The morning sun filtered through the thin curtains of the apartment, casting a soft glow over the mismatched furniture. KK woke with a start, the stiffness in his neck a reminder of the cramped sofa, but the heaviness that usually sat on his chest was gone.
He sat up, looking around the quiet space. He didn't remember falling asleep, nor did he remember any of the nightmares that usually plagued him after a confrontation with his grandfather. For the first time in years, the darkness had been just... sleep.
He stood and wandered into the tiny kitchen. There, on the counter, sat two plates—one inverted over the other to keep the warmth in. He lifted the top plate to find a simple breakfast: a fried egg with crispy edges and a portion of fried cabbage.
Beside it lay a note in Santichai's neat, modest handwriting:
"Eat before you leave. I have to go to work."
KK felt a strange tightness in his throat. This wasn't a five-course meal served by a maid; it was a quiet act of care from a man who had barely any time or money to spare.
In the bathroom, he found a second note stuck to the mirror:
"The pink toothbrush is new; you can use it."
KK picked up the inexpensive pink brush and couldn't help but smile. In the Suwannarat mansion, everything was color-coded and high-end, yet it felt sterile. Here, the pink toothbrush felt like an invitation—a tiny, plastic bridge into Santichai's life.
As he sat at the small table eating the cold eggs and cabbage, he looked around the room. The paint was peeling in the corners, and the appliances were decades old. But it was cozy. It was real. He realized then that happiness wasn't about the square footage or the view of the ocean; it was about the presence of the person who had left a note on the mirror.
The Siriporn family was celebrating. Crystal clinked against fine china as they toasted to their new real estate contract, a deal that solidified their status in the city's concrete heart. But Asnee wasn't tasting the wine. He was waiting for a ghost.
When his phone vibrated, he didn't hesitate. "Business related," he lied to Tipkamol, leaving her with a hollow smile as he stepped into the carpeted silence of the restaurant hallway.
"Speak," Asnee commanded.
"Mr. Siriporn, I found him," May's voice crackled through the receiver. "I know where the debtor lives. I'm sending the address now. It's a small complex. Apartment 52."
A dark surge of triumph rushed through Asnee. He didn't even care about the cost. "Send it. Then take the next two weeks off with full pay. Don't mention this to anyone."
He hung up, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the address on his screen. "Santichai Kittibun," he hissed under his breath, "I won't let you go that easily."
He turned to head back to his high-society dinner, but a familiar figure caught his eye. Just ahead, walking toward the exit with two heavy bags of takeout, was the man everyone in the Suwannarat circle admired.
"Pi K?" Asnee called out, smoothing his expression into one of polite curiosity. "Are you eating here too?"
KK stopped, his grip firm on the bags. He looked relaxed—worlds away from the tension of the family dinner where he'd been struck by his grandfather's cane. "No," KK replied with a small, private smile. "Just picking up dinner. I'm heading to a friend's house."
"Would you like to join us?" Asnee offered, ever the opportunist. "My parents and my fiancée are just inside."
"Maybe next time," KK said, his tone polite but final. "Say hello to them for me."
"That's too bad," Asnee remarked, his eyes lingering on the takeout bags. He wondered what kind of "friend" a man like KK would leave a high-end restaurant for. "There's always a next time."
"Bye," KK said, turning toward the door.
Asnee watched him go, unaware that those two bags of food were destined for Apartment 52—the very place he was planning to invade.
The hallway of the old apartment building was quiet until KK's phone buzzed. Standing outside Apartment 52 with the warm scent of high-end takeout drifting from the bags in his hand, he answered the call.
"KK, I saw two missed calls from you?" Santichai's voice sounded tired but curious.
"I told you to call me Hinata," KK reminded him softly.
"Sorry, I'm not good at other languages," Santichai replied with a hint of a blush in his tone. "Can I call you KK like everyone else?"
KK chuckled, the sound echoing in the narrow corridor. "Okay."
"Why did you call me?"
"Have you eaten?"
"Not yet," Santichai said, the sound of a ceramic lid clinking in the background. "But I did cook some noodles."
"Santichai," KK said, his voice dropping an octave. "Open the door for me."
There was a loud clatter on the other end—the sound of a spoon hitting the floor. "You... are you here? Why are you not going home?"
"I didn't go home," KK said, leaning slightly against the doorframe. "I'm standing right outside."
The locks clicked, and the door swung open. Santichai stood there, breathless, eyes wide as he took in the sight of the Second Young Master of the Suwannarat family standing in his humble doorway with white plastic bags and a tired smile.
"Why didn't you tell me you were at my door?" Santichai asked, stepping aside to let him in.
"I just wanted to chat with you a little longer," KK admitted, walking into the small living space.
Santichai watched as KK unpacked the food. The aroma of perfectly seared steak, buttery mashed potatoes, and sweet steamed peas filled the tiny kitchen. It was a meal that looked like it belonged in a five-star hotel, not on Santichai's chipped dinner plates.
Santichai sat across from KK, reaching for his own bowl of instant noodles. He stood up abruptly. "I have cold water and room temperature water. Which one do you want?"
"Cold," KK replied.
Santichai walked to the small refrigerator, his back throbbing slightly from the day's work. He grabbed two bottles of mineral water and returned to the table, only to stop short.
KK had moved the steak in front of Santichai and taken the bowl of noodles for himself.
Santichai handed him the water, his brow furrowing. "KK, you eat the steak you bought." He tried to push the plate back toward the center of the table. "I can eat the noodles."
KK didn't budge. He looked at the steak, then back at Santichai. "You don't like it?"
"I don't know," Santichai said, his voice small. "I've never eaten it before... so I don't know if I like it or not."
KK sighed, pushing the plate of steak back toward Santichai with a firm but gentle hand. "How do you know if you like it or not if you don't try it?"
Santichai stared at the peas and the rich gravy, his voice barely a whisper. "Food is like cigarettes, KK. I'm afraid to try it because it's addictive."
He wasn't just talking about the steak. He was talking about the care, the attention, and the feeling of being prioritized. He was afraid that if he got a taste of a life where someone looked after him, the withdrawal would kill him when it inevitably ended.
KK's expression softened. He reached across the table and took Santichai's right hand, his grip warm and grounded. "Actually, I really want the noodles. When I saw your bowl, I thought it looked delicious, so I switched them. I just want to share the good things I have with you. Don't think too much, okay?"
To prove his point, KK cut a small piece of the steak and ate it, nodding in approval before pushing the plate back to Santichai one last time. Then, he picked up the chopsticks and began eating the instant noodles with genuine enthusiasm.
Santichai watched him, his heart heavy. It wasn't that he didn't want the steak—he had spent years craving the small luxuries of life. But during his ten years with Asnee, there was never enough money for two steaks. So, he had always bought one for Asnee and told himself he wasn't hungry.
He fell into a deep contemplation, the shadows of the past beginning to pull at him. He felt himself slipping into a "river of sadness," a familiar place where his own worth was measured by how much he could sacrifice. Only KK's voice, bright and steady, pulled him back before he could drown.
"Is the steak delicious?" KK asked.
"Huh?" Santichai blinked, startled.
"I asked if it's delicious."
Santichai finally took a bite. The meat was tender and rich, the best thing he had ever tasted. He nodded slowly. "It's very good."
KK smiled, a flash of pure warmth. "You said food is as addictive as cigarettes. I think I agree with you. But you don't have to worry. If in the future I have to wash dishes to trade for a bowl of rice... I will let you eat first."
The words hit Santichai like a physical blow. A sudden commotion stirred in his soul, his skin prickling with a cold sweat. He had said those exact words to Asnee. He had lived that vow for a decade, washing dishes, working until his back screamed, and putting every grain of rice in Asnee's bowl—only for Asnee to leave him the moment life got difficult.
As he chewed the meat slowly, his mind raced back to the night he wanted to erase from his memory. The night he was at his lowest, needing a hand to hold, and Asnee had walked away, leaving him feeling like garbage.
The throbbing pain in his back—the physical scar of his years of labor—flared up with a vengeance. He realized he couldn't just sit here and eat this "gift" while the ghost of Asnee still held the keys to his self-worth.
The weight of the silver fork in his hand felt wrong. It felt heavy with the memory of a night years ago when his body was burning with fever and his vision was blurred. He remembered lying in bed, his muscles aching, while Asnee paced the room, complaining of hunger—specifically, a craving for steak.
Because Asnee was his world, Santichai had forced himself up. He didn't call a doctor; he calledTee, the owner of a local restaurant.
"Hello," Kantee's voice had boomed through the receiver.
"Pi Tee, it's me... Santichai," he had whispered, biting his lip to stop his teeth from chattering. "Do you still need a dishwasher?"
"Yes! Tonight, Santichai? If you can come, I'd appreciate it. We're packed."
"I'll come now."
"I can't pay a salary, Chai. Just three hundred baht for the night."
"Thank you, Pi Tee."
The smell of the dishwater—greasy and hot, making his feverish head spin. He had stood there until midnight, his hands pruning and his back screaming in pain, until every plate was clean. When Kantee handed him the three hundred baht, Santichai didn't think about medicine or rest.
"Pi Tee... can I buy a steak with this money?"
Kantee had taken two hundred and handed one back. Santichai had smiled, clutching that single hundred-baht note and the takeout box like it was a trophy. He had worked until he nearly collapsed just so Asnee wouldn't have to be hungry.
The images of the dishwater and Pi Tee's kindness faded, but the torment remained. Santichai remembered the end of that night with a clarity that stung. He had walked home with the steak, his body shaking from the fever, his wet clothes clinging to his skin.
He had showered, washed the grime of the restaurant from his clothes, and hung them to dry. He had pulled out the sofa bed, preparing a space for the man he loved, hoping the meal would be the bridge back to Asnee's heart.
He had waited. The room grew cold. The light of the moon shifted across the floor. He had called Decha, their best friend, only to be told Asnee wasn't at the bar. He had waited until the nightlife dies—the very time when the "steak" would have been cold and ruined.
When Asnee finally walked through the door, he didn't bring an apology or hunger. He brought an end. He broke up with Santichai before dawn broke, leaving Santichai alone on that sofa bed with a high fever and a heart that had been worked to the point of breaking.
Even when they eventually reconciled, the scar remained. Santichai finally understood the math of their relationship: his love was infinite, but Asnee's love was a fair-weather friend. It stopped exactly where the hardship began.