Chapter Text
The hall gleamed with hushed prestige. Despite its air of untouchable exclusivity, the crowd was young, lively, peppered with professors in dark suits and medical students in borrowed blazers. The night was Typhoon's, and everyone knew it.
His photographs lined the walls in clean symmetry: the bent wrist of a doctor steadying a child's arm during vaccination; the tired yet luminous eyes of a nurse caught mid-shift; rows of hands cradling stethoscopes like relics. The exhibit's theme, The Beauty of Medicine, had pulled from months of outreach missions, hospital corridors, and quiet moments where humanity was etched deepest in skin and bone.
But the centerpiece commanded the most attention. Suspended under a glass dome, backlit so it glowed like stained glass, was a photograph of a surgeon's hands poised mid-suture — delicate threads of crimson and white contrasting against pale gloves. What transfixed the crowd was not just how precise it looked, but the way the shot caught a faint reflection of the patient's face in the curve of a surgical instrument. Fragile, haunting, holy.
Tonfah stood among the crowd, his name already murmured in passing. His hospital had been featured in several of the photographs; he'd come at the polite insistence of colleagues. But standing in the hall, he couldn't deny the magnetic pull of the work.
And then he saw him.
Typhoon lingered near the centerpiece, head slightly tilted, all in black save for the silver glint of his camera resting lazily in his hand. He was too young, Tonfah thought, to be commanding this level of reverence, but the air bent toward him anyway. Even surrounded by the city's critics and curators, he looked utterly unbothered.
Tonfah crossed the floor without hesitation, stopping just within Typhoon's orbit.
"Congratulations," Tonfah said warmly. "For a university student, you've managed to outshine half the city's professionals. This—" he gestured toward the glowing centerpiece "—is remarkable."
Typhoon's lips curved into something sly. He lifted his camera towards Tonfah, snapping a shot without asking. The click echoed sharp in the hush.
"Thank you," Typhoon replied smoothly. "Though I'd say medicine gave me the beauty. I just caught it at the right angle."
The flash had left Tonfah blinking, but he smiled anyway. He let his gaze linger on the glowing photograph again.
"This one," Tonfah said, nodding toward the centerpiece, "is extraordinary. You made something clinical into something... reverent."
Typhoon hummed, a soft acknowledgment, as if the compliment was one of many he had already received tonight. His eyes never left Tonfah, like he was cataloging the way Tonfah spoke, the angle of his jaw beneath the lights, the cadence of admiration in his voice.
Tonfah chuckled lightly, tilting his head. "Tell me, are your friends coming tonight? I half-expected to see them lurking in the corners, ready to heckle you in front of the critics."
At that, Typhoon's lips quirked. He shook his head. "No. Their schedules didn't align. Prior commitments." His voice carried no hint of disappointment. "Maybe tomorrow. The exhibit will be here for the week, after all."
Tonfah's eyes lingered on the centerpiece one more time before shifting back to Typhoon.
"And your parents?" he asked, voice pitched in casual curiosity. "Will they be coming to see this? Doctors must be proud, seeing medicine captured like this."
Typhoon laughed as the question amused him more than it should. "No. Their schedule didn't allow it. Hospitals don't exactly wait for art exhibits." His tone carried no resentment, only a wry sort of acceptance. "They're too busy saving lives to walk these halls tonight."
Tonfah hummed in acknowledgment, a flicker of understanding in his expression. "That's a shame. They would have been proud to see this," he said sincerely, nodding toward the centerpiece. Then, after a beat, his smile shifted to something warmer. "All the more reason you should let someone else do the congratulating. Dinner, maybe? To celebrate a successful opening night."
Typhoon tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly as though weighing the offer. The corners of his mouth curved into that quiet, knowing smile. His camera shifted in his hand.
"Dinner?" he echoed, his tone teasing. "You're bold, Doctor."
"Bold," Tonfah agreed easily, grin widening, "but honest. You deserve to be celebrated properly."
The camera clicked, sudden and sharp. Tonfah blinked, realizing he'd just been captured mid-smile.
Typhoon lowered the lens, smirk deepening. "Maybe I'll let you."
Before Tonfah could reply, a voice cut warmly through the ambient murmur of the hall.
"There you are, Typhoon."
A professor in a tailored navy suit approached, looking both relieved and pleased to have found his elusive student. His eyes swept from Typhoon to Tonfah, lighting up as though he'd stumbled on perfect timing. "Ah, perfect. You've met already. Doctor Tonfah Phattharaphatsri, your hospital was one of the main features Typhoon covered for this series."
Tonfah straightened slightly, inclining his head. "We're well acquainted," he said smoothly, though his smile lingered on Typhoon more than the professor.
The professor beamed, clapping a hand lightly to Typhoon's shoulder. "He's a remarkable talent, isn't he? Always had the eye, but this—" he gestured to the glowing centerpiece, then to the curated rows of photographs— "this is something beyond promise. He's managed to give medicine a soul. You should be proud to be featured in his lens, Doctor."
Tonfah glanced at Typhoon, catching the glimmer of mischief in his eyes, the faint curve of a smile threatening his composure. Proud, but there was something more electric, more dangerous in the way Typhoon looked back at him.
"I already am," Tonfah said quietly, sincerity laced with a warmth that surprised even him.
"And if tonight is any indication, we may already be in talks for a possible next exhibit. There are galleries interested in a follow-up, perhaps something more focused on the human element in medicine, or even a traveling show."
Tonfah listened politely, though his gaze kept flicking back to Typhoon, who stood with arms loosely crossed, expression schooled into polite neutrality. Only the faint tap of his thumb against the camera strap betrayed his restlessness.
When the professor paused to breathe, Tonfah seized the moment. "If I may, would it be possible to borrow Typhoon for a little while? Or does he still need to play host?"
The professor chuckled, waving a hand. "He's done his rounds already. Met the key figures, charmed the critics, endured my introductions. He's free to go. Just don't let him vanish for too long."
"Understood," Tonfah said, dipping his head respectfully. Then he turned to Typhoon, smile softening into something warmer. "Come on. Let me properly congratulate you."
Typhoon arched a brow, the corner of his mouth tugging upward as though amused by Tonfah's audacity. Still, he gave a small nod, falling into step beside him without protest.
The night air was cooler than the gilded warmth of the exhibit hall, crisp against their skin as they stepped onto the quiet street. The valet had already brought Tonfah's Aston Martin around, sleek lines gleaming under the streetlamps.
Typhoon slowed his pace, head tilting, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Nice car," he drawled, lips curling as though he were about to laugh.
Tonfah smirked, stepping ahead to open the passenger door with a flourish. "You've ridden in my car before, remember?"
Typhoon made a soft humming sound, slipping into the leather seat with a languid grace. "Mm. I do. I've always like this model." His gaze swept over the interior, then lingered on the shimmer of the exterior. "Especially in midnight blue."
Tonfah chuckled as he closed the door for him, circling around to the driver's side. "You and North," he said with an easy laugh. "Same preferences. He swears midnight blue is the only color a car should ever come in."
Typhoon's mouth curved, just slightly, as Tonfah slid into the driver's seat. The engine purred to life, low and smooth, and for the first time that evening,
The city lights slid across the windshield in fluid streaks as Tonfah steered them away from the exhibit hall, the Aston Martin humming beneath his hands. For a few moments, the ride was quiet save for the low purr of the engine, the kind of silence that felt companionable rather than strained.
Tonfah glanced sideways, catching Typhoon's fingers tracing absent patterns along the stitching of the leather seat. "So tell me," he said, voice casual, "why this car? You sounded almost possessive about it back there."
Typhoon leaned back, one arm draped loosely across the door, the other still playing with the camera strap in his lap. "It's sleek, understated. Doesn't shout the way some cars do. Powerful, but elegant. Like it knows it doesn't need to prove itself." He smirked, gaze flicking briefly toward Tonfah. "I like things that speak quietly but leave an impression."
Tonfah hummed, amused. "You like it that much... maybe I should gift you an Aston Martin as part of your congratulations. Midnight blue, of course."
That earned a genuine laugh from Typhoon that filled the confined space of the car. He turned his head just enough that the city glow illuminated the curve of his smile. "Careful, Phi," he teased, deliberately using the honorific. "A dinner, a car, and probably a date or two more, that's exactly how North secured Johan as his sugar daddy."
Tonfah rolled his eyes as he shifted gears. "Trust you to ruin a generous thought with that comparison."
Typhoon only smirked wider, eyes gleaming with mischief, clearly pleased with himself.
The Aston Martin pulled to a smooth stop beneath the awning of Kaiseki no Hana, one of the city's most exclusive Japanese restaurants. The valet moved quickly, bowing as Tonfah stepped out. Without hesitation, Tonfah circled to the passenger side and opened the door for Typhoon, who emerged with the same unhurried grace he'd carried all evening.
Inside, the maître d' recognized Tonfah instantly and led them past lacquered screens and soft pools of lantern light to a private room tucked at the back. The walls were paneled with pale wood, a single scroll painting of cranes in flight the only decoration.
What struck Tonfah, however, wasn't the quiet beauty of the room but the way Typhoon entered it. No trace of nerves, no darting eyes at the polished interiors or the discreet staff. He slid into his seat as though he belonged there.
When the waiter arrived with menus and began his polite recitation of the day's specials, Typhoon didn't even glance at the list. Instead, he waved a hand dismissively, tilting his head toward Tonfah.
"He invited me," he said, eyes gleaming with quiet amusement. "He can order for both of us."
The waiter bowed and turned expectantly to Tonfah, who smoothly placed the order — an omakase set, chef's choice, paired with sake.
The first course arrived in delicate plates of sashimi arranged like jewels across lacquered dishes. Tonfah poured sake for them both, sliding one cup across the table.
"Comfortable with letting me order, comfortable with letting me pour," Tonfah teased, a small grin tugging at his lips. "Should I assume you'll let me do all the talking, too?"
Typhoon lifted his cup, smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "Why not? You seem to enjoy taking charge." He sipped slowly. "I'll just sit back and see how far you go with it."
Tonfah chuckled, shaking his head. "Dangerous words, coming from you."
The courses flowed in quiet rhythm: grilled fish glazed with miso, a small bowl of chawanmushi, perfectly marbled wagyu seared in front of them. Between bites, Tonfah tried to corner Typhoon into admitting he was impressed, Typhoon deftly sidestepping with sly humor and sharp glances.
But somewhere between laughter and the clink of ceramic cups, Typhoon's gaze softened. He set his chopsticks down, fingers resting lightly against the rim of his plate.
"Phi Tonfah," he said quietly. "Thank you. For tonight. For the invitation. It was... thoughtful."
The sincerity cut cleanly through the teasing air, and for a moment, Tonfah stilled. The restaurant's hush pressed around them, broken only by the faint shuffle of feet outside the sliding door.
Then Tonfah smiled. "You deserve it. Every bit of it."
Tonfah refilled Typhoon's cup, the sake catching a glint of lantern light as he slid it across the table. His gaze lingered, softer now, emboldened by the gratitude Typhoon had let slip.
"You know," Tonfah said, voice dipping just slightly, "we could call this more than just a congratulatory dinner. It has all the makings of a proper date."
Typhoon stilled for a beat, then leaned back against his seat, lips curling into a slow, amused smile. His laugh came low, velvet-edged and entirely unbothered.
"A date, Phi Fah?" he repeated, tone teasing, but his eyes glittered like he was daring him to push further. "You're going to have to try harder than dinner and compliments if you want me to agree to that."
Tonfah tilted his head, intrigued, a faint grin playing on his lips. "Oh? And what would it take, then?"
Typhoon's smirk sharpened as he lifted his cup once more. "An Aston Martin DB11. Midnight blue." He sipped languidly, eyes never leaving Tonfah's. "Gift me that, and maybe, just maybe, I'll call this a date."
Tonfah groaned, half in amusement, half in disbelief. "You're impossible."
"Mm," Typhoon hummed, setting the cup down with deliberate care. "You know, I'm starting to wonder if it's your group's brand to be sugar daddies."
Tonfah blinked, amused already. "Our brand?"
Typhoon leaned in slightly, counting off on his fingers. "Johan to North. Tiger to Nao. Arthit to Dao. Hill to Ter. And now..." He let the word hang in the air, lips curving into a smirk. "You, Phi Tonfah are circling dangerously close to completing the set."
Tonfah couldn't help but laugh, the sound rich and warm, shaking his head at the audacity. "And why exactly would you agree to become a sugar baby just to fit some... ridiculous brand?"
Typhoon lifted his sake cup again, eyes narrowing in sly amusement as he took a deliberate sip. "Maybe I like consistency," he said. "Or maybe I just like watching you squirm when I tease you with the idea."
Tonfah leaned back in his chair with a grin he couldn't suppress. "You're incorrigible."
By the time the last course cleared, the waiter returned with the dessert menu, bowing politely before placing it between them. For the first time that evening, Typhoon reached for it without hesitation. His eyes skimmed the options briefly before he set it down with a decisive tap.
"The black sesame ice cream with mochi," he said simply.
Tonfah raised a brow. "That fast? You've been content to let me order all night, but when it comes to dessert, you make up your mind in seconds?"
Typhoon leaned back in his chair, unconcerned. "What can I say? I know what I want and what I don't want. No reason to waste time pretending otherwise."
Tonfah chuckled, shaking his head as he signaled the waiter. "Efficient, aren't you?"
"Mm." Typhoon hummed, lips quirking into a sly smile. "Besides, dessert is the last taste of the night. Why leave it to chance?"
Tonfah watched him as the waiter departed. "You make it sound like a philosophy."
Typhoon only smirked, folding his arms lightly across his chest. "It probably is."
The evening wound down with the last spoonful of black sesame ice cream and the final sip of sake. Tonfah settled the bill with the same casual ease he had all night, then stood and reached for Typhoon's chair, pulling it back with a gentleman's flourish.
"I'll drive you back to the dorms," Tonfah said as they stepped out into the cool night air. His tone left no room for argument. "That's not a suggestion."
Typhoon sighed, though the smirk never fully left his lips. "Bossy," he muttered, but he didn't fight it, sliding into the Aston Martin without another word.
The city blurred past in a wash of neon and glass. For a while, silence sat comfortably between them, broken only by the steady hum of the engine. Then Tonfah glanced sideways.
"Don't you ever feel lonely?" he asked. "Being alone at the dorms, I mean. Your friends... they've all moved in full-time with their boyfriends."
Typhoon laughed softly, leaning his head back against the seat. "I don't. When they moved in with their boyfriends, I moved into a single dorm. No more cramped space, no snoring roommates, no borrowed shampoo." He tipped his head toward Tonfah, eyes glinting. "So no, Phi. I don't feel lonely. I feel liberated."
Tonfah chuckled at that, shaking his head as he turned the wheel into the quieter side streets. Soon, the Aston Martin pulled up in front of the dorm building. From the outside, it was plain concrete, a little weather-worn, not exactly flattering compared to the prestige of the evening.
Tonfah eyed it, brows raised. "Is your room as small as this building looks?"
Typhoon narrowed his eyes, lips twitching into a smirk. "Hey. Don't judge it from the outside. It's still livable, even if it looks like that."
Tonfah's laugh rumbled low, shaking his head as he cut the engine. "I'll believe you, for now."
Finally, Typhoon pushed the door open and stepped out, the night air brushing against them both. He paused by the curb, turning back toward Tonfah.
"Thank you," he said, voice even but carrying that rare note of sincerity. "For the dinner. And for coming to my exhibit. It... meant more than I thought it would."
Tonfah inclined his head, warmth threading through his gaze. "It was my pleasure, Typhoon. Truly."
Typhoon's lips curved into a small, knowing smile before he turned, hands slipping into his pockets as he walked toward the dormitory entrance. His steps were unhurried, shoulders loose, the easy sway of someone entirely in control of how much of himself he chose to show.
Tonfah sat behind the wheel, watching his retreating back until the door of the dorm clicked shut and the shadows swallowed him whole.
For the first time that night, Tonfah found himself thinking maybe a dinner wasn't enough after all.