Chapter Text
"Hurry up, Love! If you keep being so lazy, I'll leave you behind!" Kapook shouted, banging on the hood of the car like he was the protagonist of a Thai drama.
I couldn't help but chuckle before continuing to walk at my casual pace. "Five seconds, or I swear I'll come over to your house and eat all your fries!" She raised her voice, now truly defiant.
That made me stop. My eyes widened, noticing the determined look on his face. Kapook was serious. A shiver of despair ran through me at the thought of Kapook actually raiding my potato chip stash. Damn.
Kapook was brilliant at teasing. She knew exactly which buttons to push to get under my skin. With her angelic face—long, dark hair that shone in the sun, combined with a smile that seemed pure (but that I knew was completely dishonest)—she won everyone over, even my mother, with her fair skin and almond-shaped eyes that should have conveyed tranquility but often hid a relentless stubbornness. Her athletic build was the result of her obsession with running and weight training—hobbies she could never get me to take up. I admit, I'm terrible at them. In fact, I'm terrible at any physical exercise.
She didn't even need to say anything for me to know what was coming. I cursed under my breath and with a dramatic sigh, I started kicking my legs, forcing my lazy muscles to respond to the threat. "I hate you!" I screamed between gasps, even though I knew how much she loved seeing my laziness harmed.
When I finally reached Kapook, I stopped in front of the car, bending over with my hands on my knees to catch my breath. My lungs were on fire. She, on the other hand, was leaning against the car, a satisfied smile on her lips.
"Congratulations, Love," he declared, crossing his arms. "You're even slow at running."
I looked up and, even though I was exhausted, I forced out a smug response. "Oh, really? Did you forget that I beat you last month in that race?"
She pointed a finger at me. "Hey! That's not fair. I had a sprained ankle!" I laughed, but she continued, her eyes looking dramatic. "Anyway, congratulations! You beat a girl who couldn't even run."
"Thanks. But remember, I'm also a better reader than you, any day now." My provocation was just the right tone to piss her off, and I was rewarded with a dirty look from her.
"Oh, great. I'm sorry I'm not a bookworm like you. Forgive me, nerd princess!" She rolled her eyes before walking around the car and opening the driver's door. I couldn't help but laugh.
We settled into the car, and she looked at me with that mischievous glint in her eyes: "Speaking of which... Excited for the party tonight?"
My smile instantly disappeared. "Do I really need to go?"
Kapook knew about my complicated relationship with parties, especially after some disastrous events in the past. But for her, there was always a chance to change my perception. “It’ll be different this time!” She tilted her chin at me with unnerving confidence.
I sighed, looking away from the window. Old thoughts started to swirl in my head. I hated the weight that parties brought now. An uncontrollable frenzy of people, drinking, and sometimes accidents that could change everything. I wanted to get away from it, but all that came to mind was the sight of those enigmatic eyes on the neighbor next door, which left me full of doubts and a huge void.
"Love... Hey!" Kapook shouted, tapping the steering wheel lightly to get my attention. I looked at her with a forced smile, before replying: "Okay, okay. I'll try hard. I promise."
Nodding in satisfaction, she started the car, and we drove off.
She searched my face for the truth before nodding with a slight smile. “It’ll be fun, I promise!”
"Yeah, sure... Just drive," I joked.
When we got home, I stared at the place. My two-story, light blue house looked more welcoming with its white porch gleaming in the last rays of the sun. However, as usual, my eyes involuntarily drifted to the house next door. Moss green with brown accents, and an eternally clean space. And then, as if by reflex, I looked for it: Milk Vosbein.
And there she was: Milk, stepping out of a car with the ease and confidence of someone who was always in control. The perfect older sister. The star student. And also the reason for most of my disjointed sighs.
I had no way of escaping this whirlwind of feelings. Milk had always been my best friend, but also my secret crush. A dream girl who didn't even know the power she had over me.
She appeared to be wearing a tight sweater, and her black hair was tied up, exuding a charm that made me question how they—Milk and Kapook—were so absurdly perfect while I felt like the cliché of the clumsy friend.
As I watched her, I realized that my thoughts were going too far, close to turning the simplest details into melancholy poetry. A taunt from Kapook brought me back to reality:
"You know, Love, you should charge less rent... You live so much in Milk's thoughts that you've become a tenant!", Kapook teased, but he was already entering my house without waiting for an answer, with a smile full of intention.
“Screw you,” I muttered, pushing the front door hard enough to muffle it. My face burned. Why does she always make it seem like Milk knows? …Does she?
I walked all the way up, silently repeating, "Think about the party. Ignore the rest."
But who was I kidding?
"She's so hot, you know? Those dimples... and those eyes, oh my... they're unforgettable."
The alcohol made my words flow before I could even hold them back. The words were out of my mouth before I could process them, and for a moment, the woman in front of me stood there in surprise. Then, after a few seconds, she laughed in a way that was so disconcertingly soft that it almost made me forget where the subject was coming from.
Her laughter reverberated around the room. It was the kind of sound that lodged deep inside you, calming you and creating a strange familiarity. It was almost as if she had always belonged there, yet her face remained as mysterious as everything else about her.
She didn't say anything right away. She just brushed a strand of my hair away calmly but deliberately before turning her attention back to me. My head rested against her shoulder, and my legs rested on hers as if we were comfortably at home.
"It's okay, angel. I think you're more over there than over here, aren't you? Is anyone here with you?"
"Yeah, but she's probably busy flirting with her future boyfriend and probably didn't even notice I was gone." I frowned at my own revelation and shook my head, realizing how surreal the closeness between us felt at that moment. A strange woman, holding me so calmly, as if I were a piece of porcelain about to break.
She tilted her head slightly, as if trying to decipher something about me that I myself didn’t know. But then she asked me to put her to sleep. Without hesitation, I raised my hands—a gesture that made her laugh again before she picked me up with an almost intimate ease. With strength and care, she lifted me into her arms. Slowly, I was immersed in darkness and let my thoughts escape.
The muffled sound of calm breathing in the background was my first clue that I wasn’t alone. When I opened my eyes, a soft light filled my vision. I tried to focus on the persistent throbbing sensation in my head. Okay, it was official: hangovers were real, and this one was particularly nasty.
I sat up slowly, looking around. I immediately noticed the bottle of water and pills strategically placed next to me. It was an unexpected kindness, something I could have fainted from gratitude for right then and there. I picked up the pills, checking the logo before swallowing them with the water.
As the pain began to ease, even if only slightly, I began to analyze my surroundings. It was a huge room, far beyond my understanding of luxury. The bed was king size – an unnecessary exaggeration for me and all my existential doubts that came at night. A balcony was open, letting in a light breeze that moved the white curtains gently. The entire decor screamed wealth, an opulence that I clearly did not know.
My hands instinctively reached out to check my body—clothes, check. Shoes? They weren’t there. Instant relief. Still, the uneasiness clung to me. Where was I?
I walked to the nearest door and very carefully opened it without making a sound. I made room to poke my head into the hallway, my eyes catching the wide staircase that led downstairs. Slowly, I made my way down the stairs, only to notice something familiar down there: the party house.
What I didn't expect to see was her.
Leaning casually against the kitchen counter, holding what appeared to be a cup of coffee, was a woman. She was incredibly tall, and even wearing only a fitted white t-shirt and sweatpants, she exuded a confidence that made her surroundings seem insignificant. Her strong arms rested on the counter, and her chocolate eyes found me before I could look away.
“Rough night?” she asked, her voice carrying a teasing tone that made my heart skip a beat.
“Sort of,” I admitted, trying to sound calmer than I actually was. A small laugh escaped her as I continued explaining, “The truth is, I… I honestly don’t remember much.”
"Funny. I remember." She took another sip of her drink, leaning against the counter with the same air of studied insouciance.
Her casual tone made the threads of nervousness begin to tangle inside me. Something in the way she said it, or maybe the way she was looking at me, told me this wasn’t just a joke. It was then that the memory came flooding back in a disconcerting flash. She was the woman from last night. The woman who’d carried me to sleep. And with it came what I’d been dreading. My drunken confession. My heart raced.
Suddenly, I realized something that felt even more crushing: she knew. She knew about my secret crush on Milk.
"And yes, in case you're wondering..." – she took a sip of coffee, calmly walking to the side of the island and coming towards me – "I know."
Oh no. Oh, heavens, no. She smiled wickedly as I felt every cell in my body seize with panic. I froze. Her eyes held me, a warm brown that seemed to undress me completely. The silence stretched between us until she decided to break it, her voice returning with a surprisingly light tone:
"You're interesting, Love. You know how to make a first impression."
"Of course I remember you," I continued, gesturing nervously in her direction. "Y-you're Milk's friend! You were the quarterback of the team!"
She laughed, but there was something in it that seemed to challenge my perception. "It's funny how you can associate everything with her. Everything, ever."
I was about to respond when she took a step forward. Something about the way her movements were slow, precise, was at once hypnotic and uncomfortably direct.
"You looked beautiful last night, you know that?"
"What?"
"I was. I still am. I bet Milk doesn't realize these things, but I do." There was an unexpected weight to the words, something that left me unsure how to react.
Before I could speak, she tilted her head and murmured, "How about some advice, angel?"
“It depends,” I replied, more to protect a possible vulnerability than out of actual petulance.
"Stop waiting for her to notice you. Build the kind of scenario where she can't ignore you."
"What kind of scenario...?" I asked hesitantly, already imagining that I wouldn't like the answer.
She smiled, as if she had rehearsed this moment countless times. "Pretending we're dating. That should make Milk open his eyes pretty quickly."
I blinked in surprise, and the seconds dragged by as his proposal lodged in my mind like an insistent echo. “You… can’t be serious.”
She shrugged, finally pulling away. "It's up to you what you do, angel. But I can guarantee it'll be interesting."
When she returned to her cup, her eyes locked on mine one last time, making no attempt to hide the intensity within them. “Think about it. Do you really want to stay out of this story?”
After her unexpected conversation with Namtan in the kitchen, I kept wondering how she interpreted the closeness she shared with Milk and what, exactly, made her want to get involved in this whole mess. Something about the way she spoke, both direct and subtle, suggested that there was more history between them than Milk ever mentioned.
Thoughts continued to swirl in my head as I sat on the balcony of the house. The warm Bangkok wind blew through my hair, messing it up even more. My heart was still beating fast—partly from the shock of Namtan’s proposal, partly from the way his eyes seemed to strip me of all certainties.
That's when I heard her walk out the sliding door. Without even looking, I felt her presence behind me. It was almost impossible to ignore the effect she had: strong, confident, and somewhat overwhelming.
"Needed a moment to breathe, huh?" she said, with her usual softness that still carried a teasing tone.
“Oh, you know how it is,” I said, not turning around right away. “Being told I should pretend to be dating you makes a person’s head a little… full.”
She laughed, a low, drawn-out sound that grew louder as she moved to sit in the chair next to me. For the first time outside, the sunlight caught her messy hair, and in the light I realized how…worn she looked. Despite her smile, there was something heavy about her.
"You can't get it out of your head, can you?" she commented, playing with the loose strands of her hair almost mechanically.
"That's an absurdly weird proposal, Namtan. Of course I won't stop thinking about it!" I threw up my hands, frustrated, but less with her and more with the inner turmoil it all caused.
"Weird, yes. But it works." The answer came firmly, loaded with a certainty that only left me even more intrigued.
I leaned forward a little, planting my elbow on my knees as I turned my head to glare at her. “Why does it work? What exactly are you trying to do here? Help me? Or…”
She turned her eyes to me, holding them until a slow, careful smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “Or?”
"What do you gain from this, Namtan? Because you and Milk have something between you, don't you?" I dropped the question like a bomb, without thinking about the consequences.
Her smile faltered for just a second, but my curiosity caught on. Then she regained her composure, that mask of indifference that I had already begun to recognize as one of her most effective traits.
“Milk and I are… close,” she began, her voice quieter than before. There was something new in the way she spoke—layers of something that were being carefully hidden. “Or at least, we were.”
“Were we?” I pressed, tasting the uneasiness she now seemed to carry with her.
"It's been a long time since Milk saw things the way I do." She gave a short laugh, but it was laced with bitterness. "There was a time when she meant everything to me. When we played football in high school, when she called out to me on the nights when everything fell apart... I was there." Her gaze drifted for a moment, fixed on some point in her memory.
"But now... She looks at me the same way she looks at everyone else. Like I'm disposable. Like I'm just another person at one of those random parties she dances with for five minutes before losing it."
Her voice grew grave at the end, but the control she maintained was impeccable. The sadness was there – clear for anyone to see and notice – but at the same time trapped somewhere deep that only she could access.
From that, something clicked inside me. "So... do you think this will bring Milk back? That pretending to be with me will make her see you the way she used to? As the person who was her support system?"
The sound that escaped Namtan’s lips was a short, sarcastic laugh. “Maybe.” She looked me straight in the eyes, and I saw something true there. “But that’s not all, Love. It’s not just about Milk.”
"Oh, no?"
“It’s about you, too,” she admitted, leaning in close, closing the distance between us as her voice dropped to something almost intimate. “You’re waiting. Waiting for Milk to wake up, to see you. And you know what? I’ve been there, Love. I know exactly what it’s like to be trapped in that terrible place.”
My heart raced. Not because of her proximity. Not only because of that. But also because the words pierced something deep, something I wasn't ready to admit even to myself.
"You may not see it now," she continued, leaning back and letting out a quiet sigh. "But you are more than who Milk thinks you are. If Milk doesn't see it, maybe it's time to make her see it."
I looked at Namtan and suddenly realized how clear his proposal was, even if it was shrouded in a veil of hidden suggestions and intentions. It wasn’t just about Milk. It was about showing value. It was about breaking the chains that held not just me, but perhaps even Namtan.
"What happens," I asked hesitantly, "if this goes wrong? If we pretend... and Milk still doesn't care?"
The smile she gave him then was different. Not full of confidence, but something almost vulnerable. “Then you won’t have lost anything. You’ll be just the same. But…” She tilted her head. “Maybe, just maybe…you’ll realize you don’t need her as much as you think you do.”
Silence. The wind blew again, bringing the scent of jasmine from somewhere far away, but my focus was entirely on the girl in front of me. “Why? Why are you doing this for me?”
The question seemed to catch her off guard. For a second that felt like an eternity, she was quiet, unsure of how to respond. But then her eyes darkened, and she simply said, “Because maybe you’re not the only one who needs a second chance.”
"What does a crazy teenager say?"
I looked at Namtan as if she had just grown another head. Her playful expression was in complete contrast to the shock evident on my face. She smiled slightly, placing the plate in the sink almost casually, as if she had just proposed something completely normal.
When she turned to me, there was a mischievous glint in her eyes, but also something else, something that seemed to reflect calculated purpose. She crossed her arms and tilted her head slightly, as if studying my reaction to the gesture.
"Look, it's simple: if we start dating, Milk will see us together and go crazy with jealousy." She paused strategically before smirking. "And then, boom, she realizes she's always liked you."
"Did you hear what you just said?" I asked, frowning. "Don't you think your reputation will go down the drain if you 'pretend' to date me?"
The corners of her mouth lifted in something that almost looked like a challenge. “Honestly? I don’t give a damn about my credibility.”
"That's... surprisingly easy to believe," I muttered, unable to help but sound sarcastic.
"You should thank me for being so carefree," she replied with a touch of irony, her arms now still crossed.
I shook my head, trying to process the absurd idea she had just suggested. I fiddled with the ends of my jacket sleeve, clearly stalling for time. “What about your… friends?” I asked reluctantly.
She laughed, her laughter echoing warmly through the kitchen, and took two steps closer to me. Her brown eyes were fixed on me with an intensity that made my heart skip a beat. “Honey, if I wanted to, my friends would still love me. That doesn’t change.” She smiled wider. “Just, you know… without telling Milk.”
“You really are insufferable,” I muttered, rolling my eyes.
"Isn't it?" she retorted, with that mischievous smile that seemed part of her personal signature.
"It's just..." I began, trying – unsuccessfully – to organize my mind. "Why would you do something like that? Why take the risk? Milk will kill you the moment he finds out!"
"If it's for her happiness later, then it's worth the risk." There was something new in her tone this time. It was sincere. Truly sincere.
For a moment, I forgot how to breathe. Her bluntness hit me like a wave, knocking any remaining logical arguments out of my head. “You’re surprisingly… a good friend,” I muttered, almost without meaning to.
Her eyes sparkled slightly, but she soon looked away, clearing her throat. "So, what do you say? Will you be my fake girlfriend?"
I hesitated, pondering all the things that could go terribly wrong in this situation. But instead of backing down, a part of me—maybe due to residual alcohol or sheer stubbornness—decided to take the risk.
"Okay, fine. Fake girlfriend."
She gave a satisfied smile. I hated how victorious she sounded. “We need to establish some rules, don’t you think?”
Before I could respond, she quickly rummaged through kitchen drawers until she pulled out a crumpled receipt and a blue pen. With an almost unnerving efficiency, she began writing.
"No kissing unless Milk is around," she said, smiling as she scribbled the first rule.
"Do we have to kiss?" I asked, my voice a little louder than I intended.
"Do you want Milk to think we're just best friends who decided to wear wedding rings for fun? It doesn't work like that, angel." She gave that low laugh that made me want to explode with nerves.
"Okay... That makes sense," I muttered, clearing my throat as I looked away, clearly uncomfortable.
"Also, no sex," she continued, with a cheeky smile. "I definitely don't need to give Milk any more reason to kill me. It's a purely strategic decision. Oh, and no falling in love, of course."
"Don't worry about it," I snapped. "I think I've been holding the 'Milk theme' together pretty well for years now. The last thing I want or need is to fall for you all mysteriously-confidently-attractive."
She gave me a look that said, "I've heard that before." Pretty obvious, from the way her eyebrow arched when she heard the word "confident."
Namtan firmly signed the paper and then extended his hand toward me with a predatory glint in his eyes. “So, we have a deal?”
I shook off my hesitation, signed the paper, and looked her straight in the eye as I shook her hand.
"Deal," I said firmly.
She seemed pleased with how things were turning out, but before anything else could be said, something started to bother me. I checked my phone and saw a series of desperate messages from Milk. My feet froze as I read the most recent one:
11:13 Milk : " I'm going to the house where the party was. I think you might be there. Let me know ."
My heart raced in my chest. I looked into Namtan's brown eyes, who were now watching me curiously.
"Milk is on the way."
The glow of amusement instantly disappeared, and she frowned. “Okay. Relax. Go to your room and pretend to be asleep. I’ll take care of this.”
Minutes later, lying in the same bed where I had woken up, I heard Milk calling my name with palpable anxiety. My heart sank. She found me asleep, let out a sigh of relief, and then left the room.
Their voices soon filled the hallway, sharp and strained.
"Why the hell didn't you tell me she was here?" Milk hissed angrily.
"I was going to text you, Milk. Relax, you're not the center of the universe," Namtan replied, sounding irritated.
"You're an asshole, and Love is not one of your toys," Milk replied, the last word carrying iron.
I listened to every word, wrapped in the blanket like a child. A part of me wanted to jump out of bed and scream—to tell them I was aware of everything. But instead, I kept quiet.
And when Milk finally came to get me, casting a suspicious glance at Namtan before gently shaking me awake, everything felt different.
As Milk drove home, his expression was grim, and I didn't know what was worse: the complete silence or what was to come. One thing was certain: Monday would be anything but normal.
And I didn't know how to deal with it.