choosing to pick the best possible option even though it harms him. Wave sees Pang losing himself, losing Namtan, losing everyone again, finding everyone again, and trying again and again. 

Wave sees Pang for himself. Wave loves him. 

The feeling – known two years in the making, pulling the ground from underneath him one moment in the making – chokes him, throws his world off the axis until it is tilted enough to fit, until the feeling blooms and blooms and he feels it peeking out of all the stitches of his tattered self until it consumes him whole. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Pang asks, leaning against the fold of his elbows, two chairs away from his. 

“Nothing!” Wave says – not squeaks because he doesn’t squeak – leaning over to drape his jacket over his shoulders.

Pang holds his wrist. Wave’s heart thunders in his chest. 

“Wave.”

“Aye, shit Pang! Why are you making this weird?" 

"Wave,” Pang says, pulling his wrist closer to him. 

Wave is – as always – helplessly pulled by him.

“What is going on?" 

Pang sounds genuinely concerned. Wave reminds himself that they’re essentially in the middle of a war and that they’d have plenty of time to talk about his embarrassing feelings – after. 

"Nothing,” he repeats. 

Pang’s eyes search his for a moment before he lets go of Wave’s wrist. 

Wave leans forward to thread their fingers together. 

Pang’s eyes widen and his breath hitches. 

“Wave?” Pang asks, scooting forward. 

(Now is not the time, Wave tells himself. They’re at war. Later. Later. Later.) 

“I understand P'Chanon a lot more now,” Wave replies. 

(But when?)

Pang’s eyes widen a little more. He presses their fingers together. 

(If not now, then when? Wave thinks. They’re always going to be at war.) 

“I’d do the same if it was you,” Wave says, trying not to let the nerves flood through. 

Pang’s eyes are filled to the brim with shock, before realisation dawns on him, tinted by something akin to hope. 

Wave moves to tighten their fingers. Pang beats him to that. 

“You mean that?” Pang asks in a whisper. “Because if you don’t, then I’m going to embarrass myself by being stupidly happy, Wave. Wave, tell me you mean it." 

"I do,” Wave replies as if there was any question about it. 

Pang stands and sits on the chair right beside Wave. 

He leaves Wave’s hands and clasps his face between his hands. “Oh my god,” Pang whispers, looking into his eyes. “You really do. You really mean it.”

Wave feels raw and open in front of him. Wave has never felt safer. 

“I do,” Wave says. “Pang, there’s nothing in the world that I wouldn’t do for you." 

Pang leans forward to press their foreheads together. 

Wave’s eyes flutter close. 

"Me, too,” Pang says, his voice devoid of any trepidation. “If it wasn’t blatantly obvious. I feel the same." 

Wave can feel Pang’s eyes on him. He wraps his fingers around Pang’s wrists and holds him tight. 

"I like you,” Wave says, because he has to say it. Has to put it out there before it swallows him whole. He looks into Pang’s bright eyes and sees relief and affection swimming in them. 

“I like you too,” Pang replies with a soft smile as if it is that simple. 

(It is. It really is.) 

Outside, the war will continue like it always does. They’ll lose and then win, and then hang somewhere in between and then lose and then win again and again. They’ll begin the beginning, over and over. 

There's a voice inside his head telling him that all of this is a mere illusion; his actual reality is still muddled in layers of inequality instead of the palpable reality that he is currently living in. 

There is no need for him to look over his shoulder every step of the way, no need for him to drown in nights where sleep always seems a blink away, no need for him to think twice before he lets joy consume him whole. 

There is no need for any of that. 

They've won and Pang feels as though this is a simulation where nothing is as it is, as he has known, and that the Director is up there, superimposing his present, past, and his future, laughing at what a fool he was to have ever believed that he's won. 

But they have, is the thing. 

He's reminded that they have by the way Wave smiles, looking more relaxed than Pang has ever seen him, by how Ohm's eyes twinkle, the way they always did before all this, by how all his friends -- his family, really -- find their way to each other, their way around each other, a bond created by the constraints of dictatorial power -- something so strong that nothing could've been able to get through it. 

None of it explains why Pang feels this hollow chamber inside his chest where that fire of changing something used to be. 

Someone knocks against his shoulders, snapping him out of the syrupy reverie he finds himself in on most days. 

"You can't believe it, huh?" 

Pang blinks slowly, taking a deep breath before putting on a smile and turning towards P'Chanon. 

"How did you know?" Pang asks, ignoring the loud cry that Ohm gives out as Namtarn smears the icing on his face. 

P'Chanon shrugs. "I can't believe it either," he says.

Pang presses his lips together, swallowing. 

"Everything we fought for is over," Pang replies. 

"It is," P'Chanon says, leaning against the table. 

"I didn't have a purpose before this," Pang says. "And then there was this. And now there's nothing." 

Pang never did think of a future for himself, he realises. It's as though he lived his life with a neon sticker on his forehead, relaying to everyone who he was and moulded exactly to fit that. First, there was the stupid kid, then there was the stupid kid who was smart enough to get into Rithda, then there was the stupid Class 8 kid, then there was the lucky Class 8 Gifted kid, then it was Class 8 Kid but as a leader, after which he became the kid who was completely idealistic, and then the kid who finally succumbed to the Director. 

The reality of this has ripped the neon sign off his forehead, leaving him floundering for a person to be. 

"Oh, Pang," P'Chanon says, his voice incredibly gentle. "Pang, I know exactly what you mean. You feel lost again." 

"I am nothing without this," Pang says, even though a voice in his head that sounds a little too much like Wave disagrees. "I don't-- what am I supposed to do?" His voice comes out broken around the edges, firmed only with the number of times he's asked his reflection. 

"Pang," P'Chanon says, bumping their shoulders together again. "You find a new purpose." 

"You say as though it's easy." 

"It's not," P'Chanon says, his voice firm. "It really is not. I have been in your position before, Pang. I am in your position now." 

Pang turns to look at P'Chanon, who looks straight ahead, his jaw clenched. 

"I didn't know who I was," he says in a whisper. "For the longest time, I was a shadow of who I wanted to be. And then I remembered. So there was my purpose again-- defeating Supot. And then I was mind-controlled, of course. So there was my purpose again-- defeating Pom. And then there was nothing. Just a void in front of me."

"How did you find your purpose again?" Pang whispers. 

P'Chanon nods his head -- that is when Pang realises that P'Chanon had been looking at Khu Pom all along -- and he hears P'Chanon give out a sigh. "I had some help," he says. 

"And now?" Pang asks. 

P'Chanon nods at Khu Pom again, who is currently doing his absolute best to stop Jack and Joe from fighting over something. 

"I'll figure it out," he says with a small smile. "As will you, Pang," P'Chanon pats his shoulder. "We have all the time in the world." 

"I'm so exhausted," Pang whispers. 

P'Chanon's face turns soft. "You've fought for the generations before you and the generations that will follow. Rest now, Pang. You will find a purpose again."

P'Chanon looks ahead, and this time, Khu Pom looks back, smiling at P'Chanon. 

Pang feels as though he's intruding on something extremely personal. "I know that I've found mine," P'Chanon says. 

"Khu Pom?" Pang asks before he can stop himself. 

P'Chanon shakes his head. "Doing right by the ones I love."

"You're going to be okay, Pang," P'Chanon says,  giving him a final pat on the back and walks towards where Khu Pom stands with a smile Pang has never seen on him. 

Pang stands there, warmed by P'Chanon's words and uncertain, just the same. 

***

It was so sudden, is the thing. 

Pang had been fully prepared to work for the Director in case it all failed. He always assumed that he would die trying to rid the clutches he held everyone in. 

But one moment, there was all hope lost and the next, the Director was gone for good and the world resumed turning around its axis with everyone in tow. 

Everyone but Pang. 

It is a mere ten minutes after Pang reaches his dorm again when he hears frantic knocking on his door and for one horrible, horrible moment, he thinks that it's the Director. 

His stomach swoops at the sight of Wave on the other side of it. 

"Here," Wave says, holding out a bag. "You didn't eat much." 

Pang looks at Wave in awe. "You brought food for me?" 

"Don't make it weird," Wave mumbles. "Just eat something, okay?" 

Pang takes the bag out of his hands, warmth blooming at where their fingers touch. "Do you want to come in?" 

"Obviously," Wave says and pushes past him to stride inside the room. 

"You didn't have to bring me food," Pang says, pulling the chair out for Wave to sit in. 

He is about to bring them both a plate when Wave tugs at his wrist. "Sit."

"Wave…"

"Sit," Wave says. "Just sit, okay? You look like you're going to fall dead at any moment." 

Pang stands there, flummoxed when Wave moves around his room as though it's his own. He brings out two plates and two glasses and starts serving him the noodles, swatting at Pang's attempt to help. 

"Do you think that you're invisible somehow?" Wave mutters. "I see you, Pang. Do you think that I haven't noticed the change in you?" 

"What change?" Pang asks, digging into his noodles. 

"You really think I'm stupid, huh?" 

Pang looks up, not knowing how to reply to that. Wave sighs, pushing forward his plate to serve him more noodles. "I care for you," he grits out. "I care for you," he repeats, gentler this time. "You were so full of hope before the final video," Wave says. "And then, you came out of the room as though you'd lost a war. And today, at the party, you didn't talk to anyone." 

Guilt curdles in Pang's stomach. "I'm sorry--"

"No!" Wave exclaims. "None of that, Pang. I am just letting you know that I see you and that I-- that I'm here for you, whenever you want. In any form you want me."

Pang looks up, startled. In his yellow-hued room, Wave looks a whole lot pink. "Not in that way," Wave says hurriedly. "But I'm here for you. So just-- yeah." 

"I care for you too," Pang says, carefully putting his hand over Wave's. "And thank you, I appreciate you." 

Wave looks at him once before looking back at his noodles again and makes no move to remove his hand from under Pang's. "Good," he says, his voice hoarse. 

"Good," Pang replies, feeling lighter than he had all week. 

***

Here is the truth, no matter how Pang sees it: 

Pang is in love with Wave. 

He does not really know when exactly the process of falling in love happened. He just knows that one day he woke up and all of a sudden, his eyes involuntarily found Wave's. The world slowed down whenever Wave was in his vicinity and for some unfathomable reason, Wave was suddenly in everything he saw and did. 

Claire had once snickered when she'd found him staring at Wave and that's when he realised what the clamminess of his palms and the fastening of his heart beat meant. 

He is in love with Wave. 

This absolute truth is the one thing he does not find himself bending around, no matter what. The truth only glows brighter every day he spends with Wave, tinting all his surroundings with the pink that doesn't leave him even when Wave isn't around. 

There is no-one who understands him the way Wave does. 

Case in point: the reality unfolding itself in the way Wave lies beside him, holding one earbud out for Pang as he loads up a meticulously curated playlist. 

Pang gingerly takes the earbud from him and settles easily on the cold floor underneath them. 

"You can talk to me about anything, you know that right?" Wave says, somewhere in the middle of the fifth song. 

I love you, Pang thinks. "I know," Pang says. 

"I don't know what's bothering you and I want to be there for you," Wave says. 

I love you so much, Pang thinks. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do after this," Pang says. 

He feels Wave moving closer to him. "What do you mean?" Wave frowns. 

"I don't know what I wanted before this and I don't know what I want now," Pang admits. 

"You're Pang," Wave says, as the music shuts down. "You'll figure it out." 

The lull of the darkness around him makes it safer for him to say, "I don't know who I am supposed to be now." 

"You don't need to be anybody," Wave says, causing Pang to turn towards him. Always turning towards him. "You're Pang," Wave says, his voice a whisper. 

Who is that person, Pang wants to ask. There's a certain kind of surety behind Wave's words. The surety whose entire weight Pang doesn't think he can carry. 

"You're Pang," Wave whispers. "That's all you need to be," he says. 

I'm Pang, Pang thinks, and lets the golden of the words settle beneath his skin, as though merely being Pang is enough. 

He looks at the dead-set certainty veiled behind Wave's eyes and thinks that perhaps it is. 

"Why did you go against the Director?" Wave asks. 

"You know why," Pang replies, resigned. 

"No, say it." 

"Because he was harming everyone."

"And what made you want to stop him?"

"Because it wasn't fair."

"Why did you care?"

"Because I wanted to make this world a better place!" Pang exclaims, unbidden and then breathes a sigh of relief. "I want to make this world a better place," he whispers. 

The corner of Wave's mouth lifts up. "There you go."

I love you, Pang thinks. 

"I hope you have a seat beside you as you make your way in this world," Wave says, a bit hesitant. 

"For you, Wave? Always." 

Wave looks at him in surprise. 

Pang reaches across to cup their hands together, again. "We're going to find our way in this world together, I think."

"Together," Wave repeats, still wide-eyed. 

"Together," Pang confirms, feeling hope bloom behind his ribs. 

***

It takes some getting used to, but Pang gets there. 

The hallways of Rithda feel painted over, without the lingering anxiety of being surveilled by the Director all the time. There are bad days, and there are the exceptionally good ones, but the words, "We've won, we've won, we've won, we've won," keep ringing all the same. 

The hollow chamber in Pang's chest blooms with every possibility he can ever think of once it sinks into him that they are, in fact, free. Pang thinks of his life beyond this point in the present and thinks of a world waiting for him, in all the ways he's ever dreamt of. 

The lingering days of Rithda are moulded carefully by the smiles on his friends' face, by how Wave's hand slots so perfectly into Pang's, by the promise of never parting even after they've graduated, by Pang saying I love you out loud to Wave on their rooftop and Wave's equally dumb-struck declaration of reciprocated love, by the sturdy purpose of wanting to do good around him, and by the hope of a better future in his chest so bright that it spills through the gaps between his fingers.