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It’s nearly eleven when Jean trudges into the kitchen, fortunately alone. He looks tired, but Tibet can’t tell if he’s sick or not.
When he notices Tibet, he straightens up, tilting his head and raising his eyebrows slightly. “Hello, Tibet,” he greets in a too loud voice that should be pleasant, but is actually supremely annoying. If he were anyone else, Tibet would feel bad about getting annoyed like that at someone who seems to be acting perfectly friendly, but it’s Jean, so he knows better. Jean made his greeting annoying on purpose, because it's a challenge, or a poke at Tibet's boundaries, or maybe a call-out.
And that's okay, because today Tibet is willing to be called out. That’s why he’s here, after all: to take responsibility. “Good morning,” he says, holding eye contact and not letting his annoyance show.
Jean’s eyebrows rise higher. “Oh? Are you talking to me now?”
Tibet puts down the spoon he was stirring with, turns fully towards Jean, and takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” he says.
Jean stares at him for a moment, his usual sarcastic expression disappearing just for a split second, but it's quickly replaced by a cocky smile. “Really?” he inquires, still in that too-pleasant tone. “What are you sorry for? Could you be more specific, please?”
Tibet wonders how Jean manages to be this annoying even when he’s right. “I’m sorry I ignored you,” he says. “That was mean and unfair of me, especially after…” He doesn't finish the sentence.
Jean laughs, but it sounds bitter, like when they were told no one at all would get to go home after Phleng got exposed. “After what, Tibet? Don't be a baby.”
Tibet grits his teeth and gives the pot another stir. Jean knows perfectly well what he means.
“Well?” Jean taunts.
“We're in the kitchen,” Tibet hisses in reply, glancing pointedly around at the multiple open windows and doors.
Jean rolls his eyes. “I’m not your boyfriend, Tibet. You don’t owe me anything just because we touched each other's dicks once.”
Tibet growls in frustration. Does this asshole not know the meaning of discretion? “I know that,” he grumbles in reply. Of course he didn’t think they were boyfriends. But it still makes it all worse, doesn’t it? He certainly felt worse about Jean’s behavior towards Pennueng because of it. He felt somehow complicit, like he had betrayed Pennueng by hooking up with the guy who would end up bullying him.
“And anyway,” Jean adds lightly, like it’s nothing, “it’s not like you’re the first person to wish I didn’t exist.”
And Tibet kind of does wish that, for just half a second, because Jean really is being immensely aggravating, but also of course he doesn't, because that's the whole point of this; they’re all friends here and they all deserve to be accepted. Even the extremely annoying ones. Hearing Jean talk like that only makes it more obvious that Tibet has to make things right. “I don’t wish you didn’t exist,” he says, as steadily as he can, willing Jean to understand that he means it.
“Don’t you?” Jean challenges. “You sure were acting like I already didn't, so I figured you must think it would be better that—”
“I was just upset,” Tibet interrupts, trying to reassure him, “because—”
“Oh, of course,” Jean interrupts him right back, mocking. “So upsetting, knowing you lowered yourself to mess around with someone like me.” The pitch of his voice has risen high and horrible with his derision, although Tibet doesn’t know who it’s aimed at anymore. “How embarrassing for you, not having realized I was trash.”
“Will you stop that?!” Tibet is done with this line of conversation. He looks around, ignoring how Jean seems to be gearing up for further dramatics, and his gaze falls on the cutting board with the already prepared ingredients which he forgot about when Jean came in. Right, good. He slides it in Jean’s direction. “Here, chop these.”
“Excuse me?”
Jean looks taken aback, but Tibet ignores it. “The food is almost ready, so help me chop the toppings,” he says. “I’ll make eggs.” And then he turns away to look for the saucepan without checking to see if Jean complies or not.
He finds it and fills it with water, adding two eggs. When he’s back at the stove, Jean is just standing there, staring at him.
Tibet turns on the small burner. “It was mean of me to ignore you completely, even if I was mad,” he admits, because hopefully this will help, “and it was unfair of me to wrongly accuse you and then stay mad about it even though I believed you when you said you didn’t know.” He only looks away from the stove when he’s done.
Jean just shrugs. “You can't control how you feel,” he says, which should sound all understanding and forgiving, but the way he says it, he just sounds resigned. That’s not good enough.
Tibet shakes his head. “No. That's no excuse. We only have each other here, we can't leave anyone behind.”
Jean’s whole demeanor changes at that. His expression still has that mocking edge to it, just a little, but his posture is much more relaxed. “So that's what this is about?” he asks with a chuckle. “You thought I was lonely without you? How precious," he coos mockingly at Tibet. “You didn't have to bother, though, I'm fine.”
Tibet bristles at the condescension, but he's too resolved to let it go. Loneliness would be bad enough in their situation, but it's worse than that. He takes a moment to find his calm before he makes eye contact and says, “We left Phleng alone, and she tried to jump off the balcony.”
Jean puffs up immediately, clearly offended. “Can you not compare me to the whiny attention-seeker?” he snaps, tacking on a sarcastic little “Thanks!” in the end.
And that's just too much. “Did you not hear what I just said?” Tibet demands. “She was going to jump off the balcony. You have a right to be mad, we all have a right to be mad, but if you talk like that, there are consequences.” She was so tiny in his arms when he was trying to get her down, and so upset, and they were never going to let any of them go home anyway, so it just didn't feel worth it anymore to stay mad just to punish her. She'd hurt herself enough already.
Jean rolls his eyes. “What fucking consequences? Nobody dies from jumping from the second floor, Tibet. Onto the fucking grass.” And then, more quietly, looking out the window, he adds, “even fourth floor onto concrete isn't a guarantee, you could just end up permanently disabled instead.”
Which, what the fuck. Does Jean know someone who…? Or did he fucking research it, or does he take special interest in it in the news? Tibet doesn't like any of those answers. He breathes in, then out. “I don't want any of our classmates to hurt themselves, even in smaller or temporary ways.”
Jean exhales loudly, and it feels like a concession. He doesn't say anything about it, though. Instead, with a teasing little grin, he says, “I heard you saved her yourself. The hero of our GEN.”
Tibet rolls his eyes, annoyed but much less on edge now that Jean isn’t being so scarily sharp anymore, just mundanely irritating. He nods towards the board. “Are you gonna do it or not?”
“Whatever, sure,” Jean says, and then he picks up the knife and starts working.
Tibet uses the moment of quiet to fill a bowl with water and some ice cubes for later, and then comes back to check on how Jean’s doing.
Pretty bad, is the answer, which Tibet really should have expected. He realizes he’s going to have to give more precise instructions, so he lowers the heat under the eggs and steps around Jean to reach his right hand, hoping to show him how to cut the ginger properly.
Jean, however, seems to have other plans. When Tibet gets close to him, he puts down the knife and turns towards him, grabbing him by his sweatshirt when he tries to step away. “So, what’s this?” he asks, smirking. “Is this the kind of move nice boys like you like to use?” He puts a hand on the back of Tibet’s neck, eyes dancing. “You don’t have to use tricks on me, baby, I’m easy.” Tibet snorts at that, because he’s exhausted; nothing about this conversation has been easy. “If you want to crowd me against the counter,” Jean continues, looking up at him from where he's leaning back, his elbow resting dangerously close to the board, “you can just do it. Literally any time.”
Tibet sighs and then just bodily turns him back around and puts the knife back in his hand. Clearly Jean is feeling just fine, if he can be this… spirited. “What I want,” Tibet tells him, “is for you to eat breakfast. The rest can wait.” If it even happens at all.
Jean clearly disagrees, because he immediately leans back into Tibet, sticking his ass out to rub against his front. Tibet doesn't know what he expected, really. He pushes back just a little, just for a moment, and Jean gasps and drops his head back onto Tibet’s shoulder. And that’s very hot, but maybe a little too much for late morning in the kitchen. Tibet squeezes Jean’s waist and steps back. “Leave the ginger to me, but do the rest, okay? The congee should be done already.”
He turns away to get a clean spoon, and when he turns back, Jean is just standing there, gaping at him.
“What?” he asks.
“You’re making congee at 11 am?” Jean questions, sounding bewildered as if Tibet had said he was making frog legs at midnight. “Don't tell me you overslept.”
Tibet tries the porridge, and it is indeed ready, its taste soothing and familiar. The eggs should be done too. "No, I ate earlier," he says as he turns off both burners, grabbing a spoon to fish out the eggs. “But you were still sleeping, so I thought you might be sick." He doesn't say that it also happens to be the only proper dish he knows how to make, something simple to cook for his mom when she hasn't managed to eat all day and the corner vendor is long gone. He can't do that for her from here, but at least she still has that corner vendor.
“You made it for me?” Jean sounds surprised, and Tibet thinks back through the conversation and realizes that he did forget to mention it. Maybe that’s why Jean thought it was weird that Tibet put him to work?
Still though, Tibet thinks it was pretty obvious that he was at least going to share. “Not like you can cook for yourself,” he replies, “with your lack of skills.”
“I can feed myself,” Jean protests, even though whatever he’s doing with that knife sounds atrocious. “I’m not a charity case.”
Tibet snorts. “If you mean by spreading jam on bread, maybe. You can’t even make toast without setting it on fire.” And maybe because he's distracted ladling the congee into two bowls, he adds, “You’re useless.” He doesn't say it harshly or anything like that, maybe too familiarly if anything.
The terrible cutting noises stop.
And then Tibet realizes what he said and winces, because that's much too close to ‘trash’ for his liking. “In the kitchen, I mean,” he clarifies.
Jean doesn't seem offended, though. He turns towards Tibet, grinning cheekily, and Tibet only has a moment to brace himself before Jean says, “I'm sure you can find some use for me in here. Almost did earlier, didn't you?”
“I didn't do anything,” Tibet denies. “That was all you.” But he's not even annoyed, because this is good, this is normal Jean behavior, and that means they're fine. “Finish your work,” he adds when it seems like Jean is about to argue. And then he takes one of the eggs out of the ice water, and starts peeling.
He regrets overcooking them now, even though he prefers them this way himself, because if he’d cooked them soft like a normal person, he would be able to just crack them into the bowls and be done with it already, no chance of mistake. But he's already committed, so he's going to have to concentrate hard to keep his hands gentle enough not to break the shape of the egg and spill the yolk.
The cutting sounds resume, a little more even now, like Jean is getting into a groove. They're almost soothing.
“Hey,” Jean says a little while later, when Tibet is already starting on the second egg. “I'm sorry about your friend. Clearly he’s dealing with some heavy shit that I didn’t know about.”
It kind of sounds like Jean is dodging responsibility, saying he didn’t know, but for some reason it still sounds reassuring to Tibet, like it means that Jean understands. Still, though. “You should apologize to him,” he says, “not me.”
“I already told you we apologized to him that same day,” Jean protests. “You said you believed me.”
Tibet did, does, but… “We all saw him doing your work for you after that,” he says.
“So?”
“So that’s the only reason you apologized. That doesn't count.”
Jean sighs. “What do you expect me to do, Tibet? Tell him I didn't mean it that time but now I'm sorry for real? Do you think that would make him feel better?”
Tibet has no answer for that. It doesn’t sit right with him that Jean can just get away with an insincere apology, but of course it would be worse to directly say to Pennueng that it was insincere. He might know anyway, because he's not stupid, but it's probably not worth risking it, just in case he doesn't. Tibet doesn't really have a good enough grasp yet of what Pennueng does and doesn't get, so he tries not to make assumptions.
“I am sorry,” Jean says. “That's not an apology, it's a fact. The reason I’m telling you this fact is so you know you don’t need to worry anymore. I’m not gonna trigger that shit again. I'm not a fucking monster.” He sounds offended that anyone could think he would do such a thing, a stark contrast to the guy who called himself trash ten minutes ago.
“Okay,” Tibet says, because what Jean said makes sense. “I won’t worry. But by the same logic, it’s also a fact that I regret ignoring you and I no longer consider it acceptable behavior.”
“No longer cons—”Jean starts, incredulous. “You know what? Whatever, fine. I wasn’t going to jump off the balcony about it anyway.” The cutting noises stop and Jean brings the board to where Tibet is just removing the last bit of shell from the egg he was working on. “Here,” he says. “I'm done.”
Tibet places the perfectly peeled egg in the bowl that did not yet have one, and takes the board from him. He sweeps the unevenly chopped spring onions and coriander to the side, and starts working on the ginger.
Jean watches him.
It must be awkward for him, so Tibet changes his angle so Jean can see better and says, “See, you make little matchsticks, like this.” It's taking him a while, because it's hard to do well.
Jean hums, although Tibet doesn’t think he’s actually paying much attention, standing there with his arms crossed.
“Also,” Tibet says, because it’s as good a time as any, “can you please lay off Phleng? There are worse things to be than an attention-seeker. Kids our age literally require attention for their wellbeing, so why shouldn't she have some? Why shouldn't you? Why shouldn't I, if I want it?”
“Well," Jean says slowly, leering and leaning into Tibet's space, “when you put it like that... I can give you some attention, if you want.”
It's far too attractive, but Tibet can keep on task. “Oh, absolutely, that’s a type of attention too,” he says seriously, like they’re discussing plant taxonomy. “I mean, were you even horny that time, or did you just want attention?”
Jean snorts. “I did want attention," he says, "from a hot dude.” And then he pauses for a long moment before finishing with, “Because I was horny.” The ‘duh’ is clearly implied.
Tibet shoulders him out of the way and starts dividing the toppings evenly between the bowls. Jean snickers at his non-reaction.
Once the bowls are assembled, Tibet places them on the table, one across from the other. "Get spoons," he says when Jean just stares at him. He brings two stools from the stack in the corner and separates them, pushing one under the table for Jean, who catches it on the other side and immediately flops down on top of it, sliding a spoon across the table at Tibet, much too fast, as if they were playing some kind of game Tibet wasn't aware he'd started. He catches it before it drops off the edge and puts it in his bowl, and then sits down and lets it fill slowly, waiting.
Jean glances at Tibet, and then picks up his spoon and tries the food. He makes a happy little sound and shoves another spoonful into his mouth, and Tibet hides his satisfaction behind his own spoon, starting on his own bowl of (second) breakfast.
Jean is quiet for a bit, too busy eating to be a nuisance, and Tibet figures he must have been hungry. And then he suddenly looks up, as if he just remembered Tibet was there, and smiles wide, a bit of egg white sticking out of the corner of his mouth. He doesn't even take the time to swallow before saying "Thank you khap!" so sweetly it makes him sound like a small child. It's adorable, which is not a word Tibet ever expected to use to describe Jean. Maybe there’s more to him than Tibet’s first impression of him suggests.
Tibet just hums and nods at him, like it’s no big deal. Like he doesn’t kind of want to cry himself, eating a bowl of jok while stuck in the middle of nowhere. Feeding his probably-not-sick classmate a bowl of jok in the middle of nowhere. He’s so grateful Maki let him use some of her overnight broth.
They eat quietly for a while, until Jean suddenly asks, in the most direct and unaffected tone Tibet has ever heard from him, “So are you really done being mad at me?”
Tibet’s mouth is full, but he nods and hums in assent, because this is important. And then, after he swallows, he adds, “Just don’t do it again."
Jean smirks. “Because if I do, you’ll never touch me again?”
Which, okay, Tibet is aware that that was a pretty embarrassing thing to say, but he wouldn't have had to make any threats at all if Jean had just behaved himself in the first place, so being teased about it really rankles. As does the overconfidence, so Tibet lets the annoyance drain out of his clenched jaw and relaxes his face into his most impassive expression, before he says, “Who says I'm planning to touch you again at all?”
Jean freezes for a moment with his spoon halfway to his already open mouth, and then grins slowly. “Your boner said it pretty clearly,” he retorts, waggling his eyebrows obnoxiously, “when you were rubbing it against me at the counter.” And then he winks roguishly and loudly slurps up the contents of his spoon.
“I wasn't doing that,” Tibet insists, just for the sake of consistency. It’s almost completely true anyway.
“Sure you weren’t.” Jean’s jovial reply comes out muffled, presumably because he’s talking with his mouth full, probably making a mess of himself again.
Sure enough, when Tibet looks up, a trickle of thin white porridge is running down the side of Jean’s mouth. Tibet blinks. Then he looks right back down at his food, moving on and picking up a good amount of toppings with his next spoonful.
It’s not quick enough.
"What is it?" Jean says, and Tibet can't help but look at him, taking in his smirk, his tongue descending to lap up just a tiny bit of the substance on his lower lip, leaving the rest dripping down his chin. He smacks his lips like he’s just tasted something new and interesting, and not the same porridge he's probably already close to finishing. "Is there something on my face?"
Or maybe Tibet's first impression was spot on. He doesn't know how this kid manages to stir up this much rage in him every time.
Jean wipes his chin with his thumb and licks it, looking at Tibet through hooded eyes.
"Stop it!" Tibet hisses at him harshly, kicking in his general direction but barely grazing him, knocking his stool askew instead.
Jean laughs as he rights himself. "Really, Tibet, how is it my fault that you decided to feed me some thick white goop and then had some thoughts about it?"
And he's got a point, even if he was playing it up on purpose. Tibet sighs. Jean is a menace, and none of this went the way he expected it to, but if he’s honest with himself, he feels much better about the actual result of the conversation than he thought he would feel about the result he imagined, so he figures they're probably going to be alright.
Especially if they can find some privacy after this. He clears his throat and tips his bowl to get the last spoonful. There are no toppings left, just the faint, salty taste of broth and a smooth, smooth mouthful that Tibet feels warm swallowing, even though it’s long cooled.
The bowls and the cutting board need to be washed and the leftover porridge put away before they go anywhere, but for now Tibet just sits there for another moment, eyes closed, savoring the lingering taste. Jean kicks him lightly, who even knows why. Yeah, they're definitely going to be alright.