The back door of the hospital kitchen was the only place Santichai could find a moment of peace. The roar of the industrial grills still hummed in his ears, and the scent of grease clung to his uniform. He sat on the bench, the plastic lid of his fried rice box clicking as he tried to eat, until he saw a familiar figure cutting across the asphalt.
Panic flared. He wasn't ready to be "Santichai" yet; he just wanted to be a worker. He slammed the lid on his rice and stood up, his back twinging as he hurried toward the heavy metal door, head down, heart racing.
"Santichai Kittibun! Stop right there. I know you heard me."
The use of his full name acted like a physical tether. Santichai stopped, his shoulders slumped and slowly turned to face the man who had seen his most vulnerable moment only hours ago.
"Mr. KK... you should still be on vacation," Santichai said, his voice small against the city noise.
"You are supposed to be on vacation too," KK countered, closing the distance between them. "So why are you in such a hurry to work?"
"We were understaffed. I volunteered."
KK's eyes searched Santichai's face, landing on the bruise that had deepened to a dark plum color in the daylight. "You tried to avoid me just now. Why?"
Santichai's face burned. He looked at his worn-out work shoes, unable to meet KK's gaze. "I—I am really sorry about last night. Besides, other than apologizing, I have nothing else worthy of taking your time away from your patients."
A flicker of anger crossed KK's face—not at Santichai, but at the stubborn walls the man kept rebuilding. Every time KK offered a hand, Santichai tried to pay him back with an apology, as if kindness were a debt he couldn't afford.
KK stepped forward, forcing Santichai to retreat until his back hit the cold brick of the kitchen wall. "After what happened last night, do you really think we have nothing to talk about?"
"I felt really bad," Santichai stammered. "Please... accept my apology."
KK didn't take the apology. Instead, he reached out and grabbed Santichai's hand, his grip firm but careful of the callouses. "I don't want an apology. I already asked for your permission."
"Permission?" Santichai finally looked up, his eyes wide and confused.
"A chance to love you," KK reminded him, his voice dropping to a low, intense vibration.
The air between them seemed to still. Santichai swallowed hard, the weight of the proposal pressing against his chest. "I... I will consider it."
"How long do you need?"
"I don't know. I don't think I'll ever be in a relationship again."
KK didn't flinch at the rejection. He had seen enough broken bones to know that you don't ask a patient to run a marathon on the first day. You give them a brace.
"How about a three-month try-out?" KK proposed.
Santichai blinked. "What do you mean?"
"Date me for three months," KK said, his eyes locking onto Santichai's with a challenge that was both terrifying and exhilarating. "If you haven't fallen in love with me after ninety days, then I'll give up. I'll walk away and never bother you again. But for those three months, let me show you what it's like to be the priority instead of the secret."
Santichai's mind raced. He looked at KK—serious, wealthy, and immovable—and then thought of his own "crappy" apartment and the life he was trying to protect. He was tired of being hunted. He was tired of the "boxes." If he needed a shield to survive until Asnee's wedding, he couldn't ask for a stronger one than the man standing in front of him.
"Mmm... only three months," Santichai whispered.
"After three months, if you still don't love me, I'll quit. I promise," KK said, the victory shining in his eyes even as he teased Santichai about the lunch he'd tried to abandon.
The tension broke into an awkward, domestic moment on the bench. Santichai tried to remain professional, but KK was determined to dismantle the "Mr. KK" barrier.
"Just call me KK. And feed me with your spoon," KK challenged.
"But I've used it..."
"We kissed last night, our tongues touched, we had oral—"
Santichai's face went scarlet. He didn't let KK finish, shoving a massive spoonful of fried rice into the doctor's mouth to silence him. "I ask you not to mention last night!" he hissed, though a small part of him felt a flutter he hadn't felt in years. He kept feeding KK, determined to keep that mouth full of rice instead of scandalous secrets.
"My mouth is full... stop..." KK mumbled, laughing around the food.
The light moment was shattered by the heavy metal door swinging open. Fon stood there, her expression a mix of confusion and urgency. "Santichai? Doctor Suwannarat? I'm sorry to interrupt, but Santichai... there's a man in the cafeteria. He says he needs to see you."
The air turned cold instantly. Santichai felt the "shield" of his decision settle into place. He knew who it was. Asnee had found him faster than expected.
"Should I leave?" KK asked, his voice losing its warmth and turning into the sharp, protective tone of a man ready for a fight. "Your ex?"
"You could stay if you want," Santichai said, his voice surprisingly steady. "And... I don't know. Maybe."
Santichai and KK stood side-by-side as the heavy door swung open. But it wasn't Asnee who stepped through; it was Decha.
The tension in Santichai's shoulders didn't leave, but it shifted. Decha was his only link to a decade of memories and seeing him here felt like an invasion. "Frank, can you stop invading my privacy?" Santichai asked, his voice sharp with exhaustion.
But before Santichai could even introduce the man standing beside him, KK stepped into the gap. He didn't hesitate. He didn't look like a man playing a part; he looked like a man marking his territory.
"Hello, Hinata Suwannarat," KK said, extending his hand with a cold, professional confidence. "I'm Santichai's boyfriend."
Decha was stunned. He looked at the tall, clearly wealthy man, then at Santichai's modern iPhone, and finally at the calm expression on Santichai's face. A slow, genuine smile spread across Decha's lips. "I never thought you would actually move on in a million years... I guess I was wrong. Chai, I'm happy for you."
As Decha prepared to leave, he pulled Santichai into a brief, tight hug. He leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper that chilled Santichai to the bone. "Chai, I never thought I'd say this, but I feel deeply sorry for Asnee... for all the things he's done and his stupid plan. I hope you never find out the truth, because it might just—"
"It might just what? Frank?" Santichai pressed, but Decha only patted his shoulder and disappeared into the hospital corridor, leaving a trail of unanswered questions in his wake.
As the door clicked shut, Santichai turned to KK, trying to process the strange encounter. "It's a good thing you gave a false name," he murmured.
"I didn't give your friend a false name," KK said, amusement dancing in his eyes.
"Your name is Klaew Kla, not Hinata."
Without a word, KK pulled out his wallet and showed Santichai his ID card: Hinata Klaew Kla Suwannarat.
Santichai blinked, surprised. "You have a Japanese name?"
KK laughed softly. "My maternal grandfather named me. In school, they called me HK, but I hated that it sounded like Hong Kong, so I told my friends to call me KK." He looked out toward the horizon, his expression turning wistful. "My maternal grandparents were Japanese. They were my father's partners. They... they died together in a car accident years ago."
A shadow passed over KK's face, a rare moment of raw vulnerability. "They were lucky to leave this world together. Sometimes I wish I could die together with the person I love. To love and cherish, in life and in death. Until death do us part. That was my grandfather's favorite line."
Santichai felt a pang of guilt for prying into such a painful history. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be," KK said, his gaze returning to Santichai, intense and unwavering. "I'm willing to share anything with you. If you want to know, just ask."
The weight of the conversation—and Decha's warning—felt too heavy for the middle of a work shift. "I have to go back to work," Santichai said, retreating toward the kitchen door.
"Do you want me to pick you up?"
"No," Santichai said, the 'shield' firmly back in place. "I rode my bike here."
On the opposite side of the hospital field, Decha stood in the shade, watching the quiet, domestic scene on the bench. He saw the way Santichai spoke to KK—the animation in his hands, the way he didn't look like he was hiding a secret. In ten years with Asnee, Santichai had never talked so freely.
"Ai Chai," Decha murmured, a bittersweet smile touching his lips. "I'm happy for you. You finally remembered how to love yourself."
He pulled out his phone and dialed. Asnee picked up before the second ring finished.
"Frank? Did you see him?" Asnee's voice was sharp, demanding.
"I've seen him."
"Is he still mad at me?"
Decha looked back at Santichai, who was currently laughing at something KK said. "Ai Nee... maybe."
"Frank, I don't need advice," Asnee snapped, his patience fraying. "Do you have his number? Where is he living? Tell me."
"I have his number," Decha said calmly, "but he told me not to share it with you. Ai Nee, you need to let him go. You're an engaged man now."
"No... I love him too much to let him go," Asnee insisted, his voice thick with a delusional kind of romanticism.
"He has already let you go, Nee."
"What do you mean?"
Decha sighed, bracing himself for the explosion he knew was coming. "He has a new boyfriend. And he's happy. If he's satisfied with his life, shouldn't you support that? It's better for everyone—your parents, your fiancée, and especially Chai."
"What did you say?" Asnee's voice dropped to a whisper that was more dangerous than a shout.
"I said: Chai has a new boyfriend now."
Decha immediately yanked the phone away from his ear. A split second later, the speaker erupted. He could hear the sound of a chair being hurled against a wall, glass shattering, and a series of raw, animalistic screams coming from Asnee's end.
Decha waited. He checked his watch, counting the minutes as the sound of destruction continued on the other side of the city. After five minutes, the crashing stopped, replaced by the ragged, heavy breathing of a man who had lost his grip on reality.
Decha put the phone back to his ear.
"Frank," Asnee gasped, his voice trembling with a terrifying resolve. "Santichai is mine. Only over my dead body will anyone else take him from me."