Work Text:
Somewhere, in the middle of nowhere
In the middle of who knows where
There you'll find-
Something in the middle of nowhere
In the middle of clear blue air
you've found your heart, and left a part of you behind
-Come From Away
“Are you sure you don’t need anything?” Tian’s mother fusses over the phone. “You sound so tired, Tian. Are you taking care of yourself? I’m sure you can be excused before the semester ends, given your condition-”
“Mae, I’m fine,” Tian says, eyes trained on his laptop screen, distracted by a paper he’s been struggling to write. “We’re working on a lot of material, and exams will be coming up soon. I’ve been seeing a doctor for check ups over here. I miss you both. Maybe I'm just a little homesick.” His mother coos a bit at that, like the thought of him being homesick is a good thing.
“Well,” his mother seems a bit pacified. “You’ll be back for breaks, and once your studies are over, you can come home for good.”
A pang of guilt shoots through him as his mother resumes chatting on the other end of the phone. He’s homesick. One day, he’s going to return home.
Except-
It’s been a long time since Tian thought of home as somewhere large and structured, wide open floor plans and expensive decor. A large, comfortable bed and a state of the art kitchen with anything he could need.
He’s homesick for lush, sprawling nature, waking with the sun, and laundry days in a fresh stream. A never-ending view from the top of a cliff, mosquito bites, aep ong-o .
Tian presses a hand to his forehead, and he can swear he can still feel the warmth of Phupha’s lips, all these months later, like a brand. A reminder.
After all this, he’s going to go home. And he just might break his mother’s heart in the process.
“....Tian?”
“Sorry,” Tian manages, trying to ignore the tightness in his chest. “I’m listening.”
His attention is split through the rest of the conversation, but he manages to finish it without raising any obvious warning signs to his mother (that he knows of), before they say their goodbyes and hang up.
It’s six months into his time in America, and Tian has his life together.
He’s in control of his own life, enjoys his studies, the group of friends he’s acquired through shared classes, and friends of those friends. He has a social life that isn’t always bars and parties, but late nights at friends’ dorms, meals outside while they study. It’s a busy time for him, but fulfilling and Tian loves it.
Loves it so much that when he realizes he hasn’t thought about the village or Phupha for a few days, guilt lodges in his throat, like he’s somehow betrayed them.
Phupha would be thinking of him, Tian knows (he hopes), and he wants so badly to be worthy of those thoughts.
When this happens, he tries his hardest not to get lost in that. For his own sake, for Phupha.
Tian has been too busy these days to mull over a life he cannot yet obtain. He’d made promises he intends to keep.
He has been pushing past any and all thoughts of the future, focusing on his present. One thing at a time.
Still, as time goes on, each month brings him closer to completing his studies. It’s always at the back of his mind, and sometimes the very effort of ignoring it feels like it’s a constant itch under his skin.
Some days feel impossible, and Tian longs for the people who understood him most, thousands of miles away in a quiet, rural little village.
Some days, all he can do is sit cross legged on his bed in his dorm room, running his fingers over the fabric of his shirt from Phu Pan Dao, trying to breathe in a scent that’s long faded into the faint scent of detergent.
Some days, despite how much he loves his life and new experiences, he feels like he’s hanging on by a thread.
That self-control nearly falls apart the day he checks his phone to see a text message from Longtae with a video attached.
>Sorry this took so long! They’ve been begging me for ages!
Tian clicks the video, and his screen is filled with the faces of the children of Phu Pan Dao, all bright and cheerful, vying for space in front of the camera.
“Phi Seetian!” they cry out in a chorus.“We miss you!”
"My hair is long enough to braid on my own, but I like how you did it!”
“I got a book on airplanes and pilots! And my paper planes go so far now!”
Tian stares at their brilliant, smiling faces, already physically changing, maturing. The screen blurs, their faces blending into one another through his tears, and it hits him all at once.
He misses them. He misses them so much . He wants to go home.
He drops his phone on his bed, knees drawn up, his chest tight and he gasps like he can’t get enough air.
His dorm suddenly feels too small, the buildings he’d been fascinated with too close together, too restricting, too monotone.
He wants-
“What are you all doing?” That voice, low and fond, a voice that had become a source of comfort and love.
“We’re making a video for Phi Seetian! Come say something!”
Silence. Too long, too weighted .
"...For Tian?”
Nobody else in the world has ever said his name like that
"Tian,” Phupha says, and Tian yanks his attention back to the screen, hopeful, but Phupha isn’t fully in frame, just his hand resting on Kalae’s shoulder. “ I-We hope you are doing well…and hope to see you soon.”
Tian’s sob finally tears out of him, ragged, and he shoves his palms into his eyes, pressing back tears. The ‘not too soon’ is unspoken in Phupha’s voice, still so doggedly determined for Tian to live his life.
It’s just as well, Tian figures. If he’d seen Phupha’s face, he might have just booked the next flight to Chiang Mai.
He watches the rest of the video, smiling through his own tears at the rambunctious, synchronized, “Bye, Phi Seetian!”
He watches it once more, just for good measure. He breathes in, listens to the sounds of students in nearby dorms, traffic and activity outside.
He breathes out, slow, opens his laptop, and begins to write.
18 MONTHS LATER
Tian is beyond glad for whatever small miracles kept the villagers that did see him sneaking to the school quiet and the secret pressed behind small smiles and delighted expressions.
He’d gotten up at barely dawn, much to the surprise and endearingly grumpy response to the man curled against his back, Phupha’s arms tightening a worrying amount around him, but when Tian turned to kiss his cheek and whisper his plan, Phupha had smiled, soft and sleepy, nuzzled into Tian’s neck, but let go.
Tian almost, almost abandoned everything right there.
He’d taken a container of breakfast with him to set up camp out of sight, watching his kids file into the classroom. His kids, two years older, two years of change and experience Tian had ached to experience with them.
Ayi takes his place first, his jaw set and stubborn, and Tian nearly laughs at how obvious it was now, so ready to test his new teacher. He hasn’t even bothered to set his bag down, clearly prepared to make a break for it the moment their new teacher is late.
Khaoneung shuffles in after with an arm around Kalae, the latter looking barely awake, followed by Inta arm in arm with Meejoo, who is visibly too enthusiastic for all of them at the early hour.
Feeling quite pleased with himself, Tian waits just long enough for the moment that Ayi predictably makes eye contact with Kaoneung to signal to make a break for it, before stepping into his classroom for the first time in two years.
“Good morning. I am your new teacher, you can call me-”
“Phi Seetian! ” The yells of disbelief inside the small schoolhouse are almost deafening, followed by the clamor of feet scrambling over benches, and Tian’s students rushing into his open arms.
They’re all crying, Tian included, and he presses his cheek to the tops of heads where he can, ruffling hair and squeezing shoulders. He doesn’t know which belongs to who, but it doesn’t matter.
“Phi Seetian,” Meejoo says, plastered against his side, her arms around his waist. “Are you staying for good? We don’t want to say goodbye again!”
“I’m staying,” Tian assures her, freeing a hand to wipe at his eyes. “As long as you all will have me.”
“Or as long as Chief Phupha will have him,” Ayi says, sly, causing Meejoo and Inta to dissolve into giggles.
“Alright, alright,” Tian shooes them back to their seats, laughing. “Enough of that. Take your seats. I’ve got two years worth of educational materials in my bag, and I want to get through it before you’re all teenagers.”
“Yes, Phi Seetian!” The students of Phu Pan Dao chorus, obediently taking their seats and watching him, bright-eyed and attentive, beaming.
Tian watches them for a moment, breathing in, ears tuned to the sounds of nature outside, the heat of the day seeping into the school enclosure. He breathes out, slow, turns to the chalkboard, and begins to write.