Work Text:
23:13
The newly opened bottle of Hong Thong* let out a soft pop as JJ twisted the cap, and the warm scent of Thai whisky rose into the air, mixing with the salty aroma of the food still steaming at the centre of the table.
The yellowish light in the room softened everything. The shadows on the wooden walls, the subtle sheen on skin, the gentle glow on Nong JJ’s face when he laughed at something Net himself wasn’t quite sure how to explain.
The food was practically untouched, partly because the two of them had talked more than eaten, and partly because there was a comfortable calm in simply stirring the ice in their glasses while the conversation drifted without any clear direction. It was the kind of night Net couldn’t remember the last time he’d had. Light, no pressure, no big questions hiding between the lines.
It was simple in every way.
JJ held a piece of chicken with the tips of his chopsticks, inspecting it as if he were about to make an assessment far too serious for someone already on his fourth drink: “Why do I keep eating? Every time we go out, I turn up starving and go home stuffed”.
Net laughed, resting his chin on his hand.
“I order good food. It’s not my fault you eat like someone who’s just walked out of a temple”.
JJ blinked slowly, mock offended.
“Woah!” he lowered the chicken. “That was harsh, y’know? During ordination, I ate very little. Discipline, yeah?” he gestured as if he were about to give a lecture. “But once it’s over…” JJ made a face. “Honestly, this body sort of remembers what pleasure is”.
Net raised an eyebrow, amused.
“So, for you, pleasure is eating spicy chicken?”
JJ didn’t hesitate for a second as he replied, with a genuine smile:
“Absolutely! I’ve always loved eating”, he gestured towards the dishes around the table, as if presenting a sacred feast. “And when you spend weeks chasing silence, trying to understand things that don’t have quick answers…” JJ adjusted the chicken on his plate, almost laughing at his own seriousness. “Trust me, any meal turns into an event. Even plain rice feels like it’s got a soul”.
Net made a surprised face.
“You didn’t talk? At all?”
JJ filled his glass before filling his own, as if the motion helped him think through the answer. “Hardly at all. But it wasn’t exactly silence… it was something else.” He rested his elbow on the table, slowly turning the glass. “You know, at first it’s strange. Your head gets really loud. You try to meditate and all you hear is everything you’ve avoided thinking about for years. It’s, in a way, suffocating”.
Net watched the calm way he spoke, as if that phase, so different from anything Net knew, had shaped something essential in JJ. Not rigid seriousness, but a clean sense of calm.
“But then…” JJ adjusted his posture, the expression on his face softening like someone looking inward. “Then there’s a moment when the silence starts to answer back. Not with words, but with space, y’know? You hear yourself in a way you just can’t in normal life”.
“Is that why you went?”
For a moment, JJ simply looked at Net.
It wasn’t a quick look, nor an uncomfortable one. It was something rarer, the expression of someone who hadn’t expected to be seen that closely, but also wasn’t inclined to pull away like he was used to.
There was surprise on his face, a small glint of someone who hadn’t imagined Net would touch on that point so soon, but also a softness, as if it made sense between them in a completely strange, unexpected way.
“To be honest…” he began, carefully. “I was very sheltered because I was the youngest. I only studied and took extra classes. I didn’t really have the chance to get to know the world until university”.
He paused briefly, not dramatic — just necessary.
“I was really depressed at that time…” JJ admitted, pressing his lips into a smile. “Truly. So I ordained for three reasons”.
Net leaned back against the chair, in deep silence. He kept his eyes fixed on JJ as he listened, gentle and careful with himself as he spoke about what had led him to become a monk for a few months.
“First, it was an idea I’d had since I was a kid”.
The reason made Net smile.
He picked up the beer mug and licked his lips.
JJ nodded because, in a way, it was funny: “Second, I wanted to know about karma and life after death. Third…” he breathed out through his nose, looking at Net as if he were waiting for some specific kind of reaction. “I was stressed with work, with a project that had been cancelled, and with a lot of other things.”
Net didn’t even move.
It was as if each of JJ’s words slowly changed the lighting in the room, opening spaces where there had only been noise before. It wasn’t just what JJ was saying, but the way he said it. With a calm honesty, almost disarming, that cut through any posture Net tried to hold.
He felt the air shift, slower, as if the whole room were tilting towards that story that wasn’t his, but that was somehow reaching him all the same. The table, the bottles, the forgotten food between them. Everything lost definition for a moment, as if the only thing truly in focus was JJ’s face.
“For me, it helped with the sadness. It made me more aware of how easily I got stressed… I still do… yeah,” he admitted, letting out a genuine laugh. “But the ordination helped me get past that. It was like I started thinking about why I clung to those things, which made me realise that the best thing was to let them go”.
He fell silent after that.
But, unlike what Net was used to, it wasn’t that heavy kind of silence. Instead, it was something new. The kind that settles in when someone says something too true, too intimate, without expecting judgement even though all eyes are on them.
Net just breathed — a breath too deep to go unnoticed — and, for the first time that night, realised he’d stopped fiddling with his glass. He was really listening, like someone recognising a part of the world he didn’t know existed yet. As if he were seeing JJ for the first time with a clarity that hadn’t been possible before, despite the three weeks of casual dates and bars.
He didn’t even notice when he decided to ask:
“And what are you trying to let go of now?”
The question landed between them like something forbidden, the kind of thing you don’t say so soon and that, precisely because of that, seemed to open up a new space at the centre of the table. There was something about it that felt more intimate than any step they’d taken so far, like a key slowly turning in a door no one intended to open, but that opened anyway.
JJ blinked just once, almost carefully, as if his own thoughts had been interrupted midway. He simply looked at Net for a few seconds, not in shock, but with a quiet, subtle surprise, as if he were genuinely trying to understand where that question had come from.
He didn’t answer straight away.
He just stayed there, running his finger along the rim of the glass as if he needed something tangible to organise his thoughts. There was a strange clarity on his face — not open vulnerability, but a sincerity so clean it was impossible not to notice. Net felt the atmosphere shift slightly, as if the air had thickened just enough to make him adjust his posture.
The rest of the restaurant seemed to have pulled back into an impossible distance, even the cutlery on the neighbouring tables now sounded far away, like it belonged to another world. All that existed in that moment was the way JJ looked at him and the taut calm hanging between them.
But when JJ finally lifted his gaze, there was something new there. A contained weight, without hardness, without defence. Just him. He opened his mouth once, closed it, breathed in like someone sorting through thoughts that don’t fit into a simple answer, and then spoke with an honesty so disarming it made a slow shiver crawl up the back of Net’s neck.
“The idea that I need to control everything that happens to me”.
He paused, small but intense.
“Because for a long time I thought that if I were attentive enough, good enough, disciplined enough, I could stop people from hurting me. That I could predict who would stay, who would leave, what would work, what wouldn’t…” there was something wounded in his words, but as serene as a confession that no longer burns as much.
He let go of the glass and placed both elbows on the table. JJ rested his chin in his hands, and the way the light touched his eyes, his dark, long lashes, made Net hold his breath for a full minute.
“In the middle of all this, I think I’m trying to let go of the idea that I need to be perfect, so I won’t be discarded again”.
Net understood.
He understood and felt each word land like a hammer at the back of his mind, spreading through his body, reaching his heart until something strange shifted out of place, until it became hard to pretend he wasn’t thinking about what he shouldn’t. About whom he shouldn’t.
JJ took a deep breath, but not to steady himself. It was almost the opposite, as if he were allowing himself to sink a little further into his own honesty. Into the way all of it had hurt far too much.
“A lot of people fooled me… and I let them”, he said it without anger, without bitterness, just with a tired recognition. “I tried so hard to keep everything right that I didn’t even notice when someone was using me and that…” he ran a hand through his hair, laughing with no humour. “… that drained me. It was like always living two steps behind, trying to keep up with something that never wanted to be kept up with”.
Net gasped, louder than it should have been. Too real.
JJ looked at him as if hearing that had undone him for a brief moment, as if he were suddenly realising — truly — that he was going too deep, and that Net was relating in a way he’d never thought possible.
Net kept his gaze on JJ, because he understood that this moment only existed if he stayed fully present. Fully with him.
“But I realised I can’t control everything…” JJ said, nodding more to himself than to Net. “I realised it’s not my responsibility to fix what others break. Or to predict who’s going to hurt me along the way, even if trusting again scares me”.
He laughed, trying to suddenly lighten the mood. JJ took his elbows off the table and picked up his glass. He drank the last sip before leaning back into the armchair again, as if drawing an invisible line, and when he spoke again, it was almost a whisper:
“So I think that’s it. I’m trying to let go of this need to grip everything tight. To predict everything. To avoid every mistake...” and then, finally, he smiled. “I’m trying to accept that some things go wrong, and that even so I don’t need to feel guilty about everything”.
The silence that followed wasn’t light.
But it wasn’t heavy either. It was a living silence, too charged, as if the table had suddenly become too small for everything that had just bloomed between them without either of them even noticing. Net felt his body react before he could understand why. It was a stifling heat that rose slowly over his skin, a strange tightness in his chest, the kind of thing that only happens when something starts to make sense far too quickly. There was a newly formed familiarity that still had no name but had already settled in as if it had always existed.
JJ noticed it too.
Net saw it the instant JJ looked away and then back again, almost in the same breath, as if he didn’t quite know where to rest his eyes. There was something restless and young in the way he was breathing, as if he were on the verge of saying something else — anything — just to keep that connection open for one more second.
His fingers tapped against the side of the empty glass, a tiny gesture, but one that said a lot about the urge to stay in that space that had suddenly become far too intimate for two men who had only truly known each other for three weeks.
For Net, it felt like stepping into new ground.
And yet, familiar.
Familiar in a way that scared him.
JJ breathed in, he parted his lips at the start of a sentence that Net would never find out how it ended, because it was exactly at that moment that the door slid open a few centimetres, the corridor light spilled into the room and a member of staff tilted his head, polite, almost shy in the face of the atmosphere he was interrupting:
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Khun* Manithikhun. We’re closing”.
The interruption cut through the space between them gently, but inevitably. JJ blinked slowly, coming back into himself, and Net let out a short, almost breathless laugh, not because he found it funny, but because he needed to breathe again. Because it was hot.
JJ smiled too, small, uneven, as if returning from somewhere too deep to name. And for a moment, the two of them simply stayed there, as if still trying to understand what they had just seen in each other.
- ii -
The day had been strangely long, but not difficult.
Just full in a different way.
He’d started the day very early with a video call with one of his managers, that sort of daily checklist he already did almost on autopilot to confirm timings, review commercial commitments, check whether he’d be physically all right for the schedule of the coming weeks.
“Are you sure you don’t need physical follow-up?”
Net considered it: “Huh, yeah, I do”.
It wasn’t true. He was feeling a slight tension between his shoulder and neck, but he didn’t think it was anything big enough to worry them with something that, for now, felt tiny compared to everything else.
After that, he’d gone to do a vocal test that left him wiped out.
But now, alone on the sofa, Net was feeling more relaxed.
The living room was quiet, filled only by the soft sound of Net’s fingers tapping the phone screen as he drifted through social media without much intention. He was scrolling slowly, almost absent-mindedly, until he stopped at a newly posted photo of Nong Est.
He smiled, small and automatic, and typed a short comment — something light, affectionate, the kind he knew would make Est smile when he saw it. It was a simple gesture, but a comfortable one, like moving within a familiar space.
When he went back to the feed, nothing really seemed interesting enough to hold his attention. So he opened TikTok, looking for a distraction, but the first video that appeared on the screen made him pull his finger away from the display, stopping the automatic swipe.
Net blinked, curious.
It was a compilation of old videos of him and James backstage, laughing or teasing each other, mixed with clips from the last series they’d filmed together, set to slow, melancholic music chosen to hurt.
He watched for a few seconds, more out of reflex than for any other reason, then slid over to the comments tab. There were the same phrases as always: ‘I miss you guys together’, ‘The chemistry was one of a kind’, ‘I still haven’t moved on and never will’. He read everything calmly, almost on autopilot, like someone looking at something familiar.
But it didn’t hurt, not in the way that used to leave him suffocated.
Net closed the app with the same slow, natural rhythm, then opened the camera. He took a few photos of his own hand on the sofa, the crumpled cushion, the light coming in through the curtain. Nothing special. Just images to post later, when he needed to seem present on social media. Small fragments of an ordinary day, just enough to show he was keeping up with his routine, that there was no need to worry about him.
In the middle of a selfie, he received an email from P’Aof reminding him that Net needed to set aside some time in his schedule that day to meet the actor Thanakorn Jirasak for dinner, but before he could confirm, his phone rang again and the notification bar made him pause.
He tapped the notification, and the screen opened onto the chat.
Nong JJ:
We’re still going to karaoke tonight, right?Nong JJ:
Or are you going to pretend you’re tired
again just because you’re old?
He couldn’t hide the smile that stretched across his face. It was a real smile, slow, one that softened every line of Net’s face. He shifted on the sofa, changing his posture like someone trying to look more relaxed in front of someone who wasn’t there to see, and started typing a reply, laying the drama on thick just to wind him up:
me:
how did you know??? I’m so tired that
I might fall asleep in the middle of the song…
JJ’s reply came so fast it pulled a loud laugh out of him.
Nong JJ:
Then don’t even come. I’m not singing for someone who snores loudly~~
Net let out a laugh he couldn’t, and didn’t even try to, hold back. It was an open, spontaneous laugh, the kind that escapes before you even realise you’re smiling. He brought a hand to his face for a moment, as if he needed to hide the flush there, but it was already there, warming him from the inside out like a bonfire.
But suddenly, Net thought of something he hadn’t considered before.
JJ was completely different, in ways Net still hadn’t managed to name. He had a serious side, almost meditative, a comfortable silence that came from places too wounded and too deep. But he also had a careful side, attentive, cautious like someone who’d learned to look twice before getting close.
And, at the same time, there was an unexpected spark in him. A resilient joy, an almost stubborn light, as if he were always choosing something bright even after having crossed nights that were far too hard.
It was a curious contrast.
And now, Net felt that contagious thing spreading through his life in a way he hadn’t expected. It was a joy that was starting to grow, almost disguised, but real.
“Woah…” Net heard P’Ker’s voice. She was sitting at the table behind him, going over documents with P’Adam. “Don’t you think some people have been smiling a bit too much these past few weeks, Phi? It’s kind of surprising”.
Net parted his lips and stopped typing.
He frowned, trying to look indifferent, but his heart sped up a little, like he’d been caught doing something wrong. Net pretended not to hear and went back to his phone, blinking a few times, trying to regain control of his expression while he kept chatting with JJ about the karaoke night and where they’d meet.
Behind him, the conversation carried on as soft background noise, but it caught his attention when P’Adam — the coordinator who always had a new crush every week and always made Net laugh with his dating stories that felt like a soap opera, a series — spoke up loudly:
“Oh! ThomasKong is proper cute, honestly! Look at this video”.
Net didn’t need to look to know that P’Ker was smiling in that excited way only she had when she saw a couple that genuinely worked. She was like a mum to all of them, always looking after them and always ready to take on the world for them.
“They’ve got so much chemistry”, she commented, lightly tapping P’Adam’s arm. “I always say, you can spot it straight away with them”.
That made Net lean back on the sofa.
He didn’t know whether it was curiosity, discomfort, or something else.
“P’Ker…” Net called, turning his head slightly. “How does everyone know when a couple has chemistry? Like, for real? When P’Lin assesses a pair and say this one’s going to work, what is it you see?”
They looked at each other, half surprised by the question, half intrigued by his sincerity. But before either of them could answer, the door opened with a loud click, drawing their attention to the sound.
P’Lin came in first, with her calm posture and a gentle smile on her bright face. Right behind her, Niran Wattanakul — the Casting Director — adjusted his glasses and shuffled a few papers. The atmosphere shifted slightly. Not in a heavy way, but as if everyone had automatically switched into professional mode.
“What are you all up to?” P’Lin asked, curious, crossing her arms and resting part of her weight on the table, unhurried. “Net, don’t you have an acting training session in fifteen minutes?”
He nodded, far too quickly, and rubbed his hands on his jeans as he sat up straight, an automatic gesture that gave away a hint of nerves or the expectation of having to explain himself.
“We were talking about couple chemistry”, P’Ker said, pointing at him with her chin. “Net’s curious about it. He wants to know how we identify when a couple is really going to work”.
P’Lin shifted her gaze to him, surprise lighting up her eyes.
It wasn’t judgement.
It was genuine interest, because she’d been part of the casting process with Net and James, had seen all the little details as she watched them blossom together. P’Lin had been there, pointing things out and gently correcting when James refused certain kinds of physical contact or when Net got upset because he thought he was being too clingy.
And she’d been with them as things began to change.
She watched Net shut down completely, grow confused about what he’d done wrong when, in truth, none of it was his fault. She was with them during the end of their contracts as a fixed pair, and through every moment that came after.
“Well…” P’Lin began, tucking her hair behind her ear in a smooth motion. “Real chemistry can’t be forced. That’s what we always say, right? And it’s true. P’Aof made a great call when he decided that pairs couldn’t be just about performance in front of the cameras”.
Net looked at her carefully.
He curled his fingers into the sofa upholstery.
“It’s about what happens off camera…” P’Lin went on, still smiling. She folded her arms. “Chemistry, for us, is the way both relax around each other, the way they look at one another when they think no one’s watching. It’s how they adjust their tone of voice without realising, how they give each other space or take up space together. It’s not technical. It’s human”.
P’Ton joined the conversation without hesitation:
“And when it works, it’s easy to spot”, the casting director crossed his legs, turning his chair towards Net, who looked back at him. “It’s subtle, but it’s always there. The energy shifts, no matter how long the pair have known each other, some combinations simply…” he paused, then smiled: “Breathe together”.
“Breathe together?” Net repeated in a whisper.
The man nodded: “Yes. And that’s impossible to manufacture”.
Net felt a warm tug in his stomach at hearing that, almost as if he were grasping something he wasn’t ready to truly understand, something he honestly didn’t want to understand at all.
P’Ker leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table.
“But… why are you curious about that?” she teased, a wide smile on her face. “I mean, we’ve seen you going out with a few actors here and there, but you haven’t really talked about how you’re doing, whether there’s someone who’s becoming interesting. Did any of them catch your eye?”
The question landed on Net like something small, but sharp.
He felt the air go in wrong for a moment, not out of guilt, nor secrecy, but because there was no possible answer. Not one he could say out loud. But his body reacted first, he puffed his cheeks full of air, glanced away too quickly, as if searching for anything else in the room to focus on.
He opened his mouth once, closed it, wetting his lips as he searched for a safe place to land his voice. But nothing came. No name. No explanation. No clear thought he could offer without seeming like he was hiding something, even though he wasn’t.
“Not really, Phi…” he said, shaking his head. “Just curiosity”.
And even after answering, Net couldn’t get his breath back straight away. It was as if the question had left a warm trace in the room, something his body could feel, but his mind hadn’t caught up with yet. The silence that followed said too many frightening things.
Net stood up, running a hand through his hair as he picked up his phone and slipped it into his pocket: “Anyway, I have to go. I’m running late”.
And he left before any other question could exist.
◆◆◆
The restaurant was already emptying out, but the table where Net and Thanakorn Jirasak were sitting still felt charged with an almost vibrant energy, as if everything there had happened in just the right measure. The dinner had been relaxed, fun in a disarming way, and Net had noticed, at some point between the main course and the dessert they’d shared without even realising, that the conversation flowed so easily because Korn was good at starting a chat naturally.
On top of that, he was a good listener.
And, to Net’s surprise, they had mutual friends, which turned the conversation into something unpretentious and comfortable. It was easy to talk to him. Easy enough that Net caught himself commenting on things he usually kept to himself. Just small details about his routine, trivial childhood stories, offhand remarks about work.
They weren’t deep confessions, but they were pieces of himself that, in recent months, he hadn’t offered to almost anyone. Maybe it was Korn’s lightness, the calm way he reacted to everything, as if nothing were too complicated and, even if it was, it could be sorted out.
They left the restaurant laughing at something Korn had just said, a silly remark about a customer who’d confused the menu with the order slip and insisted the waiter had forgotten to serve ‘item number 47’, which was actually just the restaurant’s address. Net laughed out loud, genuine, a laugh that made his shoulders loosen as they crossed the lit pavement.
The night felt brighter, almost welcoming.
Net thanked him for dinner and gestured for Korn to go first. But when he turned to head towards his own car, Korn stretched out his arm and caught his wrist. It was a light touch, but unexpected.
Net stopped.
He dropped his gaze to the hand on his arm, and something in him trembled, literally and involuntarily. His lashes fluttered as if adjusting to the sudden closeness, and he lifted his eyes slowly, far too surprised to hide how unprepared he was for that.
Not because it was uncomfortable, but because — suddenly — he felt that it was a boundary. Something that said, without words, ‘this isn’t a space you’re going to cross so easily’, because it was true.
Korn realised immediately.
He let go of Net’s wrist gently and smiled, embarrassed, like someone who’d taken half a step forward without being sure he should have done so without warning, without first checking whether the other person understood where he was heading and what he wanted from that.
“Sorry”, he murmured. “I just…”
He opened his mouth to continue but closed it before any sound really came out. Something hovered there, between them, something like expectation, but with no time to take shape.
◆◆◆
The door opened with a discreet creak, and the air in the karaoke room shifted as if it had been waiting for that exact moment. The first thing that reached Net’s eyes wasn’t the warm light, nor the upholstered sofa, nor the table with empty bottles and forgotten glasses.
It was the sight of JJ.
Kneeling on the floor, bent over the song list spread across his own legs, the microphone resting beside him as if it were waiting for him. There was a hesitation in his posture, a kind of movement that looked like someone trying to fill time on their own, even after failing at it more than once.
JJ lifted his face, and his eyes widened in genuine surprise, the kind of surprise that doesn’t accuse, but reveals expectation. It was the expression of someone who had waited and had given up on waiting.
Net stepped inside without rushing, but without confidence.
He placed his wallet and keys on the table in an automatic gesture, trying to busy himself with anything other than the guilt scratching away inside. The dry sound of the objects against the wood felt far too loud in the silence around them. He immediately felt the weight of being late settle on his shoulders — forty-five minutes weren’t just forty-five minutes when it came to someone like JJ. Not when it came to someone who had waited for him like that, kneeling on the floor, trying to choose a song on his own.
“Are you alright?” JJ asked, still in the same position, without standing up. His voice came out low, far too gentle, with the faintest hint of concern that made Net’s heart ache.
He always had that tone when Net was late, the kind of concern that wasn’t just concern, that came from a hard place, from a familiar memory of having been left behind too many times.
Net bit the inside of his cheek, an involuntary gesture that gave away more than any words he could have formed at that moment. He rubbed his hands on his jeans — not to clean them, but because he needed to do something with them, needed a point of support his body refused to offer.
And of course JJ, sensitive and lovely in a way only he could be, had noticed the silent discomfort. He did what he did best, looked away towards the song list, pretending to examine something just to ease the tension building between them.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, in a way that felt carefully measured, almost protective. “We can order something if you haven’t eaten yet, the kitchen stays open later today…”
And it was there, in that simple kindness, that Net felt something tighten inside. Because that wasn’t the kind of question meant to dodge the issue — it was a bridge, a way of making everything less painful, less awkward. It was kindness. And kindness, in that moment, hurt more than any sign of irritation ever could have.
He wet his lips slowly and walked over to JJ as if stepping into a different pocket of air, a different temperature. Net sat down beside him on the floor without thinking, without planning, simply obeying the need to close the distance. The room felt smaller from there, as if everything had compressed to force them to truly see each other.
“Sorry for being late…” he murmured, his voice breaking halfway through, too soft to sound like a rehearsed apology. “Are you upset?”
The question wasn’t objective. It was vulnerable, and vulnerability wasn’t ground Net liked to tread. Not after having exposed himself so much and given so much of himself. Because even though he didn’t regret having been the best version of himself he could be, he was afraid of taking a step and falling.
JJ took almost a full minute to lift his face. A minute long enough for Net to feel his heart waver again, his breath caught in his throat, his awareness drifting between the floor, the microphone, and the shadow of his own reflection on the black screen of the switched-off TV.
But when JJ finally looked at Net, he was smiling.
It was a small, genuine smile, but one weighted with a softness that hid something. It wasn’t anger, it wasn’t hurt. It was something else Net couldn’t quite explain that kind of it’s alright someone says so as not to hurt even more. And he shook his head gently, as if assuring him there was nothing to forgive.
Net felt something sink inside him.
Maybe it was relief.
Maybe it was pity for himself.
Maybe it was simply the realisation that he’d done exactly what he’d promised himself he wouldn’t do, leave someone waiting. He hated making people feel anxious or small in the face of the chaos that was his life.
He clenched his teeth.
“I’m sorry”, he repeated, this time in a way that felt torn from his chest, not built in his head. He took JJ’s hand, making him blink twice before furrowing his brows. Net guided that hand to his cheek and rested his face against it. It was warm. “I really am”.
JJ laughed, and this time the laugh was soft, real.
“It’s alright!” he said, rolling his eyes theatrically, almost joking. He set the song list aside. “You said you’d be busy today. Dinner, wasn’t it? I’m the one who turned up early”.
Net stopped rubbing his face against JJ’s hand.
“Was it work stuff?” JJ asked with a smile, shifting his fingers in Net’s soft hand. “Were you late because something went wrong or…?”
He let the sentence die there.
The ‘or’ hung in the air, not as an accusation, but as an invitation for Net to simply talk about it, if he wanted to. So they wouldn’t go round in circles, playing at who felt more sorry for whom. And it was exactly that space — that space offered with such care — that hit Net from the inside like a silent impact. Because he didn’t have a simple answer and didn’t know how to apologise without sounding like he was explaining himself too much.
Or too little.
Or wrong.
And before he could even try to speak, the memory came back. The car park, Korn’s hand on his arm, the unexpected request, the uncomfortable feeling of having hurt someone without realising it, without meaning to. Net took a deep breath, but the air came in crooked, uneven, and JJ noticed.
JJ always noticed.
Korn laughed, visibly embarrassed.
“Sorry”, he murmured. “I just…”
He leaned his body slightly forward, like someone who wants to speak but fears that any word might change the course of something he still doesn’t understand or doesn’t want to understand. His face was calm, but there was a tense gleam in his eyes — not hope, exactly, but expectation.
A fragile expectation, one that could shatter at the smallest movement.
“Truth is, I lied earlier…” he murmured, knitting his brows. “When I said I didn’t have any kind of expectations, that was a lie. I did”, Korn laughed.
“Oh…” was all Net managed to say.
He and everyone involved in that process had been clear the whole time, they’d explained the situation Net was in. P’Ker had worked hard to make sure nothing went off plan, that no one would be affected or end up feeling uncomfortable during that phase.
And yet, even after going out with so many people, Net had never considered the possibility that someone might one day get hurt by his search for the ideal partner, someone who would make sense for that exact moment in his life without him having to try so hard.
He hadn’t stopped to think about how selfish that could be.
“The thing is, I’ve been your fan for a long time…” Korn admitted carefully. “I’ve followed your work and, when I got the invitation for this dinner, I was pretty excited. And, honestly, you’re more than I could’ve imagined. I liked you, and I think you liked me”.
Net blinked, stunned by those words.
“And I wanted… I wanted a second chance. A second dinner”.
The world didn’t stop, but Net felt something inside him slow down, as if he’d stumbled into a thought that hadn’t existed until that moment. He widened his eyes slightly, a movement so subtle someone else might not have noticed, but Korn did. And the fact that he noticed made the air around them tighten, as if the night had suddenly become too small for everything that sentence could mean.
Net gasped, loud and shaky, because he realised it was more than selfish, it was cruel. It was cruel that he hadn’t considered the possibility, that he hadn’t been more careful, that he’d somehow fed that hope.
It was cruel because Korn hadn’t done anything wrong.
It was cruel because it had genuinely been a good dinner, because saying “yes” right there, in that exact moment would’ve been easy, almost natural. And yet, absolutely impossible.
His breathing grew heavy in his throat. It was as if part of his body knew before his mind that this couldn’t go any further. He took a deep breath, and a smile appeared — delicate, kind, almost sad. A smile that was trying to look after Korn while also needing to reject what had just happened between them.
“I don’t think…”
“You understand me right”, Korn cut in, anxious. “I like you, P’Net, like for real… And after this dinner, I think we could get on well in front of the cameras and…” he bit his lip. “Behind them too”.
“Nong Korn…” Net glanced quickly at the floor, then back at the funny, handsome, outgoing young man in front of him. He had all the qualities of a good partner. “I’m sorry”.
Only now did he realise he’d been going out with so many people because he genuinely wanted to find a partner, but without noticing, Net had started doing it in an insensitive way. As if he were evaluating everyone the same way. As if people were steps towards a specific outcome, something he needed, when they weren’t.
On top of that, it was foolish.
No one had made it to a second dinner.
They were all incredible, kind, and made Net feel alive in some way, but no one had sparked that click, that feeling P’Lin had said was ideal for a perfect couple. And, honestly, he’d already given too much of himself to do something halfway.
He didn’t want to move forward with someone just to have a job, just so people would see him, because that would be half of him. And he wanted to be whole, wanted to feel it was the right thing and that everything was worth it.
“So…” Korn whispered, and there was something almost shy, almost teasing in the way he went on: “There’s someone else, isn’t there?”
Net stared at him, completely startled.
He moved his lips, but didn’t know what to say. And he shook his head, even though he wasn’t entirely sure what he was trying to imply, because the way Korn had asked that, so directly, had made him take a step back. Had made him feel nervous. Very nervous.
“I…” Net moistened his lips. “I’m not sure”.
“You’re not sure, or you’re scared of being sure?” Nong Korn folded his arms, still smiling. He seemed even more mature than Net had thought before, because even though he was being rejected, he didn’t look hurt or offended. “Come to think of it, you haven’t had second dates”.
Net clenched his fingers.
It was true.
He hadn’t had any second dates, not even with those he’d had good conversations with or felt excited about. Even with the ones who’d contacted P’Lin to arrange another meeting, he never went.
He’d never felt comfortable enough to go on a second date.
But he had been curious about the things that make a pair a good couple. About the details, about what actually makes sense. And after that rushed conversation with P’Lin and the others, he’d started paying attention.
Korn let out a small laugh, without sarcasm, without hurt. It was almost too gentle, a laugh that said he understood, even if it was a bit disappointing. He lifted a hand in a brief gesture, as if he wanted to rest it on Net’s shoulder without touching him.
“Phi, don’t blame yourself so much. Honestly!” he smiled. “I liked our dinner, we got on well talking. I thought we had chemistry and I wanted to try because I’d never forgive myself otherwise, but if you don’t see it, then it’s still better to be honest now than to let anyone believe they truly have a chance. There’s nothing wrong with wanting someone else”.
Net watched him, and those words seeped into him slowly, deeply, almost without mercy. Korn’s honesty was too much, too kind. And in that moment, he felt like he needed to talk to P’Aof.
He needed to say that this, these outings, these meetings, these evaluations disguised as dinners, couldn’t go on because it wasn’t honest, because it wasn’t fair. Because something inside him had already chosen a path before he’d even realised it.
“I’m really sorry...” Net whispered. “Truly”.
Korn nodded, laughing softly, almost as if he were relieved to have finally said what needed to be said. He took a few steps back, already pulling away, his body lit by the distant headlights of a car leaving the car park.
But before opening the door of his own vehicle, he turned around.
“Even if you say you’re not sure…” he smiled, pointing at Net’s chest as if pointing at something far too obvious, too honest to be ignored. “The way your eyes and your smile change when you think about it says something else, Phi”.
“P’Net?” JJ’s voice cut through the memory like a rush of air.
Net blinked, coming back to that moment, that stifling place scented with wood, exactly where JJ still was, kneeling inches from him, looking at Net with his head slightly tilted, trying to understand where his mind had gone for a few seconds.
Net met his gaze — direct, deep, unable to hide the internal shift that had just taken place — and a smile bloomed before he could stop it. Before he could even realise that he had understood.
He had understood.
“You should try again, JJ…” Net said, his voice so soft and so gentle that it sent a shiver through every strand of JJ’s hair. He moistened his lips and drew the warm hand in towards his own chest. “I know you’ve been hurt too much already, and I know you meant to give up, but you should try one last time. With me. You should try with me this time.”
Hong Thong: is a Thai whisky brand (in practice, a blended spirit made from sugarcane molasses, not a traditional Scotch whisky)
Khun (คุณ): Equivalent to a polite ‘Mr’ or ‘Ms’, but not overly formal.