Win walked quickly through the quiet streets, the city still waking to the morning light. His backpack felt impossibly heavy on his shoulders, as if it carried not only his belongings but the weight of the past weeks—the fear, the betrayal, and the heartbreak. Every step echoed in his chest, each footfall a reminder of the world he had been trying to escape.
At the bus stop, he leaned against the cold metal pole, staring at the empty road ahead. The air smelled faintly of exhaust and damp concrete. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting himself breathe, trying to let the tension in his shoulders ease even slightly. He pictured Krit's face—not the anger, not the hurt, but the concern, the care. A sharp pang hit his chest. He knew he couldn't go back there, not yet.
He thought about his options, each one smaller and narrower than the last. Friends, classmates, the university—it all felt unsafe now. Then his mind settled on one person: his aunt, his mother's sister. She had always been kind, steady, and understanding. She had comforted him after small childhood injuries, wiped his tears after fights with his father, and never judged his fears. If anyone could help him now, it was her.
Decision made, he bought a bus ticket with trembling hands, clutching it like a lifeline. As the bus rumbled forward, he leaned against the window, letting the city blur past. The rhythmic hum of the engine and the sway of the vehicle offered a small, calming rhythm, easing the tight knot of panic in his chest. He tried to tell himself that once he reached her house, he would be safe, that there would finally be a place where he could breathe without fear.
Hours later, the bus pulled into the quiet suburban street where his aunt lived. The familiar house came into view, its small garden tidy and welcoming, a stark contrast to the chaos he had left behind. His heart pounded—not just from the relief of reaching her, but from the lingering dread of what awaited if his father found him.
He paused on the porch, fingers trembling on the doorknob. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he knocked. Moments later, the door swung open, and his aunt's eyes widened, concern immediately washing over her face.
"Win… what happened? You look like you haven't slept in days," she said softly.
His gaze dropped to the floor, fingers twisting the hem of his shirt. His voice came out in barely more than a whisper. "It… it's… everything," he said, pausing to swallow hard. His chest shook as he forced out the next words. "Dad… he… he… killed Mom." The admission caught in his throat, and he swallowed again, eyes flicking to the floor.
He shook slightly, fighting back tears. "And… he… he made me… break up with Krit." His hands clenched, nails digging into his palms. "He… he… blackmailed me. Watched me… everywhere… even the cameras Mom had put in months ago." His shoulders hunched as though trying to make himself smaller. "It… it wasn't… just once. It… it kept happening."
His aunt's eyes narrowed slightly, curiosity mixed with concern. "Wait… the cameras?" she asked gently. "What do you mean, they're still there?"
Win swallowed hard, his fingers tightening around the hem of his shirt. "They… they're in Dad's house. Mom had installed them… to keep me safe, I guess," he said, voice barely above a whisper. "But he… he watches everything. I can't take them yet. He'd notice… he's… dangerous. If I try to grab them alone, he could…" His words trailed off, the fear in his eyes unspoken but sharp.
His aunt's expression hardened, eyes sharp with determination. "Win… you can't keep running forever. You have to face this. If those cameras are still in your father's house, we go and get them. We take them to the police. That's the only way to stop him."
Win flinched, anxiety twisting in his chest. "I… I can't… he's… dangerous," he whispered, voice trembling.
"You've already survived him this long," his aunt said firmly, her hands gripping his shoulders. "Running doesn't make you safe—it just lets him keep controlling you. You have to act. You have to be brave, Win. This is the only way you protect yourself… and everyone else who could be hurt."
Win swallowed hard, the fear still gnawing at him, but a spark of resolve flickered in his eyes. He knew she was right. There was no more hiding, no more running. He had to act, or he would never truly be free.
Win sat on the floor of his aunt's small living room, staring at the quiet street outside the window. The weight of the past days pressed down on him, making it hard to breathe. His chest ached with grief for his mother, fear of his father, and guilt for leaving Krit behind.
He traced his fingers over the strap of his bag, thinking of the camera hidden in his father's house—the evidence of everything, the only proof that could finally bring Preecha to justice. His aunt's words echoed in his mind: "You can't keep running forever. The truth has to come out."
Win swallowed hard, tears threatening to spill. I can't hide anymore. I can't let him keep controlling everything. I have to go back… get the camera… report him… for Mom, for me, and… for Krit.
He stood slowly, determination hardening his features. "I have to do this," he whispered to himself. He packed his small bag carefully, checking the contents again: wallet, phone, keys, a few essentials, and a small flashlight. His hands trembled, but his mind was clear.
His aunt came to the doorway, placing a steady hand on his shoulder. "Win… are you sure? You'll have to be careful. He's dangerous."
"I know," Win replied, voice firm despite the fear. "I can't run forever. I have to face him. I have to get the camera."
She nodded, eyes softening with worry. "Then go. Be careful, and don't hesitate to call for help."
Win took a deep breath, steeling himself. The bus ride would be long, and the night ahead would be dangerous, but there was no turning back. This was the only way to finally reclaim control, to gather the proof, and maybe—just maybe—bring an end to the nightmare.
The streets of Bangkok stretched out under the dim evening light as Win approached the bus station. His bag felt heavier than it actually was, weighted by fear, determination, and the small, sharp knot of anxiety in his stomach. He kept glancing over his shoulder, half-expecting to see his father lurking in the shadows.
The bus arrived with a hiss of brakes and a low rumble of engines. Win climbed aboard, finding a seat near the back. He tucked himself into the corner, head down, scanning the passing city lights through the dusty window. The chatter of other passengers felt distant, almost unreal. Every street, every flicker of neon, reminded him of the Thammarat house, of his mother, of Krit.
When the bus finally pulled into the terminal near his father's neighborhood, the night had deepened. He stepped off cautiously, melting into the shadows of the quiet streets. The familiar buildings loomed around him, each one a reminder of fear, control, and the camera hidden somewhere inside.
Win pressed himself against the side of the house, heart hammering in his chest. The night was quiet, almost too quiet, broken only by the distant hum of traffic and the occasional bark of a dog. Every shadow seemed to move, every creak of the wooden fence made him flinch.
He slipped to the back door, fingers trembling as he tried the lock—it gave with a soft click. The familiar smell of his childhood home hit him, sharp and suffocating. Dust mingled with faint traces of his mother's perfume, a reminder of what he had lost and what he needed to save.
His eyes darted toward the corner where he remembered the camera being hidden—just behind the living room bookshelf. A wave of panic washed over him. If Dad finds me here… he thought, swallowing hard, trying to steady his pulse.
Win crouched low, edging toward the shelf. His fingers brushed the edge of the hidden camera—already safely tucked into his bag—when a cold, heavy presence froze him in place. Preecha's shadow stretched across the hallway like a dark wall.
"Thought you could sneak in?" His father's voice hissed, venom in every word.
Win's heart thudded. "I… I just—" he stammered, but before he could move, a sharp backhand slammed across his cheek. Pain exploded, blood prickling his lip.
"You think you can run from me, boy? After everything I've done for you?" Preecha growled, advancing.
Win stumbled backward, trying to shield himself, but his father's strength was overwhelming. Each move to escape was met with a shove or a punch. Win hit the floor with a heavy thud, the wood unforgiving beneath him. His arm struck the wall as he fell, a sharp pain shooting up—he felt a fracture, but there was no time to register it.
"You're weak. Always running," Preecha spat, grabbing Win by the collar and yanking him upright. "Look at me when I'm talking to you!"
"I… I'm not weak!" Win gasped, staggering under the force. "I just… I—"
"You just what? Thought you could sneak off with my things? Huh? You think you can hide from me?!" Preecha's hand slammed into Win's chest, pushing him backward. Win crashed into the wall again, pain flaring through his arm.
"You will do as I say!" Preecha's hand struck Win's face again. "You're marrying my associate's son—the one from the restaurant! Don't even think about saying no!"
"I… I will never…" Win choked, but Preecha's glare made words impossible. A hand grabbed his wrist, dragging him toward the bedroom. "Get in there. Now!"
Win struggled, arm screaming with pain, but his father's grip was iron. He fell to the floor, clutching his fractured arm, but Preecha yanked him up, shoving him toward the bedroom.
"Get in there! I'm locking you in this time, and you won't run!" Preecha snarled, his grip tightening around Win's wrist.
Win winced, pain flaring in his arm, "Please… dad…"
Before Preecha could slam the door, a sudden, forceful impact rocked the hallway. Krit barreled through the doorway, shoulder crashing into Preecha.
"Let him go!" Krit shouted, adrenaline surging. Preecha staggered back, momentarily stunned by the sudden assault.
Win, gasping and cradling his injured arm, looked up at Krit with wide, fearful eyes.
"Leave him alone!" Krit roared, fists flying, moving with controlled, precise force. He grabbed Preecha, forcing him to the floor. Preecha struggled, thrashing with surprising strength, but Krit's determination was unwavering. Every second Win was exposed felt like eternity.
"Win! Stay down! Stay with me!" Krit's voice cut through the chaos, a lifeline in the storm. He dropped to his knees beside Win, hands shaking slightly as he brushed the blood-streaked hair from his face. Win's eyes fluttered open, wide with shock, relief, and lingering fear.
"I… I'm here," Krit said, softer now, voice trembling with raw emotion. "You're safe. I've got you." Win tried to nod, tears mingling with blood, but his strength faltered. Krit lifted him gently, cradling him like a fragile weight, every careful motion deliberate, shielding him from further harm.
The sirens in the distance cut through the night as police arrived, summoned by Krit's earlier call. Officers rushed in, securing Preecha and taking control of the house. Krit stayed close to Win, whispering reassurances as paramedics arrived, tending to his injuries.
Win leaned weakly against him, the terror and pain slowly giving way to trembling relief. "I… I didn't… I didn't want to… leave you," he murmured.
Krit pressed a finger gently to Win's lips. "Shh… none of that matters now. You're alive. That's all that matters." His chest heaved, eyes burning with a mixture of fear, anger, and love. "I won't let anyone hurt you again. Ever."
Krit's chest tightened as he saw Win barely conscious, bloodied and trembling on the floor. Without thinking, he dropped to his knees beside him, carefully lifting Win into his arms. Every step toward the car was slow and deliberate, Win's broken hand pressing against Krit's chest, his head lolling slightly. "Hold on… I've got you," Krit whispered, voice taut with fear and anger.
At the hospital, nurses rushed forward, taking Win from Krit with professional calm. "He's stable, but we need to run some scans and check for internal injuries," one said. Krit nodded, pacing a few steps away, heart pounding, hands clenching and unclenching.
His gaze drifted to Win's bag, slumped over a nearby chair. On instinct, Krit opened it and found the small camera Win had hidden. The device flickered to life under his touch. The first images made his stomach drop: the living room of the Thammarat house, Win moving cautiously, Preecha's controlling glare, his violent outbursts. Krit scrolled through hours of footage, each frame revealing the relentless abuse, the blackmail, and the night of Suthida's death.
Krit's hands tightened around the camera. Every cruel command, every strike, every moment of terror was undeniable. The reason behind Win's cold messages, the sudden breakup, the fear he'd carried alone—all of it crystallized in those recordings. Win had never hated Krit. He had only been trapped, terrified, forced to protect himself and, indirectly, Krit.
Krit carefully copied the footage, placing it securely in an evidence bag. He headed straight to the police station, submitting everything with meticulous care. Officers nodded gravely, taking notes as they reviewed the files, shock and disbelief etched across their faces.
Returning to the hospital, Krit slid into the chair beside Win's bed. The boy slept, face pale, bruises still visible, chest rising and falling steadily. Krit's hand hovered over the edge of the blanket, trembling slightly.
"He didn't abandon me," Krit whispered, voice breaking. "You were saving me… saving yourself." He brushed a light strand of hair from Win's forehead, careful not to disturb him. His jaw tightened. And you never told me. You went through all of it alone.
The harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital ward stung Win's eyes as he slowly stirred awake. He blinked against the brightness, his head heavy, body aching. The sterile scent of antiseptic filled the air. For a moment, he thought he was alone, until a shadow moved at the foot of his bed.
"W-Win… you're awake." Krit's voice was low, controlled, but it carried a weight that made Win's chest tighten.
Krit stood there, arms crossed, expression hard, jaw tight, the worry and anger behind his eyes like twin flames. Win's throat went dry.
"Krit… you're… here?" Win whispered, his voice barely audible.
"Yes, I'm here. But… don't get any ideas," Krit said sharply, stepping closer, tone clipped. "We're just… friends, okay?"
"Friends…?" Win repeated, confused, his heart already thudding painfully.
"Yes," Krit snapped. "Because you didn't trust me. You went through everything alone. And I… I can't just pretend that didn't hurt."
"I… I didn't want to… worry you," Win admitted quietly, eyes lowered, fingers clutching the hospital blanket.
"Exactly!" Krit barked, voice echoing through the sterile ward. "You thought I couldn't handle it. Maybe… maybe you were right. But we're friends. That's it for now."
Win's small shoulders shook as guilt and relief battled inside him. He didn't speak again. Krit leaned back slightly, arms crossed, letting the silence stretch, a fragile peace settling like dust between them.
Hours passed. Krit's friends, Tawan, Than, and Phum, arrived at the ward. Their eyes were wide as they took in the scene—Win's tear-streaked face, Krit standing tensely beside him.
"Win… man, we're sorry," Tawan said quietly, glancing at Krit before lowering his voice. "For everything. We shouldn't have treated you like that."
"Yeah," Than added. "We were idiots. You didn't deserve any of it."
Phum frowned, looking between Win and Krit. "Wait… he's still mad at you?" Than whispered. "Dude… he looks like he wants to rip your head off."
Win sniffled, wiping at his cheeks. "I… I didn't mean to… I already said I'm sorry, I really did!"
Krit's eyes snapped to him, icy and sharp. "You think saying sorry fixes this? Days of silence, fear, hiding things from me? You went through everything alone, Win! Do you even understand what that did to me?"
"I… I was scared… I didn't want to lose you…" Win whispered, voice barely audible.
Krit's jaw tightened, anger flaring. "Protecting me? By hiding everything from me? By making me think you didn't care? Do you know how that feels, Win? You think I didn't worry myself sick every second?"
Win's tears spilled again, silent and unstoppable.
"Stop apologizing and start understanding!" Krit snapped, voice echoing harshly. "You broke my trust, Win! You didn't let me in when I could've helped you!"
Than stepped forward cautiously. "Alright… okay, Krit… just… breathe. Let him calm down a bit."
"No!" Krit's shout made even the nurses glance over. "No! This is what I feel! He doesn't get to just lie there crying and saying sorry like that's enough!"
Phum muttered under his breath, shaking his head. "Man… he's relentless…"
Win's shoulders shook violently, chest heaving, as the raw edge of Krit's anger hit him like waves. "I… I didn't know… I didn't know what to do…" he whispered, voice broken.
Krit's stance softened slightly, though his voice remained firm. "I know you were scared. I know you were terrified. But you weren't alone, Win! I was here the whole time, waiting for you to let me in!"
Win flinched. "I… I didn't know… I thought I was protecting you…"
"Protecting me? By suffering alone?" Krit's voice cracked with the mix of fury and heartbreak. "Do you even realize how selfish that was?"
Win's chest tightened, tears falling freely now. "I… I didn't want you to get hurt…"
"Look at me!" Krit shouted, stepping closer. "Do you hear me? I don't care if you were scared! You let me think you didn't need me. You lied by omission! You left me out of the one thing I could've been there for!"
Win flinched under the intensity, shivering in the thin hospital blanket.
Finally, after what felt like hours, Krit's friends quietly said they'd leave, murmuring apologies and concern. Win whispered softly, "You… you can go with them now… I can stay alone…"
Krit's face darkened, and his voice boiled over. "It's not you who decides what I do! I'm staying. You think I'd leave after all this? After seeing you like this?"
Win's hands trembled as he tried to pull the blanket closer. "K-Krit… please… go home… just for a while…"
"I said I'm staying," Krit growled, pacing. "You're not deciding anything, Win. Not now. Not ever."
Win flinched, too exhausted to argue, tears still streaming silently.
Finally, with a heavy sigh, Krit sank into the chair beside him, arms crossed, expression unreadable but tense as steel. Win avoided his eyes, clutching the blanket, voice small: "I… I'm okay… really."
Krit's anger simmered, but he didn't leave. He stayed alert, watching every subtle movement, every shallow breath, every tear. He refused to give Win space—angry, protective, restless.
Hours passed, the ward quiet except for occasional footsteps. The friends had left.
Win finally broke the silence. "Krit… you should go… really. You've stayed too long."
Krit's jaw tightened. "No. I'm not leaving you alone again."
Win's voice quivered, almost a whisper. "I… I said I'm okay. Just… please…"
Krit's anger flared again, and he jumped up, storming to the door. "You're asking me to leave? After everything? After letting me think you didn't care? You want me to just walk away while you lie here pretending you're fine?!"
Win flinched, shrinking back. "I… I just… don't want you to be angry anymore…"
Krit whirled, shouting so loud it echoed through the ward. "ANGRY? I HAVE EVERY RIGHT TO BE ANGRY, WIN! You think I care about how you feel when you ignored me for days?!"
Win hid his face in the blanket, sobbing silently.
Krit's voice dropped low, harsh, almost dangerous. "I'm not leaving! I'm not walking away. Not now, not ever. You hear me?!"
The words hung in the air, vibrating with anger. Then, without waiting for a reply, Krit spun on his heel and stormed out of the ward, the door slamming against the stopper with a sharp crack.
Win jolted, flinching as if the sound itself hit him.
He sat frozen, staring at the doorway, heart racing. He brought a trembling hand to his mouth, trying to hold down the sob threatening to escape.
From down the corridor, he heard Krit's voice bark at a nurse—sharp, irritated, uncontrollable—before the sliding door to the balcony swung open.
Win hesitated for several minutes, the cold hospital air pricking his skin even from inside. Finally, nerves trembling, he gathered the blanket around himself and slowly slid off the bed. He shuffled toward the balcony, his head hurting, his body weak.
When he pushed the door open, the cold night wind hit him immediately.
Krit stood with his back to him, leaning against the railing, shoulders tense. A cigarette glowed between his fingers, the tip flaring with every furious inhale. Smoke curled around him like a storm.
Win's eyes widened in shock. "You… you started smoking?" he asked softly.
Krit didn't even turn around at first. He blew out a harsh cloud of smoke, jaw clenched.
Then he slowly looked over his shoulder, eyes sharp and blazing.
"It's none of your business," he snapped. "You dumped me. You are not my wife."
Win's stomach dropped. The words sliced through him. His lips parted to speak, but nothing came. He stared helplessly at the smoke drifting from Krit's lips.
"I… I was just… worried…" Win whispered.
Krit let out a short, humorless laugh. "Worried? Now you're worried? Were you worried when you shut me out? Were you worried when you let me go insane wondering where you were? When you ignored me for days?"
Win's eyes filled again. "Krit, I—"
"STOP."
The shout was loud enough to make Win step back.
Krit threw the cigarette to the floor and crushed it with his heel, breathing heavily.
"You don't get to cry now," Krit hissed. "You don't get to look at me like that. You made your choices, Win. Don't act like you suddenly care."
Win gripped the balcony railing to steady himself. His voice cracked. "I didn't choose to hurt you…"
"You DID hurt me!" Krit roared, stepping closer until Win instinctively backed into the railing. "You hurt me worse than anyone ever has. And the worst part? You think 'sorry' is enough."
Win couldn't take it. He lowered his gaze and stayed silent, shoulders shaking.
Krit stared at him, chest rising and falling hard.
Then, through clenched teeth, he muttered, "Get inside. You're freezing."
Win obeyed without a word, quietly stepping back into the warm ward. He returned to the bed slowly, curling under the blanket again. His heart hammered. His breaths came in shaky waves.
A minute later, Krit walked back in, still fuming but visibly trying to control himself. He stood beside the bed, arms crossed tightly.
Win didn't look up.
Krit exhaled sharply, voice low but sharp as a blade.
"Lie down properly."
Win swallowed and complied, lowering himself gently onto the pillow.
Krit watched him for a long moment, the anger still simmering hot behind his eyes. Then he leaned forward slightly, voice rough.
"Sleep," he ordered. "Before I smack you to sleep myself—since you're so used to getting hit by people."
Win's breath caught. The words stung, but he didn't argue, didn't protest, didn't even look up. He simply nodded once, small and broken, pulling the blanket tighter around himself.
Krit pulled the chair closer—right beside the bed, close enough that Win couldn't escape his presence—and sat down heavily.
"Close your eyes," Krit muttered. "And don't think I'm going anywhere."
Win lay still, eyes closing slowly, silently… obediently.
And Krit watched him, jaw tight, arms crossed, anger and worry burning equally in his chest, refusing to leave even for a second.
The ward was quiet, the hum of machines and the occasional distant footsteps of nurses the only sounds breaking the stillness. Krit didn't move from the chair by Win's bed. His arms were crossed, jaw tight, eyes never leaving the boy who had been through so much. He hadn't slept all night, every restless thought about Win spinning endlessly: his quiet suffering, the hospital gown hanging loosely, the way his small hands trembled around the blanket.
Win's breaths were shallow and uneven. Krit leaned forward slightly, resting his elbow on his knee, watching the rise and fall of Win's chest. "Sleep tight," he muttered under his breath, though his voice was rough and hoarse from hours of unshed words.
Hours passed. The ward remained dim, bathed in the cold fluorescent light, shadows stretching across the walls. Win stirred suddenly, a soft groan escaping his lips. Krit's eyes snapped to him.
"Win?" he murmured, leaning closer.
Win muttered something incoherent, curling slightly into the blanket. His brows knitted as if he were running through some invisible storm. "N-no… don't… don't leave me…" he whispered in his sleep.
Krit's chest tightened, a pang of guilt and protectiveness driving him forward. He reached over carefully, placing a hand gently on Win's shoulder. "I'm here," he said softly, voice low, soothing. "I'm right here. It's okay. You're safe."
Win twitched, murmuring again, his small hands clutching the sheets. Krit smoothed the blanket over him, tucking it in snugly around Win's shoulders. "Shh… it's fine. Just breathe. Just breathe," Krit whispered, brushing a stray lock of hair from Win's forehead.
Krit leaned back slightly, still watching intently, then carefully checked Win's temperature, resting a hand lightly on his forehead. He exhaled in relief. "Good… not too high," he muttered, tension easing just a fraction.
Win shifted again, this time whispering clearer words, voice trembling in sleep. "I… I can't… please don't go…"
Krit's jaw tightened. "I'm not going anywhere, idiot," he said firmly, though his voice softened as he tucked the blanket more securely around Win. He leaned close enough to murmur, "You're not alone. Not ever, understand?"
Win shivered lightly but didn't wake, his breathing slowly evening out. Krit stayed awake, rigid in the chair, watching every small movement, every slight twitch of Win's hands or lips. He didn't close his eyes. He wouldn't risk it. Not while Win was this fragile.
As dawn crept slowly into the ward, light washing over the room in pale streaks, Krit finally allowed himself to stretch, still alert. Win remained asleep, peaceful now, cheeks slightly flushed from the lingering remnants of the nightmare. Krit leaned forward, brushing his thumb softly across Win's cheek, whispering again, "Sleep. Rest. I've got you."
The first nurses of the morning walked by, and Krit gave a faint nod, eyes still trained on Win. He hadn't slept, hadn't eaten, hadn't moved more than necessary—but he didn't care. All that mattered was the boy lying in the hospital bed, unaware of the storm of emotions, the nights spent awake, or the sheer intensity of Krit's protectiveness.
Krit settled back in his chair, jaw tight, eyes burning with quiet determination. He would watch over Win for as long as it took. No one else could. No one else would.