Chapter Text
Bangkok felt wrong.
It wasn’t the heat – Bangkok was always hot. It wasn’t the dust, or the traffic, or the relentless schedule that began the moment they landed from Chiang Rai.
It was the silence in William’s head.
For weeks after the Chiang Rai incident, every night ended the same way: he would close his eyes and see a stranger’s profile lit by a buzzing fluorescent bulb. The memory refused to fade. If anything, it grew sharper, clearer, like his mind insisted on replaying the five seconds of clarity it had grasped that night.
Sometimes, he remembered the way the man’s hand had pinned the drunk guy so efficiently. Sometimes, he remembered the firmness in his voice when he said Enough. But mostly, he remembered that fucking beautiful profile. That jawline. The quiet, steady eyes that had barely glanced at him but somehow carved themselves into his skull.
It was insane. William knew it was insane. He’d seen the man for less than a minute.
But something had clicked inside him like a train latch snapping shut. He couldn’t explain it, and he didn’t try to. He just let the obsession settle in and take root.
He searched.
He told himself he wasn’t being obsessive or reckless or anything weird, just curious – yes, curious. But everyone around him could see it.
He returned to Chiang Rai twice in the following days, both times telling the company it was for “location scouting” and “creative refresh sessions.” Both times he wandered the same streets after dark, eating noodles in small shops he didn’t even like, hoping for a glimpse of a cap-wearing stranger who moved like a ghost.
No luck.
He asked around quietly – drivers, hotel staff, the owner of the noodle shop (who recognized them immediately this time and almost fainted). He described the man vaguely enough not to raise suspicion, but clearly enough for anyone who had seen that kind of presence to recall.
No one knew who he meant.
Then William did something even stupider.
He skimmed through self-defense class registrations. He searched local volunteer groups. He even checked random forums for people discussing “a man who stopped a drunk guy in a shop near such-and-such street.”
Nothing.
And every night he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering why this was sticking so hard when he’d never been the type to fixate. Never got crushes easily. Never fell for the pretty faces fans threw his way.
But then his profile popped up in his mind for a fraction of a second and he was gone again because – this wasn’t just a pretty face. This was precision. Control. Gravity. The kind of presence that made William burn. Yearn.
For a weak moment he was tempted to call his personal PI to search for this man… his suay man, but then stopped him right in the middle of dialing his number knowing this is something which would might maybe possibly perhaps perchance considered as crossing a line. And when they did meet which he believes they will because there is no other option, he did not want any awkward conversations or any possibility that the man might shy away or get scared of him.
“You’re insane,” Hong told him one afternoon as they stretched after dance practice. “Completely insane.”
“I’m not,” William said.
“You are,” Nut chimed in from the other side of the room. “You’ve been stalking Chiang Rai for a month like it’s your hometown.”
“I’m researching.”
“For what? The biography of the random guy who grabbed an idiot drunk by the arm?”
“He wasn’t random.”
“Oh my god,” Lego said, dropping onto the floor dramatically. “He’s in love with a man he saw for thirty seconds.”
“Not thirty,” William muttered before he could stop himself. “More like… forty-seven.”
Hong threw a towel at him.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Weeks passed. The obsession didn’t fade. The image of that side-profile didn’t blur. If anything, it strengthened like muscle from constant use. The problem was – no trace. No name. No sign he even lived in Chiang Rai and wasn’t just a traveler passing through.
The world was huge. Bangkok alone was a maze. William had no reason to believe the universe would ever put that man in his path again.
But hope was a parasite. The kind that gnawed at him in the dark under the skin relentlessly. Every time his phone buzzed with a company meeting, his heart kicked in double. Every time they had a new crewman on set, he looked twice. Every time someone in a cap walked past the building, he felt something tighten inside him.
It was stupid.
It was impossible.
He still couldn’t stop.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The sound of Bangkok doesn’t come in waves. It detonates. It roars like it’s a living thing, thousands of voices stitched into one endless, electric scream that vibrates through the metal beneath his shoes and climbs his spine like a second nervous system.
William stands at the center of it, mic steady in his hand, sweat gathering at the base of his neck beneath his in-ear monitor wire. To anyone watching, he looks composed. Untouchable. The kind of idol people write essays about and never quite understand.
Inside his mind though – his man is taking up all the available space like air.
“ – AND THAT WAS LYKN!”
The MC’s voice slices cleanly through the noise, bright and practiced. The crowd answers instantly, louder if that’s even possible. William steps back half a pace, letting the others fall into formation beside him. Hong bumps his shoulder lightly, a silent check-in.
You good?
William gives the smallest nod.
They’ve just finished their final set. Four songs back-to-back, choreography sharp enough to cut glass, vocals clean despite the humidity clinging to their throats. The brand banners flutter behind them, neon logos blinking like a restless heartbeat.
The MC continues, smiling wide enough to sell joy as a product. “That was incredible! LYKN, how are you feeling right now?”
The others answer easily.
“Hot!” someone laughs.
“Excited!”
“So happy to see everyone!”
The usual. The expected. The safe. William raises his mic last.
“It’s so good to be here, Phi. The crowd is amazing!” he says, voice low, even, steady as a metronome. The crowd screams again, because of course they do. He tilts his head slightly, acknowledging them, but his eyes –
His eyes are already drifting. Scanning. He doesn’t mean to. It happens the way breathing happens. Unconscious. Necessary. Crowd. Faces. Movement. Patterns.
He’s been doing it for days now. Ever since Chiang Rai.
A flicker of memory slips in, uninvited but familiar. William had only seen him for a moment. A sliver of a jawline. The curve of a cheekbone. Eyes that didn’t linger long enough to be read.
And then he was gone. Like a glitch in reality. Like someone had pressed pause on danger, fixed it, and hit play again.
No name. No trace. No explanation.
William had been looking ever since. Every crowd became a map he tried to decode. Every unfamiliar face, a possibility. Every shadow, a question.
“William?”
The MC is looking at him now, expectant. He realizes, distantly, that there was a question.
He answers it. Something appropriate. Something smooth. Fan’s voices decimate the area. His mouth moves, voice landing exactly where it should.
But his attention fractures. Because –
THERE. Left side of the barricade. Three rows back. A cap. Dark. Pulled low. The angle is wrong. The lighting is worse. The crowd shifts like a restless ocean and nearly swallows the figure whole –
But William sees enough.
A line of jaw. A tilt of the head. A stillness that doesn’t belong in a crowd this loud. His heartbeat misfires.
Like something inside him just snapped back into alignment.
It’s him.
William doesn’t think. He never does, when something matters. His grip tightens around the mic. The MC is still talking. The members are laughing at something. The crowd is still roaring.
And then – he moves. One step. Then another. Andd.. He’s off the stage. The transition is so abrupt it almost looks intentional. Like choreography. Like a planned descent into the audience.
Except it isn’t.
“William – ?”
Someone says his name. Maybe Hong. Maybe one of the staff. It blurs. The barricade looms. Security hesitates for half a second, confused but trained enough not to block him. He slips through the opening like water finding a crack.
The crowd explodes. They think this is for them. They think this is a gift. Hands reach. Phones lift. Screams sharpen into something feverish.
William barely registers it. His world narrows to a single point.
Cap. Three rows back.
He moves through people with practiced precision. Not pushing or shoving, just… threading. A ghost in a storm of bodies. Years of navigating crowds have made him efficient. Untouchable in motion.
Closer. Closer. The cap tilts. And for a second – just one – William catches a glimpse of a face. And his chest tightens.
It’s him. It has to be him. There’s something unmistakable in the lines of it. Familiar in a way that doesn’t make logical sense but lands anyway, heavy and certain.
“Hey!!”
William reaches out.
The crowd shifts. A surge. A ripple. By the time he reaches the space where the figure stood – Empty. Gone.
William stops. Just – stops.
The world crashes back in all at once. Noise. Heat. Movement. Hands brushing his arms, voices calling his name, phones inches from his face. But the space in front of him stays empty.
No cap. No figure. No trace.
His hand is still half-raised, fingers curled around nothing. For a moment, something unfamiliar flickers through him.
Anger and frustration – yes. Climbing obsession – of course. But also… something sharper. Something closer to… loss.
Ridiculous. He doesn’t know this person. He’s seen him once. A shadow. A possibility. And yet –
William lowers his hand slowly. Scans again. Left. Right. Behind. Nothing. The crowd is just a crowd again. Faces blur into anonymity. The pattern dissolves into noise.
He’s gone. Again.
A laugh cuts through the chaos. Bright. Intentional. Performative. William turns slightly. The rest of LYKN has followed him down.
Of course they have.
Hong is already in the center of a circle forming in the audience, clapping his hands, hyping the crowd. The others fall into place seamlessly, like this was always the plan.
The MC’s voice booms over the speakers, quick on the recovery. “Looks like LYKN wants to get even closer to their fans!”
The crowd screams approval. Music kicks in. Not the original setlist. Something upbeat. Interactive. A “surprise segment.”
Of course. They’re good. All of them. Years of training distilled into instinct. If something breaks, you make it look like design.
William stands there for half a second longer. Just half. Then he inhales. Locks back into stillness. And steps forward.
The performance wraps around him again like a second skin. Movements precise. Expressions controlled. Energy calibrated to exactly what the crowd needs.
No one would know. No one would guess that just seconds ago, he had abandoned the stage for a ghost.
Hong spins past him, grinning, eyes sharp despite the playfulness. “Nice idea,” he mutters under the music, just loud enough for William to hear.
William doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to. The lie is already in motion.
The members dance through the audience, weaving between fans, turning chaos into choreography. The MC narrates it like it was scripted. Cameras eat it up.
It works. It always does. William hits every mark. Every beat. Every turn. But his eyes –
They don’t stop searching. Even as he smiles. Even as he sings. Even as he reaches out to fans and accepts their hands for a second too brief to mean anything real. He keeps looking.
For a cap. For a shadow. For the impossible. Nothing.
The song ends. Applause crashes over them again, relentless and blinding. They bow. They thank the crowd. They wave.
Eventually, inevitably, they make their way back to the stage. The lights feel hotter now. Or maybe that’s just him.
The MC wraps up the segment, still laughing. “That was amazing! A special moment with LYKN and their fans!”
The members play along. They’re good at this. William stands slightly apart, mic resting near his chin, breathing even. If anyone looks closely, they might notice his gaze drifting again. Slower now. More deliberate.
But no one looks that closely.
Not when there’s a show to watch. Not when the illusion is so clean. The event ends in a blur of sound and light.
Backstage comes like a sudden quiet after a storm. Doors close. The noise dims. The air cools. William pulls his in-ear monitor out, the world settling into something more manageable.
For a moment, no one says anything. Then –
“What was that?” Hong’s voice. Not accusing. Just curious. Careful.
William doesn’t answer immediately. He reaches for a towel, presses it against the back of his neck, grounding himself in something physical.
“I saw him,” he says finally.
“Him? The same him?" another member echoes.
William nods once. “From Chiang Rai.”
That’s all it takes.
“You’re sure?” Hong asks.
William pauses. Because that’s the problem, isn’t it? He isn’t sure. Not completely. Not with proof. Just with instinct. With that sharp, unexplainable certainty that had pulled him off a stage in front of thousands of people without hesitation.
“…No,” he admits.
A beat. Then, quieter – “But I will be. Soon”
The room goes still for a second. Because when William says something like that, it isn’t a passing thought. It’s a decision.
Hong studies him, then huffs a small laugh, shaking his head. “You really ran off mid-event for a maybe.”
William meets his gaze. “Yes.”
No apology. No hesitation. Just the truth. Hong exhales, somewhere between exasperation and amusement. “Unbelievable.”
“Effective,” William replies.
A corner of Hong’s mouth lifts. “Debatable.”
The others start moving again, the moment dissolving into the usual post-event chaos. Staff talking. Schedules being checked. Water bottles passed around.
William steps slightly away from it. His mind replays the moment.
The cap. The face. The way the crowd swallowed him whole like he was never there. A ghost. Again.
William’s fingers curl slightly at his side. Not in frustration. In focus. Because in his mind he knows that this – this isn’t over.
Somewhere in Bangkok, in a city that never really stops moving, there is a person who stepped into danger without hesitation and disappeared without claiming anything in return.
Someone who doesn’t belong to his world or his mind and yet keeps slipping into it anyway.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The company lounge smelled like iced americanos and new equipment. LYKN sprawled across the couch and floor in a tangle of exhaustion the way only idols after a six-hour rehearsal could.
Nut leaned back with his arm draped over the couch’s top. “When is the manager coming?”
“Soon,” Hong said, fishing for snacks from Lego’s pocket like a thief. “They said we have to prep for some new festival.”
Tui twirled his water bottle. “I’m voting we cancel the festival and go sleep for fourteen hours.”
“We can’t,” Nut said.
“But we should.”
William barely heard any of them.
His eyes were on the ceiling. His mind was in a noodle shop under a flickering light. His chest tightened the way it always did when he let himself think too much.
Lego stared at him from the opposite couch. “You’re thinking about him again.”
William didn’t answer.
Tui flicked a rubber band at him. “Bro. It’s been months. He saved us and walked away. Happens all the time.”
“No,” William said without hesitation. “It doesn’t.”
Hong clicked his tongue. “So what? You’re going to pine for him until you’re fifty?”
“If I have to,” William said, serious enough that the room went silent for a moment.
Nut groaned. “You’re impossible.”
“I liked him,” William said simply. “And I don’t like people easily.”
They all knew that. William wasn’t cold – just hard to impress. Hard to shake. Hard to get under. Which made this obsession even more painful to watch.
“We should give him a name,” Lego announced suddenly.
“No,” William said.
“Yes,” Hong said with a grin. “We can’t keep calling him ‘Cap Guy.’ Sounds like a knock-off superhero.”
Tui snapped his fingers. “What about… Shadow Mommy?”
William threw a pillow at him. “Stop.”
“Silent Pretty Muscle Man?”
“Stop.”
“Stranger Hottie?”
“Stop.”
Nut smirked. “You know if you fall in love with someone anonymous, we get to name them.”
“I’m not in love,” William snapped.
They all stared at him.
He exhaled. “Okay. Fine. I’m… something.”
“Obsessed,” Hong said.
“Haunted,” Lego added.
“Down bad,” Tui concluded.
Before William could respond, the lounge door swung open.
Their manager stepped in, smile a little too wide – always a sign of news, good or bad. “Okay, boys. Quick update before we head to your next schedule.”
Everyone groaned.
The manager clapped once. “The company is rolling out new interns for the manager track. A few of them will shadow different groups, and one of them will be assigned to LYKN.”
“Please let them be normal,” Nut muttered. “No more managers who faint at Lego’s outfits.”
Lego gasped. “That was one time.”
“Two.”
“Anyway,” the manager cut in, “their program starts today. I’ll bring them in.”
He stepped back into the hall for a moment.
Lego leaned over to whisper loudly, “What if he’s hot?”
“What if she’s scary?” Hong countered.
“What if they quit after seeing us for one day?” Tui said.
William didn’t say anything. He didn’t care. He hadn’t cared about anyone new in months – not since the stranger cut into his brain like a blade.
The door opened again.
Someone stepped in.
The room went silent.
The man who walked through the door was older than all of them by a couple of years – mid-twenties, maybe twenty-five. Clean white shirt, sleeves rolled to the forearm, lean frame but solid, like someone who didn’t need to show strength to possess it.
Dark hair. Sharp jawline. Steady eyes. Stupidly beautiful face. A face William had imagined every night, in every way he could not forget.
His heart stopped.
It wasn’t imagination. It wasn’t just a profile now. It was him. The stranger from Chiang Rai. The man who had pinned a drunk guy with zero effort. The man who said Enough in a voice that shook something inside him loose. The man he’d searched for everywhere.
He was standing in the doorway of the company lounge.
Their manager beamed proudly. “Guys, this is Est. He’s joining our intern manager program. He’ll be shadowing me first – and eventually he’ll be assigned to one of our groups.”
Est.
William swallowed the sound that almost left his throat.
So that was his name.
Est bowed politely. “Sawaddee krub. Please take care of me.”
Nut, Hong, Tui, and Lego bowed back automatically.
William didn’t move. He couldn’t. Est looked up – and their eyes met.
The recognition didn’t show clearly on Est’s face. He was professional, composed. But something flickered – like a quiet shock, or a memory surfacing.
William wasn’t sure if Est truly remembered him. But William did.More than remembered. Burned.
The members noticed immediately.
Lego mouthed silently – Oh. My. God.
Hong leaned toward William. “Don’t react. DON’T REACT.”
William already had.
His pulse slammed against his ribs. His mouth went dry. Something territorial snapped awake inside him so violently it almost made him dizzy.
Est shifted his weight slightly under the heat of William’s stare.
Their manager didn’t notice a thing. “Est, you can sit here for a moment. We need to go through their next month’s schedule.”
Est stepped forward. The room felt too small, too warm, too loud.
He walked past the couches to sit near them – and as he passed William, the faintest scent of clean soap and something sharper brushed by.
William’s eyes followed him. Unblinking. Unwavering.
Nut elbowed him hard. “Stop staring like that.”
“I’m not,” William lied.
“You are literally burning holes into him.”
Tui whispered, “This is worse than I thought.”
Hong muttered, “I’m scared to leave you alone with him.”
Est sat down, composed but… not completely unaffected.
William couldn’t look away.
That profile. That face. That jawline. That softness around the eyes. He had imagined these angles, these lines, these shapes – and now here they were in full detail.
Lego leaned over, almost excited. “Is that him?”
“Yes,” William whispered.
“You serious?”
“Yes.”
Nut raised an eyebrow. “And what are you planning to do about it?”
William breathed out slowly, eyes locked on Est’s every movement.
“Everything,” he said. “Absolutely everything.”
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The moment the manager finished briefing them and stepped out to take a call, the lounge emptied quickly – Nut dragging Lego out by the collar, Hong and Tui following with the urgency of people escaping something explosive.
Within seconds, they were gone.
Only two people remained in the silent room.
William. And Est.
Est stood, collecting the stack of schedules left on the table. “I’ll be assisting your manager for the first week,” he said politely. “If you have questions or concerns, just let me know.”
William didn’t answer. He moved.
Not fast or threateningly, never with him – just with certainty. He stepped into Est’s space, not touching, but close enough that Est had to tilt his chin up slightly.
“William,” Est said carefully. “You’re standing very close.”
William doesn’t step back. Not one bit. He studies him instead. Up close, it’s worse. Or better.
Every detail that had been half-formed in memory now sharpens into certainty. The line of his jaw. The way his lashes cast shadows when he blinks. The faint tension at the corner of his mouth, like he’s always holding something back.
“You remember me?” William said.
Est blinks. Slightly thrown. “Should I?”
“Chiang Rai,” William says quietly.
William can see Est’s eyes light up in the memory – late night, drunk son of the shop owner, five ‘nobodies’ with a mask.
“I see you remember that night.” William’s voice dropped into a low, quiet seriousness. “I’ve been looking for you.”
Est blinked, stunned. “Looking for… me?”
“For two months.”
Est swallowed, throat bobbing faintly. “Why?”
William leaned closer, eyes burning, voice steady and soft and dangerous. “Because you didn’t let me thank you properly.”
“That’s not necessary,” Est said. “I just did what anyone – ”
“No,” William cut him off. “Not anyone. You.”
Est stepped back instinctively – but his thighs hit the edge of the table. There was nowhere else to go. William lowered his head slightly, gaze fixed on him like he was memorizing every line all over again.
“You changed something that night,” he said quietly. “And I don’t forget things like that.”
Est exhaled. “William… can you back up plea– ”
“You’re going to be our manager,” William said, completely unbothered. “Assigned to LYKN.”
“That hasn’t been decided yet.”
“It has,” William said firmly, stepping a little closer again. “I’ll make sure of it.”
Est went still.
“William,” he tried again, voice low, cautious, “you shouldn’t be this close. I don’t – what do you want?”
“You saved me,” William said, ignoring that. “I don’t forget the debt.”
“You didn’t owe me anything.”
“I do – in a way.” William’s gaze softened, in a way that almost hurt. “Because I want you.”
Est’s breath hitched. It was barely audible – but William heard it like a confession.
“That’s not funny,” Est says.
“I’m not joking.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am.”
William doesn’t move. Doesn’t soften. Doesn’t give him a way out through tone or expression.
Est exhales sharply, something like disbelief turning into irritation. “You don’t even know me – this is ridiculous,” Est says, quieter now.
“Maybe,” William agrees. “But –”
He leaned in, voicing a soft threat of a promise. “If you don’t want rumors, if you want to stay on this job, stay close to me. And if you want me to stay quiet about Chiang Rai…” He paused, letting the silence pulse between them. “…then date me.”
Est stared at him, stunned. “That’s not – William, you’re not – this is – ”
“Say yes,” William murmured, lips inches from Est’s ear. “I won’t ask twice.”
Est’s eyes narrow. “Are you threatening me?” he asks.
William considers it. The ethics. The legalities. The consequences. The accuracy of the statement.
“Yes.” He doesn’t flinch from it.
“If I say no?” Est asks.
William doesn’t answer immediately. He lets the silence do the work. Lets Est imagine. And after a moment, he leans in. Even Closer. Close enough that his voice doesn’t need space to travel.
“I make it public,” William says softly.
Est’s breath catches.
“The Chiang Rai incident. The unknown guy who stepped in. The one who got involved with idols.”
A pause. William watches his reaction. William will never disclose this information or any that might lead strangers or anyone else for that matter near his Est, but Est doesn't have to know it.
“People will want to know who you are,” he continues. “They’ll look. They’ll ask. They’ll follow.”
Another pause.
“Attention like that doesn’t stay kind for long.”
“That’s not fair,” Est says quietly.
“No,” William agrees. “It isn’t.”
Est’s fingers tightened around the papers he was holding. Slowly, reluctantly, with the expression of a man who knew he was stepping into something dangerous –
“…Fine,” he breathed. “If it keeps you quiet.”
A sharp smile curved William’s lips. “Good,” he whispered. “You’re mine now.”
“This isn’t real,” Est says quickly. “It’s an arrangement. Nothing more.”
William watches him for a second. Then a smirk takes home on his face – “We’ll see.”
Est closes his eyes, exhaling a shaky breath. William doesn’t touch him. He didn’t need to. The way he looked at Est was already contact.
Possessive. Burning. Claiming.
And Est, for the first time, seemed to understand exactly what he had gotten himself into.