Chapter 7.1 : The Grand Feast… Almost Ruined by
———
But what exploded out of me was—
"BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA—!!!"
The laugh ripped out of my chest like a bomb, so loud I nearly rolled right off the bench. I laughed until my belly cramped, until tears streamed down my cheeks, until my face turned hot red like someone had shoved chili up my nose.
One hand wiped tears, the other clamped over my mouth like that could actually stop me from waking the whole damn party.
But it was useless—
My laugh tore straight through the bushes, slipped in through the windows.
"HAHAHAHAHA! Holy shiiittt— I can't—HAHAHA!!"
It was so shrill it could throw a violin off key. Heads in the glittering ballroom snapped around instantly.
"…Who the hell was that?"
"I swear that's Ray," Jan blurted, her eyes already sparkling with the urge to laugh.
Maria glanced at the tall mirror reflecting the garden. "That didn't sound normal… I'll go check."
Jan yanked her back. "Don't you dare! Ray's having a moment right now. You can't just crash it!"
"A moment my ass— he sounds possessed!"
Meanwhile the "possessed" idiot? Yeah, that was me.
The camera (in my head, at least) panned slowly back into the garden. My laugh was getting weaker, not because I'd stopped—
but because I was literally running out of strength to keep laughing.
I slid down to the roots of a jasmine tree, face flushed, tears clinging to my lashes. My chest heaved like I was on my deathbed.
And still—
"Hah—hah—ohhh my God, HAHAHAHA! I can't fucking breathe!!"
I bit my lip hard, trying to choke the sound back, but my hand clutching my chest was trembling even worse.
"I'm gonna pass out—holy shiiittt—HAHAHA— I'm seriously gonna die laughing!!"
I pressed my forehead to my knees, shaking like I was bawling. But nope—
this was the curse of laughing so hard your whole damn ribcage quivers.
"You can roast me all you want," I gasped out to no one, "but if you make that face again— I swear I'll laugh myself to death first! HAHAAAH!!"
I smacked the grass with my palm, over and over.
"Who the hell poses like a soap opera villain?! HAHAHA—oh my God—!"
The sweet scent of jasmine drifted through the night air. Crickets chirped indifferently, uncaring that I was about to laugh myself into the grave.
The whole thing felt surreal— like a secret bonus scene in a movie no one else would ever get to see.
Except me.
And my laugh?
Yeah, it wasn't about to stop anytime soon.
The camera pulled back, leaving nothing but the sound of my laugh—soft now, fading—
and the silent moonlight hanging above.
"Warun"
———
(Theer's part)
"Warun."
The deep voice—low, steady, and painfully familiar—cut through the night.
I froze, whipping my head toward the source.
He was there.
Standing beneath the dim light that slipped past the hedges, tall and broad-shouldered in a perfectly tailored black suit. His face was tense, the kind of stern calm that barely kept a storm from spilling over.
My eyes widened. Holy shit. He'd seen me. He'd seen all of that—me laughing like a lunatic about to die in the bushes.
But Theer didn't speak right away. He just looked at me.
Looked at me like I was a ghost.
…This kid.
…The kid he'd once seen running barefoot around his friend's house.
…The kid he had forced himself never to think of in that way.
…The kid who, no matter how many years passed, still managed to throw his heartbeat off rhythm.
Warun.
Still just as painfully adorable as that day burned into his memory—like a dream he'd been cursed to repeat.
The dream of that night.
The night he had to leave for months, off in a faraway city for work. The night the dream took him—clearer than any dream had the right to be.
He saw Warun swept away by the river.
Saw those wide eyes shut tight, skin pale, body limp in the freezing water until his own heart nearly stopped in terror.
That dream wasn't just a dream. He'd been inside it, screaming my name on the riverbank, voice raw and breaking, begging, clawing at the air—until he woke, drenched in sweat and tears.
After that, food lost its taste. Sleep refused to come. He worked like a soulless machine, empty, praying—desperate prayers to anything, anyone, begging:
"Please… let him live."
And when his work was done, he rushed home. Didn't stop, didn't pause, not once. Straight to Yada's house, where Warun had been staying. He thought—if there was a god, if there was luck left—he might see the boy again.
And he did.
But what he saw was no longer the same.
He wasn't the bright, grinning kid who used to latch onto his arm calling, "P'Theer! P'Theer!"
The boy he remembered had been replaced by someone distant. Someone who looked him in the eye but carried nothing but cold indifference.
One day, Warun had come to Yada asking for money. That was the first time their eyes truly locked.
Theer had gone still, heart hammering like it wanted to break his ribs apart. And in that moment, he knew—
He had never stopped loving this boy.
Even though he shouldn't. Even though he couldn't. He hadn't stopped.
—
And then the nightmare came for him again.
"Master, it's terrible! Young Warun and his friends—they're missing! The boat they took hasn't returned!"
The servants' frantic cries stabbed through him like knives. His hands trembled. His voice broke as he roared:
"Search the river! NOW! Find them all, I don't care how—GO!"
The panic in his tone silenced the household. Even Yada stared at him, stunned, before murmuring gently,
"Theer… calm yourself. Let's head to the pier first. They might come back that way."
But I couldn't hear her. He was already storming off, steps heavy, urgent. Because in his chest he knew—
If Warun vanished from him again, if fate stole him twice…
there would be nothing left of his heart to keep on living.
Hours later—merciful hours—they returned, soaked and battered but alive.
Theer didn't say much. He only muttered one word, cold and heavy with venom that froze the air:
"Handle it."
That single word was enough. His men didn't need more.
They knew exactly what he meant.
Because his eyes said it all—those who dared touch Warun wouldn't lay hands on anyone again.
Not for a long time.
Maybe not ever.
⸻
The next morning…
A faint giggle echoed from the kitchen deep inside the house.
The smell of burning pork mixed with the soft shrieks of a little girl, and Warun's voice yelling at the stove as if a miniature world war was breaking out inside.
"Jan! Why the hell did you put MSG instead of sugar!?"
"Well, who the hell can read your chicken scratch handwriting!!"
I walked in with Yada and our friends, along with a few servants who had clearly come to see what all the fuss was about…
And what met my eyes was Warun in a long-sleeved white shirt now stained gray, cheeks smudged with soot, hair in a wild mess, his shirt smeared with oil, a dab of charcoal dusting the tip of his nose like someone had painted it there, and eyes squinting as he tried to stir the rice.
I stood still, watching him, and yet my chest felt like it was being sliced, piece by piece, in ways I couldn't comprehend.
All I knew was…
Why the hell does this kid look so damn adorable?
⸻
"Owww!! Ah… ah… ahh… my leg!"
Ray's howl rang through the house, and everyone turned simultaneously, alarmed.
The boy's body collapsed slowly. His hands grabbed the edge of the table just before his head hit the floor, face contorted, lips pressed tight in pain.
I stepped forward without hesitation… bending down, catching him just in time before he hit the ground.
My arms were wide enough to hold Ray's entire frame, and a faint scent drifted to me with his breath.
It wasn't the smell of an expensive cologne.
Nor was it the faint powdery scent people try to wear to seem proper.
It was Warun.
Clean, slightly sweet, mingled with the faint smell of sweat from a child who had been running around or cooking until they were a mess—but for some reason… that scent made my heart twitch.
Warun looked up at me, his round eyes trembling slightly, tears brimming from the pain.
"P-P' Theer…" His voice was barely a whisper, trembling in suffering.
I swallowed hard, not daring to move too forcefully, afraid I might accidentally hurt the small frame in my arms.
…but I had no idea that just the scent of Warun
And those clear, innocent eyes
Was enough to keep me awake all night.
The warm scent clung to me, lingering long after the sun had dipped below the horizon. It wasn't perfume—never that. It was the raw, dangerous heat of bare skin under firelight, sticky and magnetic, wrapping itself around my senses like a curse I couldn't escape.
I lay still on the bed, chest heaving, eyes fixed on the ceiling as if staring hard enough could save me from the storm raging inside. My lips pressed into a hard line, trying—and failing—to fight the pull clawing at me. Every blink brought me back to those wide, shimmering eyes, full of trust that I shouldn't have deserved.
And that trust…
God, it made me feel filthy.
But my body… my body didn't care.
The thin fabric of my night trousers stretched tight, and I couldn't ignore the strain building there. I shifted onto my side, groaning softly, hand pressed against my face as if I could block the image of him from burning into my mind.
But it was already too late.
I could feel him still in my arms, the way his body trembled when he shifted, how he melted against me like heat seeking heat. That moment had been fleeting… but it branded me anyway.
My hand moved.
Fingers brushed over the waistband of my trousers, hesitating for just a breath before slipping underneath. The other hand stayed on my forehead, shielding my eyes, my chest rising and falling fast, shallow breaths burning my lungs.
The heat of shame collided with the fire of want.
Slow. Measured. I tried to breathe through it, to tell myself it wasn't real. But the more I touched, the less control I had. A low, husky sound escaped me—breathless, desperate, raw.
"Ah… Warun…"
The name fell like a prayer, curling through the heavy, tense air. I bit my lip, jaw tight, mind drowning in the forbidden memory of soft skin, trembling lashes, the sweet scent that made me ache.
And then—release.
My back arched, body tensing, mind blanking as a guttural moan tore from me. I froze in the dark, heart hammering, hand still.
Shame came after.
Not for what I'd done—but because I knew I'd do it again.
Because Warun had already rooted himself inside me.
And there was no turning back.
⸻
The grand hall shimmered with golden light, laughter and chatter filling the space. Chandeliers spilled glimmers over well-dressed guests, everyone moving and smiling like part of some perfect story. I walked among them, nodding, cool and calm, suit crisp, jaw tight, eyes searching for just one person.
He wasn't there yet.
My chest felt tight, every beat a reminder of the ache in my gut.
Then—the doors opened again.
And just like that, the crowd blurred into nothing.
⸻
There he was.
Warun. Just Warun.
Clad in flowing, soft fabric that hugged him just right, moving with effortless grace. His lips lifted in a shy smile, eyes sparkling with the glow that haunted my nights, invaded my thoughts.
And worse… he wasn't alone.
His laugh rang like bells, bending low to whisper to a friend, and my fists clenched at my sides.
Too close. Too damn close.
The music changed. The dance began.
He danced—with someone else. Hands brushed. Eyes met. I froze, every beat of music stabbing me deeper. Everyone else's words blurred into noise. My mind screamed only one thing:
Mine.
Then chaos.
A movement caught my eye. Voices rose. At the far end, three women and a man—arguing. Faces I didn't trust. Eyes narrowing.
And then I saw him.
Warun—my Warun—standing frozen, hands trembling. Lips parted like he wanted to speak, but no words came. His body stiffened. Without a word, he turned and walked out.
I didn't hesitate.
I followed. Fast.
Night air hit me as I stepped out, heart racing louder than the music I'd left behind.
There.
By the garden steps, under silver moonlight…
He curled into himself, knees to chest, hands hiding his face. Shoulders quivering, fragile, tiny against the world.
My voice cracked, low and raw.
"…Warun."
He looked up slowly.
Tears glimmered, huge and trembling, clinging to lashes like fragile wings.
Lip quivering. Breath hitching.
Broken.
And something inside me snapped.
Fists clenched, heart burning.
Who did this to him?
Who made him cry?
I would make them pay. Every last one.
⸻
Cut to : Ray
I nearly jumped out of my skin when the man I didn't expect—Theer—appeared. No warning. No fanfare. Just him, moving straight up, scooping me into his arms.
My heart flipped. Eyes wide, deer-in-headlights. The world tilted. Carried by him, it felt unreal.
We walked, and before I could even ask, he headed toward a house behind mine, past a massive tree, under an old wooden bench—dusty, worn, like it had held a thousand memories.
He gently set me down, dropping to one knee. His hand brushed across my cheek, wiping away invisible tears. My mind raced, heart beating against my ribs, tripping over itself.
I couldn't help but scan him.
Dark brows, intense eyes. Skin bronzed by sun, smooth yet rugged. Lips full, curved, hinting at danger. Raw, cinematic, movie-star handsome.
I blurted: "Shit… you're… fuckin' gorgeous."
He froze. Eyes locking on mine like he'd caught me red-handed. Heart slammed.
Then came a low, amused chuckle, rolling from his throat.
"You sound like a damn lead actor."
His expression hardened, serious now. Voice dropped low, cutting through the night.
"Who's asking?"
I blinked, confused. "Who… made you cry?"
And I lost it. Laughed uncontrollably, ribs aching.
His hand found mine, gently holding it like I was precious, guiding it to his face. Palm rested against his cheek. Time slowed.
He closed his eyes just enough, tension melting, soft, unspoken.
Then he opened them again.
Raw. Gentle. Honest.
"If anyone ever hurts you," he murmured, voice steady, deep, "you tell me. Immediately. Got that, Warun?"
I felt it—every word, every note, a promise.