In his darkened hotel suite, Asnee watched the rain lash against the floor-to-ceiling windows. Each drop felt like a sting. For ten years, Santichai had never been able to hide from him, yet here in Chonburi, the boy was taking "extra measures" to stay lost.
Asnee stared at the city lights below. He knew Santichai was out there somewhere. He remembered everything—every tremor, every soft word. He remembered the first night they had crossed the line. The weather had been just like this: a drizzling, gray evening that smelled of wet asphalt and pop music.
Asnee stood motionless, his silhouette reflected in the dark glass of the hotel suite. Below, the street was a blur of neon lights and rushing umbrellas, a crowded seaside city that felt entirely too small. Somewhere out there, among the 1.5 million faces, was Santichai.
He didn't just intend to find him; he intended to reclaim him.
To Asnee, his love for Santichai hadn't aged a single day since the boy first walked into their classroom—timid, wide-eyed, and looking for a place to belong. Asnee remembered every detail: the way Santichai's hair fell over his glasses, the soft curve of his shoulders, and especially the night they first kissed.
The sky tonight was weeping, a light drizzle that mimicked the atmosphere of that evening years ago. But the air felt different. Tonight, Asnee felt a crushing weight in his chest, as if the world were closing in, leaving him no room to breathe. Back then, the rain hadn't felt cold—it had felt like fuel.
It was the day after Santichai's seventeenth birthday. Asnee could still feel the phantom thrum of excitement in his veins as he ran toward the little theater.
The '90s pop music blaring from the shops had been a chaotic, joyful blur because his own heart was beating louder than any speaker. He hadn't cared about the lyrics; he only cared about the answer he was about to demand. He had spent his entire lunch break preparing his confession, convinced that his will alone could bend Santichai's heart to his.
As he approached the cinema, he saw him—a slight figure sheltered under the awning, looking like a lost bird waiting for the storm to pass. Asnee didn't realize then that he wasn't the shelter; he was the storm.
The rain soaked through Asnee's clothes, turning his shirt into a heavy, cold second skin, but he barely felt it. He marched up to Santichai, ignoring the way the other boy flinched.
"I'm ready for your answer," Asnee demanded, his voice cutting through the sound of the downpour.
Santichai's lips trembled. He looked at the water dripping from Asnee's hair, his eyes filled with a helpless sort of concern. "Your clothes... they're wet, Asnee. You'll catch a cold."
Asnee gritted his teeth, the muscles in his jaw bulging. "I don't want you to change the subject. Yes or no?"
Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. Santichai opened his mouth, but only stammers came out. After a few minutes of watching the boy struggle, Asnee's patience snapped. "Forget it," he spat, turning on his heel.
"Ah... Asnee... I..." Santichai scrambled after him, his hand catching the edge of Asnee's damp jacket.
Asnee spun around, his voice rising to a shout. "You what? You've spent ten minutes and you haven't gotten past the word I?" He yanked his jacket away with such force that Santichai stumbled. "Go home."
"Are you going home?" Santichai asked, his voice small. "We haven't watched the movie yet..."
"Go home! I'm going to find my other friends," Asnee roared, his anger reaching its limit.
"Asnee, don't drink too much," Santichai pleaded, his voice cracking. "We still have midterm exams."
Asnee stepped back into Santichai's space, grabbing him by the front of his collar. "Why do you care, eh? Why should I listen to you? We're just normal friends. You don't control me, and I don't have to listen to a word you say because you..." He shoved Santichai back against the wall. "You are not my boyfriend."
"Asnee... please listen to my explanation," Santichai begged, reaching for the jacket again.
Asnee turned back, a cruel glint in his eyes. "Tell me in ten seconds why you rejected me. One... two... three..."
"I... I like girls," Santichai blurted out, his voice timid and desperate. "I want a girlfriend... but I also like you. As a friend."
Asnee let out a wild, jagged sneer. "Okay. Good for you. Go get yourself a fucking girlfriend then." He jerked his arm away. "Let go of me. Now!"
"Asnee... are we still friends?"
Asnee looked at him with a frantic, wild energy. "No. I never considered you a friend." He ripped Santichai's hand off his sleeve and shoved him away. "I don't ever want to see you again."
"Asnee, please don't leave me!" Santichai chased him into the rain, his voice a frantic sob. "You're the only one who cares about me! If I lose you, I have no one else!"
Asnee didn't even look back. "Go find yourself a girlfriend to relieve your loneliness!" he shouted over his shoulder, disappearing into the dark, rainy street.
Later that night, Asnee lay in bed, his skin humming with a slight fever from the rain. His phone vibrated incessantly on the nightstand—Santichai's name flashing over and over. He ignored it, savoring the power of the silence. It wasn't until he glanced out his window, debating whether to take the bike or the car the next morning, that he saw the shadow.
Santichai was standing in the downpour, a small, shivering figure drenched to the bone.
Asnee rushed downstairs, throwing open the door and running out barefoot with an umbrella. "What the hell are you doing?" he roared, the anger flaring up again at the sight of the boy's foolishness. "Standing in this rain—do you want to die?"
"Asnee..." Santichai's voice was broken by sobs. "I thought about it after you left. I... I might want a girlfriend, but I want you more. You are the sun in my dark sky, the only warmth I've ever had. If I have to choose between an unknown girl and you... I'd rather choose you." He looked up, his eyes pleading. "Please don't hate me. Don't leave me. You're the only one who doesn't look down on me. Please... don't leave me."
Asnee's anger vanished, replaced by a dark, triumphant satisfaction. "Fool," he whispered, a smile touching his lips. "How could I stay mad at you when you look like that?" He pulled the shaking boy into his arms. "Are you willing to be mine, then? My boyfriend?"
Santichai nodded against his chest. "Mmm."
"From today, you are mine. You can't look at anyone else. Do you understand?"
"Mmm."
"Good boy," Asnee murmured, leading him inside. "My parents are in Taiwan. There's no one here."
The two young men made their way through the front door and upstairs into Asnee's bedroom, Santichai hovered at the threshold of the bedroom, staring at the sheer size of the space. "It's huge," he whispered. "Bigger than my whole house."
"Don't just stand there," Asnee said, tossing him a towel and a bathrobe.
"I'm afraid of dirtying your floor," Santichai said, but Asnee was already closing the distance. He pinned Santichai's wrist against the door, the towel falling forgotten to the floor. When Asnee began to kiss him, Santichai felt a surge of panic.
"Asnee... stop..."
"Stop what?" Asnee breathed against his lips, his hands already working at Santichai's belt.
Santichai wanted to scream, to push him away, but the fear of the silence was greater than the fear of the touch. He knew if he spoke, the sun would go out. He knew that as long as Asnee was happy, he could endure anything. He would bear the pain if it meant he didn't have to be alone.
"What should I do?" Santichai panted, his body stiff.
"You don't do anything," Asnee murmured, licked his neck as the pants fell to the floor. His hand slid down, noting with a flick of his brow that Santichai was soft. "You aren't even ready." He began to stroke him, not for Santichai's pleasure, but as a formality.
He pushed Santichai onto the bed and reached for the drawer. The sound of the lube being readied was loud in the quiet room. Asnee leaned into his ear, his voice a desperate, needy crawl. "Chai... I can't take it anymore. Please let me. Let me..."
"I'm afraid," Santichai gasped, his eyes wide.
"Don't be afraid. I just want you so badly."
Asnee didn't wait for a real answer. He forced Santichai's legs apart and pushed himself inside. As the pain bloomed, Santichai began to moan—not from passion, but from the sheer, overwhelming weight of a choice he had been forced to make.
Years had passed, but for Asnee, the images and sounds of that first night remained as vivid as a wound that refused to heal. He replayed the scene in his mind like a favorite film—the way Santichai had gasped, the way his timid voice had begged for him to stop because it hurt. To Asnee, those cries weren't a sign of distress; they were the sounds of Santichai belonging to him. They were "first loves" who had shared everything. On a rainy night like this, the memory felt less like a dream and more like a ghost sitting in the room with him.
The sharp CLICK of the suite door shattered the silence.
His mother, Mrs. Siriporn, marched in, her presence as cold as the air conditioning. She laid three suits across the bed: white, blue, and black.
"Pick one for the dinner in two days," she commanded.
Asnee didn't even look at them. "Ma, it doesn't matter which one I wear."
"It matters," she snapped. "Try them on. If they don't fit, the tailor needs time. How about this black one?"
"The blue one," Asnee said, his voice flat and weary.
Mrs. Siriporn sighed, the sound of a woman who was used to being disappointed by her son's lack of ambition. "Fine. The blue one."
As she moved to the closet, Asnee's phone buzzed. It was Decha. Asnee answered immediately. "What did you find?"
"Nothing," Decha sighed over the speaker. "Listen, Nee... Chai made it clear in his statement. He doesn't want anything to do with you. He left you. Maybe it's time to give yourself—and him—a chance to start over."
"Never," Asnee growled, his hand tightening around the phone until his knuckles turned white. "He's mine."
"What did you say?" Mrs. Siriporn's voice whipped around. She lunged forward, snatching the phone from Asnee's hand. "Why are you calling him? You broke up with up with him already!"
"Auntie, it's me, Frank," Decha's voice came through, startled.
Mrs. Siriporn's face softened only slightly. "Frank... I'm sorry. I thought you were... him." She hung up without giving the phone back to her son. She walked to the bed, grabbed the white and blue suits, and tossed the black one toward Asnee.
"You'll wear the black suit," she said, her voice leaving no room for argument. She turned and swept out of the room.
Asnee looked down at the black suit lying like a shadow on the mattress. He turned back to the window, watching the rain blur the city of Chonburi.
"Chai," he murmured against the cold glass. "I miss you so much. Do you miss me?"