What Love Has to Hide

Chapter One – The Quiet Sketch

The morning sunlight streamed through the tall glass windows of the Tanakorn Residence, a sprawling modern bungalow surrounded by manicured gardens and the faint hum of fountains. The dining room smelled of freshly brewed coffee and buttered toast, its marble table set with silverware that gleamed under the chandelier.

Anan Tanakorn, Krit's father, sat at the head of the table, his phone propped up beside a stack of documents. As the CEO of Tanakorn Motors & Engineering, he was known across Bangkok for his precision and discipline — traits his son had inherited almost too well. Across from him, Krit Tanakorn was scrolling through his tablet, checking racing statistics and business updates his father had asked him to review.

"You know," Anan said, sipping his coffee, "for someone who swore he'd never work in my company, you seem to enjoy analyzing quarterly sales before breakfast."

Krit looked up, smirking faintly. "I'm just making sure your engineers don't blow up another prototype engine, Dad."

Anan chuckled, pointing a spoon at him. "You're getting too sharp for your own good, boy."

Before Krit could reply, Siripha Tanakorn — graceful and glowing in her silk morning robe — entered the room, carrying a tray of steaming dumplings and fried rice. "Boys, no business talk." she scolded lightly, setting the tray on the table. "Brains need breakfast to stay handsome and clever — and you're already using both a little too early today."

She leaned down and kissed the top of Krit's head before sitting beside him.

Krit laughed softly. "Yes, Mom."

Siripha sat beside her husband, glancing knowingly between them. "By the way," she began, smiling sweetly, "I had another girl from your university came to drop off flowers yesterday at home."

Krit froze mid-bite. "That was for Dad, not me."

Anan arched an eyebrow. "Really? Because I distinctly saw a note addressed to 'My Dearest Krit.'"

Siripha giggled, covering her mouth. "Oh, don't be so mean, Anan. Krit just doesn't know how to handle attention yet." She leaned closer to her son. "Sweetheart, please stop making all those poor girls cry. Bring home a nice one for once. A good daughter-in-law — someone pretty and polite. I'll even make her breakfast myself!"

Krit groaned, setting down his fork. "Mom, please. You're planning weddings for people I don't even know."

Anan joined in, grinning. "Your mother's right. Our family name could use a little young romance. Not everything can be machines and equations, son."

Krit sighed dramatically. "If I ever find someone who doesn't scream when my bike engine starts, I'll let you both know."

Siripha playfully flicked his ear. "You said that last year."

Anan laughed heartily, standing and patting his son's shoulder. "Go on, Mr. Engineer. Try not to break hearts before lunch."

Krit shook his head with a reluctant smile, grabbing his keys. "I'll make no promises."

Minutes later, the thunder of a motorcycle echoed down the private driveway. Krit slipped on his helmet, his mother waving from the porch as he revved the engine. "And remember!" she called after him, "No racing on school grounds!"

Krit only smirked, visor lowering. "No promises about that either."

The gate slid open, sunlight catching on the sleek chrome of his bike as he sped into the day.

The roar of a motorcycle engine echoed through the university courtyard, turning every head in its path. Krit arrived like a scene from a movie—helmet under one arm, black jacket tossed over his shoulder, sunlight glinting off his silver bike. Girls near the entrance let out excited gasps, whispering his name like it was magic. Krit Tanakorn, fourth-year engineering student. President of the swimming club. The golden boy everyone admired, but few dared to approach.

As Krit parked, the deep rumble of motorcycle engines echoed behind him. Three more bikes slid into the spots beside his — perfectly in sync, like they'd practiced it a hundred times.

His closest friends.

Tawan Siridej was the first to pull off his helmet — fencing team captain, tall and sharp-featured, with a grin that always hinted at some smart remark he hadn't said yet. His family owned Thailand's largest chain of private sports clubs, and he carried that privilege with a laid-back arrogance that somehow made people like him even more.

Next was Phum Rattanakul, broad-shouldered and effortlessly charming, the star forward of the basketball team. His father ran a shipping enterprise; his mother was a former model. Phum had inherited both the height and the smile that made hearts flutter without him even noticing.

Than Wachirawit parked last — quieter than the others, but no less intimidating. Shooting team prodigy, top of his class, and heir to a high-end security company. He didn't need flashy words; the calm confidence in his posture spoke enough.

They removed their helmets one by one — four silhouettes cut from the same world of wealth and status.

Together, walking side by side, they looked less like students and more like the cast of a glossy magazine cover — polished, powerful, untouchable. Conversations in the courtyard faltered, eyes tracking their every step. Admiration, envy, and curiosity followed them like a shadow.

Tawan nudged him with a grin. "So… heard about last night at the party. Another girl crying over you, huh?"

Krit shrugged casually, smirking. "She overreacted. I didn't do anything."

Phum laughed, shaking his head. "Overreacted? Come on, boss. You know exactly what you did. Everyone's still talking about it."

Than leaned against his bike, smirking faintly. "Guess it's part of the package. Golden boy, charming smile, and somehow breaking hearts everywhere he goes."

Tawan chuckled. "Well, you've set the bar high for anyone daring to ask you out next."

Krit's smirk deepened. "Good. Makes life more interesting."

Phum laughed again. "Just don't be surprised when someone tries. You might finally meet your match."

A girl stepped forward, clutching a small paper bag and a cup of bubble tea. She was one of the most popular girls on campus—flawless hair, designer uniform accessories, and a smile that made half the courtyard pause. Her voice was soft but determined.

"Krit… I got these for you. I… I really like you. Please, be my boyfriend."

The courtyard went silent. Krit turned slowly, his expression unreadable. His friends exchanged glances, sensing the tension in the air. Krit's eyes flicked to the snacks in her hands, then to her face.

"You don't even know me," he said flatly. His tone was cold—sharp enough to sting. "Don't waste your time. I don't like sweets… and I don't do fake gestures."

The girl blinked, embarrassment flooding her cheeks as whispers rippled through the crowd. Before the silence could stretch, Tawan stepped in with a teasing grin.

"Well, he doesn't like snacks," Tawan said, plucking the bag from her hands, "but we definitely do."

Phum grabbed the bubble tea, shaking it playfully. "Thanks, gorgeous. You've just made my morning."

The rest of the group laughed as the girl huffed and walked away, head lowered. Krit shot them an exasperated look but couldn't suppress the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth.

"You idiots," he muttered, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

"That's what you get for being the heartbreaker of the faculty," Than teased, elbowing him lightly. "If you smiled more, maybe girls wouldn't cry every semester."

Krit rolled his eyes. "If I smiled more, you'd all die from secondhand embarrassment."

Laughter followed them as they headed toward their lecture hall, the sound of Krit's boots echoing against the corridor tiles. By the time class ended, the afternoon sun had mellowed into a warm glow. The group made their way toward the basketball court, their usual hangout spot between training sessions. Krit leaned against the railing, watching Phum dribble lazily on the court.

"Another practice match tomorrow?" Phum asked, tossing the ball toward Krit.

Krit caught it effortlessly, spinning it once before passing it back. "Yeah, maybe. Depends on if I can escape another group project meeting," he said dryly, earning a laugh from the others.

The sound of sneakers squeaking echoed through the court, bouncing off the polished floor and spilling into the quieter hall nearby. Beyond the boundary line, a shadow moved — soft, unobtrusive.

Just outside the court, Win Thammarat hesitated at the entrance, his sketchpad tucked under one arm. The art studio had been closed for maintenance again, and he'd wandered the campus searching for another spot to finish his cityscape sketch. The rhythmic bounce of basketballs and the bursts of laughter from Krit's group filled the air, but Win didn't mind.

He chose a small space near the edge of the court, setting up his easel carefully where the sunlight poured through the tall windows. The warm afternoon light spilled across his paper, reflecting faintly on his pale fingers as he began to draw — quiet, focused, completely unaware that the same sound that made him feel peaceful would soon pull him into someone else's orbit.

"Yo, Krit! Heads up!" Phum's shout came just as the ball slipped from his grip, bouncing hard—and rolling toward the edge of the court.

It hit someone's leg.

"Hey!" Krit barked, voice sharp enough to turn heads. The ball stopped at the foot of a boy crouched near the wall, sketchpad open, pencil mid-stroke. The stranger flinched like he'd been caught doing something wrong.

Krit walked over, each step deliberates, heavy with annoyance. "What do we have here?" he asked coolly, eyes flicking to the boy's sketchpad. "A fan doing surveillance?"

The boy looked up, startled. "I—I'm sorry, I was just—"

"Just what?" Krit interrupted, tilting his head. "Sketching me? Planning to sell it later?" His smirk curled sharp. "If you wanted a closer look, you could've just asked. No need to play spy."

The boy blinked rapidly, frozen. "No, I didn't even know you were—"

"Oh, come on," Krit cut him off, scoffing. "You didn't know me? Don't tell jokes. You're sitting next to my court, during my practice, with my name echoing in the room every five seconds—and you 'don't know' who I am?"

The boy shrank, his voice barely audible. "I… the studio was closed, so I thought I could use this space to finish—"

Krit chuckled darkly. "Wow. Using the basketball court as your personal art studio. Bold. Maybe you should paint the cafeteria next. Or the locker room while you're at it."

Laughter broke out behind him—his friends eating it up.

Phum called, "Hey, Krit, don't scare the poor guy!"

"Why not?" Krit shot back, not taking his eyes off Win. "If you're going to trespass, at least own it." He bent slightly, glancing at the paper. "What are you even sketching? Me, right? Go ahead, finish. I want to see how bad it is."

Win's throat tightened. "I wasn't—"

"You weren't what? Drawing me? Thinking about me? Please. Half the campus does." He took a step closer, tone dropping, just enough for Win to hear. "Next time you want to stare, try doing it without pretending to work. It's embarrassing."

Win's throat tightened. "I wasn't—"

The words hit harder than Krit expected. The boy—quiet, small, clearly terrified—looked like he wanted to disappear. His fingers trembled, gripping the pencil tight.

Krit straightened, exhaling through his nose. "Whatever. Just stay out of my way. This isn't your playground."

He turned to walk off. But Win's faint whisper reached him—barely audible.

"I don't even know who you are…"

Krit stopped. His jaw twitched. He looked back once, meeting those downcast eyes—red, humiliated, genuine—and for a flicker of a second, something twisted uncomfortably in his chest.

He crushed it down.

"Then congratulations," he said flatly. "Now you do."

Phum called out again, grinning. "You! done with your fan, boss?"

Krit forced a smirk. "He's not a fan—just a lost freshman who thinks rules don't apply to him."

More laughter. Win didn't respond. He just bent his head, trying to draw again, though his hands shook too much to form clean lines.

As Krit jogged back onto the court, the sound of his friends' laughter filled the room. The ball bounced sharply against the polished floor, echoing through the air.

And behind him, in the quiet corner, Win sat frozen—face hot, heart pounding, the sketch on his lap smeared by the trembling of his hand.

The art classroom buzzed quietly with the low hum of sketching pencils and soft conversation. Students adjusted their easels and paint palettes as the professor stepped out for a moment.

The door swung open, and heads turned instantly. Krit Tanakorn walked in, white shirt crisp, sleeves rolled up, carrying his black jacket over one shoulder. Every step was measured, confident—the kind of presence that made the room still without a word.

Most students straightened instinctively. "Senior… Krit?" someone whispered.

Krit's sharp gaze swept the room, and then it landed on a figure at the back: Win Thammarat, quietly packing his sketchpad into his bag. Unlike the others, he didn't crane his neck or try to peek at Krit. He didn't even flinch.

A small, almost imperceptible smirk tugged at Krit's lips. Interesting.

Krit leaned against a desk at the front, voice calm but cutting: "Good afternoon, everyone. I'll be brief. Swimming club is accepting new members this semester. There's a simple test—you'll swim within a set time, twice. Fail either, and you don't get in. Capable people only. Mediocre attempts? Waste of time."

A timid student raised a hand. "Sir… what if someone's busy with other clubs? Can they try anyway?"

Krit tilted his head, smirk curling. "Busy? Then I assume you're not serious. The swimming club isn't for spectators. It's for people who actually want to compete."

Another voice piped up. "Sir, will there be practice before the test?"

"No," Krit said casually, strolling a few steps closer. "If you can't meet the time now, practice won't magically make you faster. You're here to prove yourself, not play dress-up."

The students listened in silence, some scribbling notes, others sneaking glances at him with awe. Respect, not fear—respect that came automatically to a senior like Krit.

Then he spoke again, almost casually, though the arrogance dripped from his words: "Everyone not planning to join the swimming club? Feel free to leave. This isn't a show for you."

As his words settled, most of the room shuffled toward the door, whispering admiration as they went. But at the back, Win continued packing his sketchpad—methodical, calm, completely unaffected.

Krit's eyes narrowed slightly, intrigue flickering across his features. "Hmm," he muttered, low enough for no one else to hear. You don't even care that I just told everyone else to leave…

Their eyes met for a brief, tense moment. Win didn't smile, didn't look away. Krit's smirk deepened, part amusement, part curiosity. For the first time that day, someone ignored him entirely—and he didn't know how to handle it.

Krit cleared his throat, returning to the class as his smirk faded into full authority. "Alright, those staying, listen up. You'll be tested next week. Twice. No excuses. Got it?"

Heads nodded quickly. Notes were scribbled. And through it all, Krit's eyes drifted once more to Win, who now zipped his bag and quietly exited. That simple act of indifference burned in Krit's mind longer than any compliment or admiration ever had.

Krit walked out of the classroom like he owned the hallway, black jacket draped over one shoulder, every step deliberate, every glance a challenge. Students froze, craning their necks.

He smirked, voice loud enough for the nearest students to hear. "Alright, clear the way. Seriously. I don't have time for spectators. Out. Now."

Whispers erupted. "Yes, sir!" "Right away!" Students scurried past, throwing admiring glances, trying not to seem too eager.

All except one.

Win Thammarat, clutching his sketchpad, froze at the doorway, pale and small, clearly trembling. His heart raced. He hadn't meant to linger, hadn't meant to be noticed, but he had been listening.

Krit's smirk deepened as his sharp eyes locked onto him. "You… still here?" His voice was low, amused, commanding. "Not impressed? Not scared? Or are you just dumb enough to ignore me?"

Win swallowed hard, voice barely audible. "I… I… I… I'm sorry…"

Krit arched an eyebrow, stepping closer, letting his presence dominate the small space. "Sorry? That's it? You're not even in the club, are you? Tell me you're not wasting my time."

"I-I'm in painting club…" Win stammered, eyes darting down, voice trembling.

Krit chuckled darkly, voice dripping arrogance. "Painting club? Hah! Figures. So, let me get this straight—you stood there, listening, while I told everyone else to leave, and you… stayed? Brave, or just stupid?"

Win flinched, clutching his sketchpad like it could shield him. "I… I didn't… I… I… didn't understand…"

Krit leaned in slightly, voice smooth and cutting. "You didn't understand? Really? Let me spell it out: I told the classroom to leave. Everyone obeyed. Except you. Tiny little boy in the back, ignoring me like I'm invisible. Fascinating."

Win's voice was barely a whisper, shaking. "I… I… I don't swim… I'm… not good at swimming… I'm sorry…"

Krit smirked, leaning back now, casually folding his arms. "Relax. I'm not asking you to join. I just… noticed you didn't leave. That's all. Most people either scramble or fawn. You? You just… exist. Interesting. Weirdly… intriguing."

Win lowered his eyes, cheeks burning. "I… I… I'm sorry for the misunderstanding…"

Krit's eyes flicked to the floor for a moment, smirk softening into curiosity. "Huh. Not many people ignore me. Most tremble; some blush… you? You just… don't care. Or maybe you're terrified and hiding it well. Either way… I like it."

Without another word, Krit turned on his heel, walking down the hallway with every step confident, powerful, untouchable. Win stood frozen for a long moment, heart hammering, staring after him. Slowly, he adjusted his bag, took a shaky breath, and made his way to the cafeteria, cheeks still burning from the encounter.

Later, Win walked to the cafeteria, sketchpad clutched to his chest. He always ate alone, sitting in the same corner table, as he had done for months. The chatter and laughter of groups of students echoed around him, a world he could see but never touch.

He ate the same simple meal as always: rice, soup, and a bottle of water. Around him, the cafeteria buzzed with life — clusters of friends laughing, teasing, and scrolling through their phones. It was a world Win watched but never entered.

At the next table, a group of students whispered loudly enough for him to catch every word.

"Did you see Krit Tanakorn at the court earlier? That guy's unreal," one girl sighed dreamily. "Swimming club president, built like a Greek statue, and that smile—ugh, perfection."

"Right? And his crew? Total power circle. "All top of their clubs, from rich families, and still manage to ace their grades. Literal campus royalty."

A boy chimed in with awe, "Krit's dad runs Tanakorn Motors and that racetrack outside the city, right? His mom's like this elegant businesswoman who sponsors art events. No wonder he walks like he owns the place."

Their laughter faded into a softer murmur. Win's hand stilled over his spoon. His mind replayed the sharp tone from earlier, the mocking smile, the words that had stung.

So that was him.

He swallowed slowly, staring down at his food, though his appetite was gone. The chatter around him blurred into a low hum as he thought, He didn't even let me explain. He just assumed…

A chair scraped against the floor — loud, confident. Win glanced up instinctively.

At the entrance, Krit walked in with his usual trio — Phum, Than, and Tawan — laughing like they owned the air itself. Krit's white shirt sleeves were rolled up, collar open, that easy swagger in every step. Heads turned instantly as they passed.

Win's fingers tightened around his cup. He lowered his gaze quickly, hoping not to be noticed.

But Krit's eyes, scanning lazily across the room, caught him.

For a brief second, confusion flickered — recognition snapping into place. The quiet boy from the court. The one who claimed not to know him.

Krit slowed slightly, his friends still talking beside him. He didn't say anything at first, but his smirk tugged faintly, remembering their earlier exchange.

Phum noticed the pause. "What? You see something?"

Krit shrugged, eyes still on Win. "Just someone who needed a reminder of who's in charge earlier."

Phum chuckled. "The kid from the court? You really scared him, huh?"

Krit's lips curled. "Didn't mean to. He looked like he needed it."

They all laughed, brushing past to their usual table in the center of the room. But as Krit sat down, his gaze drifted once more to that quiet figure by the window — hunched over his sketchpad, pretending not to exist.

Something about it made him pause. Not guilt — just a strange, stubborn curiosity. The boy hadn't looked at him once since he entered. No sneaky glances, no shy smiles, no fan behavior. Just silence.

And somehow, that silence echoed louder than any attention Krit was used to.

He looked away, trying to shake the thought. But for the first time that day, his laughter didn't come as easily.

Across the room, Win finished his meal in silence, the chatter of the cafeteria fading behind him as he quietly stood and left — never realizing Krit's eyes followed him until he was gone.

He didn't dwell on the encounter in the court. There wasn't time to. His father, Preecha, expected him home promptly after classes. Every day was measured—study, drawing, returning home, completing tasks, avoiding conflicts. His mind was full of schedules, rules, and the quiet tension that always lingered at the Thammarat household.

By the time he returned home, Win was already thinking about the sketch he needed to finish before dinner, the assignments due, and the careful balance required to avoid his father's displeasure. Life was routine, heavy, and demanding. There was no space to wonder about anyone, not even the boy who had briefly disrupted his solitude.

He settled into his usual corner at the study desk, picking up his pencil and letting his hand move over the paper. Drawing remained the one place he could focus entirely on himself, even if only for a little while. Outside, the sunlight faded softly, the world moving on as it always did. And Win, as always, continued in quiet solitude, carrying the weight of his life silently. 

Chapter Two – Routine and Shadows

The smell of jasmine tea and freshly steamed rice filled the Thammarat household that morning. Win sat quietly at the breakfast table, careful not to make a sound that would draw his father's ire. His mother, Suthida, placed a small plate of scrambled eggs and stir-fried vegetables in front of him, smiling softly.

"Good morning, Win. Did you sleep well?" she asked, brushing a loose strand of hair from his forehead.

Win nodded politely. "Yes… mostly." His voice was soft, measured—never too loud, never too bold.

His father, Preecha, entered the dining room, sharp frown etched across his face. His eyes immediately scanned Win from head to toe. "Win! Why aren't you dressed yet? And why are you still carrying that sketchbook? You're not going to make a career out of doodles!" His voice was firm, edged with impatience, the kind that demanded obedience. He slammed his briefcase onto the table, rattling the dishes.

Win's stomach tightened. He lowered his gaze to his plate, quietly picking at his food. "I… I'll leave soon," he murmured.

"'Soon'?" Preecha's tone sharpened further, each word like a strike. "I said now! You need to focus on something real—business, law, engineering! Not… this… nonsense. Art won't feed you, and it won't give you status. Do you understand? One more day of wasting time, and there will be consequences!"

Win nodded obediently, his fingers tightening slightly around his chopsticks. Inside, a storm of frustration and helplessness churned. Why can't they see that this is the one place I feel free? That the world I create with pencils and paint is real to me… even if they think it's nothing?

Suthida reached under the table, giving his hand a subtle, reassuring squeeze. Her eyes met his briefly, offering warmth and encouragement in the midst of the tension.

Preecha leaned closer; voice low but fierce. "And don't think you can ignore me, Win. I won't allow this frivolous hobby to take your life away from discipline and purpose. You are my son—I expect better than this. Do you hear me?"

"Yes, Father," Win whispered, the words barely audible. His heart sank, but a quiet determination flickered in him. I'll keep drawing. I have to. If this is the only place I can breathe, I won't let anyone take it away… not even him.

Breakfast continued in a strained silence, Win carefully measuring each bite, aware of every movement. Once finished, he gathered his bag and quietly left for the university, the city streets alive with the hum of morning traffic and chatter from fellow students.

The morning sun spilled across the Tanakorn driveway as Krit fished his phone from the pocket of his crisp jacket. He dialed Phum's number, tapping his foot impatiently.

"Where are you?" he asked when Phum picked up.

"I'm at home. Just finished breakfast," Phum replied lazily.

Krit smirked. "Good. I'll come see you. Don't move."

"Fine, no worries," Phum chuckled.

Krit slipped into Phum's house like he owned the place, hands in his pockets, smirking at the casual chaos of the breakfast table.

Phum waved him over, raising an eyebrow. "Finally decided to grace me with your presence? Something's wrong. You don't just show up for breakfast unless… something is up."

Krit shrugged, acting nonchalant. "Maybe I just like your company."

Phum chuckled. "Right. Sure. That's why you're here at 8 a.m., eating my eggs. Come on, spill it. You never skip your family's luxury breakfast unless something's bothering you."

Krit leaned back, crossing his arms. "You sound like my mom now. What's wrong with a friend noticing me eating in peace?"

Phum smirked. "Nothing. Except that usually, the universe revolves around you. So if you're showing up here, something's up. Don't lie to me."

Krit sipped his juice, pretending to be casual. "Fine. There's… this freshman. Never seen him before. He doesn't know me."

Phum almost choked on his coffee. "Wait. Doesn't know you? Are you serious?"

Krit nodded, dark amusement flashing in his eyes. "Completely. I went to his class, made my announcements about the swimming club, and… nothing. Didn't even notice I was there. He didn't care. He ignored me."

Phum's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Ah… that's the look. I get it now. You like him, don't you?"

Krit froze, a muscle in his jaw twitching. "I… I do NOT."

Phum leaned forward, smirking. "Uh-huh. Right. Of course, you don't. You're just… upset because someone didn't fawn over you. Admit it, man. You're jealous."

"I am not jealous!" Krit snapped, though his tone betrayed him.

Phum laughed, loud and teasing. "Oh really? Not jealous that he ignored the great Krit Tanakorn?"

Krit's eyes flickered, a flash of irritation crossing his perfectly calm mask. "He's different. He doesn't care about people staring, doesn't care about attention. That's all. Curious. That's all."

Phum raised his eyebrow, grinning. "Curious? That's cute. So… do you like him?"

Krit snorted. "No. I don't like anyone. Ever."

Phum leaned closer, whispering teasingly. "Oh? Even if he's… the only one not acting like everyone else? Interesting."

Krit's jaw tightened. "Stop teasing me."

Phum chuckled. "I can't help it. You're acting like a jealous little cat. So, let me ask properly… do you… want to ask him out?"

Krit's eyes narrowed sharply. "I… I'm not asking him out. What are you even talking about?"

Phum smirked. "Come on, be honest. You're all flustered. You've never been this… unsettled. Admit it—you like that he doesn't care about your reputation, that he sees you as normal."

Krit groaned, running a hand through his hair. "He's… just different. That's all. I don't feel anything. Nothing. Stop it."

Phum laughed, pointing at him. "Sure, sure. But you're curious. That's why you're riled up. Admit—just admit you're curious because he's the first person in years who didn't fall over himself for you."

Krit's lips pressed into a thin line. "Fine. Maybe. But curiosity is not… anything else. Understand?"

Phum leaned back, eyes glinting with mischief. "Uh-huh. And if I asked him out… what would you do?"

Krit's face went stiff, almost imperceptibly red. "I… I would… tell you he'd never say yes. He likes someone committed, not… you. Don't test me."

Phum laughed so hard he nearly choked. "Wow. You… jealous? This is insane. I never thought I'd see that side of you."

Krit ignored him, picking up a piece of toast. "Okay. Enough. We're going to the university. I want to see this kid for myself. Curiosity, remember?"

Phum smirked, still laughing. "Right. Lead the way, mighty Krit. Let's go see the boy who dares ignore you."

Krit's smirk returned faintly, a mix of pride and irritation. "Curiosity only. Nothing else. Got it?"

Phum waved him off, teasing. "Sure, sure. Just don't act like you don't care when he does notice you."

At the art studio, Win carefully arranged his pencils, brushes, and sketchpad on the worn wooden table by the window. Sunlight streamed through the tall panes, streaking across the floor and glinting off jars of paint. Today was his first official day in the painting club, and a quiet tension pulsed through him. He preferred observing to participating, and yet, he had to step beyond the safety of his routine.

The students around him were absorbed in their work, chatting softly, blending colors, and adjusting their easels. Win stayed in the corner, clutching his sketchpad, unsure how to approach anyone.

Mr. Somchai, the painting instructor, noticed him immediately. "Ah, you must be the new member," he said warmly. "Why don't you introduce yourself to the class?"

Win froze, uncertainty tightening his chest. His voice felt trapped behind nerves, but he nodded slightly, managing a quiet, almost inaudible, "I… I'm Win."

The class murmured polite greetings, and one of the students, May, gave him an encouraging smile. "Welcome! I'm May. You'll fit right in," she said kindly.

Win offered a small nod, too shy for words.

Mr. Somchai stepped closer to Win's easel, his eyes scanning the sketches with careful attention. "These lines… the shading… very detailed. You've got a strong sense of light and perspective," he said, his tone gentle but full of genuine appreciation.

Win's eyebrows lifted slightly, surprised. "Thank… you, sir," he murmured softly, feeling a rare warmth in the praise.

Somchai's gaze lingered a moment longer, softer now, tinged with memory. "Your mother… she had a remarkable way with color. We studied together at university. You must take after her," he added quietly, as if sharing a secret.

For a moment, the world seemed to pause. Someone outside his family—someone who wasn't judging, directing, or controlling—had noticed him for who he truly was. Win felt a flicker of belonging, small but undeniable, as his pencil began to move more freely across the paper.

Win carefully packed up his sketchpad, feeling the rare warmth of being noticed still linger in his chest. The classroom buzzed softly around him as students murmured about their own projects, but he felt a subtle tug toward silence, a place where he could think without interruption.

He stepped out of the art studio, the late afternoon sun spilling gold across the campus paths. Slowly, he made his way toward the less-traveled corners of the campus, avoiding crowded hallways and main courtyards. His steps led him to the back stairwell, up narrow corridors, until he found the rooftop door slightly ajar. It promised the quiet he craved: sunlight warming the concrete, a gentle breeze teasing the few potted plants left by the gardening club, and the world below moving on without him.

Win paused, heart racing. He wasn't supposed to be here. Students were strictly forbidden, but the temptation of uninterrupted focus—and the freedom it brought—was irresistible. With a careful glance around, he slipped through the door and onto the rooftop, setting his sketchpad on the low wall, pencil poised.

A sudden shadow fell across the rooftop, and a sharp voice cut through the calm.

"Interesting choice of… hiding spot," the voice said.

Win jumped, spinning around. Krit Tanakorn stood near the stairwell, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a water bottle. His dark eyes scanned the rooftop with predatory precision.

"You do realize students aren't supposed to be here, right?" Krit's tone was biting, laced with amusement and warning. "Do you know what would happen if I reported this? Suspended? Dismissed? Think about that."

Win's chest tightened. "I-I… I'll leave… I promise, I just—please, don't do anything," he stammered, fear making his voice shake.

Krit stepped closer, stopping him with a firm grip on his hand. Win froze, eyes already glossy with tears.

"Wait," Krit said sharply, studying him. "What's your name?"

"W-Win," he whispered.

"Full name, kid," Krit pressed, voice sharp but controlled, eyes scanning every inch of Win's face.

"Win Thammarat," Win answered, barely audible.

"Which program? Which year?" Krit's tone was equal parts commanding and curious.

"I… I'm Fine Arts… first-year," Win said quickly.

Krit raised a brow, smirk tugging at his lips. "Ah… yes, so you're a kid, hmmm. What's your father's name?"

"Preecha… Preecha Thammarat," Win whispered.

"And what does he do?" Krit continued, voice firm.

"He… he runs his business," Win replied, trembling.

Win swallowed, voice small. "He… owns an import-export company. Deals with rare goods from overseas—art, antiques, luxury items."

Krit's eyes narrowed slightly, intrigued. "Ah… so he's clever, making money quietly behind the scenes. I can see that."

"Mother's name?" Krit asked, tone sharp, expectant.

"Suthida," Win murmured.

Krit tilted his head. "And what does she do?"

"She… doesn't work," Win said softly. "She takes care of the house."

"Where do you live?" Krit's gaze swept over him, analyzing every flinch.

"At… home," Win said softly.

Krit let out a short, sharp laugh. "I know everyone lives in a house, kid. I meant… which street? Where exactly?"

Win's face flushed. "I-I live… on Sitthi Street. I don't know if you know that street," he said quickly, almost tripping over his words.

Krit's smirk sharpened, dark amusement in his eyes. "Oh? Were you trying to invite me to your little hideout?"

"No, no!" Win stammered, shaking his head frantically. "That's not what I meant!"

"And siblings?" Krit's voice was clipped, precise.

"No… none," Win whispered.

Krit studied him silently for a long moment, curiosity flickering behind his sharp eyes. There was something about Win—something fragile and unguarded that didn't match the usual crowd of admirers or fans Krit was used to. But he kept it in check, masking his thoughts behind a cool, unreadable expression.

"Why… why did you come up here?" Krit asked finally, voice still firm but less threatening.

"I… I wanted… to sketch," Win admitted, gripping his pencil tightly.

Krit tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly. "Oh… so you're serious. You actually came here just to draw?"

Win nodded nervously. "Yes… I-I'll leave now. I… I'll never come here again. Please… don't complain to the dean."

Krit's hand loosened and he stepped aside, laying down on the rooftop floor beside him. He rested an arm over his eyes and muttered, almost lazily, "You can sketch for now. Wake me up when you're done."

Win froze, then whispered, "It's okay… I'm leaving now," beginning to step away.

"Win Thammarat!" Krit's voice rang out, firm and commanding, making Win flinch. "You came here to sketch. So do that."

Heart pounding, Win moved to the far corner of the rooftop, setting up his sketchpad. Krit removed his arm from his eyes, glanced at Win with a slight, almost teasing smile, and then lay back down.

The quiet stretched for nearly an hour. Win's pencil moved steadily across the page, concentration and nervous energy blending into the lines. When he finally approached Krit, tapping gently on his shoulder, Krit checked his watch.

"Oops… late for a meeting," he muttered, getting to his feet. "And let me be very clear—don't come here again. Understand?"

"Yes…," Win whispered, heart still racing.

Krit strode toward the stairwell, leaving Win's heart pounding and his mind spinning, the encounter lingering in his chest like an electric current.

That evening, the Thammarat household hummed with the quiet tension that had become routine. Dinner was a careful ritual—every bite measured; every movement scrutinized. Preecha's sharp gaze didn't waver as he addressed Win.

"You spent too long at the studio today," he said, voice cold and precise. "Discipline, Win. You must manage your time properly. Art is… fine, but it does not replace responsibility."

Win kept his eyes fixed on his plate, the chopsticks trembling slightly as he lifted each bite. The words were familiar, heavy, but the sting never dulled.

From across the table, Suthida gave a subtle, reassuring smile. Beneath the table, her hand brushed lightly against his—a quiet reminder that he wasn't entirely alone, even in the shadow of his father's expectations.

Later, when the house finally settled into the hush of night, Win sat at his desk, pencil gliding across paper. The soft glow of the desk lamp cast long shadows on the wall, making the room feel both intimate and infinite.

Suthida appeared in the doorway, her silhouette gentle. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear and whispered, "Win… I know it's not easy with your father. But you're strong, and you have your own path. Never forget that. Your talent… it's yours, and it's worth protecting."

Win's hand paused, pencil hovering. "I… I know, Mom," he murmured, voice quiet but steady.

She smiled, warmth folding around him like a soft blanket. "That's all I ask. Be careful but remember—you're never alone. Even when it feels like it."

Win exhaled slowly, letting the tension seep out with each heartbeat. The house was silent now, but the warmth lingered—a small, fragile light in a world that often demanded he stay in the shadows.

Across the city, the Tanakorn Residence buzzed with life. Warm lights reflected off sleek surfaces, music hummed softly in the background, and the faint clatter of dishes punctuated the air with laughter. Krit settled into his chair at the dining table, chopsticks poised like a pro, while his father, Anan, a tall and imposing man in a tailored suit, hovered over a tablet.

"The supplier agreed to the new contract," Anan said, eyes sharp as they scanned figures, "but the shipping schedule still needs confirmation. Did you finalize the logistics?"

Krit nodded, voice casual, "Already checked, Dad. Everything's in order."

His mother, set down a tray of grilled fish and fresh salad with a flourish. "Talk all business you want, but eat before your food gets cold," she teased, eyes twinkling.

Krit picked up a piece of fish, but before he could bite, Anan's brow arched. "So… any girls catching your attention lately?"

Krit choked on the bite. "Uh… no, Dad," he muttered, trying not to smirk.

"Are you sure?" Anan pressed, leaning back smugly. "Or is there someone… unusual?"

Krit froze slightly, mind instantly flickering to Win—the quiet boy from the rooftop. He hadn't thought about anyone like that before. "Unusual?" he asked cautiously.

"Yes," Mom laughed, pouring wine into their glasses. "Someone who's not part of your usual orbit. And don't even try to deny it, young man."

Krit groaned, cheeks warming. "Mom! Dad! It's nothing!"

Krit picked up a piece of fish, but before he could bite, Krit's Mom huffed dramatically. "Can you believe my sister went to the spa without me? I wasn't invited!"

Krit raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Really, Mom? You're mad at your own sister over massages?"

Anan laughed, lowering the tablet. "Maybe she's just trying to give you a taste of humility."

Siripha rolled her eyes, laughing. "Very funny, both of you. I deserve pampering too!"

Krit chuckled, shaking his head. "Relax, Mom. Next time, we'll sneak you in there."

"You're the one who spent ฿2,232,432 last week!" Anan interjected teasingly. "Do I even want to know what for?"

Krit laughed, grinning. "I bought the new BMW CE 02 2025 model. Just felt like it."

"Seriously? That's… a lot!" Siripha said, eyes wide.

"You're spoiling yourself again," Anan said, smirking. "Is this to impress some girl?"

Krit waved his hand dismissively. "I don't care about anyone. It's just for me. Come on, guys."

Siripha tilted her head, smiling mischievously. "Didn't you literally buy a bike last month?"

"I… don't like that one anymore," Krit replied casually.

"KRIT!" Siripha tugged at his ear lightly. "Be responsible!"

Krit groaned, laughing, rubbing his ear. "Okay, okay, Mom."

The conversation shifted to lighter matters—minor office mishaps, a joke about their neighbor's new puppy, and playful teasing about who would win at chess if Krit actually played seriously. Laughter filled the room, blending with the aroma of food and warm lighting, making the house feel lively, cozy, and full of mischief.

After dinner, Krit excused himself, glancing at the city lights outside the window. "Alright, I'm heading to bed. Big day tomorrow."

"Don't stay up too late dreaming about your bikes," Siripha teased.

"I'll try not to," Krit replied with a grin, grabbing his water bottle and heading off.

The house settled into a quiet rhythm—the kind of energy that only came after laughter, teasing, and comfort. Krit leaned back in his sleek chair, briefly scanning the glowing skyline before disappearing into the night, leaving the warmth of family behind.

Chapter Three – Silence and Sparks

The rhythmic pounding of basketballs echoed through the thin walls, shaking the classroom windows. Each thud made the chalk tremble across the blackboard as Mr. Somchai paused mid-lecture, pressing his lips together. Laughter followed — loud, careless, unrestrained — spilling in from the gym next door.

Win sat near the front, pencil hovering uselessly above his sketchpad. The sound was unbearable, each bounce of the ball like a hammer against his nerves.

Mr. Somchai sighed, rubbing his temples. "Those boys again," he muttered. Then his gaze shifted toward Win. "Win," he said gently.

Win looked up, startled. "Y-yes, sir?"

"You're quiet, polite…", Maybe you could go ask them to lower the noise a little? Just until the end of the class."

Win blinked. His stomach tightened. "Me?"

"Yes," Mr. Somchai said kindly but firmly. "You're one of the few who won't provoke them. Just… ask politely."

Win nodded hesitantly, clutching his sketchpad to his chest as he stood. His palms were slick with sweat. As he walked down the corridor, the laughter grew louder, accompanied by the sharp squeak of sneakers.

He hesitated at the basketball court entrance, peeking in but he walked right through the middle of the court. Krit and his teammates moved like a storm — bodies twisting, voices echoing. The air was thick with adrenaline and confidence.

Than spotted him first, smirking. "Hey, little guy! You lost or something?" He bounced the ball so close it nearly brushed Win's leg.

Phum snickered, brushing past him roughly. "Seriously? Who lets you in here, art boy?"

Tawan grinned and lobbed a ball toward him, letting it roll between Win's shoes. "Careful, mouse. Might get trampled."

Win froze, voice catching in his throat. "P-please… um… could you… maybe keep it… a little quieter?" His tone was barely a whisper.

Than laughed loudly. "Ohhh, he talks!"

Phum grinned. "Teacher sent the quiet kid to do the dirty work. Cute."

The laughter swelled again. Win's heart hammered painfully, eyes stinging. He took a step back, ready to flee—

Then, a single voice cut through the noise.

"Enough."

The laughter died instantly. Krit had turned, one hand resting on his hip, eyes narrowed with calm authority. The weight of his stare silenced the entire court.

Phum fumbled for words. "We were just joking around, man—"

"Joking?," Krit said sharply, tone like ice. "You think scaring him's funny?"

No one replied. Even the echo of the ball seemed afraid to bounce.

Krit stepped closer to Win, his expression unreadable but his posture protective. "You okay?" he asked, voice low.

Win nodded quickly, though his hands still trembled. "I… I just… Mr. Somchai asked me to… to tell you to be quiet… for class."

Krit's gaze softened slightly. "Ah. Orders from the top, huh?" His lips curved into a faint smirk. "Brave of you to walk in here alone."

Win flushed. "I didn't want to… cause trouble."

Krit tilted his head. "You didn't. They did." Then, glancing back at his teammates, he barked, "You heard him. Keep it down."

The others muttered under their breath, resuming practice more quietly.

Krit crouched slightly so that his eyes met Win's. "Next time, don't just walk straight into the middle of the court," he said, voice softer but teasing. "Unless you like making dramatic entrances."

Win blinked, caught off guard. "I… didn't mean to—"

"Relax," Krit said, straightening up, that familiar smirk returning. "No one's mad. Just… try not to walk into the middle of chaos again. Unless you want me to keep rescuing you."

Win's breath hitched. "I'll… remember that."

"Good," Krit replied, tone unreadable but his eyes glinting with something like amusement. "Now go before you melt into the floor."

Win nodded, retreating toward the door, his heart racing for reasons that had nothing to do with fear.

As he stepped out, Krit's gaze followed him — sharp, curious, lingering. There was something about the quiet boy's trembling sincerity that unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

The basketball tournament later that week was a storm of noise, energy, and adrenaline. The gym was packed with cheering students, banners waving from the balconies, and the blaring of the referee's whistle punctuating the action. As part of a community effort, the painting club had been asked to help clean up after each match. Win moved quietly between chaos and clatter, sweeping the floor, collecting stray towels, and gathering discarded water bottles. His small frame navigated around bouncing balls and shouting players, unnoticed by most.

Between drills, Krit and his friends goofed around, tossing balls carelessly, teasing each other loudly. Some students noticed Win hustling to tidy up and whispered among themselves.

"Is that the shy art boy again?" one giggled.

"Look at him, moving like a ghost," another added. "He doesn't even care who wins."

Krit's dark eyes flicked toward Win immediately. His lips curved into a faint smirk, but the smirk hardened as he saw other students start to take advantage of Win's silent diligence.

"Hey!" Krit's sharp, commanding voice cut through the noise, silencing everyone. "Stop bossing him around. Move your own stuff."

The whole basketball court froze. Even his friends blinked in surprise; Krit never intervened so directly before.

Win froze, caught off guard, cheeks heating. He hadn't expected anyone to notice him, let alone defend him so publicly.

Krit strode over, quieter now, authoritative but not intimidating. "You're doing too much. Don't let anyone take advantage of you," he said, eyes scanning Win's flushed face.

"I… I just—" Win began, voice shaking.

"I mean it," Krit said, softer this time, voice almost hesitant. "You don't have to do everything for everyone. Let people handle themselves sometimes."

Win blinked, unsure how to respond. A rare warmth bloomed in his chest.

Krit's smirk returned, playful now. He picked up a stray basketball and tossed it lightly toward Win, who stumbled, catching it awkwardly. "Careful," Krit teased.

Win's face burned, and he managed a small laugh. From the sidelines, Krit's friends called out with teasing grins.

"Oi, Krit! Who's got you so distracted? You're staring more than usual!"

Krit shot a quick glare but didn't look away from Win. "Shut up," he muttered, though a faint amusement lingered on his lips.

The matches continued, and Krit's team dominated, every shot landing with precise timing. The crowd erupted with cheers after the final buzzer. Girls rushed forward to congratulate him, swooning and shouting. "Krit! That was amazing!" "You were incredible!" "You're the best!"

But Krit's attention didn't waver. His eyes searched for one person in particular. He found Win in the corner, quietly stacking towels and cleaning up discarded cups, entirely oblivious to the victory celebration. A small smirk tugged at Krit's lips—most would have been dazzled by the applause, but Win was focused on his work.

After the trophy presentation, Krit received his gold medal, the gym buzzing with cheers and flashing cameras. As the crowd began to disperse, he walked deliberately toward Win, the medal glinting under the bright lights.

"Hey," he said softly, voice carrying just enough to reach Win over the fading noise. "For you."

Win blinked, startled, his pencil-thin hands clutching his sketchbook like a lifeline. "W-what…?" he stammered.

Before he could react, Krit unhooked the medal from around his neck and, with a small, confident smile, gently draped it over Win's. The weight of the gold and the sudden closeness made Win freeze, his cheeks burning crimson. "I… I can't keep this!" he murmured, instinctively trying to lift it off.

Krit's dark eyes sparkled with amusement. He placed his hands lightly over Win's, holding them against his chest. "Oh, but you can. Consider it… a reward," he said, teasing but steady, his voice low.

Win's mouth opened, but no words came out, his heart hammering in his chest. "I… I don't… I can't…"

Krit smirked, tilting his head. "What's mine… is yours now," he said softly, leaning a fraction closer, making Win's pulse quicken. "And don't even think about taking it off. You earned it—even if you don't realize it yet."

Win swallowed hard, embarrassment and awe mingling into a dizzying mix. He glanced down at the medal, then back at Krit, words failing him entirely.

Krit chuckled, the sound low and teasing. "See? Fits you perfectly. Now smile—don't make me regret sharing it."

Before Win could react, Krit pulled his phone from his pocket and aimed it at him. "Hold still. Gonna take a picture," he said.

Win blinked, frozen. "A… a picture? Why?"

Krit's dark eyes glinted with mischief. "Honestly? I don't know. You just… impressed me. And this—" he tapped the medal gently against Win's chest, "—is worth remembering."

Win's face burned, and he fumbled to adjust the medal, feeling exposed.

Krit snapped the photo, then lowered the phone with a satisfied smirk. "Perfect. Look at you—gold medal, flustered, and somehow still managing to survive me."

Win mumbled, barely audible, "I… I didn't do anything…"

"Exactly," Krit said, grinning. "That's why it's so impressive. Consider it a reward… or a warning."

Win's hands tightened around the medal, heart racing, caught somewhere between embarrassment and awe.

The basketball court was nearly empty now. The cheers had faded into distant echoes, replaced by the quiet rhythm of the painting club cleaning up—brooms scraping, bottles clinking, paper banners being folded away. Win moved quietly among them, head lowered, sweeping up wrappers, pretending not to notice the tall figure leaning against the wall watching him.

Krit hadn't left. He stood there, still in his jersey, medal ribbon now wrapped loosely around his hand, gaze fixed on Win with lazy amusement. "You really don't stop, do you?" he said finally, voice smooth and low. "Game's over, kid. You can rest."

Win froze mid-motion, gripping the broom tighter. "I… I just need to finish this corner," he mumbled, eyes fixed on the floor.

Krit chuckled softly, pushing off the wall to stand beside him. "So serious," he murmured. "You'll sweep a hole through the floor at this rate."

Win's breath hitched; he stepped back slightly, the broom trembling in his hands. "I—I just don't like leaving things messy."

"Mm." Krit tilted his head, studying him. "You really are something else." His tone turned playful, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. "You know, most people can't even look me in the eye. But you—" He paused, noticing Win immediately glance down again. "—ah, there it is. The shy act."

Win's cheeks burned. "I'm not… acting…" he murmured, voice barely audible.

Krit leaned closer, close enough that Win could smell the faint scent of sweat and cologne. "You're scared of me, huh?" he teased, eyes gleaming.

Win's pulse jumped. "N-no, I just…"

"Relax," Krit said, tone softening. "I'm not going to bite. Unless you ask nicely."

Win blinked, utterly flustered, and Krit laughed quietly, shaking his head. "You're too easy to mess with."

After a beat of silence, Krit's voice lowered again, smooth and calm. "So… you seeing anyone?"

Win stiffened, looking up with wide eyes. "S-seeing…?"

Krit smiled, almost fondly. "Dating, kid. You got a boyfriend? Girlfriend?"

Win shook his head quickly. "No! I mean—no, I don't."

"Good." Krit's smirk deepened. "Less competition."

Win blinked again, completely lost. "C-competition?"

"Yeah," Krit said easily, eyes locked on him. "You've got my attention, and that doesn't happen often."

Win's throat went dry. "I… I think I should go—"

But before he could move, Krit reached out and lightly tugged at the medal still hanging around Win's neck. "Keep it," he said quietly. "It suits you. Feels right."

"I… I shouldn't—"

Krit smiled faintly. "What's mine can be yours. Just don't lose it."

He stepped back, the playful glint returning to his eyes. "And don't look so scared, kid. You'll get used to me… eventually."

. "Mm-hmm," Krit drawled, leaning closer. "You got any exes I should beat up? Or are you a total heartbreaker hiding behind that shy face?"

"W-what? No! I don't—" Win's voice cracked.

Krit chuckled, clearly entertained. "Relax, I'm joking. Kind of." He looked Win up and down with mock seriousness. "But you really don't like anyone? Not even a tiny crush?"

Win fidgeted, eyes darting away. "No…"

Krit leaned closer until their faces were barely a few inches apart. "Liar."

"I-I'm not!" Win protested, stepping back.

Krit grabbed his wrist gently, smirking. "You're terrible at lying, you know that?"

Win's breath hitched. "I… I should go."

"Not yet," Krit murmured. "You haven't answered my question properly."

"What question?"

Krit's grin widened. "How about… you just date me?"

Win's eyes went wide. "W-what?"

"Yeah," Krit said casually, shrugging. "You're cute, I'm bored, seems fair."

"Krit—" Win stammered, flustered beyond words.

"Don't think too hard, kid," Krit teased, letting go of his wrist. "Just… consider it. You'll come around."

Win's heart was pounding as he backed away, face flushed.

Krit watched him go, amusement dancing in his eyes. "God, you're fun to mess with," he muttered, a grin tugging at his lips. "This is going to be entertaining."

Later in the evening, Krit's house; Across the city, Krit sat at the dining table of his family's modern house, the soft glow of sunset spilling across the polished floors. The aroma of grilled fish and jasmine rice lingered in the air as his parents chatted about their day—until Krit suddenly said, as casually as if discussing the weather,

"I asked someone out today."

His mother froze mid-bite. His father's fork clattered against the plate.

"You what?" his mother asked, blinking in surprise. "You asked someone out? You? Since when do you do the asking?"

His father chuckled, shaking his head. "Usually, half the city lines up to ask you out. What changed?"

Krit smirked, leaning back in his chair. "Maybe I just found someone worth the effort."

His mother's curiosity sparked instantly. "Oh? Tell us about this… someone."

Krit hesitated for a moment, then said lightly, "He's a guy from my university. Quiet, keeps to himself. Always focused. He doesn't care about popularity or attention—actually, I think he'd rather disappear if he could."

His father almost choked on his tea. "A guy? You mean—you're serious?" He leaned forward, eyebrows raised. "And this quiet boy—he's not after money or something, right? You're the Krit Tanakorn—people notice your last name, son."

Krit rolled his eyes, amused. "Dad, please. He doesn't even look at me half the time. He barely talks. If he's after money, he's doing a terrible job."

His mother laughed softly, resting her chin in her hand. "So, what's his name? What's he like? Do you have a picture?"

Krit grinned, slightly embarrassed. "His name's Win. And… no, I don't have a picture. I don't even have his number yet."

His father raised an eyebrow. "You asked him out without even having his number?"

"I'll get it first thing tomorrow," Krit said confidently, flashing a charming grin.

His mother teased, "So the great Krit Tanakorn—Mr. confident, Mr. untouchable—finally flustered by a quiet boy? Oh, this I have to see."

Krit chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "He's… different, Mom. I can't explain it."

His father leaned back, smirking. "Your grandfather's going to be shocked. You know how he is—he'll probably faint when he hears you're dating a guy."

Krit snorted. "Then you can convince him, Dad. I'm not changing my mind."

Both parents looked at him, genuinely surprised by his tone—calm, but unwavering.

His mother smiled softly. "You really like him, don't you?"

Krit met her eyes, his expression serious for once. "Yeah. I really like him; I am crazy about him, and I can't forget him. He's in my head all the time."

His father sighed, though a faint smile tugged at his lips. "Well, I guess stubbornness runs in the family."

Krit grinned. "Takes one to know one, Dad."

His mother laughed, shaking her head. "Just… don't scare the poor boy, okay? Quiet ones take time."

Krit chuckled, reaching for another piece of fish. "Don't worry, Mom. I'll go easy on him. Maybe."

His father groaned dramatically. "God help that poor boy."

His mother leaned back, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Well… since you like him so much, why don't you invite Win over for dinner sometime? Let us meet him properly."

Krit snorted, shaking his head. "Mom, I can't even get a yes from him to be my boyfriend yet. First things first."

His parents erupted into laughter. His father leaned forward, wiping a tear from his eye. "Haha! He didn't even say yes yet? Wow, what if he says no, Krit? Karma boy! How many girls have you rejected? Looks like it's finally kicking you back."

Krit groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Dad, you are not helping me right now!"

His father chuckled, teasing relentlessly. "I love this Win guy you're talking about. I love seeing my Krit boy being so helpless for once."

"Hey! Stop teasing my Krit baby," his mother protested, reaching across to poke his shoulder.

Krit rolled his eyes, but a small smile tugged at his lips. "Mom! Can we not make this a circus?"

She leaned closer, playful. "I should share this with my sister… she'll die laughing knowing her nephew is being all lovesick!"

"No! Mom, no!" Krit exclaimed, a mix of panic and embarrassment coloring his voice. "Let me get a yes from him first, okay?"

His father laughed, leaning back in his chair. "Oh, come on, son. The suspense is hilarious. You've been Mr. Confident forever watching you squirm is priceless!"

Krit buried his face again. "Oh God… I shouldn't have told you guys at all!"

His mother and father both laughed, loud and unrestrained. Krit peeked out from behind his hands, shaking his head, but the warmth of their teasing lingered, softening the edges of his anxiety.

Chapter Four – Numbers and Tension

Sunlight spilled through the tall windows of the modern kitchen, glinting off sleek counters and the chrome edges of the coffee machine. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with warm toast and scrambled eggs. Krit's parents were seated at the table, quietly chatting as they ate.

Krit's mother stirred her tea, eyes narrowing playfully. "Did you hear? Your aunt apparently bought a new dog without telling me. Can you believe it?"

His father laughed, shaking his head. "Typical. Always making big decisions behind your back, huh?"

"Stop teasing me, Anan" Krit's mother smiled. 

Krit grinned from the top of the stairs. "Morning, guys," he called, bounding down.

He grabbed the half-full glass of orange juice from his father's side. "Thanks," he muttered, chugging it in one gulp.

"Hey! That's mine!" his father protested, waving a hand.

"Don't be stingy," Krit shot back, finishing the glass.

His mother laughed, shaking her head. "Eat something proper, Krit. Don't rush out on an empty stomach."

"No time," Krit said, already reaching for his shoes. "I need to see Win before he gets to class."

His father chuckled, raising a finger. "Careful. Don't scare him off before you even get a chance!"

Krit rolled his eyes, smirking. "Relax, Dad. I've got it under control."

His mother called after him as he jogged toward the door, laughing. "Drive slowly, Krit! And eat lunch later!"

"Will do, Mom!" he shouted over his shoulder, already halfway down the driveway. In a flash, Krit had started the engine and was off, determination set in his eyes.

The morning at university, Win was making his way to the art studio when he sensed playful footsteps behind him. Krit's shadow fell over him suddenly, startling him.

Suddenly, a shadow fell across Win's path. "You're late," a familiar, teasing voice said, dark and confident.

Win jumped, nearly dropping his bag. He spun around to see Krit leaning casually against the railing, one hand in his pocket, the other resting lightly on the metal. His dark eyes glimmered with amusement; the corner of his mouth tugged into a smirk.

"So," Krit said, stepping closer, voice teasing, "did you think about my question from yesterday?"

"I… I didn't think about it," Win stammered, eyes darting nervously.

Krit's smirk widened. "Ah, of course. Playing coy. Hiding behind your sketchpad like it's a shield." He leaned slightly closer, dark eyes scanning him. "You're not going to get away that easily, you know."

"I… I'm not—" Win started, panicked.

"Not gay, right?" Krit finished teasing, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes… I… I'm not gay!" Win stammered, cheeks burning.

"Perfect," Krit said, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips. "Then nothing's stopping you from giving me your number."

"I… I… can't!" Win whispered, panic rising.

Krit smirked, stepping closer, voice playful but firm. "You're saying no to me? Interesting… very interesting."

"I… I'm late for class!" Win blurted.

Krit tilted his head, eyes glinting. "Then we can both be late," he teased, hands in pockets, tone stubborn. "No one will die if two students stroll a minute slower."

"Please… I have to go," Win said softly, his voice edged with desperation. He looked up at Krit, eyes wide, almost pleading—puppy-like.

Krit's smirk deepened. "And you think I'll let you run away that easily?" he teased, stepping a little closer. "Your number, Win."

Win hesitated, lips twitching into a faint, almost involuntary smile. Krit's eyes narrowed slightly, surprise flickering across his face. "Wait… are you smiling?" he asked, leaning closer, voice teasing.

Win's cheeks burned red. "I… I'm not," he mumbled, quickly turning his gaze away.

Krit chuckled softly, unrelenting. "Right. Still giving me that coy act, huh?" He held out a hand, playfully demanding. "Number. Now."

Win's fingers shook, glancing at the path ahead, realizing if he didn't comply, he'd be late. With a reluctant sigh, he scribbled his number on a scrap of paper and handed it to Krit.

Krit grabbed it triumphantly. "Finally. You know, you could've just given it to me without all the theatrics."

Win groaned softly, but his heart raced as Krit pulled out his phone. "Now, save it," he said, holding the device in front of Win, voice teasing but firm.

Win carefully saved the number, cheeks burning even more. "Done," he whispered, avoiding eye contact.

"Good," Krit said, slipping the phone back into his pocket with a satisfied grin. "Thought you'd escape me, huh?"

Win muttered something unintelligible and bolted toward his classroom, bag clutched tightly.

Krit watched him go, smirk lingering. Then he turned, shoulders relaxed, and headed toward his own class, the morning sun warm on his back and a quiet sense of satisfaction lingering in his chest.

The lecture had just ended, Krit was gathering his bag when a tall, confident classmate, Niran, approached, smirking. He wasn't one of Krit's friends, but he had a reputation for being bold and unafraid to challenge anyone.

"Hey, Krit," Niran drawled, leaning against the desk with a lazy confidence. "So… what's going on with you and Win? Are you two… a thing?"

Krit's dark eyes immediately narrowed, irritation flaring. "No," he said sharply, voice low and clipped. "We're… casual. Nothing serious. Got it?"

Niran grinned, undeterred. "Casual, huh? Interesting. Because I like him, you know. And if you're not serious… I might just ask him out."

Something snapped inside Krit. His fingers clenched around the strap of his bag; the air seemed to tighten. "No," he growled, stepping closer, the volume in his voice rising. "You are not asking him out. I am. End of story."

Niran chuckled, clearly enjoying the effect. "But you said you're not serious. If Win's not a player, he'd probably want someone serious. Don't you think you're wasting your time?"

Krit's chest tightened, possessiveness boiling over. His eyes darkened, jaw tightening, a dangerous edge in his voice. "I don't care what he wants. He's mine. You hear me? Mine. Not yours, not anyone else's!"

Niran's smirk widened. "Whoa… bold words. You really like him, huh? Didn't think the carefree, teasing Krit had this side."

Krit froze, realizing his own words sounded louder, harsher than intended. Heat rose in his face. "I… I said he's mine," he snapped, voice low and deadly. "Anyone tries anything, and I swear—"

"Relax, relax," Niran said, holding up his hands, pretending to be unbothered. "I'm just saying, if you're not serious, I'd be more than happy to give him a chance. Honestly, I think he'd prefer someone serious. Someone who wants a real relationship, not… whatever this is with you."

That last comment hit Krit like a punch. His eyes narrowed dangerously, and he stepped forward, standing almost chest-to-chest with Niran. "Listen to me carefully," Krit hissed, voice sharp, controlled but vibrating with anger. "You. Will. Not. Touch. Him. Not now, not ever. I don't care how serious you think you are. He's mine. Do you understand me?"

Niran raised an eyebrow, still smirking, clearly enjoying the reaction. "Oh, wow… look at you. The teasing, playful Krit? Gone. Replaced by a jealous tiger. Someone's taking this way too seriously."

Krit's fists clenched at his sides, the air around him tense. "I don't care what you think," he snapped, voice rising. "He's not a game, he's not a trophy, and he's certainly not someone you mess with. Got it?"

A few students nearby turned to watch, whispering. Krit's friends exchanged shocked glances. "Whoa… Krit's actually defending someone? Jealous?" one muttered.

Niran laughed softly, stepping back slightly, clearly amused but also intrigued. "Alright, alright… fair enough. I get it. He's yours. Wow… you really like him, huh?"

Krit's chest heaved, realizing for the first time just how true that was. His lips pressed into a thin, hard line, but the intensity in his eyes betrayed him. "Yes. I like him," he said, voice low, almost dangerous. "More than I realized. More than I can ignore. And no one, no one, will take him away from me."

One of Krit's friends, whispering from the side, nudged another: "Wow… the tiger's settled. No more playing. He's serious now."

Krit didn't even notice the whispers. His gaze stayed fixed on Niran for a heartbeat longer. "He's mine. End of discussion," he said, voice firm, final, almost possessive.

Niran raised both hands in mock surrender, grinning. "Okay, okay… message received loud and clear. But wow… our boy's growing up fast. Who knew Krit Tanakorn could get this… territorial?"

"Everyone, listen up!" Krit's voice cut through the murmurs like a whip, sharp and commanding. He stepped to the front of the room, arms folded, gaze sweeping across every corner of the lecture hall, letting the silence stretch just long enough for every pair of eyes to lock on him. "Let me make this absolutely clear, so there's no confusion, no excuses, and no misunderstandings." He paused, letting the weight of his tone settle in.

"There's a student in this college — Win Thammarat. First-year, Fine Arts. I like him. More than that… he's going to be my boyfriend. My future boyfriend. And I am not joking. From this moment forward, no one — and I mean no one — is allowed to talk to him, hit on him, flirt with him, touch him, or even come near him." Krit's dark eyes flicked over the room, scanning faces, letting each student feel the force behind his words.

"He is mine. And I will not tolerate anyone crossing that line. Anyone who dares try will regret it — I'm not just talking about a warning. I mean it. You will regret it for the rest of your life. And I will know. I will make sure you regret it." His tone was calm but razor-sharp, every word deliberate, leaving no room for doubt.

Krit leaned slightly forward, letting a small, dangerous smirk tug at his lips. "So, understand this. Win Thammarat is mine. I care about him, and I will protect him. Anyone thinking otherwise… think carefully before you even try. Because I will stop you. And trust me, you don't want to see that side of me. Are we clear?"

The room fell silent. Even the air seemed to hold its breath. Krit's words hung heavy, bold and possessive, and the students slowly realized the full seriousness behind the claim.

The girls' faces went pale, eyes widening as they exchanged stunned glances. Some covered their mouths, disappointed and flustered. "He's… taken?" one whispered, her voice barely audible. "And… by Krit?" another mumbled, her cheeks burning. A few leaned on their desks, sulking dramatically, while others muttered under their breath about how impossible it would be to get his attention now.

The boys, on the other hand, froze mid-motion, mouths slightly open, exchanging bewildered looks. Narin, sitting near the back, tilted his head, eyebrows raised. "Whoa… he actually said it," he muttered, shaking his head. "Krit… wow."

His friends continued chuckling, teasing him silently. One nudged him, whispering, "Look at you… all possessive and territorial. Who knew the mighty Krit could get flustered like this?"

The room slowly calmed, the tension lingering in the air like smoke, and the message was unmistakable: Win Thammarat was off-limits. Krit had made sure everyone knew it — loud, clear, and impossible to forget.

The final bell rang, echoing through the nearly empty hallways. Win hurried to pack his sketchpad and bag, hoping to slip out unnoticed, when he felt a firm grip on his bag.

"Going somewhere?" Krit's dark, teasing voice echoed from behind him. He held the strap of Win's bag effortlessly.

"Uh… I… it's okay, Krit, I can carry it myself," Win said, reaching for it, but Krit didn't budge.

"Nonsense," Krit said, tugging the bag toward himself with a mischievous smirk. "I'm dropping you home. Come on."

Win hesitated, cheeks burning, then sighed, realizing he had no choice. "Fine… but you're using your strength and authority against me," he muttered, following helplessly.

Krit laughed loudly, the sound echoing down the hallway. "Authority, huh? Maybe," he teased, tossing a glance over his shoulder.

Win's chest tightened, eyes welling with unshed tears. Krit noticed immediately, stopping mid-step. His playful expression softened. He crouched slightly, taking both of Win's hands in his.

"Win," Krit said, voice low and sincere, eyes locking onto his, "I'm very serious about you. You probably know a little about me already—I have plenty of people chasing me. Girls, guys… all of them. But I like you. I didn't ask you to be my boyfriend for fun. I'm serious. More serious than anything else in the world. You're different from anyone I've ever met. Calm, focused, and… genuine. You don't put on a show or try to impress anyone—you just are. And that… that's exactly why I like you. I can't just walk away or ignore it, Win. I've never felt like this before, and I don't want to lose it, or you. Ever."

He took a deep breath, leaning closer. "So… my name is Krit Tanakorn. My dad, Preecha Tanakorn, runs his business and is always buried in numbers, but he's protective and smart. My mom, Suthida Tanakorn, is playful, modern, and always teasing everyone—including me. I don't have siblings. And… I told them about you. They're thrilled and curious to meet you. Win… I will never hurt you. I will always protect you."

Win stood frozen, overwhelmed, speechless, his heart hammering in his chest.

Krit's lips tugged into a teasing smirk. "Think about it, kid. Let me know. But just so you know… I will never give up on you."

He hoisted Win's bag effortlessly and led the way to his car. The engine purred to life, and as they drove through the afternoon streets, Krit stole glances at Win, smiling softly, the weight of his words lingering in the air.

They arrived at the Thammarat household driveway, and as Krit approached the door, Preecha's sharp voice rang out. "Win! Where have you been? You're late again!"

Krit's eyes narrowed slightly. He'd only met this man briefly, but something in Preecha's harsh tone, the way he scrutinized Win, didn't sit right. A chill ran down Krit's spine.

"I… I just—" Win began quietly.

Preecha's gaze swept over Krit, lingering with suspicion. "Who's this?"

"This… is Krit," Win whispered nervously.

Krit extended a hand politely but stiffly. "Sir."

Preecha's frown deepened. "Are you influencing my son?"

Krit's jaw tightened. "Just… dropping him home, sir."

Preecha's eyes narrowed, sharp and dangerous. "You don't talk to me like that," he said, voice low but hard.

Krit raised an eyebrow, leaning slightly forward. "I'm not arguing, sir. Just… making sure he's safe."

"Safe? He's, my son. You think you get to tell me what's best for him?" Preecha's jaw tightened.

"I'm not telling you what to do," Krit said evenly. "I just… care about him. That's all."

Preecha's glare cut through the morning air. "No one speaks against me. Not ever. You understand?"

Krit smirked, unfazed. "I get it. But I'm not walking away from someone I care about."

At that moment, Suthida appeared from the kitchen, her soft voice breaking the tension. "Preecha… Win… and you must be Krit?" she said warmly, glancing at him.

Krit straightened and smiled politely. "Yes, ma'am. Just dropping him home after class."

Win stayed silent, eyes lowered, as his mother's gentle presence eased the tension slightly.

Krit gave Win a brief, reassuring nod before turning to leave. "Take care, Win," he said lightly, then strode out the door.

No sooner had the door closed than Preecha's sharp voice cut through the silence. "Win! Who was that? Do not… do not speak with him again. Understand me?"

Win swallowed hard, keeping his gaze firmly on his shoes. "Yes, Father," he murmured softly, barely audible.

"That boy… he counters everything I say. I don't like it. You will stay away from him; do you hear me?" Preecha's tone was icy, leaving no room for argument.

"Yes, Father," Win repeated quietly, heart pounding, the weight of the warning pressing down on him.

Later that evening, Krit lounged in his modern living room, phone in hand, recounting the day to his parents.

"So… did he behave?" his mother asked with a teasing grin.

Krit smirked, spinning the phone in his fingers. "Behave? Hardly. But I dropped him home safely. His dad… wow. Intense doesn't even begin to cover it."

His father chuckled, sipping his tea. "Intense? That's one way to describe someone who's probably sizing you up for breakfast."

Krit laughed. "Exactly! I'm not sure he even liked me being there. But he's… worth it."

"Worth it, huh?" his mother teased. "Careful, Krit. Don't let your charm scare him off."

Krit grinned. "Relax, Mom."

Later, after finishing dinner, Krit dialed Win's number. Once. Twice. No answer. Not even a text reply.

"Seriously?" Krit muttered, leaning back in his chair. "Ignoring me already? Bold move, Win."

He sent a playful text: "Hey… you alive over there? Don't make me come find you."

Minutes passed. No reply. Krit smirked, setting the phone aside. "Fine… stay mysterious. Tomorrow, I'll teach him a lesson. Can't let him get away that easily."

Meanwhile, across the city, Win sat at his desk, phone untouched, dinner done, heart still thumping from the earlier encounter. He read Krit's messages, but with a quiet shake of his head, he left them unanswered. His father's warning still loomed over him, but somewhere deep down, a small, reluctant curiosity lingered.

Krit, meanwhile, leaned back, smiling to himself. "Patiently waiting… tomorrow's going to be interesting."

The night settled softly.

Chapter Five – A Dangerous Yes

Sunlight spilled across the polished kitchen floor as Krit sipped his orange juice. His mother stacked a plate of scrambled eggs beside him while his father skimmed the morning news on a tablet, occasionally peering over the screen.

"So," his mother said with a sly smile, leaning against the counter, "are you inviting your boy over while we're gone to the States, or are we going to have to interrogate him through phone?"

Krit smirked, taking a slow bite of toast. "I think he'd rather avoid both of you for now."

"Oh, don't be modest," his father teased, pointing at him with the tablet. "You've got to show him what a good family breakfast looks like—or at least survive Dad-style sarcasm."

"Or Mom-style chaos," she added, laughing as she playfully nudged Krit's shoulder. "Don't go turning the house into a nightclub while we're gone."

Krit grinned. "Relax. A little music, maybe a few friends… nothing too crazy."

"So," his mother began, crossing her arms with a knowing look, "since your dad and I are flying to the States this weekend to see your uncle's new baby, are you sure you don't want to come? You'll miss all the crying, spit-ups, and family drama."

Krit laughed lightly, pushing his eggs around. "Tempting, but I think I'll pass. I can't miss this opportunity with Win."

His father lowered the tablet, eyebrows raised. "Opportunity? Son, we're talking about your uncle's first kid, not a business meeting."

Krit leaned back, smirking. "Exactly. Which means I'll meet my little cousin later. But right now, I need to make sure things go right with Win. Once I get a yes from him…" His tone softened briefly. "Then I'll be at peace—and I'll come visit the baby properly."

His father chuckled. "My brother Arhit is going to be disappointed, you know. He was bragging about how his favorite nephew would fly over to meet the new addition to the family."

"I'll make it up to him," Krit said with an easy grin. "I'll send a gift. Maybe something fancy enough to make him forgive me."

His mother laughed, shaking her head. "You think gifts fix everything. So tell me—are you at least inviting Win to this so-called party you've been planning?"

Krit raised a brow, pretending offense. "Of course. The party's for him. It's basically my master plan to make him relax around me."

His father grinned mischievously. "And what if he says no? What if your big romantic gesture turns into you standing alone, surrounded by sad decorations and snacks?"

Krit leaned forward, confident and teasing. "Oh, he'll come."

His mother arched a brow. "And if he doesn't?"

Krit's grin deepened, his voice smooth and certain. "Then I'll make him come. One way or another."

His father laughed out loud. "There it is—the famous Krit persistence. Poor boy doesn't stand a chance."

"Oh, he'll be fine," Krit said, finishing his toast with a smirk. "He just needs to see that I'm serious. Once he does, he'll stop running."

His mother sighed dramatically. "Just don't scare him off before he even gets to the front door. I'd like to meet him before he files a restraining order."

Krit rolled his eyes. "Relax, Mom. I'm charming, not terrifying."

His father looked over the rim of his coffee mug. "That depends on who you ask."

Krit stood, grabbing his car keys from the counter. "You two are impossible."

"Drive safe!" his mom called after him. "And don't forget to call us when you're done flirting your life away!"

"Remember," his dad added, laughing, "gentle charm—not full-on intimidation!"

Krit paused at the doorway, flashing a roguish grin. "No promises."

Sliding into his car, he glanced at the empty passenger seat, the corner of his mouth lifting. "Alright, Win," he murmured, turning the ignition, "let's see if you're ready for my version of calm."

The city streets were quiet at this hour, the sunlight reflecting off buildings and casting long, golden streaks across the pavement. Krit drove smoothly, though he couldn't resist a few playful maneuvers—pretending to swerve slightly, tapping the horn lightly, and imagining how Win might react if he were in the passenger seat.

"Okay, maybe I'm a little excited," he admitted, grinning at the empty seat beside him. "Don't blame me… it's hard not to be."

Passing students and early commuters didn't notice the small bubble of anticipation surrounding him. Krit's dark eyes were focused, scanning for Win's familiar figure, excitement and impatience mingling with that rare warmth that only he reserved for certain people.

Finally, he pulled into the university parking lot, engine idling. "Alright, let's see if you can make my morning interesting, Win," he muttered, smirk tugging at his lips. With that, he grabbed his bag, stepped out of the car, and headed toward the main hall, eager to catch sight of him.

Krit leaned casually against the gates of the university, arms folded, eyes scanning the sea of students streaming past.

"Where is he?" Krit muttered under his breath, tapping one foot, scanning every familiar face.

A few students nearby noticed him pacing subtly, whispering and nudging each other. Krit's aura—confident, mischievous, slightly dangerous—made them step back instinctively. One of his friends leaned over from the side. "Relax, man. He'll show up."

But Krit's eyes didn't waver from the gates. He knew Win. Quiet, careful, measured… and just the kind of person who could leave a man pacing for hours without realizing it.

Meanwhile, Win moved through the bustling campus halls, heart hammering. He had deliberately left later than usual, trying to steady the knot of nerves in his stomach. He avoided the open spaces near the gates, ducking behind students and pillars, yet he couldn't resist sneaking glances. And there he was—Krit, waiting, scanning every face, leaning against the railing like he owned the morning air.

By noon, Krit's patience snapped. He strode toward the painting club, confident, purposeful, and exasperated.

His dark eyes burned with amusement and mild frustration.

Krit approached the painting classroom, his steps deliberate. He reached the doorway and knocked lightly on the open door, his dark eyes immediately finding Win's.

Win froze, pencil hovering over his canvas, heart hammering. He instinctively lowered his head, trying not to draw attention.

Mr. Somchai glanced up, startled. "Krit… what brings you here?" he asked cautiously.

Krit's expression was calm but serious, his gaze still fixed on Win. "Professor, I need a moment with Win," he said firmly. "Could he step outside for a bit? I need to talk to him."

Win's hands trembled slightly, gripping his pencil tighter.

Mr. Somchai hesitated, aware of Krit's presence and influence, then nodded slowly. "Alright… Win, please step outside for a moment and talk with Krit."

Krit inclined his head politely, though there was no mistaking the seriousness in his tone. "Thank you. I promise it won't take long. I just need a few minutes with him."

Win exhaled softly, his chest tightening, and rose from his seat. His eyes flickered nervously toward Krit as he followed the instructions, heart racing.

Krit held the door open, gesturing with a faint smirk. "This way," he said quietly, voice low but unmistakably commanding.

Win's chest tightened. He followed cautiously, small, tentative steps, cheeks flushed. Every stride felt weighted with tension, every sound amplified—the scuff of his shoes, the rustle of his sketchbook, even the distant chatter of students in the hallway.

Krit's gaze landed on him immediately, smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "Busy day avoiding me?" he asked, voice low but playful, threading amusement with a faint edge of accusation.

Win fidgeted with the strap of his bag, swallowing hard. "I… I just… didn't notice your texts," he murmured, eyes darting to the floor. "I… I'm sorry."

Krit raised one eyebrow, stepping closer, the teasing smirk deepening. "Didn't notice… or were you avoiding me?"

Win's lips parted, hesitating, eyes shifting away. "No… I never… planned that."

Krit's smirk softened, but his eyes gleamed. "Good. Because I don't like being ignored."

"I… I didn't mean to," Win stammered, cheeks heating.

"Of course you didn't," Krit said, voice playful. "But it's still fun watching you squirm." He tilted his head. "Admit it—you like this little game of ours."

Win's stomach twisted, a nervous laugh escaping. "I… I don't!"

"Uh-huh," Krit murmured, smirk widening. "Every time I tease you, your ears turn red. Your 'I'm not gay' speech? Classic bluff."

Win groaned softly, trying to duck his head. "I'm serious! I… I'm not—"

"Not gay, right?" Krit finished for him, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes… I… I'm not gay!" Win stammered, voice trembling, but a faint, reluctant smile tugged at his lips.

Krit chuckled, leaning back fractionally but keeping his gaze fixed. "And yet… here you are, blushing like a schoolkid. That's a 'maybe' in my book."

Win swallowed hard, gripping his bag. "Please… I really have to get to class—"

The distant chatter of students became background noise. Between them, a quiet tension settled, heavy and charged. For a moment, neither spoke, the air humming with unspoken words.

Krit's grin deepened, something teasing and almost predatory flickering in his eyes. "I'm hosting a party tonight," he said, casual as if dropping a line of homework. "You're coming."

Win's mouth formed a protest before his head could catch up. "I—no. I can't. I don't— I don't really know you like that." His voice was small, steady with the kind of careful caution that had kept him safe so far.

"That's exactly why you should come." Krit's tone was light, but his gaze pinned Win in place. "Think of it as an introduction. An opportunity to learn a few things about me."

Win's cheeks warmed. "My father wouldn't allow it."

Krit's smirk softened for half a second into something a little more serious. "So—if your father did allow you, would you come?"

Win froze; the question landed where it always hurt. He didn't answer.

Krit stepped closer, voice low enough that it felt like a private dare. "Look—my parents are out of the country. I've been buried in meetings and training, and I want one night that isn't schedules or work. I'm not throwing this party for show. I want people I like around me. If you don't show up—" he paused, a wicked little smile returning, "—I'll just host it at your place and invite your father as chief guest. Wouldn't that be fun?"

The absurdity of the image made Win blink despite himself; a tiny, guilty smile threatened the fear on his face. He couldn't tell whether he wanted to be flattered or horrified.

"No" Win heard himself say, the words sounding more like a plea than a plan.

Krit laughed softly, then grew mock stern. "I already know where you live, kid. Consider this fair warning: if you're not at my house, sharp, at six, I will come and—" he tapped the side of his nose conspiratorially, "—I will kidnap you. Playfully, of course. But I have no shame about dramatic gestures."

Win managed a strained, half-annoyed, half-amused, "You're impossible," and the oddness of the moment broke into something brittle and laughable.

"Good," Krit said. "Think about it. Don't make me do anything drastic cause I am very good at that."

Krit exhaled through his nose, then muttered, "You know, my parents begged me to come with them to the States this week."

Win blinked in confusion. "W-what?"

"They went to see my uncle. He just had a baby. Big family moment, right?" Krit's tone was light but edged with meaning. "And I stayed. Because I wanted to see you instead."

Win's eyes widened, startled. "You… skipped your trip? Just to talk to me?"

Krit shrugged, a sly smile curving his lips. "You make it sound irrational. But yeah. Maybe I did."

"That's… crazy," Win said softly, barely above a whisper.

"Maybe," Krit said, leaning in slightly, voice low. "But I don't like missing chances. And I'm not missing this one."

 I COULDNT ADD THE REST AS THERE WAS A WORD LIMIT.