My Ex-Convict: The Map On His Skin

A Beginning

CHAPTER 5

The restaurant was small. Too small. Four plastic tables, a fan spinning too slow to move the heat, and the air thick with garlic, oil, and burnt chili.

Khem sat across from Fah and stared at the grain of the table like it could save him.

His hands were hidden in his lap. Long pants despite the heat. The shirt was Jot's — too big, sleeves pulled down to his knuckles.

Fah ordered two dishes without asking. Then he pushed the better one toward Khem.

"Eat," Fah said. Soft. Not a command. Almost a please. "Please, Khem."

Khem picked up his spoon. His hand shook.

"You didn't have to come last night," he mumbled to his rice.

"I know."

"You didn't have to bring me here."

Fah didn't look at his phone. Didn't look at the girls staring at him from the next table. He only looked at Khem.

"I wanted to."

A pause.

"After what happened to you," Fah said, his voice lower now, "I kept thinking — it's wrong. Thirteen years. Someone stole thirteen years from you."

Khem's spoon stopped.

*13 Years Ago*

Young Khem was on his knees, crying, blood all over his hands. The knife lay a little distance away. His father's body was on the floor in front of his mother, blood still oozing from the back of his neck.

"What did you do, you curse?"

His mother screamed at him, eyes full of rage and hate, not grief.

"Mom, he—"

"Shut up! I hate you! You killed my husband!"

Sirens wailed in the distance. The neighbors had called the police, but no one came inside.

The door burst open.

"Take him! He is a killer!" she shouted the second the officers entered.

"Mom! I didn't—"

"Shut up, I hate you!"

"He was going to kill you, Mom! I didn't mean to—" Khem sobbed.

The officer looked at Khem's mother, then at Khem — at the skin on his arms, the patches, the boy everyone called cursed.

"You are lying. You always wanted your father dead. You wanted his inheritance," his mother spat.

"Mom?" Khem whispered, broken.

"You are under arrest for murder—"

That was the last thing Khem heard before his head spun and his ears rang and the officer dragged him to the van.

*Present Day*

"Khem... Khem!"

Fah's voice pulled him back.

Khem blinked, then looked down again fast, like he was caught doing something shameful.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he said too quickly.

He finally looked up. His eyes were red.

"Why do you care?"

"Because you looked at me like you thought I'd leave the second you actually needed something," Fah said.

Khem's throat hurt.

"I don't want to cling to you just because you gave me my freedom back."

Fah leaned forward. Forearms on the table. Close enough that Khem could smell his cologne, but not touching. Never touching without permission.

"Then don't," Fah said quietly. "Cling to me because you want to."

The words sat between them, heavy and warm.

Khem, flustered, pulled his sleeve up to wipe his mouth without thinking —

A stark white patch on his wrist showed. Sharp against his tanned skin.

He froze. Yanked the sleeve down so hard the plastic chair squeaked.

Fah saw it.

He didn't flinch. He didn't stare. His eyes just... softened. Like he finally understood why Khem always wore long sleeves in 35-degree heat.

"Can I ask you something?" Fah asked, his voice even softer.

Khem nodded, still looking at the table.

"Can I be your friend, Khem?"

Khem stared at Fah's hand on the table. It wasn't reaching for him. It was just there. Waiting. Palm open. Patient.

"...Fah," Khem whispered.

"Yes?"

"You can call me Khem."

Fah's mouth twitched. The smallest, most possessive smile — like he had just been given something no one else had.

"Thank you, Khem."

Khem took a bite. The rice tasted like nothing and everything at once.

For the first time in thirteen years, someone was watching him eat and not looking at him like he was broken. Like he was a curse.

When they walked out, they didn't touch.

But they didn't walk far apart, either.

At the car, Fah stopped and looked at him.

"Same time tomorrow?"

Khem looked at the ground, at Fah's polished shoes next to his worn-out sneakers.

Then he nodded. Once.

"Okay."

Fah smiled, but didn't move. He was waiting.

Khem frowned. "Aren't you... going?"

Fah blinked. "Oh. Right."

He opened the car door, but paused. "Will you—"

He cut himself off. "Never mind."

Khem stared. "Will I what?"

Fah looked at him from under his lashes. Shy.

The cold lawyer was gone.

"Will you text me when you get home?"

Khem's chest did something weird.

"...Okay," he said. "I will."

Fah's whole face lit up. Like Khem had just given him the world.

"Okay. Goodnight, Khem."

The car pulled away before Khem turned toward Jot’s shop.

***

Jot’s room was dark. Khem was lying on the mattress, staring at the ceiling.

His phone buzzed.

KHEM'S PHONE - 11:47PM

FAH: I'm home.

FAH: Are you home safe?

FAH: Khem?

FAH: You don't have to reply. I just... wanted to know.

Khem stared at the messages. Fah had waited.

10 minutes later, his thumb hovered. Then typed.

KHEM: I'm home.

The reply came instantly.

FAH: typing...

FAH: Okay. Good.

FAH: Sleep well, Khem.

FAH: I'll see you tomorrow.

Khem put the phone down and stared at the ceiling. His chest felt warm.

For the first time, the word friend didn't feel like a curse.

It felt like a beginning.