KNOT.

Chapter 7 - To Be.

Phatsa woke the next morning slowly, as if his mind had not returned to him all at once, but was drifting upward little by little from the bottom of something deep and far too warm. The first thing he became aware of was not pain, not cold, not even the heat that had nearly burned him alive the night before, but the softness of the bed and a scent still lingering all around him the warm note of whiskey steeped in wood, the faint trace of smoke, and the deep, steady presence of someone who made his entire body loosen in an almost unforgivable way. His brain had barely started working, and yet he already felt safer, which was, frankly, infuriating.

 

He lay still for a moment, blinking slowly before finally opening his eyes. The blur in front of him gradually sharpened into a pale, spotless ceiling that did not belong to his room. The curtains were not his either. And the pillow? That was even more obvious. It was too firm, too soft in the wrong way, and smelled far too distinctly of someone else.

 

Phatsa froze for a full beat before carefully lifting his head, wariness creeping through him. His memory had not returned all the way yet, but instinct had already begun sounding the alarm that this was absolutely not his home. The first thing he saw was a room that was spacious, elegant, and absurdly orderly, as though even breathing too carelessly in it would count as a violation. Everything looked expensive, cool-toned, and far too refined, the kind of place that clearly did not tolerate people touching things for no reason. 

 

The second thing he saw was a tall figure reclining not far away, already watching him as though he had been awake for a long time, quietly waiting for him to wake. Holy shit. It was like déja vu, exactly like that morning.

 

Phatsa jerked so hard he nearly launched himself off the bed. The man moved at once. His expression stayed as unreadable as ever, but his body shifted slightly closer, as if afraid Phatsa really might tumble off.

 

"Careful."

 

That single word was enough to make everything collapse. Because the moment he heard that voice, last night came crashing back into him like a dam breaking open. The scent of pheromones was winding around him until he could barely breathe. The kiss, burning and fragile and staggering all at once. Those strong arms are carrying him back. The soothing words had made his heart tremble. The confusion. The craving. And everything that had happened afterwards, every detail that made his face grow hotter by the second until he wanted to grab a pillow and knock himself out all over again.

 

Damn it.

He did not want to wake up to a morning like this. Not even a little. Phatsa nearly fainted. He snatched up the blanket and dragged it around himself at once, even though he knew perfectly well it was useless. What had happened had already happened. Most of what he absolutely should not remember had already come back. And the man responsible for all of it was lying right there, watching him without the faintest sign that he intended to disappear anytime soon. Even so, no matter how much he wanted to scream the house down inside his own head, Phatsa was still Phatsa. 

 

He pressed his lips together, drew in a deep breath, and tried to gather what little dignity he had left into something resembling a normal expression. If he had to lose face, then at least let it be with a little pride left intact, not like this, sitting there flushed scarlet while the man in front of him could probably read every shameful memory still burning through his head.

 

Nakhun kept looking at him in silence. His expression was as unreadable as ever, so still it was impossible to tell what he was thinking, and yet his eyes never left Phatsa, as though if he let his attention drift for even a second, the stubborn creature on the bed would vanish outright. In the end, Nakhun was the one who broke the silence.

 

"You need to move in here."

 

Phatsa blinked once. Then again. Then pointed at himself, his face a picture of disbelief.

 

"What?"

 

"Move into my house," Nakhun repeated, his voice low and steady, as though this was a matter already decided. "It'll be easier to take care of you."

 

Phatsa went still for a beat before giving a dry, hollow laugh, the kind that sounded as if he could not decide whether this was funny or a nightmare.

 

"Wait. Who exactly are you giving orders to?"

 

"I'm not ordering you," Nakhun answered at once. "I'm telling you what should happen."

 

"Oh, really?" Phatsa nodded as if he understood perfectly. "Then I'm telling you what should not happen. I'm not moving."

 

Nakhun frowned immediately.

 

"You can't stay alone right now."

 

"Says Who?"

 

"Your body."

 

That only made Phatsa more exasperated.

 

"Oh, your body talks to you now? Impressive."

 

That sarcasm darkened Nakhun's gaze slightly, though he was still clearly trying to keep his temper in check.

 

"Don't be stubborn."

 

"I'm not stubborn. I have a brain," Phatsa shot back at once. "And I am not crazy enough to move into the house of some strange man I only just-"

 

He stopped short because the rest of the sentence was too embarrassing to say aloud. But that much was enough. Nakhun already understood perfectly well.

 

"Only just what?" the other man asked, far too calmly. Phatsa turned his face away immediately.

 

"Had sex with." Damn it, how could this man say things like that with such a straight face? 

 

"Well, that."

 

"You're staying here."

 

"I said no!"

 

This time, his voice rose for real. Phatsa turned back to glare at him, humiliation still fresh in his eyes but stubbornness fully restored.

 

"I'm going home. I'm staying in my own place. You do not get to interfere in my life this much just because of last night. What happened last night was-"

 

"It wasn't just last night." Nakhun cut in immediately, his voice lower now, unmistakably so. But Phatsa was already too worked up to stop. The more he spoke, the more annoyed he became, and the more annoyed he became, the sharper his tongue got.

 

"For me, it was just last night! We slept together, that's all! Why are you acting like you have to take responsibility for my entire life now? You don't have to play the hero!"

 

The phrase we slept together, changed the room in an instant. There was no sound. No explosion. But Phatsa felt it immediately, the air around him growing heavier within the span of a heartbeat. Nakhun's face went still in a different way, his dark eyes flashing cold, and something pressed outward from him before he even seemed to realise he was doing it.

 

Pheromones. It was nowhere near as overwhelming as the moment Nakhun had smashed his way into Phatsa's house, but for Phatsa, who had been bound to him directly, this was already enough. His body responded before his mind could. His heart lurched. His breathing snagged. His whole body went still as instinct screamed a warning that the man in front of him was genuinely angry. Phatsa pressed his lips together hard, trying not to shrink back, but the harder he fought it, the hotter his eyes became, until before he could stop it, tears spilt over anyway. He was startled by them himself. Was he crying again?

For God's sake. 

 

But the instant the first tear slid down his cheek, Nakhun's expression changed at once, as a man slapped back to his senses. The pressure in the room vanished immediately. He moved toward Phatsa quickly, then slowed halfway, as if afraid of frightening him even more.

 

"I'm sorry."

 

His voice had changed. Completely. There was no coldness left in it, no pressure, no force-only real alarm and barely concealed panic.

 

"I didn't mean to."

 

Phatsa, for his part, was mortified and furious enough to wish he could disappear on the spot. He hurriedly wiped at his tears with the back of his hand, trying to salvage whatever dignity he had left, but the more he wiped, the more they came, as though his body had decided humiliating him was its full-time job today. Nakhun looked utterly lost. He no longer resembled an angry man at all, only someone who had no idea what to do with the damage he had just caused. In the end, he crossed the rest of the distance between them and pulled Phatsa into his arms without thinking. 

 

Phatsa went rigid because the embrace was tight, very tight, but not frightening. It was the kind of tightness that came from someone genuinely shocked, genuinely distressed, as though if he did not hold on now, he himself would fall apart right then and there.

 

"I'm sorry," Nakhun said again, his voice low and rough by Phatsa's ear. "I'm really sorry."

Phatsa remained stiff in his arms. He did not push him away, but neither did he return the embrace. So Nakhun continued quickly, as though afraid that if he hesitated even a little longer, the stubborn boy in front of him would only cry harder.

 

"What do you want?"

 

Phatsa went still.

 

"What do you want to do? What do you want me to do? Tell me."

 

Nakhun paused for the briefest moment, his eyes fixed too intently on the tears still clinging to Phatsa's face, before lowering his voice even further.

 

"Just don't cry."

 

He never said aloud that his heart already felt like it was tearing in half, but somehow Phatsa could hear it in everything else.

 

Silence stretched for a moment. Then Phatsa drew in a deep breath, trying to stop crying with as much dignity as he could manage, and muttered into Nakhun's shoulder in a muffled voice, "If I agree to stay here...

 

Nakhun went completely still. His whole body seemed to snap into attention. And so Phatsa continued slowly, like a man laying out the terms of an international treaty.

 

"You are not allowed to come near me unless I say so."

 

This time, Nakhun pulled back to look him directly in the eye.

 

"What?"

 

"You heard me," Phatsa said at once, though his eyes were still red. "No touching. No hugging. No kissing. No coming near me. No doing anything on your own unless I allow it."

 

The more he listened, the more Nakhun looked like a man being strangled in total silence. It was painfully obvious how much he disliked this. So obvious that Phatsa nearly wanted to laugh, tears and all. But in the end, Nakhun could only shut his eyes and breathe in deeply, as though he were forcing every reaction back down one layer at a time.

 

"You're impossible."

 

Phatsa lifted a brow.

 

"So? Are you agreeing or not?"

 

Nakhun was quiet for a long time. Long enough that Phatsa began to think he would either argue or accuse him of being unreasonable. But in the end, Nakhun opened his eyes and answered in a flat voIce,

 

"Fine."

 

This time, it was Phatsa who went still.

 

"That easily?"

 

"I gave you my word," Nakhun replied, his expression still visibly irritated. "And you're not allowed to take it back either."

 

Phatsa paused, then turned his face away to hide the corner of his mouth, which was dangerously close to twitching upward. Damn it. He really should not have found this funny. But Nakhun's expression when forced to give in was genuinely a little ridiculous-ridiculous enough, at least, to ease some of his embarrassment. As for Nakhun, he sat there, looking at the boy on the bed, who had been crying only moments ago and was already finding enough strength to lay down demands, his chest full of frustration. He wasn't allowed to come any closer, and he wasn't allowed to do anything. Even though he had held him, soothed him, crossed far too many lines with him the night before. And now, by morning, he was expected to sit there listening to rules as though he were some ravenous wolf being kept on a chain beside the bed. And the worst part was that he had agreed. Because the one making demands was Phatsa.

 

In the end, Nakhun let out a long breath and really did move back, just as promised, though inwardly he was irritated enough to want to shake the other man and ask whether he had any idea what he was putting him through. Phatsa, meanwhile, seeing that Nakhun truly had stepped away, felt some private, guilty measure of relief. At least he still had control over something. At least the man in front of him was not simply going to do whatever he wanted. At least... he still had a little room to breathe, even if that room was only a narrow pocket of space on the bed of a strange man whose scent, infuriatingly enough, now happened to be the most comforting thing in the world.

 

They sat in silence for a while longer. Then Phatsa muttered, not looking at him, "What if I change my mind later?"

 

Nakhun turned at once. "About what?"

 

Phatsa still refused to look at him. "About... permission."

 

This time, the corner of Nakhun's mouth moved for the first time that morning. Phatsa had not even turned yet before Nakhun answered evenly, "We'll deal with that when it happens."

 

Phatsa whipped around at once and caught him in the act of holding back a smile. That bastard. He snatched up a pillow and threw it at him immediately. Nakhun caught it with insulting ease, glanced down at it, then backed up at him with that same look, the one that made Phatsa's heart kick against his ribs again in a way that was deeply, deeply annoying. And in that exact moment, Phatsa realised quietly that agreeing to stay with this man, even with conditions, even with terms, even with every line clearly drawn, meant one undeniable thing.

 

His life would never be peaceful again.

════[changbins_delulu_wife]════

After the battle had settled for a little while, the silence between them turned into something strange. Not quite uncomfortable, but the sort of silence that belonged to two people who had already gone far too far together to know where to begin acting normal again. Phatsa sat on the bed, clutching the blanket, looking as though he were trying desperately to make everything feel ordinary again, even though there was absolutely nothing ordinary left about the situation. Nakhun sat not far away, and though he had kept his distance as promised, his eyes had never left him, as though he half-expected the stubborn creature on the bed to change his mind and bolt for home at any second. In the end, Nakhun broke the silence again.

 

"What's your name?"

 

That question made Phatsa pause, not because he could not answer it, but because it hit him with humiliating clarity that yes... he and this man still did not even know each other's names. Unbelievable. They had gone through all that the night before and still did not know something as basic as a name. That made everything feel even stranger. Phatsa pressed his lips together slightly before finally answering, his voice still carrying that familiar mix of suspicion and cheek.

 

"Phatsa Rattanatharin."

 

He paused, then added with complete seriousness, as though introducing himself in a job interview, "Current status: recently graduated, currently job hunting, unemployed with dignity!"

 

One corner of Nakhun's mouth shifted almost imperceptibly, but it definitely moved. As though even he had not expected to hear someone introduce himself that way after everything that had happened the night before. Then it was his turn.

 

"Nakhun Thewathitirat."

 

His voice remained low and even as always, but when speaking of himself, he sounded clipped and directed the tone of someone who had never had to spend much time explaining who he was to anyone.

 

"Future president of a land development company."

 

Phatsa blinked once. Then twice. Then looked Nakhun up and down again in a clear, serious assessment, as though newly entitled to compare that job title against the man sitting in front of him.

 

Then he said, with utter sincerity, "You sound more like a mafia boss."

 

Nakhun frowned immediately. "What?"

 

Phatsa shrugged, visibly warming to the opportunity now that he had one.

 

"You really do." His gaze swept over Nakhun again without the least bit of subtlety. "You look mean. Your house is huge. You've got men working for you. You show up, and doors break. Honestly, do you collect protection money too, or what?"

 

That last question made Nakhun go still for a beat, as though deciding whether irritation or amusement should come first. In the end, he answered with the same straight face as before.

 

"No."

 

Phatsa raised a brow. Nakhun looked him in the eye and continued, completely serious, which only made it worse.

 

"I just lend money."

 

Phatsa gaped at him for one full second, then burst out laughing.

 

"How is that any different?"

 

Nakhun stayed perfectly composed.

 

"There has to be reasonable collateral"

 

At that, Phatsa laughed for real, louder this time, laughed even though he was still wrapped in a blanket on another man's bed in a situation that should not have contained a single funny thing. But with Nakhun delivering lines like that in a dead-serious tone, there was simply no helping it.

 

"You really are something."

 

He shook his head, as though he could not decide what insult best fit.

 

"Just admit it. You sound exactly like a loan shark."

 

"My business is legal."

 

"Your tone isn't."

 

Nakhun stared at him in silence for a moment before the corner of his mouth moved again, a little more noticeably this time. Not enough to be a real smile, but close enough. And Phatsa, catching that, faltered. Strange: Without that constantly oppressive air about him, without looking ready to dominate the room at every second, Nakhun suddenly seemed a little more human. Still annoyingly arrogant. Still deeply irritating. But also...more attractive, in an extremely inconvenient way.

 

The silence that followed felt different now. No longer tense or awkward, but lighter somehow, as though simply knowing each other's names had finally given all the madness of the night before some shape. Two strangers bound together by instinct had become, at the very least, two people who could call each other by name. And the more he thought about that, the stranger it felt. Phatsa was the one who spoke first again, his voice quieter now.

 

"This is weird."

 

Nakhun looked at him.

 

"What is?"

 

Phatsa pressed his lips together slightly before answering with the kind of honesty that clearly surprised "So you really don't collect protection money?"

 

Nakhun turned toward him at once, and this time, he actually laughed, not much. Just a low sound in his throat. But real. Phatsa snapped his head around and stared at him like he had witnessed a miracle.

 

"You can laugh?"

 

"I'm human."

 

"Debatable," Phatsa muttered. "At first I thought you were some kind of mafia loan shark who wandered out of his lair."

 

Nakhun watched him for one long moment before asking, in that same calm voice, "And now?"

 

Phatsa paused. The question was ordinary enough. And yet it made the room go quiet again without warning. He looked at Nakhun for a moment, then glanced away and muttered softly, "Well. You still do."

 

But this time, there was less bite in his tone.

It was softer. Quieter. He seemed to be hiding more than he admitted. Nakhun watched him in silence, and though he said nothing more, one thing had already become clear to him. No matter how strange this had begun, no matter how late it all was, no matter how badly out of order they had finally met for real now.

════[changbins_delulu_wife]════

The dining room of the Thewathitirat house was, that morning, just as luxurious and perfectly arranged as ever. Gentle sunlight fell through the tall windows across the long wooden table, where every plate, every piece of silverware, every glass sat in immaculate order. The smell of hot breakfast drifted lightly through the air, mingling with the fresh flowers in the vase at the centre. Everything was beautiful, quiet, and carefully controlled, just as befitted a great house that had always guarded its image with strict precision. But that morning, a crack had appeared in that calm before anything had even begun.

 

Phatsa followed Nakhun into the dining room, feeling about as far from comfortable as he possibly could. He still was not used to this house, not used to its size, its luxury, the silence pressing into every corner of it. The more he walked behind Nakhun, who carried himself as though everything in this place naturally belonged to him, the more Phatsa felt like something foreign that had somehow wandered in by mistake.

 

The moment they entered the room, the murmur of conversation that had been there before died instantly. Nares, seated at the head of the table, looked up only once. But that single glance was enough to cool the entire room. He said nothing. Did not even offer the bare politeness of a greeting. He merely looked at Phatsa in silence for a moment, then turned his gaze to Nakhun and set down his spoon with a calmness that was somehow more frightening than anger. Then he stood. The scrape of the chair against the floor was soft but impossibly clear in the silence. He walked away from the table without looking back, as though simply remaining seated there with that sight before him was already more than enough for one morning. Phatsa stiffened slightly. He had not exactly expected a warm reception, but being dismissed so openly still made tension gather along his spine.

 

Naphit, seated not far away, rose immediately to follow his father, leaving behind a second wave of silence heavier than the first. And so the large table that had only a moment before been full of family was reduced to Khamphirada, Nakhin, Nakhun, and Phatsa. Phatsa remained standing there, uncertain whether he ought to sit or quietly back out and let the whole thing end here. But before he could decide, Khamphirada moved first. She set her napkin neatly on her lap, then lifted her gaze to him for the first time, and it was entirely unlike Nares's. Her eyes were gentle. So gentle that Phatsa involuntarily paused.

 

"Why are you standing there, dear?" Khamphirada asked softly. "Come, sit."

 

Phatsa blinked, almost as if unsure she was truly speaking to him. He turned slightly toward Nakhun, but the man beside him pulled out a chair as though this was already settled. So in the end, Phatsa had no choice but to sit.

 

Across the table, Nakhin watched the scene in silence and lifted his glass to hide a smile that almost escaped. He did not interrupt, letting the atmosphere slowly settle into a new shape. Khamphirada was the one who spoke again. She did not ask anything invasive. Did not interrogate him the way he had quietly feared she might. Instead, she took some of the dishes nearest to her and placed food on his plate in the calm, practised way of someone caring for a child or a member of the household

 

"Have something warm first," she said, sliding the plate a little closer. "It's not good to leave your stomach empty while you're still not steady."

 

Phatsa paused at that, but before he could respond, Khamphirada looked up and smiled again.

 

"You don't have to be nervous, dear."

 

The sentence was so simple, and yet it loosened some tiny knot of tension from his shoulders before he could stop it. After watching him for a moment, Khamphirada continued, her voice still soft but more deliberate now.

 

"I'm an omega too. So I understand that the beginning is never easy after a bond."

 

Phatsa fell completely still. He glanced toward Nakhun for the briefest instant, then looked back at him again.

 

"And then there's the fact that you're my son's soulmate."

 

The word soulmate made Phatsa almost want to protest on the spot, but under that gentle gaze, all he could manage was pressing his lips together and looking down at his plate instead, his cheeks heating up in a way he found deeply irritating. Nakhin nearly laughed out loud at that, but fortunately for him, he valued his life enough to keep it to himself. Khamphirada, for her part, did not press the point. She nudged the bowl and dishes a little closer again and said in a lighter voice, "His name is Phatsa, Mother," Nakhun added quietly.

 

That made Phatsa feel a flash of annoyance. Where, exactly, had this man gotten the audacity to start calling him younger brother in tone, if not in word?

 

"What a lovely name," Khamphirada said warmly.

 

"Thank you," Phatsa replied. Most people told him his name was unusual. This was the first time anyone had told him it was lovely. And, embarrassingly enough, he appreciated it more than he expected. He had always liked his own name very much.

 

"Eat first, dear. We can talk about everything else later. Khun Jimja, could you bring some more orange juice for Phatsa, please?"

 

She turned to address the maid standing not far away, who hurried at once to bring the drink and place it in front of him. That word dear again made Phatsa lift his eyes to her in quiet uncertainty. He was not used to being addressed like this by people he had just met and certainly not by Nakhun's mother. Nakhun, beside him, remained silent as ever, but the look in his eyes as he glanced toward his mother softened noticeably, as though at least this morning, amid his father's disapproval and the heavy tension in the house, at least one person was willing to open the door and let Phatsa in.

 

Phatsa looked down at the food on his plate, then slowly picked up his spoon. Inside, he was still full of confusion, unease, and the lingering feeling that he had somehow found himself in a place where he did not belong. But Khamphirada's warmth made it impossible to remain rigid as he had before.

 

That morning, the Thewathitirat dining table was still every bit as beautiful, luxurious, and intimidating as it had always been. But because one woman sat there quietly serving him food, looking at him with understanding in her eyes, speaking in a voice that seemed to say, at least here, no one is turning you away completely- it was not unbearably cold after all. Not that morning.

 

Once breakfast was over, the house gradually returned to silence again. It was not a peaceful silence. It was the silence of a grand house where everyone had their own place to go, their own tasks, their own private thoughts that needed no voice. After leaving the table, Khamphirada disappeared inside. Nakhin vanished upstairs wearing the same sly, unreadable smile as ever. And Nakhun slipped back into his old self with almost unsettling speed, as though all the chaos from before had been folded away for the moment.

He stood in front of the mirror fastening his suit, every line of him composed again, as though no matter how much of the world had shifted, work would still be waiting and he would still have to go out and manage it.

 

Leaning against the doorway, Phatsa watched him from a distance with a strange feeling in his chest. He had only just graduated. He was still in that part of life where waking up in the morning meant thinking about where to apply, how many résumés to send, or, on lazier days, quietly deciding not to do anything at all. But the man in front of him looked like someone who had woken up, and the whole world moved according to his schedule. They were too different. Nakhun glanced over at him.

 

"I have to go to work today."

 

"Oh, really? Don't worry. I wasn't planning to cling to your trouser leg and follow you there."

 

Nakhun looked at him as though he might say something, but in the end, he picked up his phone and keys.

 

"If you need anything, tell the staff."

 

Phatsa let out a faint, dry laugh.

 

"That makes me sound like a new pet"

 

"You're not like a pet," Nakhun replied immediately. Phatsa raised a brow again.

 

"Then what am I like?"

 

Nakhun paused for the briefest second before answering in the same calm tone, "A problem."

 

Phatsa gaped for one full second before immediately throwing the nearest cushion at him.

 

"Then hurry up and go to work!"

 

Nakhun caught it as easily as always. The corner of his mouth shifted just a little, as though none of this particularly troubled him, before he set the cushion back in place and walked out. The door closed softly. And the house fell silent at once. 

 

Phatsa stood there a moment longer, and then the strange sense of alienation slowly returned. This house was too large, too ordered, and in no way his. The rooms were beautiful, the bed was soft, and not everyone in the household had been cruel to him, but in the end, it was still a place he did not belong. He let out a long breath and picked up his phone to call Ongsa at once. The line was answered quickly.

 

"You're safe, right?"

 

Just hearing that voice made Phatsa drop onto the sofa in exhaustion.

 

"P'Ongsa, I'm going insane."

 

Ongsa laughed softly through the phone.

 

"Did he hurt you?"

 

"Not exactly.." Phatsa answered too quickly, then corrected himself in a tone of complete defeat. "He just asked me to move into his house."

 

Ongsa went quiet. Phatsa sighed again, then launched into the whole story in a rush, as though he knew that if he stopped midway, he would lose the will to finish. The move. The breakfast table. Nakhun's father got up and left the moment he saw him. His mother was unexpectedly kind. The absurd reality of sitting alone now in a mansion that felt like it belonged in some rich family drama he had stumbled into by mistake.

 

The line went quiet for a moment after he finished. Then Ongsa spoke slowly, as though repeating something in his mind.

 

"Wait.. Thewathitirat?"

 

"Yeah," Phatsa said, not sounding particularly impressed. "Why?"

 

Ongsa was quiet for another beat before speaking more seriously. "That's a major family."

 

Phatsa rolled his eyes even though the other man could not see it. "I don't care about the family."

 

He leaned back against the sofa and continued, sounding more irritated now. "I just graduated. I want a job. I do not want to sit here thinking about how rich somebody is, how huge their house is, or how fancy their family name sounds."

 

Ongsa laughed softly. "That's fair."

 

"Of course it is."

 

"Then why don't you try working with Nakhun?"

 

Phatsa froze. Then practically bounced upright on the sofa as though stabbed.

 

"What?"

 

"Work with him," Ongsa said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You said you want a job. Now you're living in his house. Since you're already that close, why not give it a try?

 

Phatsa looked as though he had just been presented with the most deranged suggestion imaginable.

 

"No."

 

"Why not?"

 

"Because no!"

 

Ongsa burst out laughing. Stubborn, really. Whose younger brother is this? And naturally, that only made Phatsa worse. He drew his legs up on the sofa and hugged a cushion like a child lodging a formal protest against the entire universe

 

"I only just learned his name this morning! And you want me to work with him? Have you lost your mind?"

 

"You got a lot more intimate than just learning his name last night."

 

"P'Ongsa!"

 

Ongsa laughed out loud.

 

"All right, all right. I'm not teasing"

 

But even when he said he was not teasing, the laughter was still obvious in his voice, which only made Phatsa sulk harder. If Ongsa had been standing in front of him, he absolutely would have been hit with a cushion by now. Eventually, Ongsa took pity on him.

 

"All right, how about this?"

 

Phatsa was still sulking.

 

"What?"

 

"Come out to the café"

 

That invitation made him pause. Ongsa continued in his usual easy tone.

 

"You'll feel better if you get out for a while. If you stay alone in that house any longer, you're just going to overthink everything. See me. I'll make you coffee."

 

Phatsa did not answer right away, but just hearing the word café softened his expression a little. It was a place he knew. A corner of the world where he knew how to breathe, where to sit, how to rest. At the very least, it was not a place that made him feel like a stranger every second he remained there.

 

"And what if Nakhun asks where I'm going?"

 

"Tell him you're coming to see me."

 

"And what if he says no?"

 

Ongsa was quiet for a fraction of a second before answering in a maddeningly calm tone,

 

"Then run away."

 

Phatsa actually laughed then.

 

"You really are something.."

 

"So? Are you coming or not?"

 

Phatsa looked around the vast, silent house one more time, then let out a soft sigh and finally replied, "I'm coming"

 

Ongsa laughed, sounding like he had known all along that would be the answer.

 

"Good. Then come on out. I'll wait."

 

The call ended, but this time, Phatsa no longer felt quite as trapped as he had a little earlier. At least now he had somewhere to go. At least now there was a place waiting where he might feel a little more like himself again.

 

He got up from the sofa slowly, glanced down at his clothes, then muttered to himself under his breath, "At least today I don't have to apply for a job with a mafia loan shark."

 

And with that, he turned to get ready to leave the house in a mood that was, at the very least, lighter than the one he had been sitting in only a little while before. For today, that was enough.