He didn't step away.
If anything—
he stepped closer.
The space between us disappeared in a way that felt almost inevitable, his hand still resting at my waist as his gaze held mine, steady, focused, like he was measuring something he had already decided.
"Artist…" he murmured quietly.
But there was no warning in it this time.
Only intent.
My breath slowed without me meaning it to, my fingers brushing lightly against the counter behind me as I leaned back just slightly, giving him space—
and at the same time, inviting him closer.
"You're not going to finish that coffee," I whispered softly.
His eyes flickered briefly toward the machine.
Then back to me.
"No," he said simply.
And then—
his hand tightened just enough to pull me closer.
Not fast.
Not rushed.
Just certain.
My breath caught slightly as his other hand came up, resting against the counter beside me, trapping me there without force, without pressure—just presence, just him, close enough that I could feel the warmth of him before he even touched me again.
"Our first kiss"
If I need to choose again. He stop me..
"And you still chose it."
I tilted my head slightly, meeting his gaze without hesitation.
"Yes."
Something in his expression shifted.
Then his thumb brushed slowly along my side, a small movement, almost absent—but it sent a quiet tension through me anyway, something that settled low and stayed there.
"Then don't move," he murmured.
I didn't.
Couldn't.
His lips found mine a second later.
Slower than before.
But heavier.
Like he remembered too.
Like he wasn't trying to recreate that first moment—
but overwrite it.
My hands moved instinctively, finding his shirt, gripping lightly as I leaned into the kiss, the memory of the first time flashing briefly through my mind before dissolving into something deeper, something more certain.
This wasn't the same.
It couldn't be.
Because this time—
we both knew.
He pulled back just slightly, his forehead resting against mine for a brief second, his breath steady, controlled, while mine wasn't.
"Still want it here?" he asked quietly.
I didn't hesitate.
"Yes."
A faint, almost amused breath left him.
Then his hand slid from my waist to my back, pulling me closer again, his voice lowering just slightly as he spoke near my lips—
"Careful what you ask for in my kitchen, artist."
A small smile touched my lips despite everything.
"I meant it."
His gaze held mine for a second longer.
Then—
he kissed me again.
And this time—
there was nothing hesitant about it.
His lips were still on mine when the thought hit him.
I felt it in the way he paused—just for a second.
Barely noticeable.
But I knew him.
"We're going to be late," he murmured against my lips, his voice lower now, quieter, like even he didn't really want to say it.
I didn't pull away.
Didn't even consider it.
"I don't care," I whispered back, my fingers already finding the edge of his shirt, slipping beneath the fabric without hesitation. "You're my boyfriend… and my CEO."
A small, breathless laugh left him.
Dangerous.
Soft.
"You're using that very freely."
I smiled against his lips.
"I should."
His hand slid along my side again, slower this time, more deliberate, as if he had already decided that being late was no longer the biggest problem in the room.
"Artist…" he murmured, but there was no real warning left in it.
Only heat.
Only intent.
My fingers moved higher, pushing his shirt open just enough to feel the warmth of his skin beneath, and I felt the shift in him immediately, the way his breath changed, the way his control—so precise, so constant—started to slip, piece by piece.
His hands weren't still either.
They moved just as slowly, just as intentionally, brushing along my sides, over the fabric, finding the edge, loosening it without rushing, like he had all the time in the world.
Like nothing else mattered.
The kiss deepened.
Not faster.
Just heavier.
And for a moment—
there was nothing else.
Until—
his phone rang.
The sound cut through the space sharply, almost out of place.
Neither of us moved immediately.
Then, without breaking the moment completely, Chak reached blindly toward the counter, grabbing his phone and silencing it with a single, effortless tap.
It stopped.
Just like that.
He didn't even look at it.
"Not important," he said quietly.
And then he kissed me again.
Like he meant it.
Like he wasn't going to let anything interrupt this.
My hands tightened slightly against him, pulling him closer, and whatever control he had left—
it disappeared.
The phone rang again.
Louder this time.
More insistent.
He exhaled softly against my lips, a quiet sound of frustration slipping through before he finally pulled back just enough to grab the phone properly.
"Persistent," he muttered.
I watched him, my breath still uneven, my fingers still resting against his chest as he glanced at the screen for a split second.
Then—
he answered.
Speaker.
He didn't move away.
Didn't step back.
If anything, he stayed right where he was, one hand still at my waist, keeping me close.
"Make it quick," he said calmly.
A familiar voice came through immediately.
"Sir, you need to come to the office now," Pim said, her tone professional but urgent. "The meeting has been moved to eleven."
A brief pause.
"Which is in twenty minutes."
Silence followed.
Not from her.
From him.
I looked up at him, watching the way his expression shifted—not dramatically, not visibly to anyone else, but enough for me to see the calculation behind it.
Time.
Responsibility.
Control.
Then his gaze dropped back to me.
And for a second—
he didn't answer her.
Not yet.
Because right now—
he was still deciding.
The moment lingered for just a second longer before reality finally caught up with us.
Chak was the first to move.
Reluctantly.
He pulled back just enough to look at me properly, his hand still resting at my waist as if letting go completely wasn't an option yet.
"We really need to go," he said, quieter this time.
I exhaled softly, a small smile still on my lips as I nodded.
"Yeah… we do."
But neither of us rushed.
Not completely.
We stepped apart slowly, the space between us returning, but not fully, not really, as our hands still brushed once, twice—like neither of us was quite ready to break the contact.
I reached for my shirt, quickly pulling it back into place, my fingers moving faster now, fixing the buttons that had been left undone, smoothing the fabric down like I could somehow hide what had just happened.
Across from me, Chak did the same.
Precise.
Efficient.
But I caught it—the slight delay, the way his focus wasn't entirely on what he was doing.
Still on me.
Always.
I turned toward the counter, grabbing the thermos without thinking, pouring the freshly made coffee inside, the warm scent rising instantly, filling the space again, grounding the moment just enough.
"Here," I said, glancing back at him as I closed it and held it out.
He took it without a word, his fingers brushing mine briefly before he set it aside with the rest of his things.
Wallet.
Phone.
Keys.
Everything back in place.
Back to control.
Almost.
We moved toward the hallway together, the rhythm shifting now—faster, more practical—as we slipped on our shoes, the quiet sounds of movement filling the space.
"Still think we have time?" I asked lightly, glancing at him.
He looked up at me, already composed again—but his eyes gave him away.
"Barely."
A small smile pulled at my lips.
"Worth it."
He didn't answer immediately.
But as he reached for the door, his hand paused for just a second before he glanced back at me.
"…Yes."
Simple.
Honest.
Then he opened the door.
And together—
we stepped out.
----
I made it to the company two minutes before him.
Barely.
The moment I stepped inside, I could feel it—the shift in the air, the tension that had already settled over the entire floor like something waiting to snap.
People were moving faster.
Quieter.
Glancing toward the conference room every few seconds.
He wasn't there.
And everyone knew it.
The meeting was supposed to have started already.
But without him—
nothing moved.
I walked past a group near the main area, trying to keep my expression neutral, my steps steady, like I wasn't part of the reason behind the delay.
It didn't work.
"Where have you been?" one of them asked immediately, turning toward me. "The meeting already started—well, it was supposed to."
Another voice joined in, sharper this time. "Do you know where Mr. Phanprasit is?"
I didn't even pause.
"Doctor," I said simply, adjusting my sleeve slightly as I kept walking. "I had an appointment."
A brief silence followed.
Then—
"He knows?"
I glanced at them just enough.
"He knows."
That was enough.
Or at least—
it had to be.
I moved toward my desk, but before I could even fully settle, I felt it—
the shift.
He arrived.
You didn't need to see him to know.
You could feel it.
The atmosphere changed instantly, the quiet tightening, conversations cutting off mid-sentence as heads turned almost automatically toward the entrance.
I looked up.
Chak walked in without stopping.
Without acknowledging anyone.
But it was obvious—
he was not in a good mood.
Not controlled anger.
Not calm authority.
This was sharper.
Colder.
His jaw was set, his movements more precise than usual, like every step was measured just a little too tightly, and the energy around him made people straighten instinctively, stepping out of his way without being told.
No one spoke.
They just watched.
Then glanced at each other.
Because everyone could feel it.
Something was off.
Pim was the first to look at me.
Then Amara.
Then Non.
All three of them watching me a little too closely.
"Did you two fight?" Non asked quietly, leaning slightly closer.
I blinked once.
Then shook my head.
"No."
They didn't look convinced.
"He looks like he's about to fire someone," Amara muttered under her breath.
I exhaled softly, glancing briefly toward the conference room where he had already disappeared.
"He's not angry at me," I said quietly.
Three pairs of eyes stayed on me.
"Then what?" Pim asked.
A small pause.
Then I answered honestly—
"…he's angry because we were interrupted."
That did it.
The three of them exchanged looks instantly.
Understanding.
Too much understanding.
None of them said anything after that.
Because they didn't need to.
Inside the conference room, the tension was even worse.
I stepped in a moment later, taking my place quietly as the room settled into that stiff, uncomfortable silence that only existed when something had already gone wrong.
Chak stood at the head of the table.
Still.
Controlled again.
Almost.
But not completely.
One of the senior managers cleared his throat, shifting slightly in his seat.
"Mr. Phanprasit," he began carefully, "it's not very appropriate to arrive late to a meeting of this importance."
A few people nodded subtly.
No one looked directly at Chak.
But everyone was waiting.
Chak didn't react immediately.
He didn't raise his voice.
Didn't move.
And when he finally spoke—
his tone was calm.
Cold.
Sharp enough to cut through the room without effort.
"The traffic was obstructed."
Silence followed.
No one questioned it.
No one dared to.
Because the way he said it—
made it very clear the conversation was over.
And somehow—
that made it worse.