Special Episode: Give In
Reaching the top step of the second floor at Network Solutions' office building, Teeradon stopped short. Wittawin emerged from the office door, storm clouds gathering across his face. The young engineer glanced up at Teeradon for a split second before slinging his black bag over his shoulder and marching down the stairs with heavy footsteps.
"What's wrong? Did someone upset you?" Teeradon asked, concern threading through his voice. Wittawin shook his head and paused, as if waiting for Teeradon—who was blocking the stairway—to step aside.
"Tell me who's bothering you. I'll handle it right now."
"Uncle Yoot," Wittawin said curtly, then tried to squeeze past Teeradon.
What did Sarayoot do to his little monkey? How dare he bully Wittawin? Time for a word with him.
"Wait here. I'll sort this out." Teeradon pointed to the floor, signaling for Wittawin to stay put, then hurried into the office.
His destination: Sarayoot's workspace—Wittawin's uncle, the man he now considered his 'boyfriend,' though Wittawin rarely acknowledged their relationship.
"I just told him not to sleep overnight at the office and to clear his things off the sofa because Pamorn complained he couldn't sit down. These two bicker like children," Sarayoot explained with measured calm, his face stern when Teeradon burst through the door demanding to know why 'Uncle' was bullying his 'nephew.'
"Khun Teeradon, why would I bully Win?" Sarayoot shook his head. "Win is my nephew, whom I need to look after."
"Maybe don't look after him beyond your duties," Teeradon emphasized. Even now, he didn't entirely trust Sarayoot. "Wittawin said you were bullying him."
"You've been played," Sarayoot's mouth curved in a mocking smile. Teeradon noticed that ever since he'd openly declared himself Wittawin's boyfriend, Sarayoot no longer showed the deference he once had when Teeradon was merely a major client.
Now he probably thinks I'm his nephew-in-law. Is he trying to play uncle to me too?
"What do you mean, played?" Teeradon's voice hardened.
"You should hurry after him. Win tricked you into coming here to confront me. By now he's probably—"
Teeradon didn't wait for the rest. He spun around and rushed out of Sarayoot's office, taking the stairs two at a time, pushing through the front door onto the sidewalk just in time to catch the tail end of Wittawin's motorcycle disappearing into the distance.
That little devil. Playing games with his boyfriend like this. I was going to invite him to dinner, and he's running away again.
Teeradon sprinted to his car, fully determined to catch up with Wittawin. The roads were clear today—wherever Wittawin thought he could go, let him try outrunning a Porsche 911GT with 245 horsepower.
When I catch him, I'll grab him by the throat and ask why he enjoys making me chase him so much. And if he doesn't have anywhere to sleep instead of the office, he can come sleep at my penthouse.
Teeradon would cradle him to sleep on his chest.
It took less than five minutes for Teeradon to catch up to Wittawin's motorcycle. But he couldn't help thinking that his 'speed demon little monkey'—all dark eyebrows and red lips—had slowed down to let him catch up.
Wittawin raced alongside the bronze Porsche until they neared an intersection, then pulled over to the roadside. He removed his helmet, cradled it against his chest, and sat waiting on his sleek blue BMW. Teeradon parked and walked over, but before he could say anything, the speed-loving engineer spoke first:
"Why did you follow me? You're blocking traffic."
"And why did you run away, you clever thing? Having fun, are you?" Teeradon's face darkened as he placed his hands on his hips, tilting his head to address his 'clever one.'
"I'm hungry. I wanted to go eat," Wittawin shrugged.
Running from Teeradon is almost as fun as running from the police during high-speed chases. Wittawin thought.
"Then why lie and say your uncle was bullying you?" Teeradon pressed.
"I didn't lie. You asked who was bothering me. At that moment, I was annoyed with him, so I spoke without thinking."
"Wittawin." Teeradon stepped closer. "If you don't have a place to stay, come live with me."
"I rent a room. I have a permanent address."
"Then why do you like sleeping at the office?"
"The air conditioning is cold," Wittawin replied simply.
Teeradon sighed. Sometimes he didn't understand Wittawin at all. Wittawin appeared mature—quiet, reserved, speaking little and remaining composed, independent. But look again and he seemed like a stubborn child refusing to grow up, sassy and rebellious enough, brave in both victory and defeat. Yet at the same time, he seemed confused about something.
"The air conditioning at my place is extremely cold. I can make it so frigid you'll shiver like you're at the North Pole," Teeradon boasted. "Try it once and you'll love it. There's a swimming pool too—you can adjust the temperature hot or cold. My room is on the top floor. Walk out of the bedroom and there's a wide balcony with a sky pool. You can look down and see all the lights of Bangkok. Want to come, Wittawin?"
Wittawin shook his head and said in a flat tone, "Go wherever you want. I'm going to find something to eat."
"Eat with me. I came to invite you to dinner. I missed you." Teeradon's voice softened, his eyes revealing his feelings. "I already reserved a table at L'Atelier du Joël. Tonight there's a special chef from France cooking."
"I'm going to eat duck noodles at the pier," Wittawin shook his head. "No need to make complicated reservations."
"Wittawin." Teeradon's voice turned plaintive. "A chef from France, you know. He flew here for just three days. People wanting to taste his cooking have to wait in line forever. Not just anyone gets to eat his food. He only sent invitations to executives of major companies to have the privilege of making reservations. Miss this chance and you'd have to fly to France to taste his cooking."
"Noodle shops are open every day from morning to evening. You can eat whenever you want—just walk in and sit down." Wittawin lifted his helmet, about to put it on. Teeradon quickly raised his hand, using his index finger to push down the helmet's edge, preventing him from wearing it, then leaned in close and said:
"Wittawin, I'm so lonely. I just work and work, stressed to death, my brain ready to explode. I just want to have dinner with you in a quiet atmosphere with delicious food that I enjoy. Please help ease my loneliness a little. Consider it charity work. Please." Teeradon made a pitiful face. "Tomorrow I'll come eat duck noodles with you. You know, give and take. Please, Wittawin."
Perfect, Teeradon. Seeing the hesitation in Wittawin's eyes, the little monkey is definitely going to soften and have dinner with you. Just a little more coaxing and it's settled.
***
Wittawin glanced at the man putting on an awkward act as he settled onto a low wooden chair in front of a duck noodle cart by the pier. Yesterday he'd agreed to eat French food with Teeradon at that fancy restaurant, so today Teeradon came to eat the noodles with him.
"Is this place clean, Wittawin? It looks kind of, um..." Teeradon looked around, his face scrunching up.
"You wanted to eat here," Wittawin shrugged, turning his face away to hide an amused expression. Despite having removed his suit jacket and tie and leaving them in the car, the handsome young man who took such pride in his appearance looked decidedly out of place at this evening dining establishment.
"Hey, my shoes are getting dirty," Teeradon looked down at his feet. "I saw a cockroach earlier too."
"This place is delicious," Wittawin touted its virtues. "They've been selling here for over thirty years."
"I hope it's really good. If it's not, just wait and see."
"If you don't want to eat, you can wait in the car," Wittawin offered.
"I do want to," Teeradon made pleading eyes. "You're so moody."
"Try eating something like this. It'll build up your immunity to germs."
"After we eat, let's go sleep—I mean, sit and chat at your condo," Teeradon changed the subject, smiling at Wittawin.
"Yesterday I didn't go to your condo. I don't see why we need to do this 'give and take' thing," Wittawin protested, emphasizing the words Teeradon had used earlier.
"My place isn't called a condo," Teeradon tilted his head, glancing at Wittawin from the corner of his eye, then said proudly, "It's called a penthouse."
"Oh, a house where they paint," Wittawin nodded as if understanding.
"Wrong. Penthouse, not paint house." Teeradon tried to pronounce the two words differently, then sighed and smiled with amusement.
"I don't see the difference," Wittawin shrugged. "Everyone's house gets painted anyway."
"I want to see how you live, why you like sleeping at the office so much that your stone-faced uncle scolds you all the time," Teeradon's voice turned gentle.
"Uncle Yoot doesn't scold."
"Fine, kicks you out then."
"He doesn't kick me out," Wittawin argued. "He just tells me to go home and sleep."
"So annoying," Teeradon pouted, then turned to the young woman who came to ask what drinks they wanted.
"Red wine, Château Le Bleu," Teeradon replied.
"Strawberry Fanta and Coke," Wittawin interjected, then smirked at Teeradon. "This is a roadside cart, you know. They don't have fancy drinks like that."
"Don't you understand my sense of humor? Did you see that girl's face just now? Totally confused," Teeradon laughed with delight.
"So funny," Wittawin praised with a completely flat expression and tone.
"Wittawin," Teeradon called the other with a gentle voice. "I want to have dinner with you every day. Where we invite each other nicely, without me having to chase you in my car. But not sitting on the roadside in front of a noodle cart like this every day either. Once in a while is fine, but..."
"I can't eat at fancy restaurants every day either," Wittawin countered.
"I'll pay. I have money to pay," Teeradon replied.
"I know you're rich," Wittawin shook his head at the wealthy man. "But that's not the point."
"What is the point then?" Teeradon raised an eyebrow. "The point is you're trying to avoid me, isn't it? But my point is about eating together. Sometimes we eat at fancy restaurants, sometimes at regular places, at the mall, or roadside carts like this, buy takeout to eat at home, pack a basket for a picnic, cook together. Do you understand what I'm trying to communicate to you, Wittawin? Do you understand me?"
"Can you actually cook?" Wittawin tilted his head and raised one eyebrow.
"You can raise just one eyebrow too, Wittawin? I've never seen you do that before. Do it again—it's cute," Teeradon grinned widely.
"Khun Teeradon," Wittawin furrowed his brow, calling the other with a stern voice. "You're really something else."
"I can't cook, but if you want to taste my cooking, I'll learn a few dishes. I know a French cooking school—tuition's only a few ten thousand baht. I'll enroll for a month to cook for you. Don't you see how much I'm changing myself for you? Give me some part of your life in return. Why do you keep building walls to keep me out? What are you still afraid of, Wittawin?"
Wittawin was stunned. He hadn't expected Teeradon to suddenly turn serious.
Building walls and being afraid? Is that true? Is he afraid of having a romantic relationship with Teeradon?
Of course. With Teeradon's notorious history, who wouldn't be afraid?
But Teeradon has changed so much. He's changed for the better, almost like a completely different person from when they first met. Except for being self-absorbed, boastful, determined to get what he wants, and cunning—those traits remain the same.
Two bowls of noodles appeared before them, aromatic steam rising. Teeradon continued staring intently at Wittawin. The pale-faced young engineer reached for spoons and chopsticks to hand to Teeradon, but the other man didn't take them.
"Wittawin, we're not strangers anymore," Teeradon's voice was gentle as he took spoons and chopsticks from the container on his right and handed them to Wittawin. "You've entered my life, which I welcome and am very happy about. And I want to enter yours too."
"Eat up, or it'll get cold," Wittawin accepted the utensils from Teeradon while the other took the same from his hands.
"After we eat, let's go sit and chat," Teeradon said softly, looking down at his bowl. Within seconds, Wittawin heard an exclamation: "Scalding hot! I thought you said it would get cold."
"Let's walk around and digest first. The breeze here is nice."
"My place has cold air conditioning too. It's a penthouse, Wittawin—penthouse meaning the top floor of a building. And this building is 77 stories high. Walk out from the bedroom balcony and there's a sky pool. The breeze is even cooler than on the street," Teeradon 'bragged' about his residence again. "There's a giant LED TV too—64 inches. A Nakamichi super digital surround sound system. You like watching TV, don't you? DVDs look crystal clear—all Blu-ray discs. You can watch from the HD HDMI hard drive too."
"My room has a fan. There's TV too, and cable—over thirty channels. Free, no less. Want to watch any movie? Just call and they'll put it on."
"Do you have a shower with hot water?" Teeradon asked.
"Could I get some fish sauce please?" Wittawin stopped debating with Teeradon about home 'amenities,' pointing to the fish sauce bottle sitting to the 'rich man's' right.
"Don't make it too salty," Teeradon warned as he handed over the fish sauce bottle, then asked, "When is my red wine coming?"
"They're probably out buying some, or maybe fermenting it," Wittawin shrugged.
"See? If we'd gone to that French restaurant, I'd have my red wine by now. Could even have someone playing violin in the background," Teeradon pretended to sound bored, then turned to smile at his stone-faced companion. His left hand settled on Wittawin's thigh, stroking gently before withdrawing.
The two young men then ate in silence until their bowls were nearly empty. Only then did Teeradon speak softly without looking at Wittawin:
"Wittawin, let me sleep over tonight. I can't fall asleep alone."
"It's hot at my place. The air conditioning isn't very cold," Wittawin replied after a long pause.
"Didn't you say you had a fan?" Teeradon chuckled low in his throat, eyes on his bowl as he tried to push vegetables aside.
"The fan's broken."
"Liar."
"Doesn't your place have cold air conditioning?" Wittawin said with a smile, glancing at Teeradon before looking down at the table, then continuing to eat quietly. He pretended not to care what the person beside him might say next, but in his heart answered simply:
Don't you know, Khun Teeradon?, if I don't love you, I won't give in.
***THE END***