Chapter Text
The air in Raw & Real Creative's office crackled with the scent of fresh herbs and possibility. Despite being one of Bangkok's smaller boutique agencies, they had built their reputation on authentic storytelling and raw emotional connections – a philosophy that extended even to their workspace, where potted plants and vertical gardens brought life to every corner, a testament to their newest junior copywriter's belief that creativity flourished best in spaces that breathed.
Founded three years ago by Pruk Vanicharoen, the agency had grown from a four-person operation in a cramped Ari shophouse to a lean team of fifteen, now occupying a modest but stylish office space in Thonglor. Their revenue had steadily climbed from 5 million baht in their first year to a respectable 12 million last year, though they were still considered small compared to the big players in Bangkok's advertising scene. What they lacked in size, they made up for in creativity and dedication – their wall of industry awards, mostly in digital and social media categories, stood as testament to their organic, authentic campaigns for local brands.
Joong, assistant creative director at twenty-eight, ran a hand through his perpetually artfully disheveled hair, a cynical smirk playing on his lips as he stared at the small potted succulent that had mysteriously appeared on his desk that morning. At 186cm, he cut an imposing figure in the office, all sharp angles and carefully curated nonchalance. He was good, damn good, at crafting narratives – even the ones he despised. And he despised romantic narratives most of all. This whole industry, built on promises of forever and soulmates, felt like a cruel joke, a sugar-coated lie sold to the masses. His parents' marriage, a constant, low-burning fire of resentment back home, was living proof that love was just a myth leading to bitterness. That's why his personal life was a revolving door of attractive faces, never staying long enough for anything real to take root. Commitment was a four-letter word, and "happily ever after" was a punchline he reserved for his deepest, most private thoughts.
The agency had just landed their biggest opportunity yet. It was the Valentine's Day campaign for 'Lumière,' a luxury jewelry brand known for their boldly contemporary designs that blended Thai craftsmanship with Parisian aesthetics.
This wasn't just a client; it was 'the' client, the one that could double their revenue and finally put them in the same league as the established multinational agencies. The pitch, naturally, was built on a foundation of grand, sweeping romance – everything Joong inherently loathed.
It didn't help that P'Pruk had just assigned their newest junior copywriter to work directly with him on the campaign. Dunk, fresh from university with a portfolio that had impressed everyone during interviews, had joined the creative team about six months ago. From his very first day, Dunk had been assigned to Joong as his mentee, working closely under Joong's guidance on every project. At 185cm, with his model-like features and natural grace, he commanded attention despite his junior position. But it was his genuine enthusiasm for growth and nurturing things that really set Joong's teeth on edge. Where Joong saw manufactured emotions and marketing ploys, Dunk somehow managed to find authentic stories of connection.
His sample works during the interview had shown an innate talent for emotional storytelling. This was exactly what they needed for Lumière, according to P'Pruk, and exactly the kind of optimism Joong had spent years building walls against. Dunk's relationship with Doctor Praew was well-known, but it was his creative vision and fresh perspective that had earned him the spot on the team. At Raw & Real, talent always came first.
Everyone at Raw & Real knew that Dunk was already dating Doctor Praew, the renowned cardiothoracic surgeon, when he joined the agency. It was a topic of whispered curiosity and occasional envy. After all, it wasn't every day that a junior copywriter arrived with such an impressive partner.
Dunk never flaunted the relationship, but he didn't hide it either; his phone would sometimes light up with a message from "P'Praew" during meetings, and he occasionally mentioned the doctor's long hospital shifts or their quiet dinners together. The agency team had quickly accepted it as part of Dunk's story, even as Joong pretended not to care.
Now, after six months of steady growth and collaboration, P'Pruk had given Dunk his first major opportunity to work directly with Joong on the high-stakes Lumière campaign.
As the creative team's daily morning meeting began, Dunk was already at the whiteboard, marker in hand, his energy infectious as he sketched out concept directions.
"I was thinking," he said, pausing to adjust the small potted Echeveria he'd brought for conference room, "what if we focus on the stories behind the jewelry? Not just the big moments, but the small ones too. The everyday choices to stay, to grow together." His eyes lit up as he warmed to the topic, and Joong found himself having to look away from the genuine warmth there.
"My parents have been married for thirty years, and my mom still tends the garden my dad started when they were dating. It's not about grand gestures. It's about consistency."
"The marketing brief specifically mentions luxury positioning," Joong cut in, ignoring both the plant and the way Dunk's enthusiasm made something uncomfortable stir in his chest.
"They want aspiration, not sentiment. Save the small moments for the local brands."
But Dunk, apparently immune to Joong's practiced dismissal, just smiled. "Why not both? The most aspirational thing is having something real to aspire to, isn't it? Like how the most expensive orchids still need the same care and patience as a common garden flower."
Joong found himself staring at Dunk longer than he meant to, caught off guard by how easily this new junior copywriter had cut through his cynicism. There was something disarming about the way Dunk approached everything with such genuine belief, as if the world hadn't yet taught him to guard his heart behind clever taglines and strategic positioning.
For the first month, Dunk's raw, unpolished warmth was impossible to ignore. He filled the office with plants, laughter, and a kind of creative chaos that made even Joong's cynicism waver. Joong found himself watching Dunk more than he cared to admit. He was drawn to the way he brought life to every corner and the way he argued for authenticity in every campaign.
About a month after Dunk joined, Joong overheard him at the watercooler, talking quietly to Fah, one of the other junior creatives. Dunk's voice was softer than usual, tinged with a sadness Joong hadn't heard before.
"It's just… Doctor Praew's family is starting to talk about marriage now," Dunk admitted, fiddling with the leaf of a potted plant.
He says I should change a few things, like dressing a little differently and being more careful about what I say in meetings. So I can fit in with his world, I guess.
Fah offered a sympathetic smile. "But sometimes I miss how you were when you first started here," she said quietly, giving Dunk a look that said she understood more than she let on. Dunk just shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. "It's not a big deal. I get it."
Joong, standing just out of sight, felt a pang of something he couldn't quite name. He realized, with a jolt, that he missed it too.
But after that first month, things began to shift. Joong had watched as Dunk's natural enthusiasm, once so free and unguarded, gradually shifted under the influence of his relationship with Doctor Praew.
They had been together before Dunk joined Raw & Real, but it was only recently that Doctor Praew's expectations had started to reshape Dunk's world due to family pressure about marriage. Joong couldn't help but notice the change. Dunk's clothes became more revealing and stylish because Doctor Praew wanted to show him off. He was treating Dunk like a trophy to be admired. His ideas grew more measured. Joong saw the change and felt a pang of loss for the version of Dunk who had once made the office feel like a garden in bloom.
The Lumière campaign exceeded everyone's expectations, not just in terms of sales but in how it transformed the agency's reputation. Raw & Real became known for finding authentic emotion in luxury spaces, a paradox that perfectly reflected the tension between its assistant creative director and junior copywriter.
It was nearly midnight, the office long since emptied, but Joong and Dunk were still hunched over campaign boards and half-eaten takeout. The only light came from Dunk's desk lamp, casting a warm glow over the scattered sketches and notes. Joong glanced up to find Dunk watching him, a soft, unguarded smile on his lips.
"You know, Phi," Dunk said quietly, "I never thought I'd find someone who actually listens to my wildest ideas. Most people just nod and wait for me to finish talking."
Joong felt something shift in his chest. "That's because your ideas are worth hearing," he replied, his voice lower than he intended. "You make me want to see things differently."
For a moment, neither of them looked away. The silence was comfortable, charged with something neither dared name. Joong's hand brushed against Dunk's as they reached for the same marker, and neither of them moved. The world outside the office felt very far away.
In the eight months, Joong found his carefully constructed walls being eroded by Dunk's persistent optimism. It started with the plants – succulents appearing on his desk without explanation, each one tagged with care instructions written in Dunk's distinctive scrawl. "Even desert plants need water sometimes," one note read, the metaphor about as subtle as their morning coffee routine had become.
Their late nights at the office developed their own rhythm. Dunk would order dinner – always knowing exactly when Joong was about to crash from caffeine withdrawal – and they'd spread campaign materials across the conference room floor, building stories between bites of crispy spring rolls. Sometimes Joong would catch himself watching how Dunk's hands moved when he was excited about an idea, how his whole body seemed to lean into the creative process, like a plant turning toward sunlight.
"You're doing it again," Dunk would say, not looking up from his sketches.
"Doing what?"
"That thing where you pretend to hate an idea but you're already building on it in your head." He'd flash that knowing smile that made Joong's chest tight. "Your eyes get all focused when you're actually interested. Like when you're tending to that peace lily you swore you'd throw out."
The peace lily had been Dunk's first gift, back when they were still feeling out their working dynamic. Now it thrived in Joong's office, much like their partnership had grown despite – or perhaps because of – their differences. Where Joong saw market segments and positioning statements, Dunk found human stories. When Joong pushed for sophistication, Dunk argued for authenticity. Their campaigns were better for this tension, this constant push and pull between cynicism and hope.
P'Pruk noticed. Soon they were handling all the agency's major accounts together, their contrasting approaches creating campaigns that felt both polished and genuine. "Like a perfectly imperfect garden," Dunk had said once, arranging mood boards for their latest pitch. "The kind where wild flowers break through the geometric patterns."
It was during one of these late sessions, working on the Crystal Pavilion luxury campaign, that everything shifted. They'd been debating the emotional hook for hours, empty coffee cups and discarded concepts littering the table between them. Dunk had been unusually quiet, his usual energy subdued.
"What's wrong?" Joong had asked, recognizing the signs of Dunk holding back an idea. "You've got that look."
"What if..." Dunk had hesitated, fingers playing with a leaf of the zebra plant he'd somehow convinced the office manager they needed. "What if we stop pretending luxury is about being better than everyone else? What if it's about being more authentically yourself?"
The idea hit Joong like a revelation. It was exactly what they'd been missing, what all their previous luxury campaigns had lacked. He'd looked up to tell Dunk this, only to find him already watching, eyes bright with something that made Joong's carefully maintained distance feel suddenly fragile.
"You do that sometimes," Dunk said softly.
"Do what?"
"Look at me like I've surprised you. Like maybe you're not as cynical as you pretend to be."
An exciting tension hummed in the space they shared. Joong could feel himself leaning forward, drawn by the warmth in Dunk's expression, the way his presence had somehow become as essential as sunlight.
The moment broke when Dunk's phone lit up with an incoming call from his doctor boyfriend. Dunk shot Joong an apologetic look before answering, his voice dropping as he turned away. Joong could hear the faint, clipped tone of Doctor Praew on the other end, who was clearly unhappy that Dunk was still at the office so late. Dunk murmured reassurances, promising he'd head home soon, and when he hung up, the easy warmth between him and Joong had cooled, replaced by a quiet tension neither quite knew how to bridge.
It had been P'Pruk's idea to showcase the Lumière campaign at the luxury brands networking dinner.
"Your campaign didn't just sell jewelry," he'd told Dunk, "it sold authentic emotions in a luxury space. That's exactly what high-end healthcare needs."
During the presentation, Dr. Mint and Doctor Sunan, the hospital's PR director, had leaned forward with interest, but it was Doctor Praew who asked the most insightful questions. The way Dunk had transformed cold, precious stones into symbols of real, messy, beautiful love had caught everyone's attention, particularly Doctor Praew's.
"Healthcare marketing is usually so sterile," the doctor had said during the discussion, exchanging knowing looks with Dr. Sunan. "But your approach... making luxury feel human, authentic... that's exactly what Siriraj Hospital needs."
The news that Raw & Real had landed Siriraj Hospital's rebranding campaign spread through the office like wildfire. Everyone knew how it had happened – Dunk's connection to Doctor Praew had opened doors that would normally have been sealed to a boutique agency their size. The contract was worth more than the Lumière campaign, with potential for ongoing work that could transform their agency's standing in the industry.
"It's not just because of Doctor Praew," Fah had insisted during their kick-off meeting. "The pitch was brilliant. The board loved Dunk's take on humanizing healthcare, making it less about prestigious doctors and more about patient stories."
Joong had watched Dunk during the presentation, noting how he'd carefully balanced between his natural storytelling instincts and Doctor Praew's vision of sophisticated healthcare marketing. The campaign concepts were good – damn good – but they felt contained, like Dunk was holding back his usual creative fire to maintain professional boundaries.
The office dynamics shifted subtly. Suddenly, Doctor Praew was everywhere – dropping by for lunch meetings, attending presentations, his presence a constant reminder of how they'd landed the account. The creative team walked on eggshells, aware that their usual casual banter might reach to their most important client.
The insight into their relationship had deepened unexpectedly when Joong found himself briefly dating Dr. Mint, a junior cardiology resident in Doctor Praew's department. It wasn't serious – Joong's three-date rule still firmly in place – but it gave him an unexpected window into Doctor Praew's world.
Dr. Mint was everything Joong typically looked for in his carefully casual relationships. He was smart, ambitious, and most importantly, too busy with his residency to want anything serious.
Their coffee dates between his shifts were convenient excuses to learn more about the hospital's culture, research that would help with future pitches. At least, that's what Joong told himself.
"Isn't it perfect?" Dr. Mint had gushed during one of their coffee runs. "Doctor Praew's so proud of Dunk. He's already talking about having Dunk handle all hospital communications once they're married."
Joong had nearly crushed his cup. "Married?"
"Oh, it's not official yet," Dr. Mint had lowered his voice conspiratorially. "But Doctor Praew's been meeting with his family's jeweler. Traditional guy, wants everything perfect before he proposes. Though between us," he'd glanced around, "some of the senior doctors aren't thrilled about him dating 'agency talent.' You know how conservative the old guard can be."
"You should see how Doctor Praew runs his department," Dr. Mint had mentioned during their second date, stirring his americano absently. "Everything has to be exactly his way. The interns are terrified of him – one wrong move, one wrinkle in their coat, and they're reassigned to the least desirable rotations."
Joong had tried to keep his voice neutral. "Sounds... thorough."
"Oh, he's brilliant," Dr. Mint had rushed to add, glancing around as if Doctor Praew might materialize in the hospital café. "The best in his field. It's just... well, you've seen how he is with Dunk, haven't you? That same attention to detail."
"The whole department's talking about it," Dr. Mint continued, lowering his voice. "Doctor Praew's never brought anyone to hospital functions before. He's always said relationships are a distraction from excellence. But with Dunk..." he trailed off, frowning slightly. "It's like he's found his perfect project."
"Project?" Joong's hand tightened around his cup.
"You know what I mean. Someone he can shape into his ideal partner. Young enough to be molded, talented enough to be impressive at events, but not so established that they can't be... adjusted." He'd paused, studying Joong's expression. "You seem awfully interested in their relationship."
"Professional curiosity," Joong had deflected smoothly. "We're handling the hospital's rebranding. It's good to understand the key players."
But later that night, alone in his apartment, Joong couldn't shake the image of Dunk being slowly transformed into Doctor Praew's idea of perfection. He'd seen it happening in small ways – the designer clothes replacing Dunk's comfortable style, the careful modulation of his once-bright laugh, the way he now checked his phone constantly for Doctor Praew's messages.
For Dunk, this project was especially meaningful. He and Doctor Praew had been dating for almost two years now, their relationship having weathered the initial raised eyebrows at their twelve-year age gap. Dunk's family had come to accept Doctor Praew, won over by his stability and the genuine care he showed for their son. Even P'Pruk had noted how the relationship had matured Dunk professionally.
But lately, things had shifted. Ever since Doctor Praew's mother had started hinting about marriage at their family dinners, his expectations of Dunk had intensified. What had once been gentle suggestions about professional attire had become direct instructions. The creative chaos of Dunk's desk, tolerated for two years, was now deemed "unsuitable for a future doctor's spouse." Even Dunk's beloved plants were being replaced with more "appropriate" choices - elegant orchids and perfectly trimmed bonsai that Doctor Praew selected himself.
Joong had watched as casual coffee meetings turned into serious dinner dates, as Dunk's natural enthusiasm caught the attention of someone who saw him as more than just a junior copywriter - someone who had been shaping Dunk's life for the past two years, and now seemed determined to accelerate that shaping with marriage in mind.
He wasn't wrong. Joong had noticed how Dunk's usual creative chaos had been gradually replaced by meticulous organization. His desk, once a vibrant jungle of inspiration boards and thriving plants, was now pristine. Even his presentation style had changed – less animated, more polished. Like a wild garden being trimmed into geometric perfection.
Dr. Mint and his third and final date had been cut short when they'd run into Dunk and Doctor Praew at an upscale restaurant. Joong had watched as Doctor Praew ordered for Dunk without consulting him, had seen the flash of resignation in Dunk's eyes when his usual coffee order was replaced with green tea "for his complexion." When the main course arrived, Doctor Praew quietly intercepted the server and requested a clear broth for Dunk instead of the regular entrée.
Dunk's eyes lingered hungrily on the plates of real food, his jaw tightening as he forced a polite smile and sipped at the bland broth. He looked so young in that moment. He was just a 23-year-old denied even the simple comfort of a meal.
To Joong, it felt needlessly cruel, a small but cutting humiliation that made his chest ache with anger on Dunk's behalf.
"Isn't it romantic?" Dr. Mint had sighed after the couple left. "Doctor Praew's even arranged for Dunk to take etiquette classes. Says it's important for someone in his position to know the proper way to conduct himself at medical society functions."
Joong found himself tuning out the rest of Dr. Mint's commentary, a strange heaviness settling in his chest. He told himself it was just professional curiosity, that he didn't care about Dunk's personal life. But the truth was different. Every new update about Dunk and Doctor Praew and every little detail about their relationship left him feeling unsettled in a way he couldn't quite explain.
He didn't want to admit it, even to himself, but the thought of Dunk being changed, controlled, or hurt by someone else bothered him more than it should have. The image of Dunk sitting through etiquette classes, learning to suppress his natural warmth in favor of proper social conduct, made Joong's stomach twist. It was also, he realized, one of the reasons he didn't want to keep hanging out with Dr. Mint. He just couldn't stand hearing about Dunk's relationship, not when it made him feel this strange mix of jealousy and worry.
Joong had ended things with Dr. Mint that night, his three-date rule providing a convenient excuse. But soon another doctor showed interest in him, and he started dating her. He was spiralling into serial dating like he has never done before.
The next morning, he'd arrived at the office early, hoping to catch Dunk before Doctor Praew's driver picked him up for their breakfast meeting. But Dunk's desk was already perfectly organized, his creative chaos contained in neat folders, and a small note on his computer read "Meeting with Doctor Praew's board - presentation on professional image in healthcare marketing."
Joong stared at the note, remembering how just a month ago, Dunk had burst into his office, eyes bright with excitement, talking about guerrilla marketing campaigns in hospital waiting rooms. Now his wild ideas were being pruned and shaped into something more "suitable," and Joong couldn't help but wonder how long until there was nothing left of the Dunk he'd first met.
It was a pattern Joong recognized all too well. He'd grown up watching his own parents' marriage, where love had slowly been replaced by a thousand small controls. They dictated what to wear, what to say, who to befriend, and how to behave in public. Each demand had seemed minor on its own, but together they had drained the color from his mother's world. Now, seeing Dunk's light dim under Doctor Praew's careful guidance, Joong felt a familiar ache of dread. He knew how this story ended, and he hated the thought of Dunk living it.
"He's good for me," Dunk had said defensively when Joong had tried to broach the subject, his fingers absently stroking a leaf of the dying snake plant he'd been ordered to remove from his desk. "He sees my potential."
Dunk's fingers lingered on the plant. "He says it's just part of growing up," Dunk murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "That when you love someone, you change a little. You learn to fit into their world."
Joong watched him, something tightening in his chest. "Is that what you want, Dunk? To fit into someone else's world?"
Dunk hesitated, looking down. "I don't know. I used to think love meant you could just… be yourself. But maybe that's not how it works. Maybe you always have to give up a few wild parts to make someone happy."
Joong's voice was gentle. "You shouldn't have to give up the best parts of yourself for anyone."
Dunk looked up, searching Joong's face. "Do you really think there's someone out there who'd want all of me? Even the messy, stubborn, too-loud parts?"
Joong swallowed, his answer caught somewhere between honesty and fear. "I think… if there is, they'd be lucky."
Dunk's smile was small, hopeful. "Sometimes I wish it could be you, Phi. But I know you don't..."
Joong cut him off, softer than he meant. "Dunk…"
Dunk shook his head, a little embarrassed. "Sorry. It is just that sometimes I wish I could be enough for someone, just as I am. I do not want to keep changing to fit."
A silent understanding, heavy with unacknowledged desire, hung between them.