Chapter Text
The universe, according to New Thitipoom, operated on a series of predictable algorithms.
Sugar plus heat equaled caramel. Supply minus demand equaled price fluctuation. Silence plus solitude equaled peace.
He was currently monitoring the second algorithm on that list. Sitting at the corner table of Something Magical—the bakery he owned but rarely stood behind the counter of—New was a portrait of stillness. He was dressed in a pristine white t-shirt and loose beige trousers, his legs crossed at the knee. To the untrained eye, he looked like a university student studying for finals.
To the trained eye, he was a shark in shallow waters.
On the table before him sat his command center: a MacBook Pro displaying the live SET index, an iPad running a technical analysis on a crypto wallet, and two smartphones. One phone was for the bakery's logistics; the other was strictly for his broker.
"Drop," New whispered, his eyes tracking a red candlestick on the screen. "Drop to 32.5."
The café was quiet. It was 2:00 PM on a Tuesday, the lull between the lunch rush and the afternoon tea crowd. The air smelled of roasted Arabica and the faint, buttery scent of croissants cooling on the rack. It was perfect. It was controlled.
Then, the door opened.
It didn't just open; it was shoved inward with enough force that the brass bell above it didn't chime—it screamed.
New didn't look up. He hated interruptions during a trade.
"Hello! Sawasdee khrup!"
The voice was a baritone boom, warm and vibrating with unnecessary energy. It disrupted the jazz music playing softly overhead.
New adjusted his glasses, tapping a key on his laptop. Ignore it. Alice will handle it.
"Is anyone here? I smell butter! But I don't see humans!"
New sighed. It was a heavy, weary exhale. He checked the timestamp on his chart. The market was moving sideways. He could spare thirty seconds to glare.
He looked up.
Standing in the entryway was a man who looked like he had been assembled by a luxury brand committee but was currently being operated by a toddler. He was tall, wearing a tailored navy suit that fit his broad shoulders perfectly, but his tie was askew. He was holding a leather briefcase in one hand and a stack of loose papers in the other, and he was currently spinning in a circle, admiring the ceiling décor.
"We are open," New said, his voice flat, cutting through the man's humming.
The man spun around. "Oh! There is a human! You were hiding behind the plant."
The stranger smiled. It was a blinding, crinkling-of-the-eyes smile that probably worked on everyone. It did not work on New.
"I wasn't hiding. I was sitting," New corrected. "The counter is over there."
"Right! Coffee. I need coffee." The man marched toward the counter, but his eyes were still scanning the room. "I just moved into the office next door. Deep Blue Creative. I'm the CEO. Well, founder. And CEO. It sounds better on the card, right?"
He didn't wait for an answer. He turned his head to look at the menu board on the wall, but his feet kept moving forward.
"Watch out for the—" New started to warn him.
Too late.
The toe of the man's expensive loafer caught the edge of the display rug.
Physics took over. The man pitched forward, arms flailing. The stack of papers launched into the air like white confetti. The briefcase swung wildly.
"Woah!" the man yelped.
New moved before he made a conscious decision to do so. It was instinct—honed by years of catching falling knives in the stock market. He pushed his expensive chair back, the legs screeching against the floor, and lunged.
He caught the man by the forearm, his grip hard and unyielding.
The man froze, hovering at a forty-five-degree angle from the floor, his face inches from a display of glass jars filled with cookies. He blinked, looking down at the floor, then up at New.
New was not smiling. New looked like he was inspecting a smudge on a window.
"You are a disaster," New muttered, his voice low. He hauled the man upright with surprising strength, then immediately let go as if the man were radioactive.
"I... uh..." The man straightened his jacket, his cheeks flushing a charming shade of pink. "I have bad balance. My inner ear? Maybe? Or just... gravity hates me."
"Gravity applies to everyone," New said dryly, bending down to pick up a document that had landed near his shoe. It was a marketing brief for a toothpaste company. He handed it back. "You just choose to ignore it."
"I'm Tay," the man said, beaming again as if he hadn't just nearly concussed himself. He stuck a hand out. "Tay Tawan."
New looked at the hand. He didn't shake it. He turned and walked back to his table. "The staff is in the back. I'll call her."
"Wait!" Tay followed him. Of course, he followed him. "You're not the staff?"
"I own the place," New said, sitting back down and immediately checking his phone. The stock had dropped to 32.6. Close enough. He executed the buy order.
"The owner!" Tay clapped his hands together. "That's amazing. I love an entrepreneur. We should collaborate. I need a venue for a photoshoot next week. A moody, coffee-vibes shoot. This lighting is great."
Tay pulled out the chair opposite New—New's table, his sanctuary—and sat down.
New stopped typing. He looked over the rim of his glasses. The silence stretched, thick and icy.
"What are you doing?" New asked.
"Sitting?" Tay blinked. "I'm waiting for the coffee. I haven't ordered it yet, but I will."
"There are six other tables," New pointed out.
"But this one has the best energy," Tay said, placing his elbows on the table. He leaned in, invading New's personal bubble. "So, Mr. Owner. What's your name?"
New stared at him. He could kick him out. He should kick him out. But there was something fascinatingly oblivious about this man. He was like a Golden Retriever that had wandered into a library.
"New," he said finally.
"New," Tay repeated, tasting the word. "Just New? Like... Brand New?"
"Just New."
"Okay, New. I need an Iced Americano. Four shots. And something sweet. What do you recommend? I like texture. I don't like mushy desserts."
New sighed, realizing he wasn't going to get any work done until this man was caffeinated and gone. "The Lemon Tart. It's crisp."
"Done. I'll take two."
New messaged Alice on the internal app: Customer at table 4. Needs handling. Heavy caffeine dosage.
Alice appeared a moment later, smiling brightly, and took Tay's order. Tay charmed her instantly, asking about her day, her apron, the weather. He was loud. He was omnipresent.
When Alice left, Tay turned his attention back to New. He noticed the array of screens.
"Stocks?" Tay asked.
"Yes."
"I have stocks," Tay said proudly. "My broker calls me sometimes. I usually just tell him to buy whatever is 'green'."
New winced visibly. "That is the worst strategy I have ever heard."
"It works! Sometimes!" Tay laughed. He shifted in his seat, and his knee bumped New's under the table.
New recoiled. "Stop moving."
"I can't help it! I have energy!" Tay tapped his fingers on the table. "You're very quiet, aren't you? You're like... a statue. A very intense statue."
New ignored him, focusing on a candlestick chart.
"Hin," Tay said suddenly.
New's fingers paused over the keyboard. He looked up slowly. "What?"
"Hin," Tay repeated, grinning. "That's you. You're like a rock. I'm over here being a hurricane, and you're just... sitting there. Unmoved. Like a rock in the ocean."
"My name is New."
"I know. But you act like a Hin."
"Rocks are useful," New countered, his tone sharp. "They don't fall over their own feet."
Tay threw his head back and laughed—a loud, barking sound that made New flinch, but strangely, not out of annoyance. It was just... a lot.
"True! Very true," Tay wiped a tear from his eye. "So, Hin. Do you always work here? Or do you have an office?"
"This is my office."
"Nice office. smells better than mine." Tay reached into his pocket and his face fell. The smile vanished, replaced by sheer panic. He patted his chest. He patted his pants.
"What did you lose now?" New asked, bored. "Your dignity?"
"My phone. It's dead. It's black screen dead." Tay looked at New with wide, terrified eyes. "I have a conference call in fifteen minutes. My calendar is on there. My life is on there."
He looked at the wall outlet next to New. Specifically, at the white adapter plugged into the strip.
"Hin," Tay pleaded.
"No," New said immediately.
"Please? Just for ten minutes? I'll buy you a tart. I'll buy you ten tarts. Even though you own them."
"I don't share chargers," New said, looking back at his screen. "People pull them. They ruin the port tension."
"I won't pull it! I'll be gentle! I swear!" Tay put his hands together in a prayer motion. "Please. I'm begging you. Help a neighbor out?"
New looked at Tay's face. He looked desperate. And ridiculously handsome, even in his panic.
New groaned, a sound of pure defeat. He reached down, unplugged his lightning cable from his iPad, and slid the end across the table.
"If you bend the tip," New threatened softly, "I will ban you from the store."
"You're an angel! A stone angel!" Tay grabbed the cable and plugged his phone in. He sighed in relief as the charging icon appeared. "You saved me."
Just then, the bell above the door chimed again.
This time, two men walked in. One was tall, lanky, dressed in a loud Hawaiian shirt and sunglasses. The other was smaller, dressed in oversized layers, looking soft and dangerous at the same time.
"Newwiee!" the smaller one called out.
New's face transformed. The rock crumbled. A soft, genuine smile broke across his face as he looked at the newcomer.
"Gun," New said warmly.
But the tall man in the Hawaiian shirt stopped dead in his tracks. He lowered his sunglasses, staring at the table where New and Tay were sitting.
"Peng?" the tall man asked, his voice incredulous.
Tay turned around in his chair, nearly tangling himself in New's charging cable. His face lit up.
"Peng!" Tay shouted back.
New looked between them, confused. "Peng?"
"Off!" Tay scrambled up—carefully, because of the cable—and high-fived the tall man. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm here with Gun," Off Jumpol said, pointing to the smaller man who was already making his way to New's side. "Gun's best friend owns this place. Wait... you know New?"
"We just met!" Tay beamed, draping an arm around Off's shoulder. "He's my new favorite person. He called me a disaster and gave me electricity. We're basically bonded for life."
Off looked at New. He looked at the charging cable connecting Tay's phone to New's wall adapter.
Off's eyebrows shot up into his hairline. "He let you use his charger?"
"Yeah," Tay said. "Why?"
"He doesn't let me use his charger," Off said, sounding offended. "He told me last week that my aura disrupts the voltage."
Gun giggled, sliding into the seat next to New and stealing a look at Tay. "Newwiee," Gun whispered, loud enough for everyone to hear. "You made a friend?"
"He is not a friend," New stated, closing his laptop. The peace was gone. The solitude was dead. "He is a customer who won't leave."
"I can't leave!" Tay protested, sitting back down and pulling Off into the chair next to him. "My phone is only at 2%. Besides, now that Peng is here, we have to catch up."
New looked at the table. His command center was now surrounded. On his left, Gun. On his right, Tay Tawan, the hurricane who was currently stealing his electricity. Opposite him, Off Jumpol, who was eyeing the lemon tarts Alice was bringing over.
"This is going to be a long afternoon," New muttered to himself.
"Did you say something, Hin?" Tay asked brightly, taking a bite of his tart.
"Eat your dessert, Tay," Off said, slapping Tay on the back. "Before you drop it."
New watched them. He watched how Tay laughed at Off's insult. He watched how the sunlight from the window caught the sharp angle of Tay's jaw.
He hated chaos. He really did.
But for some reason, he didn't tell Tay to unplug the phone.
The table, previously a bastion of minimalist efficiency, had devolved into a microcosm of social anarchy.
New stared at the disruption. His iPad had been pushed so far to the edge that it was in danger of suicide. His carefully aligned coaster was now under Off Jumpol's elbow. And directly across from him, Tay Tawan was vibrating.
Whatever caffeine deficit Tay had claimed to have earlier had was thoroughly rectified by the quadruple-shot Americano he was currently nursing.
"So," Tay started, leaning forward and knocking his knee against New's shin under the table. Again. "You and Gun go way back? How? You're so... quiet. And Gun is..." Tay waved a hand at the smaller man who was currently taking a selfie with a croissant. "...sparkly."
"We met at university," New said, shifting his leg away from Tay's intrusion. "Gun is not sparkly. He is complex."
"He's wearing a glitter shirt, Hin. That's sparkly."
"It's sequins," New corrected automatically. "And stop kicking me."
"I'm not kicking you!" Tay protested, looking offended. "It's this table! The legs are designed weirdly. The ergonomics are all wrong for people with long legs. I feel like I'm sitting in economy class."
New slowly lowered his coffee cup. He leveled a gaze at Tay that could have frozen magma. "The table is standard height. The problem isn't the furniture. The problem is your inability to sit still."
"It's not me!" Tay argued, his voice rising in that booming register that made heads turn three tables away. "It's my jeans! They're new. The denim is stiff. It restricts knee flexibility."
New's eyes dropped to Tay's legs. The jeans in question were indeed tight—fashionably so—hugging Tay's thighs in a way that New decided, objectively, was not unpleasant to look at, but annoying to deal with.
"They are too small for you," New stated flatly.
"They are a perfect fit! Size 32!"
"You are not a 32," New countered, glancing at the way the fabric strained when Tay shifted. "You are a 33. Maybe a 34 if you keep eating those tarts. You're cutting off circulation to your brain. That explains the balance issues."
Tay gasped, clutching his chest. "Peng! Did you hear that? He called me fat!"
Off, who was chewing on a straw, didn't even look up. "He called you realistic, Tay. You popped a button on set last week. The wardrobe team cried."
"That was a defective button!" Tay insisted, turning back to New. "And for your information, Hin, these are premium Japanese denim. The color is 'Midnight Ocean.' It's slimming."
"It's Cobalt," New said.
"It's Midnight Ocean!"
"It has a violet undertone," New argued, leaning in, his competitive streak flaring up over something completely inane. "Midnight Ocean is a blue-black. This is clearly a saturated cobalt with a stone wash. Do you not check the Pantone charts before you dress yourself?"
Tay opened his mouth, then closed it. He looked down at his jeans. He looked back at New. He narrowed his eyes. "You... you're analyzing my pants color? Are you a fashion critic now? I thought you were a stock market robot."
"I deal in details," New said smugly. "You deal in... whatever this is." He gestured vaguely at all of Tay.
"I deal in vision!" Tay declared. "I deal in the big picture!"
"The big picture is that your jeans are blue, you are loud, and you are taking up seventy percent of my leg room."
Gun watched the exchange with the intense fascination of a scientist observing a new chemical reaction. He nudged Off. "They're cute," he whispered.
"They're gonna kill each other," Off muttered.
Just then, Alice arrived with a fresh plate—a fluffy, steaming sponge cake with a side of coconut cream. She placed it in the center of the chaos.
Gun's eyes lit up. "Newwiee, is that the recipe we talked about?"
"Yes," New's voice instantly softened, the sharp edge he used with Tay vanishing completely. "I reduced the sugar by 10% and used fresh coconut milk instead of canned."
"It looks so good," Gun whined, looking at his own hands which were currently busy holding his phone to check a message. "But it's hot. And I'm replying to P'Godji."
Without missing a beat, without a single sigh of annoyance, New reached out. He picked up a fork, carved a perfect, bite-sized piece of the steaming cake, dipped it lightly in the cream, and blew on it.
Once. Twice.
He held the fork up to Gun's lips.
Gun opened his mouth, ate it, and hummed in delight. "Mmm! Newwiee, that's amazing."
Tay Tawan stopped breathing.
He sat frozen, his iced Americano halfway to his mouth. He watched the fork retreat from Gun's mouth. He watched New wipe a tiny smudge of cream from the corner of Gun's lip with his own thumb.
A strange, hot sensation clawed its way up Tay's throat. It wasn't the coffee. It wasn't the tart. It felt like... indignation.
Why was Hin—the man who had scolded him for breathing, criticized his jeans, and begrudgingly lent him electricity—treating Gun like a fragile prince?
"Why do you feed him?"
The question burst out of Tay before he could check with his brain. It was loud. It was accusatory.
New paused, fork hovering over the cake. He looked at Tay, his expression shifting back to that cool, unbothered mask. "Excuse me?"
"You feed him!" Tay pointed at Gun with his straw. "You blow on the cake! You wiped his mouth! You act like his mom!"
"Gun is my best friend," New said slowly, as if explaining astrophysics to a golden retriever. "And his hands were full."
"My hands are full!" Tay dropped his coffee cup onto the table (luckily empty) and held up his hands to show... nothing. "I mean, metaphorically! I'm stressed! I have a meeting! I have low blood sugar!"
"You just ate two lemon tarts," New pointed out.
"I have a fast metabolism!" Tay argued, leaning further over the table, invading New's space again. "I'm clumsy! You said it yourself! I'm a disaster! If I try to eat that cake, I might drop it. I might burn my tongue. I need assistance!"
Off snorted into his drink. "You need a babysitter, Tay. Not assistance."
"Shut up, Peng," Tay snapped, eyes fixed on New. "Feed me."
New stared at him. The air at the table grew thick. Gun was grinning openly now. Off was shaking his head.
New looked at Tay's expectant face—the wide eyes, the pouty lips, the sheer audacity of the demand.
"No," New said.
"Why not?" Tay whined. "Is it because I'm not 'sparkly'?"
"It's because you are capable," New said, his voice dropping to a lower register, authoritative and final. "You are a CEO. You run a company. Pick up the fork, Te. Eat the cake yourself."
Te.
The nickname slipped out. It was short, sharp, and sounded strangely intimate coming from New's lips.
Tay blinked. The wind went out of his sails. "Te?"
New didn't retract it. He didn't apologize. He just held Tay's gaze, challenging him. "Unless you want to admit you are incompetent?"
Tay swallowed. His heart did a funny little flip that he decided to ignore. "I am... very competent."
"Then eat."
Tay picked up a fork. He felt like he was under a microscope. He took a piece of cake. He ate it.
"Well?" New asked, raising an eyebrow.
"It's... okay," Tay mumbled, trying to regain some ground. "A bit dry."
"Liar," Gun sang out. "You're moaning while you chew."
"I am not!" Tay shouted, face turning red.
"You totally are," Off confirmed. "It's disgusting."
New smirked. It was a small, barely-there thing, tugging at the corner of his mouth. He looked at his watch.
"Te," New said.
Tay jumped slightly. "Yeah?"
"Your meeting. It's in five minutes."
Tay's eyes widened. He looked at his phone—now charged to 35%. "Crap! The board! The creatives! They're going to eat me alive if I'm late."
He scrambled up, unplugging his phone. In his haste, his knee hit the table leg again, shaking the entire surface. New's coffee rippled but didn't spill.
"Sorry! Sorry!" Tay shoved his phone into his pocket, grabbed his briefcase, and looked at the group. "This was... chaotic. I liked it."
He looked at New. "Thanks for the power, Hin. And the 'dry' cake."
"Don't come back if you're going to break my furniture," New said, not looking up from his screen.
"Oh, I'll be back!" Tay threatened cheerfully. "I work next door! You can't escape me!"
He turned to his friend. "Peng, call me later? We need to discuss the... thing."
"Yeah, yeah. Go run your company," Off waved him off.
Tay sprinted for the door, pushed it open (pushing the 'Pull' sign), and vanished into the Bangkok heat.
Silence returned to the table. But it felt different now. The air felt charged, like the ozone after a storm.
"He likes you," Gun stated, taking another bite of cake.
New didn't respond immediately. He reached out and adjusted the coaster Tay had moved, aligning it perfectly with the edge of the table. He picked up a napkin Tay had crumpled and smoothed it out.
"He is noisy," New said finally. "And he wears his pants too tight."
"He called you Hin," Off pointed out. "Nobody calls you nicknames within an hour of meeting you. Usually, people are scared of you for at least a month."
"He's not scared," New murmured, looking at the empty chair where Tay had been sitting. "He's just... unaware."
"He'll be back tomorrow," Gun predicted.
"I hope not," New lied.
He tapped his keyboard to check his stocks. But for the first time that day, New Thitipoom wasn't looking at the numbers. He was looking at the reflection in the black screen, wondering why the hell he had let a stranger call him Te.
And why, annoyingly, he was already wondering if the idiot would remember to eat dinner after his meeting.
"Check on him," New said to Off, without looking up.
Off paused. "Check on who? Tay?"
"Make sure he actually attends the meeting and didn't trip on the sidewalk," New said, voice strictly professional. "I don't want a lawsuit if he fell in front of my shop."
Off smirked, sharing a knowing look with Gun. "Sure, New. I'll check on him. For liability reasons."
"Exactly," New said. "Liability."
He took a sip of his cold coffee. It tasted sweet.