Chapter Text
Phuwin sat back in his office leather chair, staring at the scattered magazines spread across his long table. Each one was opened to a page featuring his latest work. Behind him, a few exquisite framed paintings hung on the walls, adding an air of prestige to the room. His laptop sat in front of him, glowing with the feedback from his recent painting exhibition.
The critics were mixed, as usual. Some praised Phuwin for inheriting the amazing talent passed down from his father, calling him a natural. Others thought his paintings were revolutionary, pushing boundaries in ways few could. But then there was that one review that stood out. The one that stung.
It simply said, "It doesn’t have the depth he intended to create."
Phuwin re-read the comment over and over, the words digging into him deeper each time. He slammed the laptop shut, the sudden motion causing a sharp click in the quiet room. Leaning back, his head hit the headrest of the chair with a dull thud. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hold back the surge of frustration building inside him.
Anger and disappointment coursed through him, drowning out everything else.
"Why am I not good enough?" he muttered under his breath, the question hanging in the air, unanswered.
Letting out a heavy sigh, Phuwin grabbed his car keys from the desk and made his way toward the office lobby. The environment around him exuded luxury and innovation, with sleek glass walls, minimalist furniture, and polished chrome finishes reflecting the soft ambient lighting. The floors gleamed with a marble sheen, and an intricate chandelier hung gracefully in the center of the high ceiling. Employees in tailored suits walked briskly, their footsteps barely making a sound on the pristine floor. As he passed, they bowed slightly, a gesture of respect toward the child prodigy.
He walked straight ahead without a smile or any acknowledgment, his mind too clouded to notice their admiration. He exited the lobby and headed to the parking lot, where his black Maserati stood waiting, its curves gleaming under the soft lighting. Sliding into the driver’s seat, he started the engine, the purr of the car almost calming him. Almost.
Phuwin drove through the city streets, his mind circled back to the review. The words echoed louder and louder, drowning out the hum of the car engine. Memories surfaced of all the times he worked tirelessly, pouring his heart into his art, only to hear the same refrain: that he was merely his father’s shadow. It felt suffocating, as though the world would never see him as anything but an extension of someone else’s greatness.
Lost in his thoughts, his grip on the steering wheel tightened. The noise in his mind grew unbearable, and without thinking, he pressed down hard on the accelerator. His surroundings blurred as the car surged forward, and then—bang!
A loud, jarring noise snapped him out of his spiral of thoughts.
Phuwin's heart raced as he slammed on the brakes. Realizing what had just happened, he let out another frustrated sigh and leaned back, shutting his eyes tightly. A flurry of muffled curses and angry shouting began to filter through the noise of his thoughts. Someone was yelling, but he could barely process it until a sharp knock on his car window jolted him back to reality.
Reluctantly, he opened his eyes to see a man standing outside, his face flushed with anger, gesturing furiously for Phuwin to get out. After a few seconds of hesitation, he unbuckled his seatbelt, opened the door, and stepped out. He walked around to the front of his car, seeing a small dent in the glossy exterior. His gaze shifted to the other car, which bore a similar dent.
The driver continued to yell, waving his arms dramatically, drawing the attention of passing bikers who slowed down to watch the commotion. The growing crowd made Phuwin’s stomach churn. He hated this kind of attention. Trying to resolve the situation quickly, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a sleek card, and handed it to the man.
“Contact me. I will pay for all the repairs.”
The driver eyed the card suspiciously, his expression hardening. “Do you think I’m stupid? How do I know you won’t just disappear? We are settling this now,” the man snapped, crossing his arms.
Phuwin sighed again, this time out of sheer exasperation. “Fine. Where do you want to go?”
“The mechanic,” the man said firmly, pointing down the road. “Follow me.”
He glanced at the growing crowd, realizing he had little choice. The last thing he needed was this incident turning into a public spectacle. Without another word, he nodded and followed the man to his car. Moments later, he was back in his Maserati, trailing behind the man’s vehicle toward the nearest mechanic shop. Resigned to the inconvenience, he kept his focus on the road, already anticipating the long evening ahead.
He followed the driver, navigating through a few turns before they arrived at a mechanic shop nestled along the side of a bustling road. Leaning forward, his hands gripping the steering wheel, Phuwin stared at the small, unassuming building through his windshield. It was a modest place with a faded sign board and cluttered tools scattered around, a stark contrast to the luxury he was accustomed to.
The driver quickly got out of his car and strode toward the shop, engaging in a conversation with a young man clad in greasy overalls. After a brief exchange, the driver gestured for him to step out. Reluctantly, he opened his door and stepped out slowly, the midday sun casting long shadows around him.
The young mechanic approached, his gaze fixed on Phuwin’s car. "Maserati," he murmured in quiet admiration, running a hand over the sleek surface.
Phuwin glanced at him briefly. The man was striking, with straight black hair neatly cropped and features that seemed almost sculpted. His broad shoulders and confident stance made him look out of place in the greasy attire, as though he belonged on a runway rather than under the hood of a car.
“It’ll take two days. Leave your car here,” the he said matter-of-factly. Before Phuwin could respond, the driver finished a phone call and announced, “I called a cab. You’re paying for it.” He smirked as he drove his car into the shop, leaving Phuwin clenching his jaw in irritation.
The mechanic, unfazed by the scene, turned to Phuwin. “Do you want to come inside and wait?” he asked casually.
He shook his head firmly, not bothering to say a word, and walked back to his car. He settled into the driver’s seat, closed his eyes, and exhaled deeply, hoping to calm his growing frustration. A few minutes later, the cab arrived, and Phuwin watched the driver leave with a mix of annoyance and resignation.
Muttering a quiet curse under his breath, he glanced back at the shop and, after a moment of hesitation, stepped out again.
As he approached the garage, the air was thick with the smell of rubber, oil, and grease, so pungent it almost made him dizzy. Inside, a handful of mechanics in overalls were hard at work, their tools clinking against metal as they repaired cars and bikes. Phuwin’s gaze wandered until it landed on the young man from earlier, who was tightening a bolt on the wheel of a car suspended on a hydraulic lift.
Noticing him, the man wiped his hands on a rag and approached with a friendly smile. “Hi,” he greeted.
Phuwin’s eyes returned to him briefly, and he nodded without saying much, his gaze drifting around the shop.
“Do you want something to drink?” he asked, his tone friendly. Phuwin hesitated for a moment. Truthfully, he didn’t want to drink anything from a place like this. The mechanic chuckled, as though sensing his reluctance. “Don’t worry, we’ve got sealed bottled water. Chilled too,” he assured him.
This time, Phuwin glanced at him more intently and nodded, whispering a soft “Yes.” The man disappeared for a moment and returned with a cold bottle of mineral water, holding it out to him.
As he took the bottle, his eyes lingered on the man’s hands—short, practical nails coated with grease. The contrast struck him. This man, likely the same age as him, was working in such a demanding environment.
What drives someone to live this way? he wondered as he twisted the cap open and took a sip. The cold water soothed him, making him realize just how parched he was.
The mechanic leaned against a nearby workbench, watching Phuwin as he drank. “The driver told me to overcharge you so he could pocket the difference,” he said with a wry smile. “But don’t worry. I’m not going to do that.”
Phuwin paused, lowering the bottle. He nodded slowly and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Thank you,” he murmured, his tone softer than before.
He stood there awkwardly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, unsure of what else to say or do. The silence stretched between them until the man once again sensing the tension, broke it.
“Have you called a cab, or do you want me to get one for you?” he asked casually, wiping his hands on a rag.
Phuwin shook his head quickly. “No, I’ll call someone,” he replied, fishing his phone out of his pocket. He unlocked it, tapping the screen with an air of brisk efficiency, though his movements seemed slightly rushed. Holding the phone to his ear, he waited for the other person to pick up.
When they finally answered, his voice took on a commanding tone. “Come pick me up,” he said curtly.
There was a pause as the person on the other end asked him where he was. Phuwin blinked and glanced around, realizing he didn’t know how to explain the location. He frowned, scanning the area for something recognizable.
Noticing his dilemma, the man stepped in smoothly. “Tell them it’s a ten-minute drive from MBK Center,” he said.
Phuwin repeated the mechanic’s words exactly into the phone, his tone still clipped but carrying a slight hesitation. He glanced at the man again, who added, “I’ll send you the location in a text.”
Without missing a beat, he echoed the same words into the phone. “I’ll send you the location in a text,” he said before hanging up.
After ending the call, he glanced at the man, unsure of what to do next. The mechanic, catching on immediately, said, “You’ll need to share the location with the person picking you up.”
Phuwin froze for a second, his mind racing. Flustered, he fumbled with his phone, his fingers awkwardly tapping the touchscreen. He quickly shared his live location with his personal assistant, hoping the man wouldn’t notice the faint tremor in his hand.
A mix of emotions swirled within him. On one hand, he was slightly impressed at how effortlessly the mechanic seemed to anticipate his needs, reacting swiftly without requiring Phuwin to say a word. On the other hand, he felt a sharp pang of embarrassment.
How could someone who exudes such ease and competence make him, the son of a celebrated artist, feel so unprepared for something so trivial?
The man only chuckled, but not in a teasing way. There was a casualness to his tone that made Phuwin pause for a moment.
"Can I get your number?" he asked, looking at him expectantly.
Phuwin blinked, momentarily confused. "Huh?"
He shrugged, as if it were a simple request. "I’ll give you a call when the repairs are done and you can come pick up the car."
Realizing the man was just being practical, he took out his cardholder and handed him a business card. The man took it, glancing at it briefly, then muttered to himself, "Phuwin Tangsakyuen..."
Phuwin waited for some kind of reaction. He half-expected the mechanic to make some remark about his last name or recognize him, but instead, the man simply slipped the card into his pocket without a word, and turned back to walk toward his work station.
He watched him, slightly taken aback by the lack of acknowledgement. But before he could dwell on it too much, another elderly man walked into the shop, calling out, "Pond, a new job for you."
The man, Pond, stopped in his tracks, turning to face the newcomer. "What is it?" he asked, sounding genuinely curious.
The elderly man pulled out his phone, typing something quickly. "Someone needs an extra hand for some house painting. This weekend. I’ve just shared the contact with you."
"Thanks, brother," Pond said with a smile, glancing at his phone briefly. He started to walk back when Phuwin, unable to resist, asked, "You’re a painting contractor too?"
Pond turned his head slightly, still smiling. "I do a bit of everything if I get paid," he said, the nonchalance in his voice almost charming.
Phuwin didn’t have time to process this before another luxury car pulled up in front of the garage. His personal assistant hopped out quickly, hurrying into the shop. He greeted Phuwin with a polite apology for being late due to traffic. "We can go now, sir," he said, motioning toward the door.
He nodded and glanced back at Pond, who was already busy with his work. For a brief second, he felt an odd pull of curiosity about the mechanic, but there wasn’t time to dwell on it. He turned, walking out of the shop without another word.