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 would ever get his million dollars.

 

Linda usually handles the employment contracts and always sends the complete contract for Van to sign before starting work. This last time, Van had already signed it. However, the problem was that out of habit (and carelessness), he didn't really bother to read the contract carefully. He knew that if he could communicate with the ghost and negotiate, he would receive one million baht. If he encountered the ghost but the negotiation failed, he would receive 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. He also wanted to ask her in person, but his aunt wasn't home. Lately, she seemed to be going here and there constantly. Van was starting to wonder if his aunt was secretly dating some guy, or maybe just some girl—he couldn't be sure.

 

Van and Rak's chat room had been deserted for almost two days. The last activity was Van's reply, "Don't die," after Rak sent a photo of an incomplete model along with a million other supplies like cutters, cutting mats, cardboard, rulers, fake plants, and more, including boxes, spoiled rice, and a mountain of energy drink bottles.

 

The student from the Faculty of Architecture was beaten up by a group of people who loved him, as per regulations.

 

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; honestly, that job was more terrifying than talking to ghosts.) Plus, Linda said she would suspend Van's work until Rak agreed to close the case. So now he's back in his room, lounging around, 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 Unitry Robotics, a Chinese humanoid robot startup, is about to go public. China has been taking robot development more seriously lately, with a focus 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 that Van sees as positive, even though he doesn't possess the deep artistic intellect of Patee or Rakhun. Despite his fondness for robots, Van believes that flesh-and-blood human beings should ultimately create art.

 

He couldn't imagine how Love could comment on 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 King Charles V at the United Nations," latched onto his feed, and they even called it the "New Era of Art." Of course, a new era where people sit around drooling. Robots are already doing housework and hard, dangerous tasks, and now they're 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 switched from a song by Bowkylion and Jeff Sater to an intro that sounded like an ambulance siren. Van frowned and, curious, checked the Spotify app on his phone to see the song title.

 

Acute heart failure

 

Swede Malled

 

Van felt a sense of familiarity with the band's name, perhaps because he'd heard Patee mention it, but he wasn't sure if he'd ever heard their music before. Maybe he had, but didn't know the song titles or the band name. He always had this problem with Thai music. But if it was his own genre, he could tell the whole story from the very first note.

 

He switched screens to the chat app, opened Rak's chat, and sent a link to the song "Acute Heart Failure," followed by "Have you ever heard it?", then swiped out of the app. He knew Rak probably wouldn't reply anytime soon, so he sent it without expecting anything in return.

 

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 was aware of it, or even if he thought they were as close as Van perceived them to be, but if Rak were to return, Van would consider them close friends.

 

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? 

 

 

I'm holding on to time.

 

When will I get a million? If you don't want me to do anything, then just shut down the business.

 

You can do something else.

 

So impatient.

 

Loveyou: Don't criticise yet. How about this?

 

A million baht

 

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 taking a break for his first meal of the day at 3 pm (he had coffee for breakfast). Rak said that on days with deadlines, he's usually so stressed out by work that he forgets to eat. After submitting his work, he has classes and project discussions for hours on end, and now he only has time to rest. Seeing this reminded Van of his own university days. Back then, he thought his life as an engineering student was a mess too, but compared to Rak, his university life was probably only at the beginning-to-mid 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 air-conditioned car while waiting for the architecture students to come down from the building. But fifteen minutes passed, and there was still no sign of them. Van started to worry about the extra gas money, so he turned off the engine, locked the car, and sat on a stone bench under a large tree not far from the parking lot. University students, whom Van guessed were from the architecture faculty, were constantly coming and going from the building. Some looked like zombies, some seemed intoxicated by something, some laughed uncontrollably, and some even smiled at him.

 

The architecture student was quite cute.

 

But that's it, just cute.

 

Van played music softly from his phone. He didn't wear headphones because he was afraid he wouldn't hear when Rak called. He placed his phone on the table instead of picking it up to play with it — for a similar reason: he was afraid Rak would walk by, and he wouldn't be able to see the child in time.

 

The sun had long since set. The sky was a clear blue, and the soft yellow light from the nearby streetlights illuminated enough for Van to see his own hands still. A gentle evening breeze brushed against his skin, making the wait less unbearable, except for the mosquitoes that were starting to bother him. The biting and sucking of blood was one thing, he understood—it was probably their dinner time. But the buzzing around his ear, making noise- what did they want?

 

Hmm...but thinking about it, if shins had a sound-receiving system, they'd probably know it was buzzing around their shins 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 model-making cylinder over it. His left hand held the model, which only had its base remaining, and he used his left pinky finger to hook a large plastic bag containing almost every other tool into it. Every step was difficult and exhausting, and Rak wanted to collapse onto the hard concrete floor. 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 with his back to him. "Brother Van..."

 

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 raised his hand and waved it nervously in front of his ear, glancing around warily 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 her, but Van didn't seem to be paying attention.

 

Gray bastard

 

Or perhaps he likes this name better.

 

Van turned to face Rak the moment he heard his favourite name called. His eyes widened slightly, a fleeting look of awakening, but even so, his hands, which had been waving wildly as if fighting against the air, continued their playful movements.

 

"What are you doing?" Rak asked softly.

 

"Fight!" Van replied, his face determined, before swinging both hands to his left and bringing them together with full force. "This mosquito has been bothering me for ages."

 

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 so little sleep. He wasn't ready to handle Van's antics. That's why he'd said from the start that he didn't want him to come, but Van insisted on coming anyway.

 

"Let's go back," Rak said, and that was all. Van, who still seemed resentful of his nemesis the mosquito, reluctantly gave up. He glared around the stone bench with murderous intent. Rak couldn't quite describe how he felt about that sight. He wasn't sure if he was getting used to Van's erratic behaviour 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 with it, even though Love shuffled along, lifeless and completely unresponsive. “The kind that gets crushed to death in a doorway.”

 

"Oh...thank you."

 

"Didn't you sleep at all?"

 

"Sleep," Love replied, his voice like pressing the multiplication button on YouTube. "Two hours."

 

"A hell of my own choosing."

 

Van opened the back door of the car, tossed the bag and the tube containing Rak's model kits onto the back seat, then the plastic bag Rak was carrying and the incomplete model kit (which had to be placed carefully, or Rak would scream like she was possessed). Rak got into the passenger seat without being invited by Van and dutifully fastened her seatbelt.

 

"Anytime," Rak said, finally speaking after they had driven away from the building for a while. His gaze remained distant, staring out of the car window, as if he were ready to fall asleep.

 

"Absolutely. How could we not have something of this calibre?"

 

"Take it well."

 

"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're talking about the physical appearance that most people see, it might be considered quite close to what Van described.

 

"Even if I didn't bring my car, I'd still tell you to call a taxi and come back quickly, because I'm afraid the motorbike will 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 along. He couldn't believe he'd agreed to get in so easily. Maybe it was because he didn't have much sense left to be afraid of anything. If death was imminent, he might as well die. "You can drool in your sleep; it's okay. It doesn't matter if you get the seat dirty. My brother is kind; he won't mind."

 

“Who would do that?”

 

"he's my younger brother, my first love."

 

"No," Rak replied softly, slumping back into the seat, utterly exhausted. He looked out the car window. It was past seven o'clock, but the area around the university was still congested with traffic, as if a major annual festival was taking place. In reality, there was nothing to it; his university was simply in the middle of the city, in an area with just as much traffic.

 

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

 

"Mm," Love said, looking half-asleep but still agreeing to answer Van's question.

 

"How are you playing?"

 

"Hero's Friend"

 

"Wow, he's the leading man's friend!" Van laughed, making a teasing sound. "My looks are alright, so why didn't I 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 incredibly, 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, huh?" Van said.

 

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

 

"So, did you like performing?"

 

"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 naive but intelligent person like Van hated situations like this—situations where someone was complaining or revealing weakness, intentionally or unintentionally seeking sympathy. Van was smart enough to know what his interlocutor wanted, but he was too naive to respond skillfully.

 

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

 

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

 

"There's also Kan, 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 then, during those short moments each day when he wanted to complain to someone, "Today was awful," or tell them he accidentally spilt 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 nonsense with. 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, Rak often 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 Kan about anything. She's my closest friend."

 

"How long have you been together?"

 

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

 

"They've been together for a year, and now she'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. Kan 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 due to extreme exhaustion, Rak seemed like a hatchling, weak and helpless. He didn't even have a mother bird to protect him; he was abandoned.

 

The chick hatched, then shrieked pathetically. Love desperately searched for and grasped a safety he never had, yearning for the simple warmth many never received, the warmth many never had to ask for. He spent his days engaging in activities with dozens of his peers, exchanging thousands of words. But when darkness fell, he found himself sitting in a car with strangers, there for the paycheck, silently confiding in the loneliness gnawing at his heart.

 

"Well, it's good that the hero broke up with her first," Van said. He was relieved they were discussing this in the car, because he didn't have to make eye contact with Rak while listening to those depressing stories. "Breaking up with someone you still love, you couldn'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 is easily stained and dyed. It made Rak think that even the smallest details of Van were intensely Van. 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 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."

 

"I can say that because I know there will always be someone willing to talk to me," Rak said softly. He knew he was sounding resentful and making an already awkward atmosphere even more so, 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?"

 

"Uh"

 

"Now too?"

 

"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 chuckled and didn't reply after that. He closed his eyes, trying to comfort himself by thinking it was all because he was too tired. If he got some rest, he would feel better when he woke up, 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 frighteningly eroded Rak's hopes—hopes of escaping his roots, his memories, his old acquaintances. He hoped to find a new world, to create a new identity, and to shake off his loneliness. Rak found that reality was just as harsh as the past he had left behind. Loneliness followed him everywhere like a shadow, like a tiny mole that had been there since birth. Because perhaps the problem wasn't with the people, but with himself—a person with too much emptiness within him. The small acts of kindness from the big city couldn't fill that void.

 

Van replaced the silence and loneliness in the car with music. Rak was a little surprised that Van wasn't playing the old Western songs he usually loved and was so familiar with. The entire playlist consisted of Thai songs, some of which Rak didn't even recognise, yet Van sang them word for word. It seemed Linda's claims about Van's exceptional cognitive abilities weren't a lie; this white-haired foreigner had such a strong grasp of the lyrics despite having only recently entered the Thai music scene.

 

Rak almost burst out laughing when Van sang "The District's Daughter." His ear-piercingly off-key voice was beyond redemption, yet Van sang at the top of his lungs without any embarrassment. Perhaps he thought Rak was asleep. Rak tried to turn his face away towards the car window, not wanting Van to know he was secretly laughing. Even though it wasn't pleasant to listen to, he still didn't want Van to stop singing now. (Maybe he wouldn't stop anyway; Van didn't have much shame.)

 

"Together," Van said in an unnaturally soft voice during the intro of the next song, "Next song...from Bodyslam. I invite those who are pretending to be asleep to wake up and bob their heads along."

 

"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 would.

 

"Go!"

 

That's right. After the signal, both the driver and the passengers bobbed their heads in unison to the upbeat music. Van slammed the steering wheel, belting out the lyrics without caring about the key.

 

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

 

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

 

It's still like this every day.

 

I have to restrain myself."

 

It's been ten years since he last heard the song "Wanhai" (meaning "shaking up"). He never knew how fun this song could be. 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 male classmates would accidentally see it and interpret it as a crush on him. Back then, he didn't know the word "gay," only "effeminate."

 

“Don't want to be interested.

 

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 void within him was filled by the exhilarating rock music he missed, the mind-boggling sound of P' Toon, and the indescribable, exhilarating emotion of Van.

 

It's not full yet.

 

But it's not empty.

 

When Van said he was coming to visit, Rak thought only of the "visiting" part, not what would happen next. In the car, he was thinking only of the song's lyrics, completely forgetting that he was the one who had personally pinned the destination on Google Maps for Van. Because of that, Rak felt a little annoyed when Van walked up to his room, while the older guy looked so relaxed it was irritating.

 

"Your room's a mess," Rak remarked even before she 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, leaving the room's occupant to sigh and follow.

 

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, 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 room, the ten-thousand baht rent felt exorbitant. It was like sleeping in a box, a tiny rat hole.

 

"Sit wherever you can," Rak said softly. He nudged the clutter aside with his foot to create a path, then tossed everything onto the floor in front of the sofa. 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 began cleaning up haphazardly, unsure what else to do. "Too much work, no time to clean."

 

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

 

"If I don't tidy up, there'll be no room to walk," the room's occupant gathered a pile of what appeared to be laundered clothes and put them in a laundry bag before haphazardly stuffing them into the wardrobe. Then, they grabbed a black garbage 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 household chores. He noticed that Rak's room contained almost nothing that seemed like a hobby. If it wasn't everyday items, it was his school supplies. There were four or five art toys, each with a different character, making it impossible to guess his preferences. On the bed were three medium-sized stuffed animals: a dog, a bear, and a pig, which didn't make any sense either. Van, already convinced the boy was bland, was right.

 

He's 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 an unsettling emptiness about him.

 

Their dinner was a takeout order from a delivery service that Rak recommended. He said it was cheap and tasted similar to his mom's cooking. Van didn't know what Rak's mom's cooking was like, but if Rak said it was delicious, he didn't see the point in questioning it. After all, taste is subjective. Even his mom, who had run a restaurant her whole life, didn't make every dish to his liking. For Van, his mom's stir-fried basil chicken and noodles were the best (that's why she'd been running her noodle shop for over ten years). As for his mom's soup, he called it "dull soup" behind Van's back because the flavour was so unbalanced, like standing at an intersection, waiting to be hit by a car.

 

They sat on the floor to eat. Rak ordered rice with seasoned tofu, and Van ordered extra crispy pork stir-fry with a fried egg. Each of them devoured their food in their containers, their heads down. Rak barely spoke, his spoonfuls moving like a malfunctioning robotic arm in a factory—twice as fast as they should have been. In just five minutes, Rak finished his entire bowl. He closed the lid and stuffed it into a plastic bag, while Van had only eaten half of his.

 

"Did you grow up in prison?" Van looked at Rak, who was leaning against the refrigerator and gulping down water, incredulously. Even though they had eaten together many times before,

 

The speed of Love always amazes 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."

 

"This is the normal procedure for conscripted soldiers in the Royal Thai Army."

 

"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 bank account, there's nothing about you that resembles a spoiled rich girl," Van said, shovelling rice into his mouth and chewing. The accused spoiled rich girl, unfazed, shrugged before pulling out her unfinished model and continuing to work on it. "Does Mom even know I'm like this?"

 

"I couldn't sleep, I ate like a glutton, and the refrigerator was full of liquor and energy drinks."

 

"Why would I tell him?" the distressed young lady replied, skillfully cutting cardboard with a cutter. "Besides, Love never told me that..."

 

"What kind"

 

"Well, you're rich."

 

"Not rich"

 

"But he has almost ten million in his account?"

 

"We're not rich. Our family runs a farm. The money we have is from an inheritance. My grandfather just passed away last year." Rak's voice was as flat as if he were discussing the weather, leaving Van unsure how to respond. He didn't know how much Rak grieved the loss of his grandfather. Did Rak think the ten million baht inheritance was a lot or a little compared to the lives of his beloved and caring elder relative? He meant... not all grandchildren are 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 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 your grandfather," Van said softly.

 

"It's alright. He'd been sick for a long time. WE knew HE wouldn't last much longer."

 

“Are you close to your grandmother?

 

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

 

"Ponderous?"

 

"Call me 'Grandpa'," "Grandpa" replied. The cardboard he had carefully cut into small pieces, Van couldn't tell what they would become next, "at home."

 

Van nodded in agreement. The Northern Thai dialect was still new to him, but Van liked it when Rak accidentally let slip those unfamiliar words and then translated them for him. It made Van feel as if he were learning English as a child.

 

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

 

"Probably still."

 

"And you must be rich too."

 

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

 

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

 

"Orchards with longan and mango trees."

 

"Is there 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. "So you want me to say that Rak is rich, is that it?"

 

"No," Van shrugged, then lowered his head and poked at the rice in his box. He didn't seem as eager to win as Rak had thought. Van scooped rice into his mouth, chewed 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 casually, knowing Van was like that too, always taking things too seriously, even when it wasn't necessary. "Gardening isn't easy," he added.

 

Silence fell. Love thought Van had 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, head down, tears streaming down his face. His voice was calm, and he continued to scoop rice into his mouth, chewing and swallowing calmly. Unlike Rak... he had nothing in his mouth, nothing to swallow, yet he felt a lump in his throat; his cheeks burned, 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. This condo was stupid. The pile of papers and every piece of equipment he used to assemble models was stupid. The dozens of liquors and energy drinks in the refrigerator were utterly stupid.

 

"When my grandma died, I got a fake iPhone and burned it," Van said, chuckling as if trying to cover up a slip of the tongue. "By now, she's probably scrolling through TikTok like crazy. Her grandchildren are still clinging to college kids. It's hilarious."

 

Rak glanced at Van, who shovelled the last spoonful of rice into his mouth before turning to give Rak a teasing wink, acting as if he had won for eating more than him.

 

Aren't you rich? Working hard?

 

He's so stupid... utterly stupid.

 

"Like this?"

 

"Let's take a look."

 

Rak looked up at the cardboard sheet that Van had just finished cutting and assembling. The assistant had been tasked with cutting the wall sections, attaching the door and window frames to the glass, and inspecting the work, which turned out surprisingly neatly. Rak glanced at the wall, then at the person who had done it, several times. Van pretended not to care, but it was clear he was anxiously awaiting Rak's answer, his eyes sparkling 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 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. Love knew very well that his work wasn't fun for everyone. Even he, who dared to enrol in this faculty, wanted to go back in time and smack himself on the head several times a day. So how could he expect Van, who wasn't studying and had no interest in the subject, to sit hunched over doing work that wasn't his own?

 

"But it was really fun."

 

If it weren't for Van Dou'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, love score."

 

"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 trickling through the narrowest part of an hourglass. Van's endless stories, accompanied by music, are tireless. He talks about Bug Joi, his first handmade robot at six years old; and that Asimo wasn't 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 behaviours most similar to humans). They argue about Asimo for so long that Van rolls his eyes and says to Rak, "Twenty years have passed..."

 

Even if he goes, Thai people will still love Asimo."

 

When the topic of robots came up, Van became incredibly talkative. He tried to explain the mechanics of Neo Home Robot, a US-based household robot, to Rak by showing him pictures. Rak said it looked creepy, like a character from a horror movie. Van glared at him, saying sternly that it was a "big change." Rak couldn't do anything but apologise, and as a reward, Van told 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 kidding. When I was a kid, after I found out about this, I got angry at Mom every time I saw her kill a chicken," Van said with a serious expression.

 

"I thought you were a genius."

 

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

 

Rak didn't think he could laugh this much on a night with only two hours of sleep and no sign of falling asleep anytime soon. He downed another bottle of energy drink, but it felt different. His hands worked nonstop while his mouth chattered tirelessly until the first two digits on his phone screen became 00. Rak still felt that 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 his tiny room became a treehouse, a basement, a Lotus Hotel where time stood still and never slept.

 

The music playing on Rak's iPad suddenly stopped, but no one bothered to look for an explanation. Van hummed softly to "Die On This Hill," the song that had been cut off mid-session. He bent over, glueing Rak's model, while the host got up to grab a cigarette from the side drawer and walked out onto the balcony.

 

This year, the cold winds arrived earlier than usual, 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 that my mother planted filled the air outside my bedroom window. It was a cool, refreshing scent, the kind my mother used to boast to the older people in the neighbourhood about, saying she had planted every single one herself. 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 I inhaled blended with the cool air 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 often missed them, 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 missed Love every day, even though they knew full well it was a deliberate escape, not a necessity.

 

Love has a choice, and he chose this way.

 

"How can I smoke without smelling like cigarettes?"

 

Rak flinched slightly before turning around to look behind her. Van was standing on the other side of the balcony door, his fingers fumbling as if he were doing something with his hands. Rak immediately realised it was dried glue on his hand, and Van was trying to peel 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, staring through the window.

 

Then he begged him to release it from the locked cabinet; it smelled of smoke."

 

"Can you hear me, little one?" Van said, as if the silly glass door would block out any sound.

 

Love nodded slightly. "Crystal clear."

 

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

 

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

 

Van put the gun in his mouth 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 away and looked out the window.

 

On the balcony, cigarette smoke was blown 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 the same, yet different.

 

Rak turned back 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 know when Van had sat down on the floor. He was still in the room, with the door slightly ajar by about 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."

 

"Smoke is actually a colloid, a solid or liquid dispersed in a gaseous medium."

 

"P'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, he felt even more resigned. "You could even hold your breath if you wanted to."

 

"Why?" Rak said with an emotionless face. "Are you that lonely?"

 

"Just a little."

 

"A step 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 he himself 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, leaning his back against the wall, looking up at the plume of smoke billowing from his mouth, watching it swirl into the air, hoping it would drift out onto the balcony rather than 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 always been able to do it," Van replied casually. He leaned against the wall by the door, his legs bent in the same position as Rak. They appeared to be facing each other, but in reality, they were in parallel worlds separated by a glass door. "Maybe I wouldn't even have time to be lonely if I could 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 wasn't looking at Rak, but Rak knew because he was 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 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? Is that why his eyes lacked the sparkle that Van had? Is this why Van was like a walking sun, while love was 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 not empty or hollow. Rak wasn't even sure if his question had any effect on the steadfastness of Van's heart.

 

Why did he want to destroy that stability so much? Even Love didn't know.

 

"Because no one serves me, baby." And in the end, the love failed. Nothing could shake Van's hardened heart. Nothing at all. He smiled mockingly, a weary, lifeless smile on his face even though love had used him for hours. "Handsome, worldly, kind, and sexy brains—the best in the whole village. You'll never get me, kid. Don't say I'm heartless."

 

"What's this? 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 slapped his cigarette on the ground, crushing it completely.

 

“Oh, not at all.”

 

"Take it well."

 

“Not a real man.

 

"She 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 it was he 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 weather was pleasantly cool that he felt like walking.

 

The sound of children's laughter echoed constantly in Van's ears, but he saw no children. He knew several families lived in the row houses in the area; 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 in 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 are no stray dogs or cats, and no birds in the sky.

 

There is no other living creature besides him.

 

Van kept going despite 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 were breathing down his throat.

 

Why are we not arriving yet? My house has never been this far before.

 

"Phi 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.

 

"P'Van"

 

Again, the sound seemed to draw closer, yet it felt distant. Van couldn't decipher the feeling conveyed by the sound. He didn't know if it was Love, calling out to him, or deliberately teasing him.

 

"P'Van..."

 

"Love," Van called out, his voice trembling. Since he couldn't find her no matter how hard he searched, he hoped Love would come to him. Van quickened his pace, looking around nervously until he began to feel dizzy. It was like he was standing on a spinning ride, and it was spinning so fast he felt like he was going to vomit.

 

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

 

"Rak!" Van's pace turned from walking to running. He 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 was freezing despite being drenched in sweat from running. His heart pounded as if it would burst out of his chest. Van felt like he was about to faint, but he couldn't bring himself to collapse. He kept looking around before slowly realising that he hadn't gotten any closer to the Crows Club at all.

 

He ran back to the original place.

 

"What the hell?" Van muttered, still out of breath. His mind was a chaotic mess; he'd never encountered anything so inexplicable before. "This isn't funny, darling. Come out now before I get really angry."

 

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

 

"P'Van...."

 

simultaneously!

 

Van immediately turned around 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, while Van's brain was processing only a quarter of what was happening, someone's hand yanked his shoulder hard, pulling him around.

 

Before a woman's face could quickly lunge towards Van.

 

Her face was pale, her lips a purplish-purple colour, her eyes wide and bulging, staring deeply into him as if to rip out his soul and tear his body apart, leaving nothing but a human trace.

 

heavily!

 

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 and realise that he was seeing the ceiling of Rak'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 were as wondrous and terrifying as this one. He guessed it was because he had been with Rak too much; he had listened to that kid's ghost stories so often that he had absorbed them and eventually started dreaming about them vividly.

 

"Can't you sleep..."

 

heavily!

 

Van jumped in surprise.

 

And 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. "Why did you come out?"

 

"Here," Rak replied, rubbing his eyes gently after finishing working on the model. They then went their separate ways to bed. Rak slept in the bedroom (which was actually just a bed with sliding glass doors), while Van, 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 mattress topper to put down. I have some. Or you can put it at the foot of the bed, just in case..."

 

"Love, you can sleep."

 

Van interrupted, realising his voice sounded different than usual, but he still hoped Love would let it go.

 

Rak nodded in agreement before going into the bathroom. Van got up, adjusted his pillows and blankets, and in less than a minute, Rak came out of the bathroom, seemingly heading straight to the bedroom, but he stopped in front of the bedroom door again.

 

"Love doesn't choose a door."

 

"Are you asking me to come to bed with you?" Van teased, but Rak's serious expression made Van regret making that joke.

 

"Just saying I didn't choose it."

 

Rak said only that much and then went into the bedroom. Van inadvertently watched him until he lay down on the bed. Rak's words and expressions left a mark.

 

A slight nudge to his awareness.

 

It's as if Love itself is dreaming the same dream.