The Crow Club: Over My Dead Body

Chapter 3.

More than a week had passed, and there was not even a glimpse of him or the scent of incense. Now Van was wondering if he had ever gotten his million. Linda usually handles employment contracts and always sends the complete contract for signing before work starts. The last time Van signed it, everything was set up, but the problem was that habit (and carelessness) prevented him from really reading the contract. He knew that if he could communicate with the ghost and negotiate, he would get one million baht. If he encountered a ghost but the negotiation failed, he would get the minimum compensation (he doesn't remember the exact figure). But he completely forgot to consider what he would get if he didn't encounter any ghosts at all.

 

Van tried to find the contract Linda had sent him via LINE, but the file had expired, and he couldn't access it. When he tried to ask her in person, his aunt refused to stay home again. Lately, she seems to be going here and there all the time. Van is starting to wonder whether his aunt is secretly dating someone—maybe a guy, maybe a girl—he can't really know.

 

Van and Rak's chat has been deserted for almost two days. The last activity was Van's message replying, "Don't die." 

 

After Love sent photos of an incomplete model along with a million other supplies, such as cutters, cutting mats, cardboard, rulers, fake trees, and much more, including spoiled lunch boxes and mountains of energy drink bottles, the students from the Architecture department were beaten by Love's group as expected.

 

Now that he doesn't have to go ghost hunting with Rak anymore, Van has no other work to do. In fact, he almost took on another job yesterday, thinking he could finish that one quickly, but the client chose Talay instead.  (Van was somewhat relieved; frankly, that job was more terrifying than talking to ghosts.) Plus, Linda said she would suspend Van's work until Rak agreed to finish the project. So now he's back in his room, lounging, listening to the Thai music playlist Patee gave him while reading the latest news about the robotics industry on his phone. 

 

‘The news report states that Unitary Robotics, a Chinese humanoid robot startup, is about to go public. China has been taking robot development more seriously lately, focusing on the industrial and consumer sectors. Simply put, they're trying to use robots to perform tedious tasks, freeing up humans for more creative work.’

 

This is an approach Van regards as positive, even though he lacks the deep artistic intellect of Patee or Rakkhun. Despite his fondness for robots, Van believes that flesh-and-blood human beings should ultimately create art. He couldn't imagine how Love could talk about a painting created by a robot. Robots have no background, no (self-created) experience, no dark instincts passed down genetically, no wondrous, distorted perceptions. Certainly, Love couldn't say, "An artist created this painting after losing a loved one to a serious illness," or anything like that.

 

While lying there lost in thought, the next headline hit Van squarely in the head, like a cruel joke. The headline, "AI Robot Paints Portrait of King Charles V at the United Nations," slammed onto his feed, and they even called it the "New Era of Art." Of course, a new era where people sit around drooling all day, robots doing housework, hard and dangerous tasks, and now creating art to serve our brain-depleted humans. It's going to be quite entertaining. But what are we, smelly humans, going to do next? Just sit around doing nothing? That doesn't sound like a hobby I'd want to pursue very often.

 

The music on the iPad changed from a song by Bowkylion and Jeff Sater to one with an intro that sounded like a car engine. "Emergency," Van frowned, and curiously opened the Spotify app on his phone to check the song title.

 

Acute heart failure

Swat Mallet

 

Van felt the band's name sounded familiar, perhaps because he'd heard Patee mention it, but he wasn't sure if he'd ever listened to their music before. Maybe he had. He can listen to music without knowing the song title or band name. He always has this problem with Thai music. But if it's a genre he listens to, he can identify it from the very first note. He switched to the Zapp app, opened his chat with Rak, and sent a link to the song "Acute Heart Failure," then wrote, "Have you ever heard it?" Then he swiped away from the app. He knew Love probably wouldn't reply anytime soon, so he sent it without expecting anything. But the notification sound that rang out a few seconds later made Van furrow his brows in confusion.

 

Loveyou: I have. Who hasn't heard Swedmullet?

 

Van chuckled. He could picture the architecture student's expression from the message alone.

 

Van: I've never heard of it before. The intro is awesome. I thought I'd found an advertisement interrupting the conversation.

Loveyou: I'm not paying for premium.

Van: Pay up! Free food, but every app is premium, kid.

Loveyou: Must be.

 

Van discovered that he and Rak had become incredibly close very quickly. He indeed liked to talk casually with everyone, but statistically, only a few people could keep up with his game and adapt without feeling awkward, like Rak did. He wasn't sure if Rak realised it or even thought they were as close as Van did, but if Rak dared to insult him back, Van would consider them close friends already.

 

Van: When will we meet again? At what time will we encounter a ghost?

Loveyou: I'm really busy these days.

Jake was furious.

Another play.

Van: Is this putting me at a disadvantage? 

 

My younger sibling is taking up too much time. When will I get a million baht? If you don't want me to do anything, then just shut down the business. I can do something else.

 

Van: I'm going to Japan.

Loveyou: How about this? Let's go to Don Quijote first.

Van: Do you think I work myself to death just because I want to buy sushi with a yellow-label sign?

Loveyou: hahahaha

 

The conversation went back and forth minute by minute. Van was surprised that Rak suddenly had time to reply to his chat at such length. As they talked, Van learned that Rak was having his first meal of the day at 3 pm (his breakfast was coffee). Rak said that on days with deadlines, he's usually so stressed out by work that he forgets to eat.

 

After finishing his work, he had classes and project discussions for hours on end, and only now did he finally have a break. Seeing this, Van thought back to his university years. He felt that he, too, was being battered by the rigours of engineering student life, but compared to Love, his university life was probably only at the beginning of an average level.

 

Van: So, shall we meet today?

Loveyou: I'm off today.

Van: Then it was evening. It's dark when ghosts come out.

Loveyou: Went back to my room to continue modifying the model.

Van: You have such a huge, multimillion-dollar business!

Loveyou: I told you I was busy.

Van: I'm busy. I'll go and make things even busier.

Loveyou: Huh? ????

Van: This evening. See you in front of the architecture faculty, my dear.

 

At first, Van intended to sit in the cool, air-conditioned car while waiting for the architecture student to slither down from his late-night class, but fifteen minutes had passed and he still hadn' seeing a trace of anyone, Van began to worry about the extra gas bill, so he turned off the engine, locked the car, and got out to sit on the stone bench under a large tree not far from the parking lot. University students, whom Van guessed were architecture students, were coming and going late at night. Some looked like zombies, some seemed intoxicated, some laughed uncontrollably, and some smiled at him. The architecture student was quite cute. But that's all. Just cute.

 

Van played music softly from his phone. He didn't wear headphones because he was afraid he wouldn't hear Rak's call. He placed the phone on the table instead of picking it up. They're playing for similar reasons; they're afraid that if Love comes along, he won't notice that kid in time.

 

The sun had been gone for quite some time. The sky was a clear blue, and the soft yellow light from the nearby streetlights illuminated the view from Van's tower. He held his own hands, the evening breeze brushing against his skin, making the wait less unbearable, except for the mosquitoes that were starting to bother him. The ones biting and sucking blood were one thing, he understood, as it was probably their dinner time. But the ones buzzing around his ear, making a whistling sound... what did they want?

 

Hmm...but thinking about it, if his shins had a sound-receiving system, he'd know it was buzzing around them and might be even more annoyed. After about half an hour, Rak finally slowly dragged himself out of the building. He slung a giant canvas bag over his right shoulder and a cylindrical model kit on top of that. His left hand held the model, which only had its base left, and he used his left pinky finger to hook a large plastic bag containing almost every piece of equipment onto it. Every step was so difficult that Rak wanted to collapse onto the hard concrete floor and give up, but because he saw a white head swaying back and forth under a tree in the distance, he had to grit his teeth and drag himself to his destination.

 

"Brother Van," Rak called out as he approached the stone bench, but his voice was too weak. It was too faint to reach the ears of the white-haired man sitting there. Rak called out again, but Van still didn't hear. He had the music on, but he didn't seem to be listening. He just kept waving his hand in front of his ear and nervously glancing around at something. He looked like he was experiencing some auditory hallucination. Rak stood watching Van for a moment, hoping he would turn around and see him, but Van didn't seem to be paying attention.

 

"Old man"

 

"Today!"

 

Or perhaps he likes this name better. Van turned to look at Rak the moment he heard his favourite name called. His eyes widened slightly, and for a split second, he seemed wide awake, but the hands that kept waving back and forth as if fighting against the air still refused to stop performing their dance moves.

 

"What are you doing?" Rak asked in a languid voice.

 

"Fight!" Van replied, his face determined, before swinging both hands to his left and bringing them together with full force. "This mosquito is getting the hell out of me."

 

"It's been a while."

 

Rak looked at the older boy, not knowing what to say. He was too tired to think straight; his brain was only functioning at a quarter of its capacity after a night of little sleep. At this point, he wasn't prepared to handle Van's chaos. That's why he said from the beginning that he didn't want him to come, but Van insisted on coming anyway.

 

"Let's go back," Rak said. Van, still seemingly resentful of his nemesis, the mosquito, reluctantly gave up. He cast a menacing glance around the horse. Rak couldn't quite put his finger on how he felt about that picture. He wasn't sure if he was getting used to Van's craziness yet.

 

"You look like a dried-up lizard," Van said as they walked to the car. He slung Love's tote bag over his shoulder. He helped carry the blueprint cylinder, which Van brandished like a lightsaber, playfully striking Love on the shoulder and head, even though Love shuffled along, lifeless and completely unresponsive. "The kind that gets crushed to death in a doorway."

 

"Uh...thanks."

 

"Didn't get any sleep?"

 

"Sleep," Love said, his voice sounding like pressing 0.5 on YouTube. "Two hours."

 

"A hell of my own choosing."

 

Van opened the back door of his car, tossed his bag and the tube containing Love's models onto the back seat, followed by the plastic bag he was carrying and the models themselves. It was a bit awkward (it had to be placed carefully, otherwise Love would scream like he was possessed). Love climbed into the passenger seat without being invited by Van and dutifully fastened his seatbelt.

 

"You have a car?" After driving away from the night market for a while, Rak finally spoke, his gaze still distant, fixed on the window. It's like I'm ready to fall asleep at any moment.

 

"Of course, at this level, it wouldn't be complete without it."

 

"Seriously."

 

"I borrowed it from P'Le. Are you satisfied now?" Van confessed easily, simply because of a little pressure from Rak. "And I even had to fill up the gas myself."

 

"Then why not take the B-series?"

 

"But wasn't she dying anyway?"

 

Love is undeniable; he's not dead. He's always been like this. But if we talk about the physical appearance that the average person sees, it could be close to what Van said.

 

"Even if you didn't bring your car, I'd still tell you to call a Grab to go back. I'm afraid the motorbike would get damaged."

 

"Wouldn't it be more convenient if I drove to pick you up?" Van said. This was the first time Rak had seen Van drive, and even drive him around. He couldn't believe it. It seemed like he agreed to get in so easily, perhaps because he didn't have much courage left to be afraid of anything. If death was imminent, he might as well die. 

 

"You can drool in your sleep; it's okay if you get the seat dirty. Big brother Le is kind; he won't mind."

 

"Who would do something like that?"

"He's my younger brother."

 

"No," Rak replied softly, slumping onto the seat, utterly exhausted. He looked out the car window; it was now past seven o'clock, but the traffic around the university was still terrible, like there was a big annual festival, when in reality there was nothing to it. It's just that his university is in the middle of the city, in an area with as many cars as people.

 

"Were you rehearsing for the play just now?" Van asked.

 

"Mm," Love looked half-asleep, but still agreed to answer Van's question.

 

"What role are you playing?"

 

"The protagonist's friend"

 

"Wow, he's the leading man's friend!" Van laughed, making a teasing sound. "My looks are alright, so why didn't you get to be the leading man?"

 

"Because Karn is the male lead."

 

"Oh no, that's a disappointment, isn't it?"

 

"Yeah, it was so boring."

 

Actually, Rak thought rehearsing the play was fun, even though everyone was so tired they could only blink. His friends were giving their all to the play, which made him enthusiastic as well. Initially, Rak wasn't interested in acting or plays at all, but because Karn was one of the first to be nominated for an acting role, Rak tagged along. And surprisingly, they both passed the audition. (Actually, Rak was the only one who couldn't believe it; everyone else knew Karn would pass anyway.)

 

"With so much work to do, they still manage to make a play," Van said.

 

"It had to be done anyway, and everyone did it."

 

"So, did you like the performance?"

 

"I don't know," Rak replied softly. He wasn't sure. "But I want to do it."

 

"If you want to do it, it probably means you like it, right?"

 

"Just thinking that if we do an activity... my friends will definitely talk to Rak."

 

It was one of the few times Van didn't reply immediately. He pretended to be busy looking at the map on his phone, but Love knew Van was feeling awkward. A shrewd but intelligent person like Van hated situations like this the most: someone complaining or revealing weakness, intentionally or unintentionally seeking sympathy. Van was smart enough to know what his interlocutor wanted, but he was too weak to respond skillfully.

 

"You have a friend, don't you? What's her name again? Nam...?"

 

"Namkhing", I replied, "There's Namkhing, just one person, but she's in a different faculty, so we don't see each other often."

 

"There's also Karn, from the same faculty."

 

"Who considers ex-partners as friends?"

 

"Count them, otherwise there won't be any left."

 

Instead of feeling angry, Rak burst into laughter, laughing even though he had almost no strength left. It wasn't that he had overcome that feeling of loneliness. No, Rak was still stuck in the same place, watching others from his own small corner. Among hundreds of classmates, he could talk to everyone, and no one ignored him. But at certain times, those short moments each day when he wanted to complain to someone, 

 

"Today was awful," or tell them about accidentally spilling coffee on his almost-finished plan; there was no one there. The people he used to talk to weren't the ones he could text late at night and talk about those silly things. Not even Namkhing, whom he was sure was his closest friend. Because they weren't in the same class, they didn't see each other often, and Namkhing already had friends in her own faculty. Many times, Rak thought their relationship was fading away, like the worn pencil lines on his plan.

 

"That used to be true," Rak said. "I could talk to Karn about anything. He’s my closest friend."

 

"How long have you been together?"

 

"It's been a year since we broke up."

 

"You’ve been together for a year, and now he’s  only just gotten haunted by ghosts?"

 

"He's been through this for a long time. Once they got closer, he started seeing ghosts," Rak said slowly, his voice like looking at peeled fruit that no one wanted to eat—withered and difficult to peel. "But he endured it. Karn endured so much, even though he was terrified of ghosts too. He tried to fight it, until he started being bullied and harassed. It got worse and worse, causing trouble countless times, even resulting in bloodshed... Even if he hadn't asked to break up, one day Rak would have ended it anyway."

 

Perhaps exhausted, Rak seemed like a hatchling, weak and helpless. He didn't even have a mother bird to protect him; he was abandoned, hatched, and then cried pitifully. Rak desperately sought and grasped for a safety he never received, yearning for the simple warmth that many others never had to ask for. He spent his days engaging in activities with dozens of his peers, conversing thousands of times. But when darkness fell, he found himself sitting in a car with a stranger, here for payment, silently confiding in the loneliness that gnawed at his heart.

 

"Well, it's good that the protagonist broke up with you first," Van said. He was relieved they were discussing this in the car, because he didn't need to make eye contact. I love listening to those depressing stories. 

 

"Breaking up with someone you still love... I can't do it."

 

"How do you know? Maybe Love can do it."

 

"My little brother is so lonely."

 

"So?"

 

"I don't want to drive anyone out of my life."

 

Rak turned to look at Van. He was staring intently at the back of the car ahead, which moved in half-meter increments. The taillights of the car ahead reflected on Van's face. His hair colour had changed completely. As expected, white skin stains and dyes easily. It made Rak think that even the smallest details of Van were intense. He seemed like someone ready to change at any moment. In one sense, it was frightening because of his instability, but in another, it made Rak feel envious, because Van could be anything he wanted to be. He was free and not afraid to change.

 

"You must never feel lonely," Rak said.

 

"To be honest, I get lonely sometimes too, you know. We're all human."

 

"But you're not scared, are you?"

 

"Hmm... not really," Van pondered. Love secretly hoped he would say something strange. 

 

"Sometimes it's good to be lonely."

 

"Why"

 

"That way, you'll feel good every time you talk to someone."

 

"You can say that because you know there will always be someone willing to talk to you," Rak said softly. He knew he was being resentful and ruining the atmosphere. The already awkward atmosphere became even more so, to the point of being uncomfortable. But he was too concerned about his own feelings to stop this habit. 

 

"I'm not lonely all the time."

 

"So, are you lonely all the time, my dear?"

 

"Yeah"

 

"Now as well?"

 

"Not as much as usual," Rak thought, practically becoming one with the seat of the van (which actually belonged to his older brother, Talay). It had a faint, pleasant scent, like a spa mixed with the air conditioning. Rak found it relaxing, though not as much as the smell of his father's pickup truck when he drove up the mountain to check on the longan orchard.

 

"But it wasn't as good as it should have been."

 

"Even with an older sibling, it's unbelievable that a younger sibling can still feel lonely."

 

"Loneliness isn't about the number of people around."

 

"So, being with me doesn't mean anything, does it?"

 

He laughed and didn't answer anything after that. He closed his eyes, trying to comfort himself by thinking it was all because he was too tired. After getting some rest, he'll probably wake up feeling better, less lonely, less anxious, and able to accept the reality that not everyone always has someone by their side. Born alone, die alone. Breathe on your own; why yearn for someone to share your air with?

 

The long hours spent on the streets of the capital city slowly and terrifyingly eroded the hope of love, the hope of escape. Escaping memories, fleeing old acquaintances. The hope of finding a new world, creating a new identity, and shaking off loneliness. Love finds reality just as harsh as the past he left behind. Loneliness follows him everywhere like a shadow, a tiny mole that has been there since birth. Because the problem may not be with people, but with himself, he has too much space within him. The small acts of kindness from people in the big city cannot fill that void. 

 

Van replaced the silence and loneliness in the car with music. Love was a little surprised that Van wasn't playing the old Western songs he usually loves and is an expert at. His entire playlist is filled with Thai songs, some of which he doesn't even know the lyrics to, but Van sings them word for word. It seems Linda's claims about Van's exceptional cognitive abilities weren't a lie. This white-haired foreigner knows the lyrics so well, even though he's only been in the Thai music scene for a short time. Rak almost burst out laughing when Van sang "The District's Daughter." His ear-piercingly off-key singing was beyond redemption, but Van sang at the top of his lungs without any embarrassment, perhaps thinking that Love was asleep. Love tried to turn his face away towards the car window, not wanting Van to know that he was secretly laughing. Because, even though it wasn't pleasant to hear, he still didn't want Van to stop singing now. (Maybe he wouldn't stop anyway; Van didn't have much shame.)

 

"Next song... from Bodyslam," Van said in an unnaturally soft voice during the intro of the next song. "Calling all those who are pretending to be asleep."

 

"Come on, let's bob our heads together."

 

"I wasn't teasing," Rak retorted immediately.

 

Van turned to look at the person who was pretending to be asleep, who suddenly sat up straight, flashing a mischievous grin. He didn't argue back or tease Rak as Rak thought he did.

 

"Go!"

 

After the signal, both the driver and the passengers bobbed their heads in unison to the upbeat music, shaking the steering wheel and shouting along. The song is played regardless of the correct key.

 

"I couldn't resist when I saw your face.

The more she smiles back, the more my heart flutters.

It's like this every day.

I have to restrain myself."

 

It had been ten years since he'd heard the song "Wanhai" (meaning "shaking up"). He never knew it could be so fun. He never realised he knew every word of the lyrics without ever reading them. Back in elementary school, he might even have put this song on his Hi5 profile, secretly hoping that one of his classmates would accidentally see it and take it as a crush on him. Back then, he didn't know the word "gay," only "effeminate."

 

"I don't want to pay attention.

I know there's no way.

But I don't know what to do."

 

Back then, he might not have felt as lonely as he does now, because the ghosts didn't wreak havoc when he was a child. As he grew older, the ghosts confined him, keeping him far from the rest of the world, causing him longing and despair. But in this car... the loneliness shrank for a moment. The emptiness within him was filled by the heart-wrenching rock music he missed, the soothing voice of P' Doon, and the indescribable exhilaration of Van.

 

It's not full yet.

But it's not empty.

 

When Van said he was coming to see me, I only thought about the "coming to see me" part; I didn't think about what would happen next. While in the car, I was only thinking about the lyrics of the song I was listening to. Listen, he completely forgot that he personally pinned the destination in Google Maps for Van. Because of that, Love felt a little annoyed. Van followed him up to the room, while the older guy looked irritatingly relaxed.

 

"My room's a mess," Rak remarked even before he opened the door.

 

"I didn't expect much."

 

Rak glanced at his guest out of the corner of his eye and said nothing more. He was too exhausted to argue. The moment the door opened, Van went in first without hesitation, so the owner of the room could only sigh and follow him in. Van was interested in everything, even though Rak's room wasn't particularly interesting. A glance was enough to see everything. It was just a typical student dorm room, with a place to sleep and a pile of garbage. Van knew it was expensive because of the location and the seemingly new building, but once inside, the ten-thousand baht rent felt exorbitant. It was like sleeping in a box, a tiny rat hole.

 

"Sit wherever you can," Rak said languidly. He nudged the clutter aside with his foot to create a walkway, then tossed everything down onto the table. Van hopped away from the pile of clothes and settled onto the sofa, where some bag was taking up space. He watched as the room's owner scrambled to clean up the room promptly because he didn't know what else to do. 

 

"Too much work, no time to clean."

 

"You don't have to clean up," Van said casually. "I've got my spot."

 

"If I don't put things away, there'll be no room to walk," the apartment owner gathered a pile of what appeared to be neatly laundered clothes, put them in a laundry bag, and stuffed them into the closet. He hastily cleaned all the clothes up, then grabbed a black plastic bag from the bathroom drawer and began picking up the plastic cups and other trash scattered throughout the room.

 

Van glanced around the room while Rak diligently performed his housework. He noticed that Rak's room was almost empty. What seemed like a hobby, if not everyday items, were his school supplies. He had four or five art toys, each with a different character, making it impossible to guess what he liked. On his bed were three medium-sized stuffed animals: a dog, a bear, and a pig, which didn't really help connect anything either. Van, already thinking this kid was bland, was now even more certain of his reasoning. 

 

" Love You, you have nothing."

 

He was a young man… that’s all. Just a young man. Van just thought he seemed to have a clear drive, but for some reason, there was a chilling emptiness. Their dinner was a delivery order from a friend's place. He said it was cheap and tasted close to his mother's cooking. He doesn't know what his mom's cooking tastes like, but if his mom says it's delicious, he doesn't see the point in questioning it. After all, taste is subjective. His mom, who's run a restaurant her whole life, hasn't made every dish to his liking. For Van, his mom's stir-fried basil chicken and noodles are the best. (That's why she opened a restaurant.)

 

(I've been eating noodles for over ten years.) As for my mom's clear soup, behind my back, I call it "bitter soup" because the flavour is so unbalanced, it doesn't really go in any particular direction, like standing aimlessly in the middle of an intersection waiting to be hit by a car and die.

 

They sat on the floor to eat. Rak ordered rice with seasoned tofu, and Van ordered stir-fried crispy pork with basil and a well-done fried egg. Each of them kept their heads down. Rak devoured the rice in his own box, barely speaking a word. The way he shovelled the rice into his mouth was like a malfunctioning robotic arm in a factory, working twice as fast as it should have. In just five minutes, Rak had finished the whole box. He closed the lid and stuffed it into a plastic bag while Van had only eaten half of his.

 

"Are you kidding me? In jail?" Van looked at Rak, who was leaning against the refrigerator and gulping down water, incredulously, even though they had eaten together Many times, but Love's speed always amazed Van. 

 

"Have you chewed yet?"

 

"I've already chewed," Rak replied calmly, walking over and placing a bottle of water and a glass in front of Van. "I'm just eating normally."

 

"Typical for conscripted soldiers in the Royal Thai Army, batch 1."

 

"I'm used to eating like this now. Eating slowly makes me feel like I'm going to die."

 

"Aside from your looks and the money in your account, there's nothing about you that resembles a spoiled rich boy." Van shovelled rice into his mouth and chewed noisily, while the spoiled rich boy, the accusation didn't bother him at all. He shrugged his shoulders before dragging out the unfinished model he was working on and starting again. "Does Mom even know this is happening?"

 

"What kind"

 

"He couldn't sleep, ate like a glutton, and in the evening all he drank was liquor and energy drinks."

 

"Why would I tell him?" the poor young lady replied, skillfully dragging the cutter to bend cardboard. "Besides, love never existed."

 

"Let me tell you, she's a spoiled rich girl."

 

"Because she's rich."

 

"Not rich."

 

"But you have almost ten million in your account?"

 

"We're not rich. My family runs a farm. The money we have is from an inheritance. My grandfather just passed away last year." Her voice was flat, as if she were talking about the weather.

 

Van was unsure how to respond to Rak's words. He didn't know how much Rak was grieving the loss of his grandfather. Rak wondered if the ten million baht inheritance was a lot or a little compared to the lives of his beloved and cherished elders. He meant that... not all grandchildren were close to their grandparents. When Van's grandmother died, he didn't cry at all. He just felt a pang of sadness at not seeing her again. But to be honest, he didn't feel that strongly about it. His grandmother had passed away when he was only in elementary school. Besides, even his own mother barely spoke to his grandmother, let alone her grandson who spent his days playing with robots.

 

"I'm sorry... about Da," Van said softly.

 

"It's alright. She had been sick for a long time. We knew she wouldn't last much longer."

 

"Are you close to Grandpa?"

 

"I don't know if you'd call it close, but I love her. Among all my family, I think I dote on her the most."

 

"Ponderous?"

 

What comes next to "that's called 'Ugh' at home?"

 

"Da," Rak replied. The cardboard he had carefully cut apart had broken into tiny pieces, and Van couldn't tell what they would become. Van nodded in agreement. The Northern Thai dialect was still new to him, but Van liked it when Rak accidentally let slip unfamiliar words.

 

Then he took it out and translated it for him. It made Van feel like he was learning English as a kid.

 

"Giving away that much inheritance isn't just affection; it's pure love," Van said.

 

"Probably."

 

"And they have to be rich too."

 

"Oh, I'm rich, but I'm not rich," Love continued to firmly deny.

 

"Don't you have a garden at home? What kind of garden?"

 

"Orchards with longan and mango trees."

 

"Is that a lot?"

 

"Are you here to inspect the assets?" Grandma's beloved nephew stopped what he was doing and looked up at Van with a weary expression. Van was meddling in Rak's family affairs because of his never-give-up attitude, which was starting to irritate Rak a little. 

 

"You want me to say that Rak is rich, huh?"

 

"No," Van shrugged, then lowered his head and started shovelling rice into his mouth. He didn't seem as enthusiastic about winning as Rak thought; Van was just stuffing rice into his mouth, chewing slowly, as if nothing had happened before.

 

"My parents always work so hard," Rak said, returning his attention to the model in front of him. He spoke slowly and without thinking, knowing that Van was the same.

People like this tend to take things unnecessarily seriously. "Gardening isn't easy, you know."

Silence fell. Love thought Van had probably lost interest in cornering him.

 

"If my parents die, I won't get anything."

 

The architecture student's hand froze again. He didn't dare turn to meet Van's gaze, but the corner of his eye told him that Van wasn't sitting there with his head down, feigning despair. Tears streamed down his face. His voice was flat and emotionless as he continued to spoon rice into his mouth, chewing and swallowing calmly. Unlike him… he had nothing in his mouth, nothing to swallow, yet a strange, burning sensation gripped his throat. His cheeks flushed, the heat spreading to his ears. He felt so ashamed he couldn't look up.

 

In a split second, Rak felt as if the money in his account had become just a stupid number. The condo... this was stupid. A pile of papers and supplies. Everything he uses to assemble models is stupid, and the dozens of liquors and energy drinks in the fridge are even more ridiculous.

 

"When my grandma died, I got a fake iPhone and burned it for fun," Van said, trying to cover up a slip of the tongue as if to hide something he shouldn't have said.

 

"By now, Grandma's probably sleeping and scrolling through TikTok, while her nephew is still clinging to and leeching off university students. Hilarious!"

 

Rak glanced at Van, who shovelled the last spoonful of rice into his mouth before turning back and winking playfully at Rak, acting as if he had won the eating contest.

 

We got more rice than them.

Not rich, huh? Working hard, huh?

He's such an idiot... a total fool.

 

"Like this?"

 

"Let me see."

 

Rak looked up at the sheet of cardboard that Van had just finished cutting and assembling. The necessary assistant was assigned to bend the wall sections and attach the door frame. The mirror on the door and the stained window, which were inspected and found to be unexpectedly well-made, were impressive. Rak glanced at the wall, then at the person who did it, several times. Van pretended not to care, but it was clear he was eagerly awaiting Rak's answer, as his eyes lit up for a moment. When Rak nodded in approval,

 

"Your work is pretty good," the architecture student complimented perfunctorily, while the grey-haired assistant held his head high as if he'd won an award.

 

"It's just this much... my dear."

 

"Talent, you say?"

 

"You could call it that," Van said with a haughty expression. "I mean, if I wanted to do it, I could do anything."

 

"Looks like I'll have to call him to help with the trimming more often."

 

"You won't even let me dunk. What do you need me for so much?"

 

Love laughed. At first, he was quite hesitant to ask Van to help with this kind of work, even though Van volunteered, because Love knew very well that his job was...

It's not fun for everyone. Even he, who shamelessly enrolled in this program, wants to go back in time and smack himself on the head several times a day. So how can someone like Van, who isn't studying and has no interest, sit hunched over doing work that isn't his?

 

"But it was really fun."

 

If it weren't for Van’s intense interest, Love would have sent him away.

 

"Is it fun because it's not your own job?" Rak said.

 

"Maybe," Van nodded in agreement. "Why stress about it when you're not doing it for the sake of getting good grades?"

 

"A little stressed about scores."

 

"Come on, trust me, kid."

 

The clock always ticks fast on nights when work is demanding, but tonight's speed isn't as agonising as what he's experienced before. It's a night where time flows like a stream, not grains of sand slipping through the narrowest part of an hourglass. Van's endless stories, accompanied by music, are tireless. He tells tales of Bug Joi, the first handmade robot he made when he was six years old, and of Asimo – not the first robot in the world (as Rak thought), but rather Chekkie, the first mobile robot with artificial intelligence (Asimo was the first humanoid robot developed to have gestures most similar to humans). They argue about Asimo for so long that Van rolls his eyes and says to Rak, "Twenty-two years have passed, and Thais still love Asimo."

When it came to robots, Van was incredibly talkative. He tried to explain the mechanics of Neo Home Robot, a personal robot. In the US house, Van told Love the story while showing him pictures. Love said the dinosaur's face was creepy, like a character from a horror movie. Van glared at him, saying sternly that it was a huge change. Love couldn't do anything but apologise, and Van rewarded him by telling him about the evolution of winged dinosaurs into the animals we know today.

 

"A chicken too?" Rak asked, pressing Van's wall against its floor.

 

"Yes, chickens are dinosaurs."

 

"Does that mean we're eating dinosaurs these days?"

 

"You could say that."

 

"So the Colonel runs a business selling fried dinosaurs?"

 

"You're joking. Even the kids know this. I get angry at Mom every time I see her chopping chicken," Van said with a serious expression.

 

"I thought you were a genius."

 

"Geniuses have hearts too, you know. I love dinosaurs."

 

Love didn't think he'd laugh this much on a day when he'd only slept two hours and showed no sign of going to sleep anytime soon. He downed an M100 energy drink. Another bottle, yet it felt like a whole crate had been downed. His hands worked tirelessly, his mouth moving relentlessly, until the first two digits on his phone screen became 00. Love still felt this night wasn't long enough; it should be longer, it should be extended. The time he listened and spoke, the time when every song held meaning, the time when the tiny room transformed into a treehouse, a basement, a Lotus Hotel where time stood still and never slept. 

 

The song playing on my iPad died down for some reason. No one cared to find out. Van hummed the song "Die On This Hill…” softly, because that's when the music cut out mid-song. He bent over, glueing together his beloved model, while the host got up to grab a pack of cigarettes from the bedside drawer and walked out onto the balcony. This year, the cold winds arrived earlier than usual, and it was colder than I remember. It wasn't the bone-chilling cold of Lamphun in winter, but it was cold enough to make me think of home. 

 

The scent of the gardenias my mother planted filled the air outside my bedroom window. It was a cool, refreshing scent, the kind my mother used to brag to the older people in the neighbourhood about, saying she planted every single one by hand. Bangkok doesn't have that scent. But the cold tricked my mind into feeling like the gardenias were blooming right here on the balcony. The warmth of the smoke mixed with the cool breeze that hit my skin. Up here, the wind was so strong that the glass door rattled. I leaned my arms on the balcony railing, gazing into the distance, imagining what my parents were doing.

 

Love didn't want to go home. He knew he couldn't stay there. His parents were the main reason, and he couldn't say whether he loved or hated them. But Love thought of them often, knowing that his longing wouldn't be lonely or in vain. This longing would reach them and be returned even if he didn't say it aloud. They thought of Love every day, even though they knew full well that this was a deliberate escape, not a necessity. Love offers choices, and he chose this path.

 

"How can I smoke without smelling like cigarettes?"

 

Rak flinched slightly before turning around to look behind him. Van was standing on the other side of the balcony door, rubbing his fingers together as if he were squeezing something inside. Love immediately recognised the dried glue residue on his hand, and Van was trying to rub it off.

 

"Madame Linda and my brother smell like cigarettes. I smell it often, but I never smell it on you."

 

"I don't smoke often," Love replied, reaching to slide the balcony door shut. Van peered through the glass, his eyes wide. He looked like the snake in Harry Potter, looked through the glass and begged him to release it from the cabinet. "Keep it closed. It smells like smoke."

 

"Can you hear me, little one?" Van said, as if this stupid glass door would block out any sound. Love nodded slightly. "Great."

 

"But I feel like you didn't hear me at all."

 

"How can I answer if I can't hear you?"

 

Van pursed his lips and asked, "Are you going to smoke much longer?"

 

"Just a little longer," Rak replied. "You don't have to do it anymore. I'll go back and do the rest myself."

 

The assistant didn't reply. He just clung to the window, watching Rak. Rak chuckled softly but didn't say anything. He turned back to look onto the balcony and blew the cigarette smoke into the sky.

 

"I don't see any ghosts," Van's voice rang out again, and this time Rak thought it sounded a little clearer. It seemed almost the same, yet noticeably different. Rak turned to look at the source of the voice again. He didn't see Van at first glance because he was looking at eye level, and he didn't realise Van had sat down on the floor. Since when? He's still in the room, with the door slightly ajar by two inches.

 

"Why are you sitting here watching?" Rak said, reaching to close the door again, but Van stopped him. He gripped the door frame tightly. "Doesn't it smell?"

 

"Open just a little."

 

"It'll get in with just a little bit. Do you know what gas is? No matter how small the hole, it can get in."

 

"Actually, smoke is a colloid—a solid or liquid dispersed in a gaseous medium."

 

"Brother Van"

 

"Okay, then I'll reduce it to this much." Van didn't argue further when he heard Rak's firm voice. He slid the door open slightly, leaving it about an inch wide. Rak looked at the white-haired young man and sighed softly, not knowing what to say. Seeing that indifferent expression only made him more resigned. "You could even hold your breath if you wanted."

 

"For what?" Love said with an emotionless face. "That lonely?"

 

"Just a little."

 

"Just a few steps apart."

 

"But this isn't my house."

 

Van's words immediately made sense. They unintentionally answered a seemingly insignificant but lingering question in Rak's mind. Perhaps loneliness wasn't about distance, but about the place itself. He didn't know it well, and it didn't know him. Living constantly reminded of not being remembered and of nothing to care about made the world seem larger, while we ourselves unknowingly shrank.

 

"If the day comes when you have to live in Japan alone, won't you be lonely?" Rak asked. He sat down on the floor, leaned his back against the wall, and looked up at the billowing smoke. He took it from his own mouth, watching it swirl up into the air, hoping it would float out onto the balcony, not back through the small doorway where the silver-haired young man sat.

"I guess I'll feel lonely sometimes, homesick, but isn't that normal? I'll adjust one day."

 

"How do you know they'll be able to adapt?"

 

"I've managed to do it," Van replied casually. He leaned against the wall by the door, his legs bent in the same position as Rak. They seemed to be sitting opposite each other, but in reality they lived in parallel worlds separated by a glass door. "Maybe I won't have time to be lonely at all if I can be with a robot every day."

 

"Won't you ever get bored?"

 

"I'm not bored; I like it."

 

"Even people who love each other can get bored with each other."

 

"I don't expect anything from the robot," the young engineer chuckled softly. Van didn't look at Rak. Rak knew because he was looking at Van, watching the smile and relaxed expression on the other side of the glass with envy. "If I want it to be better, I have to be the one to do it myself. Everything depends on me, my decisions, my brain, my hands. If anything isn't to my liking, it's because of me."

 

Or is it because he expected too much from others? Because he was consumed by yearning? That's why his eyes lacked the sparkle they once had? Van's eyes... Is this why Van is like a walking sun, while love is a moving mass of despair?

 

"Besides, a robot would never break your heart," Van said playfully, turning his gaze to meet Rak's. "You can love me with all your heart, without fear of getting hurt."

 

"So, in short, you don't like anyone because you're afraid of getting hurt, huh?"

The cigarette was shrunk to half its length. Rak tried to guess the answer from Van's expression—an expression that seemed indifferent but wasn't empty or hollow. Love wasn't even sure if his question had any effect on Van's steadfastness, or why he wanted to shatter that stability so much. Love himself didn't know either.

 

"Because no one loves me, baby." And in the end, the love failed. Nothing could shake Van's cold heart. Nothing at all. A mischievous smile, no trace of fatigue on his face despite having worked him for hours. 

 

"Handsome, funny, kind, and a sexy brain. One of a kind, one product. Someone like you will never get to be with me. Don't say I'm heartless."

 

"What's this about 'Aem'? I don't like straight men."

 

"Are you saying I'm not a gay guy's type?" Van slid the door wide open and poked his head out. Rak sighed, then extinguished his cigarette on the ground, crushing it.

It's completely dark.

 

"Uh, no."

 

"Seriously."

 

"No straight men."

 

"he has no taste."

 

Every step felt sluggish and slow. Van tried to force himself to walk normally, but it was difficult. It was as if the air around him had become ten times thicker, or perhaps he was the one who was abnormal. To his eyes, everything seemed out of the ordinary. It was the alley leading to his house, and he was walking towards the Crows Club. The colour of the sky and the streetlights indicated that it was twilight. Van was slightly surprised he hadn't taken a motorcycle taxi home, but he guessed it was because the cool weather had made him feel like taking a walk.

 

The sound of children's laughter echoed constantly in Van's ears, but he saw no children. He knew several families lived in the area, and their young elementary school-aged boys and girls liked to play in the old parking lot in the middle of the alley or run back and forth at the small, quiet intersection. The shouting and laughter sounded strangely eerie. No matter where Van looked, he couldn't see the source of the sound. And the more he searched, the more he realised that it wasn't just the children who were missing; there was no one there at all. There weren't even any stray dogs or cats. There were no birds in the sky. There was no other living thing besides him.

 

Van kept going despite being sensing the strangeness around him. He just needed to get to the Raven Club. Someone there would explain what had happened, and this eerie atmosphere would disappear. He tried to ignore the feeling of being constantly watched, the tingling sensation in his back and the nape of his neck, as if someone was breathing down his throat. Why are we not there yet? My house has never been this far before.

 

"Brother Van"

 

A voice rang out not far away, and Van recognised it instantly. He turned left and right, searching for the source of the sound, looking for the tall, sad-eyed young man he knew was the voice, but there was no sign of him.

 

"Brother Van"

 

Again, the sound seemed to be drawing closer, yet at the same time felt distant. Van couldn't decipher the emotion it carried. He didn't know if it was Love calling out to him, or if he was just teasing him.

 

"Brother Van..."

 

"Love," Van called out, since he couldn't find her no matter how hard he searched. He hoped that Love would be the one to come to him. Van took a step forward.

It got faster and faster, making him dizzy as he turned his head from side to side. It was like he was standing on a spinning ride, and it was spinning so fast that he started to feel nauseous.

 

"Van!" Rak's voice rang out. He shouted, sounding either terrified or furious.

 

"Rak!" Van's pace turned from walking to running. She shouted Rak's name everywhere like a lost child. "Where are you!"

 

"Don't go!"

 

"Love!"

 

"Don't go!"

 

Van stopped in his tracks at his beloved's words, "Don't go." He was panting heavily, drenched in sweat.

 

"Where are you? Come out and see me!"

 

He didn't know when the deep orange sky had turned completely black. He felt a chill run down his spine despite being drenched in sweat from running. His heart pounded as if it would burst out of his chest. Outside, Van felt like he was about to faint but couldn't quite manage to fall. He kept looking around before slowly realising he hadn't gotten close to the Crows Club at all. He was in the Same place, back to the same spot.

 

"What the hell?" Van muttered, still out of breath. His mind was a chaotic mess, terrifyingly confused. He had never encountered anything so inexplicable.

 

"Come here first. This isn't funny, darling. Get out of here before I really get angry."

No sound answered, only a faint whistle in his ears. It was as if it were mocking him, ridiculing and challenging his faith. In a mocking way, Van tried to compose himself, but he was trembling all over.

 

"Brother Van..."

 

Whoosh!

Van turned around instantly when he heard Rak's voice coming from behind him, but was disappointed again. He found only emptiness, and just a fraction of a second later, before Van's brain could even process a quarter of what was happening, someone's hand grabbed his shoulder. A force pulled him back. Before a woman's face could quickly lunge towards Van. Her face was pale, her lips a purplish-purple colour, and her eyes widened in a deep, vacant stare, as if to rip out his soul and tear his body apart, leaving no trace of humanity.

 

Thud!

Van's eyes widened in the darkness, his breathing heavy, his palms ice cold. It took him several seconds to regain control of his breathing. Take a deep breath and regain consciousness enough to realise that what you are seeing is the ceiling of your loved one's living room. He slowly sat up, rubbing his face in relief that it was just a dream. Van thought he had never dreamed anything like it before. His dreams had usually been beyond imagination, but none had been as wondrous and terrifying as this one. He guessed it was because he had been with Rak too much; he had heard stories about that kid's ghost so often that he had absorbed them and eventually even dreamt about them vividly.

 

"Can't sleep, huh...?"

 

Thud!

 

Van jumped in surprise. Love, who was standing at the bedroom door, was startled as well.

 

"What?" the room's owner asked, equally surprised. "Why are you so surprised?"

 

"No," of course not. Van would never admit that he jumped like a coward waking from a terrifying nightmare. "Get out. Why did you come here?"

 

"Pee," Rak replied, rubbing his eyes gently. After they finished working on the model, they parted ways to go to bed. Rak slept in the bedroom (actually, it was just a bed with sliding glass doors separating it). Van, who was too tired to go home, slept on the sofa in the living room. "Can I sleep here?"

 

"Yes, no problem," Van tried to speak in a relaxed, normal tone.

 

"If the sofa isn't comfortable, you can get a topper to put down. Or you can put it at the end of the bed, just in case..."

 

"Love, you can sleep now." Van interrupted, realising his voice sounded different than usual, but he still hoped Rak would let it go. Rak nodded before going into the bathroom. Van got up, straightened his pillows and blankets, and less than two minutes later, Rak came out of the bathroom. He seemed to be heading straight to the bedroom, but he stopped in front of the bedroom door again.

 

"Love doesn't lock the door."

 

"Are you asking me to come to bed with you?" Van teased, but Rak's serious expression made Van feel stupid for making such a joke.

 

"Just letting you know it's not locked."

 

Love said only that much and then went into the bedroom, while Van unconsciously watched until the other person lay down beside him. Those words, that expression...

The object of his affection gave his awareness a small nudge. It's as if Love himself is dreaming the same dream.