Sunlight spilled across the polished kitchen floor as Krit sipped his orange juice. His mother stacked a plate of scrambled eggs beside him while his father skimmed the morning news on a tablet, occasionally peering over the screen.
"So," his mother said with a sly smile, leaning against the counter, "are you inviting your boy over while we're gone to the States, or are we going to have to interrogate him through phone?"
Krit smirked, taking a slow bite of toast. "I think he'd rather avoid both of you for now."
"Oh, don't be modest," his father teased, pointing at him with the tablet. "You've got to show him what a good family breakfast looks like—or at least survive Dad-style sarcasm."
"Or Mom-style chaos," she added, laughing as she playfully nudged Krit's shoulder. "Don't go turning the house into a nightclub while we're gone."
Krit grinned. "Relax. A little music, maybe a few friends… nothing too crazy."
"So," his mother began, crossing her arms with a knowing look, "since your dad and I are flying to the States this weekend to see your uncle's new baby, are you sure you don't want to come? You'll miss all the crying, spit-ups, and family drama."
Krit laughed lightly, pushing his eggs around. "Tempting, but I think I'll pass. I can't miss this opportunity with Win."
His father lowered the tablet, eyebrows raised. "Opportunity? Son, we're talking about your uncle's first kid, not a business meeting."
Krit leaned back, smirking. "Exactly. Which means I'll meet my little cousin later. But right now, I need to make sure things go right with Win. Once I get a yes from him…" His tone softened briefly. "Then I'll be at peace—and I'll come visit the baby properly."
His father chuckled. "My brother Arhit is going to be disappointed, you know. He was bragging about how his favorite nephew would fly over to meet the new addition to the family."
"I'll make it up to him," Krit said with an easy grin. "I'll send a gift. Maybe something fancy enough to make him forgive me."
His mother laughed, shaking her head. "You think gifts fix everything. So tell me—are you at least inviting Win to this so-called party you've been planning?"
Krit raised a brow, pretending offense. "Of course. The party's for him. It's basically my master plan to make him relax around me."
His father grinned mischievously. "And what if he says no? What if your big romantic gesture turns into you standing alone, surrounded by sad decorations and snacks?"
Krit leaned forward, confident and teasing. "Oh, he'll come."
His mother arched a brow. "And if he doesn't?"
Krit's grin deepened, his voice smooth and certain. "Then I'll make him come. One way or another."
His father laughed out loud. "There it is—the famous Krit persistence. Poor boy doesn't stand a chance."
"Oh, he'll be fine," Krit said, finishing his toast with a smirk. "He just needs to see that I'm serious. Once he does, he'll stop running."
His mother sighed dramatically. "Just don't scare him off before he even gets to the front door. I'd like to meet him before he files a restraining order."
Krit rolled his eyes. "Relax, Mom. I'm charming, not terrifying."
His father looked over the rim of his coffee mug. "That depends on who you ask."
Krit stood, grabbing his car keys from the counter. "You two are impossible."
"Drive safe!" his mom called after him. "And don't forget to call us when you're done flirting your life away!"
"Remember," his dad added, laughing, "gentle charm—not full-on intimidation!"
Krit paused at the doorway, flashing a roguish grin. "No promises."
Sliding into his car, he glanced at the empty passenger seat, the corner of his mouth lifting. "Alright, Win," he murmured, turning the ignition, "let's see if you're ready for my version of calm."
The city streets were quiet at this hour, the sunlight reflecting off buildings and casting long, golden streaks across the pavement. Krit drove smoothly, though he couldn't resist a few playful maneuvers—pretending to swerve slightly, tapping the horn lightly, and imagining how Win might react if he were in the passenger seat.
"Okay, maybe I'm a little excited," he admitted, grinning at the empty seat beside him. "Don't blame me… it's hard not to be."
Passing students and early commuters didn't notice the small bubble of anticipation surrounding him. Krit's dark eyes were focused, scanning for Win's familiar figure, excitement and impatience mingling with that rare warmth that only he reserved for certain people.
Finally, he pulled into the university parking lot, engine idling. "Alright, let's see if you can make my morning interesting, Win," he muttered, smirk tugging at his lips. With that, he grabbed his bag, stepped out of the car, and headed toward the main hall, eager to catch sight of him.
Krit leaned casually against the gates of the university, arms folded, eyes scanning the sea of students streaming past.
"Where is he?" Krit muttered under his breath, tapping one foot, scanning every familiar face.
A few students nearby noticed him pacing subtly, whispering and nudging each other. Krit's aura—confident, mischievous, slightly dangerous—made them step back instinctively. One of his friends leaned over from the side. "Relax, man. He'll show up."
But Krit's eyes didn't waver from the gates. He knew Win. Quiet, careful, measured… and just the kind of person who could leave a man pacing for hours without realizing it.
Meanwhile, Win moved through the bustling campus halls, heart hammering. He had deliberately left later than usual, trying to steady the knot of nerves in his stomach. He avoided the open spaces near the gates, ducking behind students and pillars, yet he couldn't resist sneaking glances. And there he was—Krit, waiting, scanning every face, leaning against the railing like he owned the morning air.
By noon, Krit's patience snapped. He strode toward the painting club, confident, purposeful, and exasperated.
His dark eyes burned with amusement and mild frustration.
Krit approached the painting classroom, his steps deliberate. He reached the doorway and knocked lightly on the open door, his dark eyes immediately finding Win's.
Win froze, pencil hovering over his canvas, heart hammering. He instinctively lowered his head, trying not to draw attention.
Mr. Somchai glanced up, startled. "Krit… what brings you here?" he asked cautiously.
Krit's expression was calm but serious, his gaze still fixed on Win. "Professor, I need a moment with Win," he said firmly. "Could he step outside for a bit? I need to talk to him."
Win's hands trembled slightly, gripping his pencil tighter.
Mr. Somchai hesitated, aware of Krit's presence and influence, then nodded slowly. "Alright… Win, please step outside for a moment and talk with Krit."
Krit inclined his head politely, though there was no mistaking the seriousness in his tone. "Thank you. I promise it won't take long. I just need a few minutes with him."
Win exhaled softly, his chest tightening, and rose from his seat. His eyes flickered nervously toward Krit as he followed the instructions, heart racing.
Krit held the door open, gesturing with a faint smirk. "This way," he said quietly, voice low but unmistakably commanding.
Win's chest tightened. He followed cautiously, small, tentative steps, cheeks flushed. Every stride felt weighted with tension, every sound amplified—the scuff of his shoes, the rustle of his sketchbook, even the distant chatter of students in the hallway.
Krit's gaze landed on him immediately, smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "Busy day avoiding me?" he asked, voice low but playful, threading amusement with a faint edge of accusation.
Win fidgeted with the strap of his bag, swallowing hard. "I… I just… didn't notice your texts," he murmured, eyes darting to the floor. "I… I'm sorry."
Krit raised one eyebrow, stepping closer, the teasing smirk deepening. "Didn't notice… or were you avoiding me?"
Win's lips parted, hesitating, eyes shifting away. "No… I never… planned that."
Krit's smirk softened, but his eyes gleamed. "Good. Because I don't like being ignored."
"I… I didn't mean to," Win stammered, cheeks heating.
"Of course you didn't," Krit said, voice playful. "But it's still fun watching you squirm." He tilted his head. "Admit it—you like this little game of ours."
Win's stomach twisted, a nervous laugh escaping. "I… I don't!"
"Uh-huh," Krit murmured, smirk widening. "Every time I tease you, your ears turn red. Your 'I'm not gay' speech? Classic bluff."
Win groaned softly, trying to duck his head. "I'm serious! I… I'm not—"
"Not gay, right?" Krit finished for him, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes… I… I'm not gay!" Win stammered, voice trembling, but a faint, reluctant smile tugged at his lips.
Krit chuckled, leaning back fractionally but keeping his gaze fixed. "And yet… here you are, blushing like a schoolkid. That's a 'maybe' in my book."
Win swallowed hard, gripping his bag. "Please… I really have to get to class—"
The distant chatter of students became background noise. Between them, a quiet tension settled, heavy and charged. For a moment, neither spoke, the air humming with unspoken words.
Krit's grin deepened, something teasing and almost predatory flickering in his eyes. "I'm hosting a party tonight," he said, casual as if dropping a line of homework. "You're coming."
Win's mouth formed a protest before his head could catch up. "I—no. I can't. I don't— I don't really know you like that." His voice was small, steady with the kind of careful caution that had kept him safe so far.
"That's exactly why you should come." Krit's tone was light, but his gaze pinned Win in place. "Think of it as an introduction. An opportunity to learn a few things about me."
Win's cheeks warmed. "My father wouldn't allow it."
Krit's smirk softened for half a second into something a little more serious. "So—if your father did allow you, would you come?"
Win froze; the question landed where it always hurt. He didn't answer.
Krit stepped closer, voice low enough that it felt like a private dare. "Look—my parents are out of the country. I've been buried in meetings and training, and I want one night that isn't schedules or work. I'm not throwing this party for show. I want people I like around me. If you don't show up—" he paused, a wicked little smile returning, "—I'll just host it at your place and invite your father as chief guest. Wouldn't that be fun?"
The absurdity of the image made Win blink despite himself; a tiny, guilty smile threatened the fear on his face. He couldn't tell whether he wanted to be flattered or horrified.
"No" Win heard himself say, the words sounding more like a plea than a plan.
Krit laughed softly, then grew mock stern. "I already know where you live, kid. Consider this fair warning: if you're not at my house, sharp, at six, I will come and—" he tapped the side of his nose conspiratorially, "—I will kidnap you. Playfully, of course. But I have no shame about dramatic gestures."
Win managed a strained, half-annoyed, half-amused, "You're impossible," and the oddness of the moment broke into something brittle and laughable.
"Good," Krit said. "Think about it. Don't make me do anything drastic cause I am very good at that."
Krit exhaled through his nose, then muttered, "You know, my parents begged me to come with them to the States this week."
Win blinked in confusion. "W-what?"
"They went to see my uncle. He just had a baby. Big family moment, right?" Krit's tone was light but edged with meaning. "And I stayed. Because I wanted to see you instead."
Win's eyes widened, startled. "You… skipped your trip? Just to talk to me?"
Krit shrugged, a sly smile curving his lips. "You make it sound irrational. But yeah. Maybe I did."
"That's… crazy," Win said softly, barely above a whisper.
"Maybe," Krit said, leaning in slightly, voice low. "But I don't like missing chances. And I'm not missing this one."
Win's heart pounded so loudly it felt like it echoed between them. "I don't think I should come. It'll just be awkward."
Krit chuckled under his breath. "You think too much. Just show up, smile a little, maybe talk to me when I'm not being terrifying—that's all I'm asking."
Win shook his head quickly. "It's not that simple…"
Krit smirked. "Sure it is. You show up, I'll take care of the rest."
"Krit, please—"
"What?" he interrupted smoothly. "You think I'm going to throw this party and not have you there? I already told my parents it's for you. They think I'm out of my mind, but they're used to it."
Win blinked, eyes wide. "You told your parents that?"
Krit's grin widened. "Of course. My dad said, 'What if he doesn't come?' And I told him—'He will. I'll make him.'"
Win let out a shaky breath, completely lost between flattery and panic. "You can't just—"
Krit cut him off, leaning closer, his tone dropping into something more possessive. "I can, and I will. Because I meant what I said, Win—I want you there."
Win's eyes darted away. "You're impossible."
Krit's smirk turned fond. "You keep saying that like it's an insult."
He paused, then said with mock gravity, "If I gave up my States trip for you, the least you can do is give me one evening. Just one. I'll even let you stand far away from me if it makes you feel safe."
Win blinked, caught between laughing and panicking again. "You're serious?"
"Dead serious," Krit murmured. "Six o'clock. Be there."
He grinned again, tapping the side of his nose. "And don't make me do anything drastic—because I'm very good at that."
Win's mouth opened and closed. He managed a strained, half-annoyed, half-amused, "You're impossible," and the oddness of the moment broke into something brittle and laughable.
"Good," Krit said. "Think about it. Don't make me do anything dramatic."
He gave Win a quick, casual nod, pivoted, and disappeared down the corridor—already moving, already sure.
He gave Win a quick, casual nod, pivoted, and disappeared down the corridor—already moving, already sure.
Win stood in the doorway for a second longer, heart pounding, chest a confusion of dread and a strange new curiosity. Then he turned, slowly, back into the class, found his seat, and tried to act like nothing had shifted inside him.
The rest of the afternoon blurred—brushstrokes, Professor murmurs, the rhythm of class—but when final bell rang, Win left with the weight of one decision pressing at the back of his throat. He walked home along the familiar route, thinking of dinner, of rules, and of the impossible possibility that tonight he might have to lie to his father—or break a rule he'd never broken—just to learn more about the boy who said he would "kidnap" him at six.
Later in the afternoon after the class, Win was sitting on the edge of his bed, sketchbook closed beside him, fingers fidgeting with the strap of his bag. The idea of going to Krit's party made his chest pound—excitement, fear, and guilt all tangled together.
He quietly tiptoed to the kitchen, where his mother was clearing some dishes. Her gentle humming stopped when she noticed him.
"Mom…" Win began, voice hesitant. "I… I wanted to ask you something."
Suthida wiped her hands on a towel and gave him a curious look. "Of course, darling. What is it?"
"I… there's a party tonight. At… at Krit's place," Win said slowly, glancing down at the floor. "I was wondering… if it would be okay if I went. Just for a little while. Please?"
Her eyes softened, and a small smile tugged at her lips. "Win… you know your father would never approve if he knew. But… I can help. I'll tell him you have a late class. Just promise me you'll be careful and stay close to people you trust."
Win's shoulders relaxed slightly, relief and nervous excitement mingling. "I… I will, Mom. I promise."
"And remember," she added, brushing a loose strand of hair from his forehead, "it's okay to step out of your comfort zone sometimes. Just… don't get in over your head."
"I won't," Win whispered, a faint smile breaking through. "Thanks, Mom."
Suthida ruffled his hair gently. "Alright, then. Go enjoy yourself… but come home safely."
Win returned to his room, heart pounding and thoughts racing. His sketchbook lay abandoned, his mind already spinning with the bright lights, the music, and the anticipation of seeing Krit again.
By early evening, Win stood in his room, staring at his reflection in the mirror. His hands fidgeted with the strap of his backpack, his heart thudding so loudly it felt like it might echo through the walls. He'd changed outfits three times, each one deemed "too plain" or "too bold" by his own nervous standards.
Suthida appeared quietly at the doorway, her presence warm and grounding. "You look fine, Win. Comfortable, but neat. That's all that matters," she said softly.
Win nodded, swallowing hard. "I… I'll try not to… you know…"
"Break anything," she finished with a small smile, brushing a loose strand of hair from his forehead. "Just… enjoy yourself. And stay safe."
"I will," Win whispered, trying to steady his racing thoughts.
The drive to Krit's house was quiet, Win's hands gripping the seat as the city lights streaked past. When they arrived, the sounds of laughter and faint music spilled into the cool evening air. Krit's place always felt alive, even from the outside—the lights flickering through the large glass windows, shadows dancing across polished floors, and the faint scent of food and perfume mixing with the bass of the music.
Krit met him at the door, leaning casually against the frame, a teasing smirk curving his lips. His sharp eyes scanned Win from head to toe, lingering just a second too long.
"Well, look who finally decided to show up," Krit drawled, his tone half-teasing, half-challenging. "I was starting to think you'd chicken out."
Win froze, clutching the strap of his small bag like it was a lifeline. "I… I didn't," he stammered softly, cheeks pink. "I just—uh—got lost for a bit."
Krit chuckled lowly, stepping aside. "Sure you did. Come on, before someone else steals your attention." He reached out, catching Win's wrist and tugging him inside.
The house buzzed with life—bass-heavy music shook the air, laughter spilled from every corner, and flashing lights cast wild colors across faces. Win hesitated immediately, shrinking a little as a group of upperclassmen shouted by the stereo.
"Here," Krit said, placing a cool glass of water in Win's trembling hand. "Drink this first. Don't let the chaos swallow you."
Win nodded quickly, grateful. "Thanks…" he murmured, sipping as Krit guided him through the crowd, his hand never leaving Win's lower back.
Krit leaned down slightly to be heard over the music. "Relax, Win. You're safe here. No one's going to bother you."
That promise barely had time to settle before a tall guy from Krit's class appeared, grinning wide and holding a cup of something amber and sweet-smelling. "Hey, Krit! Who's your little guest? Come on, freshie, try this!"
"I—I don't drink," Win said quickly, taking a small step back.
"Aw, come on! One sip won't kill you," another friend chimed in, pushing the cup closer. "You look tense. Let's fix that."
Before Win could refuse again, Krit's voice cut through the laughter like a blade.
"Hey." He stepped forward, eyes sharp. "He said no."
The group paused. One guy snorted nervously. "We're just messing around, man—"
"Mess around with someone else," Krit snapped. His jaw flexed. "Try that again, and I'll make sure you regret it."
Silence fell for a beat before the group muttered apologies and backed off.
Krit turned back to Win, expression softening immediately. "You okay? Did they scare you?"
Win shook his head, clutching his cup tightly. "I'm fine… I just don't fit in here."
Krit's lips twitched into a faint smile. "You fit fine where I put you," he said under his breath, half-teasing, half-possessive.
They moved to a quieter corner near the staircase. For a while, things settled. Win relaxed enough to look around—the decorations, the laughter, the easy confidence of everyone else. He even smiled once when Krit leaned down and said, "See? Not so bad when you have the right company."
Just as Win started to loosen up, another guy approached, holding a cup of bright orange liquid. "Here, Win! Try this. It's just juice—no alcohol, promise."
Win hesitated. "Really?"
"Really," the guy said smoothly. But as Win glanced away, another friend snickered and quietly poured a small shot of vodka into the cup.
Krit noticed the flicker of motion immediately, eyes narrowing. "What was that?" he asked sharply.
The friend waved him off. "Relax, just having fun!"
But Win, completely unaware, took a cautious sip. The taste was sweet—but then warmth bloomed in his stomach, spreading fast. The room tilted slightly.
"Win?" Krit's voice dropped, low and tense. "You okay?"
"I… I feel a little—" Win began, but the words trailed off as the cup slipped from his hand, splattering orange liquid down his shirt.
"Shit," Krit muttered, catching him before he stumbled. "It's okay, I've got you."
He grabbed napkins, dabbing gently at the stain, his hand resting firmly on Win's waist. "Come on, let's get you upstairs. You can change in my room."
"I—I don't want to be trouble—"
"You're not trouble," Krit said, his tone suddenly soft but unyielding. "You're the only reason I'm even at this damn party."
He glanced up, locking eyes with the guy who'd spiked the drink. "You—yeah, you. Get out of here before I come back and rearrange your face," he said.
The guy raised his hands in mock defense. "Easy, Krit. I was giving you an opportunity. You're welcome."
"Opportunity?" Krit's voice was sharp with anger. "Try that again and you'll need a new set of teeth."
The guy backed off fast. Krit sighed, steadying Win's arm. "Hey, slow down. One step at a time, okay? Lean on me."
Win nodded weakly, voice barely above a whisper. "Sorry…"
Krit smiled faintly, guiding him up the stairs. "Don't apologize, Win. I told you—I'll handle everyone else. You just stay close to me."
As they disappeared upstairs, the noise of the party faded behind them, replaced by the quiet hum of tension, heat, and something unspoken brewing just beneath the surface.
Once they reached Krit's room, the noise of the party faded into muffled echoes downstairs. Soft lighting from a lamp cast a warm glow across the space—modern, but surprisingly tidy.
"Sit," Krit said gently, guiding Win to the edge of the bed. "Here." He handed him a clean, oversized shirt. "You can change into this. It'll be more comfortable."
Win nodded weakly, still dizzy. "Thanks…" His fingers trembled as he fumbled with the buttons of his soaked shirt. "Sorry… I didn't mean to—spill…"
"Hey," Krit interrupted softly. "Don't apologize. It wasn't your fault."
Win tried to smile, but his legs wobbled as he stood. "I'm fine, I just—"
He didn't finish. His knees gave slightly, and before he could fall, Krit caught him around the waist.
"Whoa—steady!" Krit's tone sharpened with worry. "You okay?"
Win froze, realizing how close they were—Krit's arm around his waist, their faces inches apart. His heart pounded in his chest so loudly he could barely breathe.
For a long second, neither moved. Krit's eyes softened, scanning Win's flushed cheeks, his parted lips, the nervous flutter in his throat. "You… look really good like this," he murmured, voice low and raw, the words slipping out before he could stop them.
Win's breath hitched. "K-Krit…" he whispered, eyes wide, unsure what to do.
Something in that trembling voice made Krit's restraint falter. He leaned down slowly, giving Win a chance to pull away—but Win didn't. The kiss was soft at first, hesitant. Then, as if pulled by something magnetic, it deepened.
For a heartbeat, the world blurred—just the warmth of lips, the faint taste of vodka and orange, and the thundering pulse between them.
Then Win suddenly stiffened. Reality hit like a wave. He jerked back, eyes wide, breath shaking. "I—I've never… done that before!" His voice broke as tears welled in his eyes. He covered his face with trembling hands. "Why did you—"
Krit froze, instantly guilty. "Win… hey, I'm sorry," he said quietly, voice roughened with regret. "I shouldn't have. I didn't mean to push you like that."
Win shook his head, still trembling. "No, I just… I don't know what I'm feeling right now."
Krit exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's okay. You don't have to know. Just… breathe, okay?" He knelt slightly to meet Win's eyes. "I promise I won't do anything you don't want."
Win looked up, eyes glistening. "Th… thank you… for inviting me to the party. But I think I should go. It's late."
"I'll drive you home," Krit said immediately.
"No!" Win said quickly, shaking his head. "It's your party. I don't want to cause trouble."
Krit chuckled softly despite the tension, his smirk returning just faintly. "Then you'll have to sleep here. My bed's comfortable. And I make great breakfast—pancakes, maybe even coffee if you say please."
Win blinked, flustered. "Krit, I can't just stay here—"
"You can," Krit said, more gently this time. "I wouldn't be able to sleep if you left like this. Please."
Win hesitated, torn between politeness and his spinning thoughts. "Okay… just for a bit," he whispered finally.
Krit nodded, relieved. "Good. Sit tight for a sec." He grabbed a towel and gently handed it over. "Dry your hair, or you'll catch a cold. You're already shaking."
Win obeyed quietly, drying his hair while Krit stood nearby, watching him with a mix of fondness and guilt.
After a few minutes, Krit helped him downstairs, keeping a protective hand on his back. His tone turned sharp again when he addressed the guests. "Alright, everyone! Party's over. Go home. Now."
The crowd laughed at first, thinking he was joking—until they saw his face. Within minutes, the living room emptied.
Krit turned to the maid. "Please clean up tomorrow. And lock up after I leave."
"Yes, sir," she said with a knowing smile.
Krit led Win to the car, opening the passenger door carefully. "Seatbelt," he murmured as he leaned in to buckle it for him. Win's cheeks flamed, and Krit smiled faintly at his shy stiffness.
The drive was silent except for the low hum of the engine. Streetlights flashed across Win's face—his eyes half-closed, his expression soft and tired.
"Win," Krit said quietly after a long pause. "About what happened earlier… I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have done that."
Win turned slightly, voice barely above a whisper. "I just… wasn't expecting it."
Krit smiled ruefully. "Yeah. I wasn't either."
When they pulled up outside the Thammarat house, Win's mother was waiting at the door, relief washing over her face. "Win! There you are." Her eyes flicked to Krit. "Thank you for bringing him home safely."
"Anytime, ma'am," Krit said politely, giving a small smile.
Win's mother nodded warmly. "You're always welcome here, dear."
Win's face turned red instantly. "M-Mom!"
Krit chuckled. "Good night, Win." His tone softened, teasing but sincere. "Next time, no vodka. Just you and me, okay?"
Win's lips twitched into a shy smile.
Krit waited until Win disappeared inside before driving off, the faintest smile lingering on his face.
Upstairs, Win collapsed onto his bed, heart still racing. His lips tingled faintly, and though he tried to push the thought away, one truth refused to leave his mind—
no matter how confusing it was…
the warmth he'd felt when Krit kissed him still hadn't faded.
The next morning, sunlight filtered through the curtains, soft and golden—but the air in the Thammarat household was anything but calm.
At the breakfast table, Preecha's jaw was set tight, the newspaper crumpled in his hands. The driver stood awkwardly nearby, eyes downcast. "Sir… Master Win came home around two," he said quietly.
Preecha's head snapped up. "Two a.m.?" His voice cracked like a whip.
Win, still pale and sluggish from the night before, froze mid-step at the dining room door. "Father—"
"Where were you?" Preecha's tone was sharp, each word cutting through the morning stillness.
Win's throat tightened. "A friend's party," he said carefully. "Just for a little while."
"A party?" Preecha's voice rose. "At two in the morning? Do you think this is acceptable behavior for my son? Do you even understand what time you came home?"
"I didn't mean—"
The slap came before the sentence finished, echoing through the room. Win staggered back, one hand instinctively touching his burning cheek.
"Enough, Preecha!" his mother cried, stepping forward.
"Stay out of this," Preecha snapped, eyes still fixed on Win. "He needs to learn responsibility. I will not have my son sneaking out like some delinquent."
Win swallowed hard, blinking rapidly to hold back tears. "I wasn't sneaking out… I just—wanted to see my friends." His voice cracked with quiet desperation.
"Friends?" Preecha repeated mockingly. "Which friend? The one who drives flashy cars and throws loud parties? What's his name again—Krit?"
At that, Win froze completely. His father's voice dripped with disdain.
"You think that boy is your friend? He's a distraction. He's dangerous. People like him don't care about boys like you."
Win's mother tried again, softly this time. "Preecha, please. Let him eat something."
But the silence that followed was thick and suffocating. Preecha threw down his newspaper, muttering, "You will not see that boy again. Am I clear?"
Win didn't answer. He couldn't trust his voice not to break.
"Am I clear?" Preecha thundered again.
"Yes, Father," Win whispered finally.
The rest of breakfast passed in silence, broken only by the clink of utensils and the quiet, choked breaths his mother tried to hide.
Upstairs, Win locked his bedroom door behind him and pressed his palm to his cheek—the skin still stung from the slap. He took a deep breath, forcing back the tremor in his chest.
Standing before the mirror, he carefully dabbed at the swelling, applying light makeup from his art kit. "There," he whispered weakly to his reflection. "No one has to see."
But his reflection didn't look convinced. His eyes looked tired, rimmed with red. Beneath the makeup, the truth lingered—hurt, confusion, and something else.
Win sank onto the edge of his bed, sketchbook resting on his lap. His fingers traced the worn edges absentmindedly. Every quiet corner of the room seemed to echo with fragments of the night before—the thump of music, the laughter, the smell of cologne and orange juice, the warmth of Krit's steady hands.
His chest tightened at the memory. The way Krit had looked at him—half teasing, half tender. The kiss, impulsive yet sincere. The apology afterward, the soft concern in his eyes. No one had ever looked at Win that way before—like he mattered.
Win pressed a hand to his chest, as if trying to calm the erratic rhythm beneath. "What's wrong with me?" he murmured. "Why can't I stop thinking about him?"
He remembered Krit's voice—smooth, teasing: "If you don't show up, I'll just come find you." The words played on a loop in his mind, soft but relentless.
He tried to draw, to distract himself, but his hand betrayed him. The pencil moved on its own, sketching the outline of a face—sharp jawline, mischievous smile, messy hair. Krit.
Win stared at the drawing, heart pounding.
"I don't even know why I—" he started, but stopped. The truth was sitting right there on the page.
He did know why.
Krit had scared him, infuriated him, confused him… but he had also made him feel seen.
For the first time in years, Win felt something that wasn't duty, fear, or quiet obedience. It was dangerous and thrilling, something that made his pulse race and his thoughts blur.
He pressed his forehead against the page and exhaled shakily. "I can't like him," he whispered. "Father would never allow it."
But the words felt hollow.
Because deep down, he already did.
And that realization—sweet and terrifying—settled deep in his heart, pulsing with every beat.
The sun was barely up, throwing long streaks of gold across the parking lot. Krit leaned against his car, his usual smirk nowhere to be found. His three friends—Than, Phum, and Tawan—stood around him, exchanging worried glances.
"So," Than began, crossing his arms, "you look like hell. What happened last night?"
Krit rubbed his face, sighing heavily. "I… kissed Win."
"What?" Phum almost choked on his coffee. "You kissed him? As in, our Win?"
Krit nodded, guilt darkening his eyes. "He was crying. He drank too much. I don't even know what I was thinking. It just— it happened so fast. I kissed him… and I think— I think I took advantage of him."
Beam blinked. "Wait, hold on. You? Krit Thanakorn —Mr. Player—feeling guilty for a kiss?"
Krit's jaw tightened. "It wasn't like that. He was shaking, scared. I should've stopped, but I didn't. God, he must hate me now."
Than whistled softly. "Man, I've seen you make girls cry before. Never thought I'd see you be the one crying over someone."
"I'm not crying," Krit snapped, voice cracking anyway. "I just— Win's different. I don't want him to think I'm some jerk who used him. I love him. I can't lose him."
The group fell silent. For a moment, all that filled the space was the sound of birds and a passing car. Then Mek smirked and nudged him. "Did he kiss you back?"
Krit's expression wavered. "I… I don't know. Maybe. It felt like it. But I'm scared that maybe he didn't mean it."
Beam grinned teasingly. "Wow, look at you. The guy who's had a hundred one-night stands, suddenly losing his mind over one kiss. You've got it bad, man."
"Shut up," Krit muttered, but his voice was small, almost broken. "This isn't funny."
Ton patted his shoulder, half-teasing, half-genuine. "Hey, maybe it's not that bad. If he hated you, he wouldn't even look at you today."
Just then, Phum pointed toward the gate. "Well, look who just showed up. Your lover boy."
Krit's head snapped up. Win was walking across the lot, bag slung over his shoulder, eyes downcast. The bruised cheek was barely visible beneath careful makeup. Krit's heart twisted painfully.
Krit ran forward, his voice cracking.
"Win! Wait—please!"
Win stopped. His hand froze mid-step, his back rigid. Slowly, he turned. His expression was blank—too calm, too careful.
Krit's throat tightened. "I'm sorry," he blurted, words rushing out before he could stop them. "Please don't hate me. I didn't mean to—last night, I just— I wasn't thinking, okay? You were drunk, and crying, and I should've stopped. I shouldn't have kissed you."
He took a shaky breath, running a trembling hand through his hair.
"I'm such an idiot. You probably think I'm disgusting. I swear I didn't mean to take advantage of you. I just… couldn't see you cry like that. I wanted to comfort you, and then— I messed everything up."
Win said nothing. His fingers clutched the strap of his bag so tightly his knuckles went white. The sting from his father's slap still burned under the makeup, the weight of that morning pressing into his chest like stone. His throat ached to speak, but no words came.
Krit's voice broke again. "I've done things—things I'm not proud of. I've had meaningless nights, made girls cry, lied to people. But you—" He swallowed hard. "You're not one of them. You're the only one who makes me want to be better. Please, Win… don't hate me."
The silence stretched, and suddenly Krit's composure cracked. His voice trembled. "God, listen to me—I sound pathetic. The great Krit, crying over one kiss." His laugh came out wet, broken. "But I can't help it. I keep seeing your face, the way you looked at me last night. I don't know what that was, but it's killing me thinking you regret it."
Win's lips parted, but his voice failed him. He wanted to say I don't hate you. He wanted to say I was scared because I wanted you too. But his father's voice still echoed in his head—sharp, cruel, reminding him how wrong it all was. The shame, the fear, the guilt—all tangled together until all he could do was tremble where he stood.
Krit stepped closer, desperate. "You can hit me if you want. Scream at me. Anything. Just don't—don't look at me like that, like I ruined everything."
Still, Win stayed silent, his breath shaky. His heart pounded painfully in his chest. Krit's words cut through him, raw and pleading, but what hurt more was how much he meant them.
Krit's eyes were wet now, his voice barely a whisper. "Please… just tell me you don't hate me."
For a long second, Win only looked at him—seeing the guilt, the fear, and the truth laid bare in front of him. Then, quietly, slowly, he stepped forward. His bag slipped from his shoulder. Without a word, he wrapped his arms around Krit, pressing his face against his chest.
Krit froze, breath catching. Win's embrace was small and trembling, but it carried all the weight of the words he couldn't say. And then, barely audible, Win whispered against his shirt—
"Yes."
Krit froze completely. His friends' jaws dropped.
"Holy—he hugged him!" one hissed.
"No way! Did you see that?!"
"Bro… the guy actually hugged Krit."
Krit blinked rapidly, his mind blank. "Win…?" he whispered, voice trembling. "You—you're saying yes that… you hate me?"
Win blinked up at him, eyes teary but shining. For the first time all morning, a faint laugh slipped from his lips, fragile but real.
"No," he whispered softly, shaking his head. "Not for that."
Krit's eyes widened—then softened. He stared at Win for a beat before a slow, boyish grin spread across his face. "Oh… oh," he said quietly, realization dawning, his voice teasing. "So that's what you're saying yes for."
Win flushed instantly, burying his face against Krit's chest, too shy to answer.
Behind them, one of Krit's friends muttered, "What is happening right now?"
Another whispered, "We just witnessed a miracle."
Krit chuckled under his breath, the sound low and shaky. He tilted his head down, brushing his thumb lightly against the back of Win's hair. "You're going to make me crazy, you know that?" he murmured. "Here I am thinking you hate me, and you just—hug me out of nowhere."
Win didn't answer, but his grip didn't loosen either.
Krit smiled—really smiled this time—and whispered, "Fine, then. Don't explain. I'll take that 'yes' as the good kind."
Win let out a small laugh, muffled against his chest.
Krit's friends exchanged stunned glances, one muttering, "Yeah, he's gone. Totally gone."
And for once, Krit didn't care. He just wrapped his arms around Win and held him tighter, relief and disbelief mixing inside him until he could only laugh softly into Win's hair.
Krit exhaled shakily, his voice barely above a whisper. "You… you're really hugging me."
Win nodded slightly, still not looking up.
Krit swallowed, his tone soft but teasing, trying to steady himself. "You know, I've been imagining this moment—but not with an audience," he muttered, glancing sideways at his stunned friends.
One of them shouted playfully, "We'll pretend we didn't see anything, lover boy!"
Krit shot them a glare. "Get lost!" he barked, though his smile betrayed him.
As his friends dispersed, still laughing and whispering in disbelief, Krit looked down again. Win finally lifted his head, eyes glistening, cheeks flushed.
Krit glanced down at him with that familiar mischievous spark. "You know, you just hugged me and said yes. But I still don't know what exactly you're saying yes to."
Win flushed. "Ah…" he whispered, fumbling for words.
Krit chuckled, leaning closer, voice low and teasing. "What, too shy now? You can't just drop a yes like that and expect me not to ask."
Win's lips parted, but no words came. His heart pounded. Krit grinned wider, unable to resist.
"Alright then," Krit said, stopping in his tracks. "Tell me you love me—in one full sentence. Or I won't let you leave."
Win's eyes went wide, his face turning deep red. "Krit…" he murmured.
Krit tilted his head, feigning innocence. "What? It's just words. Come on—say it."
For a long moment, Win hesitated, his chest tight with nerves. Images flashed through his mind—the morning slap, his father's furious glare, the shame and confusion, the memory of Krit's tears. Yet here, standing beside him now, he felt something new: safety. Warmth. The pull of someone who saw him.
Finally, he exhaled shakily and whispered, "I… love you."
Krit's grin widened instantly—radiant, disbelieving. He laughed softly, voice cracking with joy. "Finally! Took you long enough, kid."
Win covered his face in embarrassment. "You're impossible," he muttered.
Krit leaned closer, whispering near his ear, "You know… you kissed me back last night."
Win's face flared hotter. "I—I was drunk. That doesn't count."
Krit chuckled, smirking. "Drunk lips, honest heart."
Win swatted weakly at his arm, flustered, but a tiny smile slipped through. Krit caught it and grinned even wider.
"You're smiling," Krit said, amused. "That's progress."
Win lowered his gaze, trying to hide it.
Krit's voice softened. "Hey… no pressure. You don't have to say anything else. I just needed to know you didn't hate me."
Win looked up quietly, eyes still glassy but soft. "I don't."
Krit let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "Good," he whispered. "Because I'm not letting you go this time."
And as they walked through the golden light filtering between the trees, Krit felt the tension that had held him for days finally release—a strange, beautiful calm settling between them.
By mid-afternoon, the whispers had already spread like wildfire.
It started with Krit's friends. They never could keep their mouths shut.
"So, Win finally tamed our resident playboy, huh?" one of them teased loudly in the cafeteria, grinning as he reached over and ruffled Win's hair.
Win froze mid-bite, eyes wide. His cheeks turned crimson, and the fork clattered softly against his tray.
Before he could react, Krit's hand shot out—fast, sharp. He swatted the guy's hand away and leaned forward with a glare that could've cut glass.
"Hands off," he said, voice low but firm. "He's mine."
The group erupted in laughter and mock whistles. "Whoa, possessive much?" another friend teased. "Didn't know you were the clingy type, Krit."
Krit rolled his eyes, forcing a half-smirk. "Only when people forget boundaries."
Win stared at him, stunned and flustered all at once. His pulse thudded in his ears. Mine? He tried to speak but found no words, just a nervous laugh that didn't quite reach his eyes.
By the end of the day, it felt like the entire university had heard something—some version of the story. In the hallways, people he didn't even recognize smiled at him knowingly. A few girls approached between classes, their voices lilting with curiosity.
"So… is it true? You and Krit?"
"Is he really that charming off-camera?"
"Your art exhibit's amazing, by the way. Krit must be proud."
Win tried to respond politely, but every word felt awkward. He wasn't used to the attention. His shoulders tensed each time someone stared a bit too long, whispered as he passed.
At one point, an older student from Krit's sports club clapped Win on the back, laughing. "Guess we'll be seeing more of you around, huh?"
Win flinched at the sudden touch. Before he could even turn, Krit was already there—stepping in close, eyes cold, voice clipped.
"Funny how everyone suddenly wants to be his friend," he said, staring down the senior.
The senior raised his hands in mock surrender, backing off with a laugh. "Relax, man. Just joking."
Krit didn't smile. He just stayed there, a half-step in front of Win, shoulders tense.
When they finally walked away, Win looked up at him, brow furrowed. "Why are you acting like that?" he asked quietly.
Krit shoved his hands into his pockets, avoiding his gaze. "Because," he said, the words rougher than he meant them to be, "I don't like people touching what's mine."
Win stopped walking. The cafeteria noise buzzed around them, but his mind went blank. His heart gave a tiny, traitorous leap.
"Yours?" he repeated softly, unsure whether to be annoyed or amused.
Krit glanced sideways, catching the faint smile Win was trying to hide. His lips curved upward. "Yeah," he said simply, a teasing glint in his eye. "Got a problem with that?"
Win's ears turned scarlet. "You're impossible," he muttered, brushing past him. But his voice was lighter this time, the kind that trembled between irritation and something dangerously close to happiness.
Krit fell into step beside him, grinning to himself. On the outside, he looked smug, playful. Inside, though, he was restless.
Win's "yes" still echoed in his mind—but it wasn't enough. It wasn't a confession, not really. It was a promise half-formed, fragile. Krit could feel there was more hidden behind Win's quiet eyes, behind his shy smiles. Something he hadn't said yet.
Still, for now, Krit decided he could wait. He'd tease him, guard him, keep him close until the day Win stopped hiding—and finally said it for real.
The next day at lunch, the cafeteria buzzed with noise—students chatting, trays clattering, and the faint echo of laughter bouncing off the walls. Krit strolled in with his usual confidence, but today he had Win trailing reluctantly behind him, clutching his sketchbook like a shield.
"Why are we eating here?" Win muttered under his breath.
Krit shot him a grin. "Because I want everyone to see you with me."
Win's cheeks burned. "That's embarrassing."
"That's the point," Krit teased, grabbing two trays. He didn't even let Win choose—just loaded one with food and set it down in front of him like he'd been feeding him for years.
When they sat, Krit's friends immediately whistled. "Ooooh, look at them! Krit actually serving food for someone? Win, you've tamed the beast."
Win sank lower in his chair. "I didn't tame anything," he mumbled, picking at his rice.
Krit leaned over, voice loud enough for the table to hear. "Actually… he kissed me back."
The table erupted into cheers and laughter. Win's spoon clattered against his tray, his face turning crimson. "K-Krit!"
"What? It's true," Krit said with a smug shrug, throwing an arm around Win's shoulders.
Win tried to push him away, but Krit held firm, grinning. "Relax. They should know you're taken."
One of his friends smirked. "Wow. So protective. What's next, Krit? Gonna carry his books for him too?"
Krit didn't hesitate—he reached over, snatched Win's sketchbook, and tucked it under his arm. "Yep. Already doing it."
The table howled with laughter again, while Win covered his face with both hands, muttering, "I hate you."
But when Krit leaned close, whispering just for him—"You don't mean that"—Win's lips curved into the tiniest, secret smile he couldn't hide.