The look on Asnee's face was as dangerous as a sudden typhoon, ready to destroy anything in its path. With his hands clenched, he slowly approached Santichai, a cold, calculated wrath radiating from him. He was panting heavily, his eyes fixed on Santichai with a terrifying intensity.
"A-Asnee..." Santi chai murmured. A cold sweat broke out across his back, despite the warmth of the afternoon sun streaming through the windows.
Asnee didn't speak. He continued his slow advance, the left corner of his mouth curving into a sinister smile—the look of a hunter who had finally cornered his prey.
"Asnee, please leave. I am... I am still working," Santichai said, his voice so low and timid he wasn't sure if it even reached Asnee's ears.
Fon stepped forward, shielding Santichai. "Leave now!" she demanded, pointing firmly toward the exit. "If you don't go, I'll call security to drag you out!"
Asnee violently knocked Fon's hand away. "Go ahead!" he roared, a voice that could crumble mountains. "Call the fucking security and see who's afraid! Do you think I wouldn't find you? Do you think you're emboldened now?" He reached out and clamped his hand around Santichai's left wrist, his grip like iron.
"Let go of him!" Fon shouted, grabbing at Asnee's arm. "Let him go right now!"
Fearing for Fon's safety, Santichai quickly pushed her back. "Pi Fon, it's okay. Please... don't call security. Don't make this a bigger problem than it is."
"Santichai..." Fon cried, her face pale with worry.
"I don't care who is who today," Asnee spat, his eyes wild. "Whoever tries to stop me, I will kill them."
No one knew the depth of Asnee's volatility better than Santichai. Knowing a scene here would only lead to violence, he chose the path of least resistance. "Asnee, please stop. We have broken up. Please... respect my decision."
But Asnee wasn't interested in respect. He dragged Santichai across the field toward the street where his car sat idling like a waiting beast. He shoved Santichai into the passenger seat and tore away from the curb, driving toward a nearby hotel he had already booked.
Santichai felt the iron grip of Asnee's hand on his wrist as he was dragged through the hotel lobby and into the waiting elevator. He didn't dare look Asnee in the eye; instead, he watched the distorted reflection of the man in the polished metal walls. He knew he was walking straight into the tiger's den, and yet, a small, fractured part of his heart had been waiting for this. For a split second, a traitorous thought crossed his mind: if Asnee had only asked, he would have followed him here willingly.
The ping of the elevator door pulled him back to a reality he wasn't ready to face.
Asnee continued to haul him down the silent hallway and into a room. He shoved Santichai inside, the heavy click of the door locking behind them sounding like a final sentence. For a long moment, Asnee simply stared, his breath hitching. Then, he grabbed a towel and threw it at Santichai's chest.
"Go wash," he snapped, his voice trembling with a mix of rage and disgust. "You smell like cooking oil."
Santichai knelt to pick the towel up from the floor. "I don't have any clothes to change into," he said quietly.
Asnee threw a bathrobe at him. "Wear this."
Knowing there was no point in arguing with a madman—and knowing how much Asnee had always loathed the scent of Santichai's hard work—Santichai obeyed. He retreated into the bathroom and let the water wash away the day, though it couldn't wash away the dread settling in his bones.
When he emerged, clad in the oversized robe, he found Asnee waiting. Santichai sat on the edge of the large bed, feeling small and vulnerable under Asnee's manic gaze.
"Asnee," Santichai said, breaking the heavy silence. "What do you want to talk about?"
The rage seemed to drain out of Asnee instantly, replaced by a desperate, hollow longing. He approached the bed and sank to his knees. He wrapped his arms around Santichai's waist, burying his face against Santichai's stomach.
"Chai... I miss you so much," he murmured, his voice muffled by the robe. "Why did you leave me? Why?"
Santichai felt a chill that had nothing to do with his wet hair. "Asnee... we have broken up. You don't have to do this. Please, can you just let me go?"
"Chai, I love you," Asnee pleaded, tightening his hold until it hurt. "I can't let you go. I tried, but I can't."
Santichai reached down and firmly pried Asnee's hands away, creating space between them. "Asnee, you need to try harder. If you really love me... please, let me go."
Asnee stood up abruptly, the vulnerability vanishing as his temper flared again. "If I love you, I should let you go? Are you crazy? I won't do it! What am I supposed to do if you leave me, eh?" He wiped a stray tear from his cheek, his voice rising to a frantic pitch. "I can't live without you! How many times do I have to say it?"
"You can live without me, Asnee," Santichai said, his voice trembling but steady. "You've done it for six months. You're engaged. You're starting a family. I am truly happy for you."
The words, meant to provide closure, only acted as fuel. Asnee lunged, grabbing Santichai by the collar and pulling him so close their breaths mingled. "You only say that because you found a new man, right?"
"Asnee, it has nothing to do with him! I left you before I ever met him. He isn't my boyfriend!"
Asnee slammed Santichai back onto the mattress with a force that made the headboard crack against the wall. "Liar! Frank told me everything—that bastard admitted he's yours!" Asnee's face twisted into a grotesque sneer. "You left me for a taste of luxury, didn't you? Traded your dirty hole for a warm bed?"
His hands moved to Santichai's throat, squeezing until the world began to blur at the edges. "Did you sleep with him? Huh?"
"Asnee..." Santichai choked out through hot tears, "I'm not like you. I don't like men."
Asnee released his grip, a cold, mocking laugh escaping him. "Ten years of moaning under me isn't enough to prove you like men?"
Santichai stared up at the man he had once sacrificed everything for, the tears flowing freely now. "I believed you when you said you loved me. I believed you couldn't live without me. Do you have any idea how much pain and humiliation came with loving you?" His voice broke. "Why is your love so cheap? I'm not a mannequin, Asnee. I have feelings."
For a split second, a shockwave of realization seemed to hit Asnee—he had never heard Santichai fight back. But as the fear of losing control took over, the shock turned into madness. He didn't want to hear the truth; he wanted to own the body. He jumped on top of Santichai, pulling his belt from his waist and wrapping it tightly around Santichai's wrists, pinning them above his head.
"Asnee, stop! Please, let me go!"
"You are mine, Chai," Asnee hissed, his eyes glazed with obsession. "Always mine."
The night became a blurred nightmare of forced intimacy and hollow declarations of love. Asnee ignored Santichai's cries of pain, replacing them with his own heavy breathing and demands for the moans he felt entitled to. He used Santichai's body until he was exhausted, falling into a heavy sleep only as the first light of morning touched the room.
Santichai lay awake, trapped in Asnee's tight, suffocating embrace. Every muscle in his body throbbed with a deep, dull ache. He felt the sting on his skin, the soreness in his chest and back, and the crushing weight of a night that had stolen the little bit of dignity he had managed to rebuild.
At five o'clock in the morning, Santichai opened his eyes to the pale, blue light of dawn. He looked at Asnee, who lay sleeping soundlessly beside him, looking as peaceful as a prince returning from a long battle. Despite the bruises on his skin and the ache in his spirit, Santichai felt a wave of longing. He missed this face. He missed this embrace. But the more he longed for it, the more his heart broke, knowing that this imperfect man had never truly belonged to him.
With trembling fingers, he reached out and stroked Asnee's hair, tears blurring his vision.
"Chai... don't leave me," Asnee murmured in his sleep, his voice thick with a vulnerability he only showed when he wasn't conscious. "I miss you so much..."
"I miss you too..." Santichai whispered back, leaning down to press a soft, final kiss to Asnee's lips.
He thought back to the ten years they had shared. There were many painful moments, but there had been happy ones, too—shards of joy that he had used to stitch his life together. He had told Asnee from the beginning that he didn't like men, and even now, he didn't believe he did. He had only given his body to Asnee because he was terrified that a refusal would mean being left behind. He had conditioned himself to be obedient, to fulfill every want, until that forced friendship had deepened into a desperate kind of love. He had poured his entire heart into a vessel that was already leaking.
"Asnee," Santichai whispered into the quiet room, "if you love me so much, why did you board that plane? Do you know that until the very last moment at the terminal, I still hoped you would walk back through those doors for me?" He kissed Asnee's forehead one last time. "It's morning... time to say goodbye."
With practiced, silent movements, Santichai slid a pillow into his place to mimic his body weight. He knew Asnee was in a deep sleep phase—the heavy, unmoving rest of the early morning. He dressed quickly, his movements mechanical, and slipped out of the room.
Without a wallet or a phone, he felt like a ghost walking through the hotel lobby. He approached the front desk, his kitchen uniform lending him a shred of credibility as he asked the clerk to use the phone, claiming he needed to contact a customer about a food order.
He stared at the keypad for a long time. There was only one number etched into his mind. He dialed it, his heart hammering against his ribs.
KK picked up on the first ring.
"Hello?" KK's voice was immediate, sharp with an exhaustion that suggested he hadn't slept a wink.
Santichai opened his mouth, but the words were trapped behind a wall of shame. He stood at the hotel front desk, his fingers tracing the numbers on the dial pad over and over, unable to make his tongue work.
"Santichai? Santichai, is that you?" KK's voice rose, frantic and thick with worry. "Where are you? I've been looking everywhere... please, tell me where you are right now."
Suddenly, Fon's warning echoed in Santichai's mind: Don't fall into the trap... you are not on the same social level. He looked at his bruised wrists and his wrinkled kitchen whites. He felt "dirty," a person who didn't deserve the pristine care of a man like Dr. Suwannarat. Without a word, he hung up the receiver.
He thanked the clerk with a hollow nod and walked out into the biting morning air.
He didn't know the streets of this part of the city, and he didn't care to ask. He simply walked, his legs moving on instinct, until the smell of salt and the sound of crashing waves reached him. He followed the scent to the beach, where the sun was just beginning to bleed gold across the horizon.
Santichai sank onto the sand, his body feeling like lead. He watched the ocean currents rush forward to kiss the shore, retreating and returning in a cycle that never ended.
As the water touched the coast, the sound of the tide seemed to morph into a human voice. In the rhythmic roar of the ocean, he believed he could hear Asnee's voice from years ago—the very first time they had visited the beach. He could hear the promises Asnee had made back then, words of forever and protection that had sounded as deep and permanent as the sea itself.
He sat there, a small figure against the vastness of the water, listening to the ghosts of promises that had long since been swept away.
Staring at the rhythmic pull of the currents, Santichai was swept back to those early, golden days.
He remembered a morning much like this one, when the air was crisp and the world felt full of possibility. He and Asnee had woken up early to watch the sunrise, eager to catch the light on their last day at the beach. Santichai's face had been slightly bruised from a volleyball game the day before, but the pain meant nothing compared to the sight of the horizon bleeding into a deep, beautiful red.
Asnee had sat behind him, pulling Santichai back against his chest, wrapping his arms around him like a protective shield.
"My boyfriend is the best, cutest, and most understanding person in the world," Asnee had murmured, pressing a warm kiss to Santichai's cheek. He leaned in, his breath tickling Santichai's ear. "Chai... I'm so glad we're together. Santichai Kittibun, let's have our wedding right here, by the sea."
Santichai had laughed, a sound of pure, unadulterated joy. "Asnee, we haven't even finished College yet, and you're already talking about marriage? Who knows? You might change your mind in five or ten years."
"I won't," Asnee had vowed, his voice ringing with the absolute certainty of youth. He stood up suddenly, his silhouette sharp against the rising sun, and yelled at the vastness of the ocean: "Santichai Kittibun! Will you marry me?"
Santichai had stood up then, his heart racing, a radiant smile on his face as he shouted back at the waves, "Yes!"
At that moment, the "Yes" had felt like a solid foundation. Sitting on the sand now, ten years later, that same "Yes" felt like a heavy stone tied around his neck, pulling him deeper into the cold water of the past. The ocean had remained the same, but the man who had yelled those promises was now a stranger who used a belt to bind his wrists.
The sweetness of the memory was like a ghost, flickering for a moment before the cold reality of the morning air rushed back in. The contrast was too much to bear—the boy who had shouted his love to the ocean was gone, replaced by the man who had spent the night treating Santichai like a possession.
Santichai pulled his knees tight against his chest, burying his face in his arms as if he could hide from the world. His shoulders shook as he sobbed softly into the fabric of his kitchen whites, the sound of his grief lost in the roar of the tide.
"Yes," he whispered, his voice cracking with the weight of ten years of broken hope. "Let's have our wedding by the sea."
Then, a voice drifted through the air—not the voice from his memory, but a real, living sound that made his breath catch.
"Santichai Kittibun... if one day you agree, we will have our wedding by the sea."
Santichai froze. He didn't dare lift his head, fearing that his mind had finally fractured and was playing tricks on him. But the footsteps in the sand were heavy and purposeful, moving toward him until they stopped just a few feet away.