Chapter Text
The queue outside Moonshine’s concert stretched like an endless human snake. Moonshine stans, officially named Farsides by band member Sucha, were clutching banners, glowsticks, and bags, buzzing with excitement.
Krailert already looked like he was regretting every decision that brought him here. Dressed in a plain black T-shirt and dark jeans, he'd topped it off with a baseball cap pulled low and a black mask covering half his face—the picture of someone desperately trying not to be recognised. “This is miserable,” he muttered, tugging his cap lower. “We could have had box tickets.”
“No,” Naran said, smug as ever. He looked effortlessly casual in his Moonshine tee and ripped jeans, with a Moonshine badge already proudly displayed on his denim jacket. “True fan experience means fighting for your life on the ticket portal and then sitting where destiny puts you.”
“Destiny dumped us in the gallery,” Krailert grumbled. The black mask covering half his face didn’t help—he tugged at it like it was strangling him.
The girl in front of them turned around with a friendly smile. “First time?”
“Yes,” Naran answered before Krailert could.
She looked between them. “Are you here with your boyfriend?”
“Yeah,” Naran said easily, jerking a thumb at Krailert. “He’s evading work, so he’s dressed like a fugitive. Can’t have his coworkers or his boss catching him here.”
The girl brightened. “How nice! I’m here with my girlfriend too!” She pressed a small baggie of freebies into his hands—badges, glowstick toppers, stickers glittering under the streetlights.
Naran pinned a badge onto Krailert’s T-shirt. “See? True fan experience can be fun.”
Krailert made a low sound of agreement, but his ears burned red. He was still stuck on the way Naran had called him his boyfriend.
*
At the security check, the guard stared bewildered at Krailert's bag. It was a tiny clear bag, regulation size, but packed to bursting.
"How did you even fit all that in there?" Naran asked, watching the guard methodically pull item after item from the bag that started to look like Doraemon’s pocket—two water bottles, earplugs, a contact lens case, a power bank, protein bars, a sweater, hand sanitiser, a first aid kit, tissues, breath mints, phone charger, wet wipes... and finally, an umbrella.
"This exceeds size limits, sir," the guard said, holding up the umbrella.
Krailert's voice dropped low and sharp. "It folds down to twenty-five centimetres. Measure it."
"Still—"
"I said measure it."
The snap in his tone was so cutting that Naran, who had seen Krailert stare down armed recruits without blinking, still got the chills. The security guard's face went white, his hands trembling as he quickly measured the umbrella and handed it back without another word. The poor man looked like he was about to cry.
Naran bit back a laugh as they walked away. "Now do you get what it's like on the receiving end of it?"
Later, as they were finding their seats, the two girls from the entry queue reappeared. "Hey," one whispered to Krailert, "thanks for whatever you did back there. The guard didn't confiscate our sandwich after you... uh... scared the hell out of him. He was still shaking when we went through."
*
After that painful security check and wandering around searching for their seats (Naran almost tripped on an old lady, who smacked her lightstick at him), the two finally found their spots in the mid-section.
From Krailert's overstuffed bag emerged military-grade binoculars. Naran whistled, taking them for a spin. "Damn, these are so good. Please let me borrow them for work." He adjusted the focus, grinning wickedly. "I can even see a hickey on Tanwa."
"What??" Krailert snatched the binoculars back and peered through them himself, confirming the hickey on Tanwa's neck.
He grimaced. "Is that brat Trin here? He absolutely cannot find me here."
"Dude, chill," Naran said. "You're so covered up even I can't find you."
But Naran did find Trin in the front section anyway. Meanwhile, Krailert's scan landed on someone else: Dhevi in the mid-section, chatting with Veera.
"She moved on that fast from you?" Naran asked.
"She's not the problem here," Krailert snapped. "Veera has a whole damn fiancée. Not to mention he was supposed to be covering for me at work. What do I even tell Amporn? Lord, I hope General Pracha gets the flu or something 'cause he'll definitely tear me a new one on Monday."
*
The lights dimmed. The crowd roared.
Moonshine swept onto the stage, and the crowd rose like a single body—shouts, cheers, and glowsticks flashing in a sea of colour. Purple beams crisscrossed above, scattering stars across the roof. The performance was enchanting, a fever dream of sound and movement.
On stage, Tanwa's voice poured honey-smooth over a romantic ballad, the melody soft and yearning. Purple spotlights bathed the band in dreamy hues while the backdrop displayed floating hearts and starbursts. The performance was enchanting. All around them, fans waved glowsticks in synchronised waves of light—a sea of pink and purple dancing in time with the music.
Naran was on his feet with the others, glowstick in hand, swinging it in rhythm with the two girls beside him. Their laughter mingled with the music, and even his reserved seatmate wasn’t immune. Krailert finally stood, awkward at first, then gave in, shoulders loosening as he moved with the tide.
By the time Moonshine launched into Gone Days, his composure broke entirely. The lyrics cut straight through, and tears welled, spilling freely down his cheeks as the melody swelled.
Naran reached for him without hesitation. His fingers brushed Krailert’s sleeve first, then found his hand. He laced their fingers together with a casual and confident ease, glowstick dangling from his other wrist. Krailert startled but didn’t pull away.
“This,” Naran said, leaning in close enough that his words threaded into the music, “is better than box seats.”
Krailert didn’t answer. He just held tighter.
*
Then Tanwa blew a flying kiss toward Trin, caught on the big screen. Trin clutched his chest and staggered back in his seat like he was When Life Gives You Tangerines’ Park Chungseob at his wedding.
Krailert let out an undignified yell—quickly muffled by Naran's palm.
"Shut up," Naran hissed, clamping his hand over Krailert's mouth.
Before the next song started, the big screens lit up: the kiss cam.
The camera zoomed in on two girls kissing passionately.
“Aww,” Naran cooed. “Good for the lesbians.”
Then the girls broke apart and turned toward the camera.
Naran squinted. “...wait a fucking minute.”
It was Dao.
Krailert had covered his mouth in shock. “Oh my god, that’s Amporn there! Your ex kissing Veera’s fiancée?! Is fidelity a dead concept?"
"Dude, we are the last people who can comment on fidelity," Naran replied. "At least Veera and Amporn are getting the bag. Good for them."
"Like I didn't pay for both of our tickets because you said it was 'reparative action against capitalism,'" Krailert muttered.
"And I was right." Naran sneaked a quick kiss on Krailert's cheek, which effectively shut him up.
The staff had passed Dao a mic, which was now being used to deliver a loud warning.
"Fuck you, Naran Pitayatorn, for dumping me for whichever rando you're hooking up with. And to the motherfucker who was supposed to marry my girl here—fuck you too. Naran's side chick, say goodbye to this world 'cause you're catching these hands when I find you."
The arena exploded.
“OOHHHHHHHHH!”, the audience collectively gasped.
Tanwa cheered enthusiastically over the mic. "Full name callout! Whoever this Mr. Naran is, I hope you've learnt your lesson. And side chick too: be ashamed of homewrecking!" Tanwa pumped a fist. "Cheering for you, Dao!"
Naran dragged his hands over his face, dying inside.
Krailert—the aforementioned rando—froze stiff, whisper-praying the kiss cam wouldn’t swivel their way.
Down in the front row, Veera sank so low in his chair that only the top of his head showed, beside a very confused Dhevi.
Down in the front, Trin was cackling in delight.
trin [texting]: uncle karma has hit you. check out moonshine kiss cam.
(One minute later)
trin: i saw it on twitter. definitely not at the concert.
Krailert turned to Naran, horrified. "Did you seriously have to mention me when you were breaking up?"
"It was the best way to convince her we should break up! I didn't know she'd have a vendetta against you," Naran protested.
Naran's phone buzzed with a stream of texts.
vinai: dude the entire office just saw dao's kiss cam.
boss is half debating firing you.
also i think this might be a good time to tell you i accidentally gave your stan account's name to dao a while ago
think she can figure out who's your sidepiece if she pays money to a fancy hacker
idk tho
*
The concert venue's exit was an inch short of a stampede. Thousands of fans streamed out in a human tide, still buzzing with post-concert energy, clutching merchandise and glowsticks. The narrow exits created bottlenecks that had everyone pressed shoulder to shoulder.
"This is a nightmare," Krailert muttered, trying to keep his head down as they shuffled forward at a snail's pace.
But it got worse. TV cameras and bright lights cut through the crowd like beacons. Reporters with microphones were stationed at strategic points, ambushing concertgoers for interviews.
"We're here at the Moonshine concert venue, and there's the biggest crowd of Farsides here streaming out!" a reporter announced enthusiastically into her camera, her voice carrying over the crowd's noise.
Krailert's eyes went wide behind his sunglasses. "Oh no, oh no, oh no—"
"Just keep walking," Naran whispered, but it was too late. A reporter had spotted them and was making a beeline in their direction.
In a moment of pure panic, Krailert grabbed the concert blanket Naran decided to take with him—a soft purple thing with Moonshine's logo—and threw it over his head. He quickly adjusted his sunglasses over the blanket.
"Excuse me!" The reporter thrust her microphone toward them. "How was the concert tonight?"
"Amazing!" Krailert replied in a slightly muffled voice from under his blanket-hood, trying to pitch his voice higher. "Tanwa was incredible! Best concert ever!"
Naran stared at him in disbelief, but before he could intervene, the reporter barreled forward.
"What was your favourite song?"
"Um, Am I in Love! Very touching!" Krailert continued, now fully committed to his bizarre disguise interview.
"Okay, we need to go—" Naran tried to pull him away, but Krailert was on a roll.
"Moonshine really knows how to put on a show! Ten out of ten, would recommend!"
Finally, Naran managed to grab Krailert's arm and drag him through the crowd. "Taxi!" he shouted desperately, flagging down the first cab he could find.
They dove into the backseat, Krailert still wearing his new disguise.
"Drive," Naran gasped to the confused-looking driver. "Just drive."
*
The cab pulled away from the concert venue, the city's neon lights blurring past the windows.
Krailert leaned back in the seat, finally pulling off the blanket and sunglasses with a sigh. "Well, that went better than expected."
Naran stared at him in disbelief before bursting into laughter. "Did you seriously just give a glowing review of the concert with that disguise? You looked like a purple ghost!"
"It worked, didn't it?" Krailert said smugly, folding the blanket neatly on his lap. "No one suspected a thing."
"You looked absolutely ridiculous," Naran wheezed, wiping tears from his eyes. "I can't believe you actually answered their questions. 'Ten out of ten, would recommend!'"
Krailert shrugged. "I panicked. But hey, at least I didn't get recognised—"
Naran chirped, "You worry too much. It’s not like Dao or General Pracha will see you with a mask, cap and sunglasses and go “Hang on, he looks exactly like Krailert Suwannaphat."
Krailert's smile vanished instantly. His eyes went wide as the memory came flooding back. “Oh fuck, what do I do about THAT?! Isn’t your girlfriend some rich nepo baby?”
“Yeah, but why is that a big deal?”
"You don't get it!" Krailert's voice went high. "If she investigates, she'll find out. And then she'll out me, and then I'm dead!"
"You're being paranoid—"
"Am I?" Krailert spun around so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash. "You heard what she said. She's hunting for me. And when she finds out it's me, do you know what happens next? I don’t even want to know!"
The cab driver glanced at them in the rearview mirror but said nothing.
Krailert's mind was spiralling into worst-case scenarios. "I should pack our stuff and book tickets to Taiwan. Tonight. We could be gone by morning."
Naran blinked. "We don't know Chinese?"
"Oh, wait, I forgot you don't."
"You know Chinese?"
"My family's Thai-Chinese. Plus, I learnt Mandarin for work." Krailert was already pulling out his phone, frantically scrolling through flight bookings. "There's a red-eye at 2 AM—"
"Krailert, stop."
But he was too far gone, his voice getting to opera ranges as he spiralled. "What if I don't even make it that far? I should write off my Moonshine merch to Trin, my car to Tawan, my gun to my sister-in-law... wait, maybe Dhevi would want the gun. Her dad bought it anyway."
"You're planning your funeral now?" Naran reached over and grabbed Krailert's phone. "Give me that."
"Give it back!" Krailert lunged for the phone, and suddenly they were wrestling in the backseat, Krailert's hands somehow ending up around Naran's throat.
"Oi, oi!" The cab driver swerved slightly. "No strangling passengers in my cab! I just got the seats reupholstered!"
Krailert immediately let go, both of them breathing hard.
The driver caught Krailert's eye in the mirror and grinned. "If it helps, you're a very handsome side piece. My current wife was my side piece too, you know. Hottest girl in the host bar. You happen to have been a host or anything, kid?"
"It's a pity he isn't. I would love to be his top-paying client", Naran cheekily replied.
Krailert shot him a withering look.
"Oh, but I gotta warn you," the driver continued, clearly enjoying the conversation, "my first wife tried to slash my second wife's throat when she found out. Right there in the bar, in front of everyone."
Krailert went pale, instinctively covering his throat with one hand.
"Even the host bar's owner was furious," the driver went on, oblivious to Krailert's horror. "Threatened to murder me so his top host would return to work. Lost him a lot of money, that drama."
"That's one reason your boss shouldn't know about me," Naran said sagely, patting Krailert's knee.
Krailert yanked his hand away. "If Dao tries to kill me, I'm putting you as a shield."
Naran tried to pacify Krailert. "At least we didn't get exposed like that CEO and HR lady at the Coldplay concert."
"Thank god I smacked you when you tried to kiss me in public!" Krailert said.
"That smack hurt." Naran gave him pretend googly eyes. "Can I get a kiss to make up for it?"
"There's someone else here too?" Krailert gestured toward the driver.
"And when has that stopped you?" Naran countered with a grin.
The cab driver grinned in the rearview mirror. "Ayy, I'm chill, man. Love is love. Just keep it PG-13."
Krailert looked at the driver, then around the cab, and then pressed a light kiss on Naran's lips.
It’ll be fine.
Right?
Naran, who had sneaked a glance at his phone, didn’t have the heart to tell him “Blanket Farside” was on Top 10 Trending everywhere on the Internet.