The storm hadn't lifted. Its voice moved between walls and windows, sometimes a steady hiss, sometimes a sharp battering against glass that made the whole residence shudder. The air inside felt damp, as though every room was slowly drinking in the storm and holding its breath.
Tawan woke first. The faint blue light that slipped through the curtains told him it was still early, though not dawn anymore. His body ached with the heaviness of yesterday, the kind of ache that had nothing to do with sleep and everything to do with memory. He stretched out a hand across the mattress, brushing fabric. Imel had slept in joggers, shirtless, long hair falling against the pillow, but now he was upright, tying it back without much care.
The silence between them wasn't awkward. It wasn't gentle either. It was the sort of quiet that existed when two people carried too much to break it with casual words. Tawan rubbed his eyes, stood, and padded barefoot to the window. He cracked it open. A cold gust entered, carrying the smell of wet soil and rain. He lit a cigarette, the flame flickering against the wind.
Imel leaned against the desk, one knee bent, eyes on him. "You smoke too much this early," he said, tone level.
Tawan exhaled smoke, watching it dissolve. "I've had worse breakfast."
Imel pushed off the desk, pulled open the paper bag he'd brought yesterday from the café. "Eat this then." He unwrapped a pastry, reheated quickly in the microwave, and set it on a plate. He handed it over, no ceremony.
Tawan took it. Bit slowly. Flakes caught on his lip, crumbs at the corner of his mouth. He chewed in silence, eyes lowered, the cigarette balanced against the sill.
Imel watched, gaze lingering longer than he intended. "You've got… something there." He gestured at his own mouth.
Tawan wiped with the back of his hand. Missed. Imel stepped forward, thumb brushing lightly across the corner of Tawan's lip. He didn't move back immediately. His hand stayed. His eyes stayed.
Tawan's breath slowed, his chest tight. The gap between them shrank without him deciding it. Imel tilted his head, about to close it further, when a sharp crackle burst through the corridor speaker.
"All residents, remain indoors until further notice," Korn's voice announced, slightly distorted by the system. "Storm updates will be provided every few hours. Please conserve power where possible and avoid unnecessary use of water. Stay safe."
The notice cut off. Silence thickened again. Imel lowered his hand, stepped back just slightly. Tawan turned his face away, cigarette burning low. Neither spoke.
The kitchen was brighter than most of the residence thanks to the fluorescent tubes overhead. Saint sat slouched at the table, sketchbook open, pencil tapping without commitment. He wasn't drawing anything. His hair was still damp from a quick rinse, and the edge of his T-shirt clung to his shoulder.
Tawan entered, half hoping to find the space empty, half relieved when it wasn't. He poured himself water. Saint glanced up, smirk faint but genuine. "Morning, sunshine."
Tawan sat opposite. "You slept?"
"Like someone fighting with the ceiling fan." Saint flipped the pencil. "Lost."
Tawan almost smiled. He noticed the way Saint's hand twitched near the page, as though itching to show something but pulling back. Saint opened his mouth, closed it, tried again. "Wan, last night—" He broke off. Imel walked in, tying his hair again, and Saint shut his sketchbook with a soft clap.
"Talking about soup recipes," Saint said smoothly, grin widening at his own deflection.
Imel raised a brow, unimpressed, and dropped into the chair beside Tawan. His gaze lingered—again, not subtle—on Tawan's face before he asked, "There's not much food left. What do we want to do?"
"Starve gracefully?" Saint suggested.
"Not an option," Imel replied.
Tawan said nothing, sipping his water.
Saint groaned dramatically. "We need pastries. Or noodles. Or both. Someone save me."
Imel looked at Tawan, then back at the fridge. "I can bake." His tone was casual, but his eyes on Tawan were not.
Tawan shifted. "Later," he muttered.
Saint caught the exchange, grin curling, but said nothing. He leaned back, stretching like a cat. "Fine. I'll just waste away. No one cares about my suffering."
"Correct," Imel said flatly.
Saint pressed a hand to his heart, feigned wound. Tawan almost rolled his eyes. Almost.
By late afternoon, the storm hit harder, pounding against glass. Dan joined them in the kitchen, precise as ever, removing his shoes neatly before stepping in. He acknowledged them with a nod, then busied himself at the counter. Saint raised his brows, glanced at Korn who had just passed through with a flashlight, and muttered something under his breath about geometry with laces.
Dan looked over. "They were crooked."
Saint smirked. "The shoes or the morning?"
"Both."
Even Tawan let out a small sound at that.
The four of them drifted in and out of the kitchen's rhythm—washing, heating, sitting, sipping. The storm outside made them smaller, forced them closer. Still, fault lines showed. Dan's gaze caught on Saint more than once. Saint avoided it by fiddling with his phone, tossing out jokes with half-energy, masking whatever else sat beneath.
Tawan excused himself first. "Lounge," he said simply, standing.
Saint followed, sketchbook in hand, and Imel fell into step without being asked. Dan hesitated, then trailed after them, silence his shield.
The lounge lights flickered once before holding steady. Rain blurred the windows, streaking the view into formless grey. The four of them settled into uneven places—Saint sprawled across half the sofa, Tawan taking the armchair nearest the window, Imel leaning against the corner table, and Dan sitting straighter than the rest.
Saint opened his sketchbook again. This time he drew without hesitation, lines sharp, quick. He didn't explain. Tawan leaned back, eyes on the storm, smoke curling from his lips. Imel folded his arms, gaze drifting but always circling back to Tawan. Dan pretended to read something on his phone, but his eyes flicked up every few seconds toward Saint.
The silence wasn't comfortable, but it wasn't hostile either. It was a truce.
Eventually Saint stretched, tossed his pencil down. "Food," he announced. "If someone doesn't feed me soon, I'll start eating the wallpaper."
"You exaggerate," Imel said, though he stood. "I'll make something."
Tawan stayed seated. "I'll come later."
Saint caught the undercurrent, smirk tugging at his mouth. He muttered something that sounded like, "Don't take too long," but no one asked him to repeat it.
Imel busied himself in the kitchen, sleeves pushed up, moving with practiced ease. The smell of dough and filling began to spread, warm against the storm's chill. His phone buzzed—FaceTime. He wiped his hands, accepted the call.
Fah's face filled the screen, Charoen in her lap. The boy waved clumsily, babbling half-words. Imel softened, the edge in his shoulders easing. "Rak na, lung,"[1] Charoen said, voice high.
Imel's mouth curved faintly. "Rak na," he echoed.
Fah leaned closer. "He's been saying it all morning. He misses you. Are you safe? We heard about the storm."
"I'm fine," Imel said, keeping his tone even. "Inside. Don't worry."
Tawan entered mid-call, footsteps quiet. Imel's eyes flicked to him, then back to the phone. "I'll call you later," he told Fah, quick. "Take care of him."
Fah narrowed her eyes knowingly. "Don't just vanish. Text."
"Mm." He ended the call.
Tawan raised a brow. "You didn't have to hang up."
Imel shook his head, sliding trays into the oven. "Later's better."
Tawan stepped closer, leaned against the counter. He began rinsing dishes without being asked. Imel watched him from the corner of his eye, hands still moving but thoughts elsewhere. The sight of Tawan at the sink, sleeves pushed, humming faintly under his breath, sent something unsteady through him.
He moved closer. Slowly. Each step deliberate. By the time Tawan finished wiping the counter, Imel was right behind him.
"Could you turn around?" Imel's voice was low.
Tawan hesitated, heart pounding. Then he did. Imel's face was close—too close—and for a moment, it was reckless, a full kiss waiting to happen. Their breath mingled. Their eyes locked.
The oven dinged.
Imel cursed under his breath, pulled back, yanked open the door to rescue the pastries. His shoulders were tense, his jaw tight. Tawan exhaled, dragging a hand across his face. He texted Saint: food's ready.
They gathered again, plates warm in their hands. Korn had disappeared to check the building, so it was just the four of them. Imel slid an extra pastry toward Tawan without looking directly at him. Saint noticed, chuckled, then choked, coughing into his sleeve. Dan handed him water. Saint drank without thanks, smirk twitching back into place.
"You're all terrible company," he declared.
"You talk too much," Dan replied, surprising them all.
Saint blinked, then laughed, real laughter that broke the heavy air. "Noted."
The four of them ate. Talked a little. Let the storm outside do most of the noise.
Later, in the lounge, the lights dimmed for a film they didn't really watch. Tawan and Saint sat toward the back, Dan and Imel nearer the front. The storm beat against the windows, the sound merging with the dialogue on screen.
Saint leaned toward Tawan, whispering, "You alright?"
Tawan nodded once. "You?"
Saint shrugged. "Define alright." He smirked faintly when Tawan didn't answer. He tapped on his phone, typed something, slid it across. Don't get lost in your head.
Tawan read it. Pocketed it. "I won't."
Saint fixed his hair without asking, then leaned back.
One by one, they drifted away. Dan left first, muttering about needing sleep. Saint followed not long after, sketchbook under his arm, throwing a lazy "Night" over his shoulder.
That left Tawan and Imel.
The credits rolled. The storm eased slightly, rain softening but steady. Tawan stood, stretched, and said, "Night."
Imel watched him, something unreadable in his eyes, but didn't move to stop him. "Night," he replied simply.
Tawan walked out, leaving Imel alone with the flickering light of the screen.
The storm outside went on.
[1] rak na (รักนะ) a soft, affectionate phrase meaning “i love you” or “love you”. it’s casual, warm, and often used with people you’re very close to — family, partners, or children. it’s not dramatic or heavy; it’s everyday love