Plan B to U

Chapter 7 -  A House Is More Than a Place

 

It's not too late, then.

 

"What do you want?"

 

"Your IG stories were sickeningly sweet, you know."

 

A call from Em at midnight caught me off guard. At first, I figured it had to be something important, which is why I picked up. If I'd known from the start he was calling to mock me, I'd never have wasted the effort. I thought someone had died.

 

"Sweet my ass. I was just caught up in the moment."

 

Getting to watch a band perform live for the first time in years was a genuinely special day for me. And the performance had been so intense that I felt like sharing the fun with my friends, twenty stories posted in two minutes flat.

 

"Defensive much."

 

"If you get the chance, try inviting P'Mee to listen sometime. 'Low Gravity' is unbelievably good."

 

"She's probably heard it a million times already; it's her own label's artist."

 

"Oh right, I forgot."

 

"You're one to talk. How did you end up there with P'Krich? Spill, now." 

 

So this was the real reason for the call. I'd taken such care to only post the stage atmosphere without catching a single frame of the old man's face. How did he know? You are spying on me with some sixth sense or what?

 

"How do you even know I was there with him?"

 

"The Mooooon's lead singer posted a backstage photo. I saw you grinning ear to ear right in the frame with him, so I figured it out." Damn it. Sometimes the world refuses to stay under your control. 

 

"Want to see the evidence? I'll send it."

 

"Don't bother."

 

"Sent already." Despite my refusal, he'd already taken a screenshot and sent it through. "So what's the deal? I want the truth, Nile."

 

"Krich literally dragged me along for work. Probably payback for me messing with him so much."

 

"What kind of payback leaves you that giddy? Sounds like a technical error somewhere."

 

My beloved friend kept pressing on, prodding, prodding again. Still, there was nothing to find in the bushes, because enemy number one was never going to turn into a friend, no matter what.

 

"I'm too tired to argue. If that's all you called for, good night. We'll talk later."

 

I used the confusion to cut things off and hang up fast. Still, curiosity got the better of me, so I opened the evidence photo Em had left in the chat. It really was a photo posted by Yel, and the obvious smile on display only made it clearer how happy the people in it looked. Especially Krich. Instead of smiling at the camera like everyone else, that handsome face was turned and looking straight at me.

 

Nikm was cranking out content for the page like his life depended on it, while I was focused on organising my thoughts on the demo songs for feedback at the meeting. But then my attention had to shift toward my best friend, who clearly hadn't run out of effort yet. Not only had he abandoned all work; this time, he was carrying a coffee cup straight over to his supervisor's desk.

 

"Americano for you, P'Mee!"

 

"Thanks, but I already had two espresso shots."

 

Nikm and I locked eyes instantly, struck by pity and schadenfreude at the same time—Ooooh combo whiff.

 

P'Mee barely even glanced at Em's pouty face. After declining the gesture, she rolled her ergonomic chair closer to me and dropped a question that left me completely at a loss.

 

"Nile, how was watching the live show with 'Krich? Did you like it?" 

 

The other two friends' ears perked up, leaning in to eavesdrop like nosy aunties next door. But I was a top-tier imagekeeper myself. Admitting I'd been over the moon, so into it I'd flooded my Instagram stories with clips like fish eggs, and would hand my friends ammo. So I decided to play it. 

.

"It was fine, P'Mee."

 

Em jumped at the chance to chime in, "He posted twenty highlight reposts this morning. Soooo fine." Look who's talking; spend that energy on a creative dating strategy instead, please. But since I had no comeback for this particular case, I chose silence, cursing him hard in my head instead.

 

"If Nile had fun, I'd love for us to shadow P'Krich's work again sometime."

 

"Once was plenty, P'Mee, haha." Fun was part of it. Terror was the other part. And just like that, speak of the devil.

 

Barely had I said it when the company's highest authority showed up, carrying some box in his arms, which made our conversation stop dead.

 

"What's that you've brought, 'Krich?" Lucky for me, P'Mee acted as the group leader and broke the ice for everyone, while I narrowed my eyes quietly, sizing up the situation.

 

"A capsule coffee machine."

 

"Can we all use it?"

 

"Of course, that's why I bought it  for everyone."

 

The boss's vibes, taking constant care of his staff. Personally, I doubted he was doing this out of generosity. He was probably just scared I'd volunteer to make him another disaster brew with eight sugar cubes again. He was just too scared to die, so he found a clever way to survive.

 

"Thank you so much, P'Krich, you're the kindest person ever."

 

The accounting senior heaped praise on him, followed by a continuous stream of admiration from other staff. Compliments everywhere, everyone delighted, and I was left wondering why on earth this always happened. Every time I came up with another scheme for revenge, it always flipped around to benefit him somehow. The more I tried to mess with him, the more I ended up indirectly boosting him.

 

"My pleasure."

 

Krich set the coffee machine down on the kitchen counter, then vanished into his office like every other day.

 

"Dral and Sun should be arriving soon. See you all in the meeting room, kids." P'Mee didn't waste any time, rolling her chair back, gathering her laptop, tablet, and all manner of important things off the desk before dashing off to the meeting room to prepare for discussion with the creative team.

 

I looked up at the digital clock on the wall fifteen minutes until the meeting started, plenty of time to try out the new coffee machine. And right then, a brilliant idea struck the moment I spotted the variety of coffee capsules sitting on the counter.

 

There were even capsules specifically meant for milk-based drinks. Maybe extra milk would be a nice touch this time sour milk, that is.

 

Holding firm to the belief that effort never betrays anyone, I figured surely there'd come a time he'd slip up. So I set to work brewing my finest sabotage coffee to serve straight into my sworn enemy's mouth personally.

 

"Coming in, sir!"

 

Right hand holding the coffee cup, left hand knocking on the meeting room door before pushing it open, revealing P'Mee and Krich already seated. I buried my smile as deep as possible, then put on a deadpan face so nothing would give me away.

 

"Coffee for you, P'Krich. Made fresh from the new machine. And don't worry about the capsule; I picked one at intensity level eight."

 

The tall figure looked up, replying in a flat, unbothered tone.

 

"Thanks, but I'll pass. You drink it yourself."

 

"I put real effort into this, you know."

 

"I already had one."

 

"P'Krich~" Hmph, don't think I'll give up that easily. A bit of a whine, squeeze out a little pity-inducing tear.

 

"You're here already?"

 

Argh, guaranteed to fall flat, sure. Heaven really does love sending P'Nest in at the worst possible moments. What is even going on here?

 

"This cup isn't for you, P'Nest." Panicking, I clutched the coffee cup to my chest, shaking my head furiously. The senior producer's eyes flicked back and forth between my face and the cup.

 

"I haven't even said a word. What's wrong with you?"

 

"Nothing, sir."

 

Lucky for me, he didn't push for an answer, just moved off to his own seat, letting me push forward with my plan, sidling closer and deliberately setting the cup near the tall figure's hand. Just in case miracles were real and he got thirsty enough to grab it without thinking.

 

"It's fine if you don't drink it now; I'll just leave it close by instead."

 

TWANG!!

 

"What the hell!!"

 

But before I could finish what I had in mind, a sudden guitar strum from behind shattered my focus completely. My whole body jolted, the coffee in my hand sloshed, and the cup slipped and shattered on the floor. The brown liquid sprayed not just across the floor but soaked the front of my shirt entirely.

 

Who told Dral and Sun to show up without making a sound?! I wanted to hate myself; I wanted to scream out every curse word I knew to match my frustration, but in reality all I could do was pout and sulk at my own fate.

 

"Are you okay, Nile?"

 

That was the last thing I heard from P'Mee before my ears just shut off.

 

Ten minutes later, I was back in the meeting room, sulking like a sad puddle, now wearing a band T-shirt printed with a line from one of Tsuki's most famous songs, Giving Love to Get Love,” a fitting reminder of just how pathetic I currently felt. Thinking about it made me want to bawl like an animal. Maybe I should pause the revenge plot and focus on healing my own battered ego first.

 

We lost a chunk of time cleaning up. By the time the meeting actually started, the relaxed mood from earlier gradually shifted into seriousness. The only ones still being chill about it were the artists themselves, who stood up and reintroduced themselves to the room with an odd rapid-fire, word-by-word back-and-forth.

 

"He"

 

"—lo"

 

"ev"

 

"eryone."

 

"I'm Dral."

 

"I'm Sun."

 

"We're Offline Youth."

 

Watching them, I felt like I was witnessing some magical girl transformation spell. Things I'd never seen before, finally seen. Honestly, is anyone at this label normal?

 

"Sit, sit." Krich cut things short and pulled everyone straight into business. "The reason we're meeting today is that I want the team to help suggest which songs should make it onto the album. We'll discuss the concept after the song selection's done. Let's start with the first track..."

 

P'Nest nodded, tapping the trackpad to open the folder, but before he could actually play anything, Sun, one of the band members, cut in to stop him.

 

"Wait! No need to play it; we brought our guitar."

 

Another round of culture shock for me. Everyone else, in contrast, showed zero surprise, as if they'd seen this exact scene countless times before.

 

Once Krich gave the go-ahead, the duo picked up the guitar and sat there playing and singing in a deeply moving melody.

 

"'No Reply '- the demo's decent, but the sound's still a bit empty." Discussion broke out after just one chorus. Directions were proposed; the professionals talked technical specifics before settling things by asking for the listener's gut reaction. As the resident average person, I offered my take.

 

"I'm not a huge fan, honestly. Both the lyrics and the sound feel like they overlap too much with the band's previous album."

 

"Some songs need to preserve the band's signature identity." Krich pushed back, clearly entirely opposed based on his tone and the look in his eyes. I knew full well he was openly declaring war, so I shot right back without hesitation.

 

"But shouldn't we be creating something new for the industry?"

 

"New is good, but the band's DNA matters too."

 

"And this song isn't distinctive enough to actually represent that DNA."

 

Everyone in the room froze, no one daring to speak or move. Even without a clear resolution, Krich chose to listen, typing my comments into his laptop quietly before instructing Dral and Sun to move on to the next track.

 

("Muteyoul.")

 

Most people didn't seem too fond of this one. I was the only one who loved it, digging up every argument I had until the veins in my neck were practically bulging. Krich ground his teeth, swearing in frustration.

 

"Are you trying to break every convention there is?"

 

"What's wrong with that? Just like that, the idea is bold. It's rare to find a song packed with modern slang that still manages to read like poetry."

 

"You were drunk when you heard this; how would you even know?"

 

Blatant disrespect. A Long Island Iced Tea wasn't strong enough to make me incoherent.

 

"Drunk or sober, same opinion. It fits, it connects emotionally. Gen Z would absolutely fall for it."

 

"Our target audience isn't just Gen Z."

 

"Oh, going after Gen Alpha then? Some of them are still wailing fresh out of the womb."

 

"Next song."

 

He didn't argue further, just shut it down abruptly like someone used to getting their way. Of course, the boss outranks everyone. So I sat in silence for the next song, which had a title so long I could barely remember it.

 

("I mistook loneliness for peace and learned to live with the silence.")

 

By the time you finished saying the title out loud, I'd probably already be asleep.

 

"Looking at the songs we've picked so far, this one strays too far from the rest." The old man's opinion sounded reasonable, but..."What if we tried picking up the tempo and toning down the heaviness of the mood? I think that could help because the lyrics have a genuinely touching moment. It might even go viral."

 

"We've tried that before, but it didn't work. This song is niche."

 

"Then try again. If we adjust it as much as we can and it still doesn't work, we can pull it later."

 

"Do you want to hear the versions we've already tried? Not once or twice; we've got hundreds of attempts archived."

 

Krich refused to back down, shooting glares sharp enough to clash like swords. If special effects were real, there'd definitely be lightning crackling between our two glares.

 

"Fight, fight, fight!"

 

"Every time I watch you two argue, I suddenly get inspired to write an enemies-to-lovers song."

 

Dral blurted it out, eyes shining, and Sun wasn't about to be outdone, strumming a melody right then, before that low voice cut them off without an ounce of sympathy.

 

"Stop being ridiculous." Krich in serious mode was genuinely terrifying. Snapping like a dog. 

 

"Since you brought it up, I'll let you two make the call instead."

 

"Can we skip this one for now? The decision-making mood hasn't arrived yet."

 

The tall figure raised a hand to massage his temple in response to the artist's painfully artsy answer. After that, song after song was played and discussed until it reached track seventeen, the one I knew by heart. The song was 'no title but made for someone who is falling in love.'

 

The duo played the hook, building the mood. They let me soak in the sweetness for a moment, sinking into the song's depth. At some point, without realising it, my guard dropped, even though I'd just been at war with Krich moments earlier. Only once the song ended did I slowly pull myself back together to process.

 

"What do we think?" P'Mee asked. The person at the head of the table took the chance to toss the question my way.

 

"What do you think, Nile..."

 

"I'm not sure. As I said before, I like this song because it's one of the few that isn't melodramatic. It's joyful to listen to. Even if the listener isn't in love themselves, it's deep enough to make you want to fall for someone."

 

"That hit hard."

 

"What you just said could be a song lyric on its own."

 

Dral and Sun clapped lightly while I turned the question back on someone in particular.

 

"And you? What do you think?"

 

Meaning Krich.

 

Every gaze turned to focus on him alone. We were all waiting, trying to guess the answer from a face that showed no emotion beyond pure indifference.

 

Silence held the room for a noticeably long stretch before Krich finally turned to meet my eyes, his well-shaped lips finally moving to answer.

 

"Mm. I like it."

 

I heard a sigh of relief somewhere behind me, but the clearest voice of all came from the producer.

 

"Such a relief. First time ever you and the intern have actually agreed on something."

 

In the smoking area beside the building, Em was sucking nicotine into his lungs like he urgently needed to release tension after the intense debate we'd just been through. I, on the other hand, was the complete opposite, chattering away gleefully ever since walking out of the meeting room, right up to now.

 

"Em, just tell me straight, who won that battle just now?"

 

"You, obviously."

 

"Did you see the old man's face? He totally caved."

 

"Saw it. You're the best, man. Toptier debating, frontline-level mouth." Is that a compliment or an insult? Starting to feel off.

 

"Honestly, I don't really get it, though. That ridiculously long-titled song; the content seemed decent, and he just shut it down."

 

"That's taste for you, hard to say. But I'm on your side."

 

"Thanks, man. I'm fired up now. Next meeting I'm going to wreck it."

 

"Who's going to wreck what?"

 

"Well, that- oh God! " Krich is here.

 

Never in a million years did I expect the boss we were gossiping about to materialise right there, arms crossed, standing close by. Em, with his finely tuned sense for incoming disaster, used what wits he had to stub his cigarette out fast and excuse himself, abandoning me to face fate alone with mournful eyes.

 

"I was talking about a novel's protagonist. The boss-and-subordinate arguing was just so much fun."

 

"Is that so?" The tall, lean figure stepped in closer, and I couldn't keep still, eyes darting around so much they nearly rolled to the back of my head. He issued the threat. 

 

"In case you don't know, this studio staff conduct evaluations. The sharper your mouth gets at insulting the boss, the more likely you'll end up doing an extra term of internship."

 

"People actually do that? Such bad manners." 

 

I walked right into that one myself.

 

"I like you, you know."

 

"Slippery like an eel."

 

"A special talent of mine. Thank you." He'd meant it as a backhanded insult while quietly carving me down at the same time, essentially warning me to stop pulling stunts. But did he really think I'd give up that easily?

 

"How's the house been?"

 

"Nothing much. I've started feeding the cats every day now, in case they pass by and want a full stomach."

 

"Sleeping any better?"

 

"No. Still jolting awake in the middle of the night, constantly." Even with constant reassurance that there was no ghost, the bad memories had already buried themselves in my mind. Soon, on nights when my mind was uneasy, my body would often jerk me awake regardless. "Honestly, your best move would be to just refund my money."

 

"If you're still scared, I'll come check on the house again this Saturday night."

 

"What angle is this now?"

 

"You're scared, aren't you? So I'll help check on it for you."

 

Suspicion crept in. I swallowed hard, watching him warily out of the corner of my eye. Even so, Krich remained absolutely set on doing whatever he'd decided.

 

"I promise I'll take very good care of my subordinate."

 

Either him or me, one of us was going down. Better than winning the lottery jackpot!

 

Everything had gone beyond my control by now. The next morning, I was contacted by a woman who said she was interested in the house I'd listed for sale in the group. I wagged my tail like an excited puppy and rushed to open the house to welcome a visitor that Saturday morning.

 

"Hello, Ms Yee. Please, come on in."

 

I grinned wide, gestured her in, and led her around the house casually, point by point, even though the whole situation felt like deja vu. The only difference: I wasn't the buyer this time; I'd transformed into the seller.

 

"The inside is even nicer than I expected."

 

"Right. All the furniture comes with the house; the materials are top quality, perfect for a content creator YouTuber like yourself, Ms Yee." 

 

When I'd first been contacted, she'd looked vaguely familiar. Searching her name online turned up so much history and content I didn't even know where to start clicking.

 

"I really love it, and the price is great too."

 

Her reaction was overwhelmingly positive. The chance of closing the deal was sky-high; just a bit more and I'd be free. But... something was bothering me.

 

Part of it was the hesitation about whether to tell her about the house's history.

 

"Um...there's something I should mention to help with your decision."

 

"Go ahead, tell me."

 

In the end, I decided to just tell the truth.

 

"Someone passed away in this house recently, but don't worry, it was a natural death." 

 

She looked shocked, jaw dropping, before her demeanour shifted fast.

 

"I think I might need a bit more time to think it over. I'll be in touch once I've decided."

 

She gave an awkward smile before leaving. That told me everything I needed to know. It was a rejection without the word 'no '.

 

Well, what now? Permission requested to mourn my own brutal honesty for ten minutes. 

 

Once I'd managed to scrape my scattered courage back together, I grabbed the motorbike to head out for part-time delivery work. While the house remained unsold, life had to keep grinding on regardless.

 

By the time I got home, the sky had gone dark. A full day's exhaustion dragged me to collapse onto the sofa, completely spent, before I eventually drifted off.

 

No idea how much time had passed, but the doorbell jolted me awake again. My house never had visitors; if Em or Nikm ever wanted to stop by, they'd always call ahead. So the only person who could possibly be at the door was, without question, enemy number one.

 

"Slept the whole day?" was the very first thing he said the moment I shuffled, hair a mess, to a stop at the gate.

 

"Worked the whole day, actually. Just got a moment to rest."

 

"Still delivering food?"

 

"If I don't do the delivery, I don't have enough money to buy food. The internship pay won't come in time to save me." 

 

Even with the sarcasm, I still let him in. Krich reversed his car into the driveway yet again, a vehicle I'd never seen before. Since his car broke down that one time, this made car number three.

 

Rich enough that I genuinely wanted to scam him out of every last Baht. So bitter about it.

 

"Hold this for me." My evil plans were temporarily shelved as a supermarket paper bag got shoved into my hands.

 

"Are you hungry?"

 

"Starving."

 

The tall figure didn't hesitate, walking straight to the kitchen without asking the house's owner a single thing. He moved around the equipment as effortlessly as last time. Curious, I stepped closer and asked.

 

"What did you buy?"

 

"Fresh ingredients. Come help wash the vegetables; we're cooking together."

 

"This is my kitchen, you know. You should ask the owner's permission before doing anything."

 

"Can you handle spicy? Eat meat?"

 

"Mmm."

 

Never once had I managed to keep pace with his sheer audacity. In the end, I gave up and bent down to wash the vegetables. While I was reeling, he grabbed the cutting board, the knife, plates, set up the pan, then spun around and opened the fridge with practised ease. A sigh followed almost immediately.

 

Only two bottles of water in there; the rest completely empty, since I wasn't the type who cooked for himself.

 

"You never even stock anything?"

 

"I'm all about convenience. Too lazy to wash dishes."

 

"Once you're done washing, cut these too. Dice the carrots."

 

"Bossing me around like an expert. We're off the clock; you know that makes us equals." 

 

Krich didn't push back, as if accepting the context of who we were here, in this house. He bent down to cook while I took on the assistant role, starting with washing vegetables, then switching to chopping. But my pace must have been too slow for those big hands, because he snatched the knife and started chopping the vegetables himself. 

 

A little unnerving, honestly. If he'd put that strength into me instead of the vegetables, the image could've been a lot more gruesome. 

 

"You look so practised at this. Used to cook for a partner?"

 

"Used to, yeah."

 

"Extremely romantic. So aren't you thinking about a new love these days, old man? You seem lonely."

 

"Haven't found the right person yet."

 

"What's your type, then?"

 

"No kiss and tell."

 

"Oh, come on, share a little."

 

"Do we have any Japanese sauce?"

 

"Ugh, ask a cow, and you get an answer about buffalo."

 

Someone once said, "If you can't beat them, join them." That was exactly my situation. So we ended up working together preparing ingredients for the meal. Even though I couldn't guess what he was really after, I knew I had to stay on guard.

 

We made a whole spread of dishes, just like that day... the night of the ghost hunt. And I cleaned every plate with deep satisfaction, even though it meant several rounds of fighting over the good bits, kicking each other under the table, acting no different from a couple of children.

 

But I liked it. I don't know why. Probably the first time in years I'd actually felt that thing called togetherness. The way a family ought to have.

 

A mealtime spent with an enemy who doubled as a boss was practically a national event. The contradiction was, we hated each other, and yet here we were letting each other into our homes, cooking together, sitting down to eat together. Absolute chaos of a feeling.

 

"Such a good meal. Thanks for making something delicious." 

 

Do good, get praised. Do bad, get cursed. I was ready to flip my colours either way. "Would you believe I haven't had a sit-down family meal at home in a really long time?"

 

Old memories flickered to life in my mind. The last time was when I was still small, the three of us- mom, dad, and me- talking, dreaming together about how one day we'd move into a new house, sit at the dinner table, check in on each other's lives, and plan for the future.

 

Before all of it vanished into nothing.

 

"After Mom passed and Dad got bedridden, I always ate out with friends instead. But if I could go back in time, I'd have had at least one meal with my dad."

 

I wasn't worried about exposing the vulnerable side of myself to him. My parents were already gone; worst case, I'd just get teased for being an orphan.

 

His illness had drained him so badly he couldn't even hold a spoon. We had to feed him liquid nutrition through a tube. Honestly, I'm not even sure he could still recognise me at the end. 

 

Every day was a struggle: exhaustion from university, from part-time work, and from constantly caring for him meant never even thinking about sharing a meal together. By the time I realised it, I'd already lost him.

 

"Right now, I'm missing him again." Krich was watching, quiet, the light in his eyes softening. 

 

"Nikm and Em say he's probably been reborn somewhere good now, or in a good realm. So just hope he's not stuck back in that apartment room, suffering through it all over again."

 

Krich didn't say anything. No words of comfort. Just quiet listening, and that was already more than enough.

 

Our dinner ended up surprisingly low-key. Maybe it was because I'd gone full melodrama today, and he didn't quite know how to respond, so the usual bickering got paused for a while.

 

By nine PM, Krich was still hanging around, acting like the house was his, and suggesting we turn on the TV and watch a live variety show. Honestly, he was only four years older than me, but our temperaments couldn't be more different.

 

"Nobody watches TV anymore these days. We have phones, you know. You're so old."

 

He didn't argue, just kept pressing the remote channel by channel until it landed on a movie network.

 

"Want to watch this? Though it's probably been on a while already."

 

"I've seen it already. A legendary romance film."

 

Being a digital media student, naturally I'd come across all kinds of films: mainstream blockbusters, indie symbolism layered eight ways to Sunday, you name it.

 

"I've never seen it. Come sit and watch with me." Give an inch, he takes the whole arm.

 

"Weren't you supposed to be checking on the house? Do we need to turn the lights off too?" 

 

If we were doing the same ghost hunt setup as before, I'd need a moment to put on an amulet for peace of mind. But that low voice stopped me first.

 

"No need. Just come sit."

 

Too tired to argue this time, too. In the end, I walked around to the front and dropped onto the sofa, leaving a bit of distance between us.

 

"Do you know why I came here to cook, to invite you to dinner, or even to sit watching TV with you?"

 

Krich brought up something completely unrelated to the movie. I didn't think much of it because he was already a pro at changing topics.

 

"You want to make it up to me, I'd guess. Or maybe it's a trade for me not causing you trouble at work."

 

"No. I'm just doing the things people who lived in this house used to do."

 

"I don't get it."

 

I drew my knees up, propped one arm against the back of the sofa, and turned to face him, ready to listen.

 

"This house belonged to my uncle and aunt. While they were alive, they were the most romantic married couple. My aunt loved spending her time in the kitchen preparing food, and my uncle loved gardening. They had dinner together at this exact same table where we just sat."

 

The story unfolded scene by scene, and I followed along in my imagination, trying to weave it together with what had just happened a moment ago.

 

"They used to sit right here on this sofa. Celebrated birthdays here. Slept together in that room. They stood watching the stars on the balcony. All of it was just normal. It was life."

 

He pulled his gaze away from the TV to face me directly, his handsome face turning earnest, his well-shaped lips continuing in that same level tone.

 

"Every week their daughter would visit, sometimes bringing the grandkids to play. But when the kids weren't around, my uncle and aunt never got lonely, because they were always arguing over little things."

 

"My uncle passed away here; my aunt passed away here too. But for me, the good memories in this house never went away. It's still warm, still safe. I didn't want you to only remember it for the moment my aunt died."

 

I listened, taking in every sentence, before I finally understood the real reason behind Krich's visit today. He just wanted me to know that the house still carried the beautiful memories of the people who'd once lived in it.

 

"Are you like them?"

 

"What do you mean?"

 

"I mean... are you a romantic person?" Krich tilted his head, puzzled at the question.

 

"You'd call what I'm doing right now romantic?"

 

"It is, isn't it? Cooking for someone, having dinner together, sitting down to watch a legendary romance film."

 

"..."

 

And yes.

 

"If it were anyone else, they'd have already fallen for you."

 

Someone who loses to another person's kindness. I'd actually let myself forget, for a moment, just how terrible he used to be to me. But that thought shattered the instant reality caught up.

 

"And do you feel that way?"

 

"No."

 

"Give me a reason, please."

 

"I don't like old people."

 

In the end, he burst out laughing at the dumb little joke.

 

"Fine, old it is. Just don't let me find out there's ever a day you accidentally fall for me."

 

And just like before, he chose to close the conversation off with another joke.

 

Even though everything felt confusing because of how contradictory the two of us were, starting with an argument, shifting into something heartfelt, opening up personal things, before finally ending in laughter.

 

So strange. But special, all in the same breath.

 

It was still a day I'd failed to close the house sale, still a day I was worn out from work, but there was something so happy about the fact that he'd come by to make a whole new set of memories.

 

So, so special.