Chapter Text
William’s feet were killing him, his shirt clung to his spine, and his brain still buzzed with the echo of thousands of screaming voices.
He loved this part.
The show in Chiang Rai had ended an hour ago. The official schedule said LYKN was “resting at the hotel,” probably with some glossy photo of their previous night on the label’s socials. In reality, five men in caps and masks were drifting along a quiet Chiang Rai side street like they’d just slipped off the edge of their own poster.
“I swear my soul left my body in the last chorus,” Lego muttered, dragging his feet dramatically. He nudged Tui with his elbow. “If I die, tell my mom I went doing what I love.”
Tui snorted. “You mean missing your dance cue?”
“Shut up, Phi.”
Hong, walking slightly ahead with a small convenience-store bag in hand, shook his head. “Both of you shut up. People will recognize your voices before your faces.”
“They won’t recognize anything if there are no people,” Nut said from the front, hands buried in the pockets of his hoodie. “Look around, Hongshii. It’s a ghost town.”
It was pretty late – past midnight, the kind of hour when even the street dogs looked sleepy. A thin mist hung in the air, still carrying the day’s heat. Neon signs flickered above closed shops, and the distant hum of a motorbike cut through the silence once in a while.
William walked in the middle of them, hood up, mask on, cap pulled low. He should have been exhausted, and he was – his muscles ached, his throat was raw, his back screamed from hours of choreo, rehearsals and blocking. But under all of that was a restless thrill he couldn’t shake.
The stage was done. The fans were gone. The company wasn’t watching. For a few hours, he got to just be William. Not LYKN’s leader. Not the perfect front man. Just a twenty-something guy in a city where he could pretend that no one knew him in the dark.
His stomach growled, making a bubbly kinda noise.
“Can we at least agree on food before Lego collapses?” he asked. “I don’t want to explain to the company why our maknae is flattened on a Chiang Rai sidewalk.”
“I saw a grilled pork place a couple blocks back,” Hong said.
“Closed,” Nut replied without missing a beat. “You want food that’s actually hot, we need something still open.”
As if answering them, a pool of warm yellow light appeared at the end of the block – a small noodle shop wedged between a shuttered phone store and a repair shop. The sliding glass door was pushed open with a plastic chair, and a faded sign swung in the faint breeze.
A handwritten board leaned near the entrance: Noodles – open late.
Lego pointed weakly. “There. Destiny.”
“Destiny would be a bbq buffet,” Tui said, but even he veered toward it.
They approached like a pack of strays – careful, hungry, checking for trouble out of habit. William glanced around automatically, cataloguing exits, corners, people. The street was empty. No fans. No cameras that he could see, besides the usual dusty CCTV on the opposite building.
“Okay,” he said quietly, slipping into leader mode without thinking. “Same rules. If anyone looks twice, we keep our heads down and eat fast. No names, no removing masks. If someone asks, we’re just Bangkok guys on a work trip.”
Nut grunted. “Yes, boss.”
They stepped into the noodle shop.
It was small – maybe five small tables, metal legs uneven against the tile floor. A fan in the corner rotated lazily. The fluorescent light overhead buzzed. The air smelled like broth, garlic, and the faint lingering sting of chili oil. A small TV mounted high on the wall played some late-night variety show on mute.
Behind the counter stood a middle-aged man in a stained apron, wiping bowls with a dishcloth. He looked up when they entered, smiling automatically.
“Welcome – ” he began, then faltered.
His smile didn’t disappear, but something in his eyes flinched. He struggled for a second, eyes darting from their caps to their masks to the door as if he’d forgotten to lock it.
“Er… good evening, khun,” he managed, switching to a polite, slightly formal tone. “You boys… want noodles? I still have boat noodles, tom yum, clear soup…”
“Whatever’s easiest, phi,” William said, giving a small bow of his head. “We’re hungry, not picky. Just… five bowls, please.”
The man seemed startled that William addressed him politely, like he hadn’t expected that. His shoulders loosened. “Okay, okay. Sit anywhere. I’ll fix something for you.”
Nut steered them toward two adjacent tables in the back, under the fan. It whirred weakly above them, blowing hot air around.
“This is nice,” Lego murmured, already sounding more alive at the smell of food.
“Your standards are low,” Tui said, but his voice was fond.
William dropped into a chair with his back to the wall again, so he could see the entrance and the counter. Habit, habit, habit. You didn’t train for years in martial arts and then unlearn situational awareness because you put on makeup and a mic.
He watched the owner at the counter.
The man’s hands weren’t steady.
At first William thought it was just fatigue – it was late, he probably had worked since morning. But the way his fingers trembled as he reached for the seasoning jars, how he kept glancing at the clock, then toward a narrow door that probably led to the back of the shop – He’s scared of something.
“You okay?” Hong murmured, dropping into the seat beside him. Hong’s eyes followed his line of sight toward the counter.
“Just… weird vibes,” William replied softly. “He looks… stressed.”
“Everyone looks stressed around five guys in masks,” Hong said. “We look like a weird gang.”
“We look like tired idols,” Lego said. “That’s worse.”
Nut twisted around from the next table. “Stop overthinking and drink your water before you pass out, William.”
“I’m not going to pass out,” William said.
His body was tired, yes, but his brain was too sharp. On edge. Pacing. Maybe it was the adrenaline that hadn’t worn off, maybe just the feeling of being somewhere unfamiliar and unprotected – no manager, no guards, no company interference. Just them, a stranger’s shop, the city’s quiet hum.
It should have felt freeing. Instead, it felt like the kind of silence that came before something cracked.
The owner set down glasses of water, then vanished into the back. William heard the stove ignite, the clatter of metal, the soft rush of boiling broth. The warm smell thickened.
Lego sighed like he was about to weep. “If the noodles are good, I’m leaving the industry to marry this shop.”
“You can’t cook, Nong,” Tui said.
“I’ll marry into the recipe then.” Lego cackled.
William’s eyes drifted toward the entryway. Outside, the street looked harmless. A lone motorbike rolled by. A dog nosed through a trash bag on the opposite side. Neon signs flickered, reflected in the glass front of the noodle shop.
Hong tapped his knuckles lightly against the table. “You know, you went a bit hard in the last song. You almost slipped.”
“I didn’t slip,” William said, gaze turning back to Hong.
Lego grinned. “You did a dramatic save.”
“If I’d slipped, I would’ve taken you down with me.”
“Romantic.”
“Shut up.”
Their banter fluttered around him like background noise, familiar enough that he could relax into it a little. The tension in his shoulders eased a fraction. He let his gaze wander – tiny shrine in the corner, plastic flowers, a stack of bowls –
The indoor narrow door slammed. Five heads jerked in that direction.
The man who stumbled in looked like he’d been drinking all evening. His shirt was unbuttoned halfway, hair disheveled, eyes glassy and red. He nearly tripped over the threshold, grabbed the side of a table to steady himself, then blinked at the bright interior.
“Dad!” he shouted.
The sound was too loud in the small space, snapping the calm in half.
The owner reappeared from the back, wiping his hands on his apron. “What are you doing here?” His voice was low, tense. “You should be home.”
The son wove his way toward the counter, swaying slightly. He smelled like cheap alcohol and stale cigarettes even from across the room. William’s nose wrinkled behind his mask.
“You didn’t pick up your phone,” the son slurred. “I need money.”
“We talked about this,” the owner said quietly. “I told you – ”
“I don’t care what you told me.” The son slammed his hand down on the counter, a bowl rattling in its place. The sound made Lego flinch.
Nut’s eyes cut to William, voice dropped to a murmur. “Stay quiet. Don’t get involved.”
William didn’t answer. He couldn’t tear his eyes away.
The owner glanced toward LYKN, clearly aware of them, clearly not wanting to drag them into whatever this was. “I have customers,” he said. “Please don’t do this now. I’ll give you a little, okay? Then you go home. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
He reached into the register, fingers shaking again, and pulled out a few notes. They looked like almost all that was there.nThe son stared at the money. Then he looked past his father, at the five young men in caps and masks at the center tables.
Something ugly slid into his expression.
“Customers,” he said, voice dripping with disdain. “Yeah, I see. You say you’re broke but you’re feeding poor boys at midnight.”
“We’re paying,” Nut said evenly from the table, unable to help himself. “We’re not charity.”
The son swayed toward them, sweeping his gaze over each face. William could feel the shift – the moment some fuzzy recognition clicked behind the man’s foggy eyes.
“Wait,” the son said slowly. “You… you look familiar.”
Shit.
William kept his posture relaxed, but his senses sharpened. He dropped his tone a register, hiding the brightness fans recognized. “Just guys from Bangkok, khun,” he said in Thai. “Passing through.”
The son ignored that, eyes narrowing on Lego, on Hong, then on William. “You’re those singers, right? LY… something. My girlfriend’s crazy about you idiots. Keeps screaming at the TV.”
Lego went rigid.
“Maybe,” William said, noncommittal. “But we’re off work now. We just want to eat and go. No photos, no trouble.”
The son barked out a laugh, harsh and humorless. “No trouble? Then you won’t mind helping me out. You have money. You can pay a little extra.”
He stepped closer, invading their space without hesitation, breath sour. “Think of it as… compensation for disrupting my girlfriend’s sanity.”
Tui’s jaw clenched. “We don’t want any problems,” he said.
The son’s gaze flicked to Tui, narrowed, then dragged back to William. “Take off your mask,” he demanded suddenly. “Let me see if you’re really him.”
“No,” William said.
The word was soft but final.
He’d had people grab at him before – fans, drunk staffers, someone at an afterparty once who didn’t know the meaning of personal space. He’d learned that the fastest way to make it worse was to show fear. So he didn’t. He kept his voice flat. “Sit down. Your dad is going to give you money, then you go home.”
The son didn’t like that tone. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” he spat, hand reaching toward William’s mask anyway.
William moved without thinking. His fingers closed around the man’s wrist, grip firm, not yet painful. “That’s enough,” he said.
Nut was on his feet in an instant. “William,” he warned softly.
The son tried to jerk his hand away, but William’s grip didn’t budge. The man’s face reddened, humiliation hitting harder than the physical pain.
“You think you’re tough?” he hissed. “Because girls scream your name? You and your little friends – ”
“Please,” the owner said desperately, coming around the counter. “Please, my son, stop. You’re drunk. Stop, else… else I will call the police.”
The son twisted free, stumbling back. His eyes were wild now. “You wouldn’t dare.”
He shoved his father, hard. The older man crashed into the side of a table, sending chopsticks scattering.
Lego shot to his feet. “Hey!”
That was it.
William pushed his chair back, muscles coiling. Enough. He’d tried soft. He’d tried to be polite. He’d given the guy more chances than he deserved. His training hummed through his veins, every line of his body ready – step in, neutralize the arm, take him down cleanly without breaking anything vital.
Nut’s hand brushed his elbow. “Will – ”
William stepped around him, about to close the distance.
Someone else moved first.
A figure that had been a shadow near the entrance peeled away from the wall. William realized with a jolt that he’d missed him entirely – he’d blended into the dark corner, near the stand of plastic utensils by the door, a cap low over his face, hands tucked in the pockets of a plain jacket.
He moved with a kind of quiet decisiveness that made William’s instincts sit up and take notice.
The drunk son didn’t see him until a hand closed around his forearm from behind.
“Enough,” the stranger said, voice low, steady.
The son whirled, swinging clumsily. It should have been messy, wild – but the stranger didn’t seem surprised. He stepped out of the arc of the blow like he’d seen it coming a second early, redirected the man’s momentum, and in a smooth, efficient motion, twisted his arm down and to the side.
The son’s knees buckled. His upper body slammed onto a nearby table with a dull thud, arm pinned behind his back. He cursed, struggling uselessly.
It was a beautiful technique. Not showy or flashy. Just effective.
William stopped mid-step, eyes locked on the scene.
The stranger didn’t look like a fighter. Broad shoulders, yes, but in an unremarkable jacket. Face partially hidden by a cap, simple tshirt, nothing special. If William had to guess, he’d say barely mid-twenties. Maybe a year here or there. There was a solidity to him that didn’t match the drunk chaos he’d just subdued.
“Let go of me!” the son yelled, trying to buck.
The stranger adjusted his grip a fraction, adding a subtle twist that made the man hiss in pain and go still. “I said enough,” he repeated calmly. “You’re scaring people.”
His voice was precise, quiet, and carried a tone William recognized, one he used on trainees when they were about to push too far. Absolute.
The owner stared. “Khun – ”
“Call the police,” the stranger said without looking up. “Now. Before he hurts someone else.”
The owner blinked, then scrambled toward the counter, fumbling for his phone.
Nut exhaled slowly. “Damn.”
Tui murmured, almost to himself, “He’s good.”
William barely heard either of them.
His pulse had kicked into a different rhythm, something hot and electric, completely disconnected from the adrenaline of the near-fight. It wasn’t just the technique. It wasn’t just the calm.
It was the way the stranger’s hand wrapped around the drunk man’s arm – firm, controlled. The way his shoulders squared, like he’d stepped into a role he knew well. The way he’d watched the whole thing quietly until stepping in was absolutely necessary.
Protective. Tactical. Efficient. William’s brain, apparently, had a type.
The police sirens were still distant when the son tried one last time to twist free, spitting curses.
“Let go, you bastard – ”
The stranger leaned down, voice dropping enough that William could barely hear it. “If you keep fighting, I’ll hold you until the police arrive. If you stop, I’ll walk away and let your father handle it. Your choice.”
The son froze. Something in his posture deflated. He let out a shaky breath, muscles going slack.
“Fine,” he said, breath hot and furious. “Fine. Fine. I’m not doing anything.”
Slowly, the stranger eased up, still ready to react if the idiot tried anything. The son straightened with a huff, rubbing his arm and sending a vicious glare around the shop.
His eyes lingered on William.
“This is your fault,” he snarled.
William stared back, cool and unimpressed. “No. This is yours.”
The son flinched at the quiet confidence, then staggered toward the door. The growing wail of sirens clearly changed his mind. He cursed again and bolted out, disappearing around the corner.
The stranger didn’t chase him. He simply stepped backward, out of the direct light, as if he wanted to vanish along with the threat he’d neutralized.
The owner, shaking, held his phone in his hand. “Khun, I – thank you, I’m sorry, my son, he’s just… he’s been like this lately, I didn’t want him to – ”
He broke off, eyes shining with a mix of gratitude and humiliation.
The stranger shook his head once. “You don’t have to explain, phi,” he said quietly. “He shouldn’t hurt you. That’s all.”
The sirens were closer now.
William knew how these things went. Police at a scene, questions, witnesses, identification. Five masked idols in the middle of a small shop where a drunken altercation had just happened? Every part of this screamed trouble… bad PR.
Nut leaned in. “We should go,” he murmured. “Before anyone sees us.”
Hong nodded. “He’s right.”
But William didn’t move yet.
The stranger turned toward the door, clearly intending to leave before the police arrived as well. As he stepped past the tables, the harsh fluorescent light caught his face from the side, slipping under the brim of his cap.
For a split second, William got a clear look at his profile.
Sharp nose. Strong jaw. A faint shadow of stubble along his jawline, like he’d been too busy to shave properly. His skin had that naturally warm tone that looked good even under terrible lighting. There was a small scar near his chin, almost hidden, the kind you got from something stupid as a kid or something serious as an adult. His lips, full and… delicious looking, were pressed into a neutral line, but there was a softness to their shape.
His eyes, when they flicked sideways, were big yet dark and steady. Tired. Old enough to have seen too much, young enough that it still weighed on him.
William’s breath caught. Suay mak.
He’d had crushes before. He knew what attraction felt like. It was usually slow, a simmer he only noticed after a while. This wasn’t that.
This was like someone had reached into his chest and twisted.
Oh. My. He was in trouble wasn’t he?
It was absurd. He knew that. He didn’t know this man. He didn’t know his name, his job, his life. All he knew was the way he’d moved, the calm in his voice, the clean efficiency of his takedown, the protective edge in his words.
And that profile. That side view, framed by a cap, like the universe was being stingy with the details on purpose.
The man didn’t look at him fully. Just a brief sweep of the room, an instinctive assessment. His gaze brushed over LYKN and moved on, like they were nothing more than customers.
The sirens wailed closer, lights flashing faintly against the glass front of the shop now. The stranger reached for the door.
Impulse moved faster than sense.
William stood. “Wait,” he called, voice quiet but clear.
The stranger paused at the threshold and glanced back over his shoulder, just enough to show more of that profile, the arch of his brow.
Up close, William could see a few more things – the slight crease between his brows, the faint glint of something like annoyance, or maybe impatience. He didn’t look scared. He looked like someone who didn’t want to be caught up in official paperwork.
“Thank you,” William said, sincerely. “For helping.”
The stranger’s gaze held his for a beat, unreadable above the mask.
“You’re welcome,” he said.
His voice wasn’t deep enough to rumble, but there was a weight to it, a grounded quality that made it feel solid. He inclined his head once toward the owner, then toward them.
Then he turned and slipped out into the night.
The sirens grew into a full, wailing roar and then cut off as a police car pulled up just down the street. The owner muttered something under his breath that sounded like a prayer.
“We really have to go,” Nut said, moving to William’s side. “Now.”
William watched the stranger’s back for as long as he could. The man didn’t run. He didn’t even speed up. He just walked away, melting into the dim light, swallowed by the street like it had never given him up in the first place.
By the time the first police officer pushed the door open, the stranger was gone.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
They managed to leave without attention.
Nut did most of the talking – five tired “tourists” who’d come for noodles, a drunk local who’d made a scene, no, they didn’t know him, yes, they wanted to head back to the hotel. The owner didn’t mention who had helped, maybe out of gratitude, maybe to keep that mysterious man out of trouble. The officers, glancing once at their caps and masks, clearly had other priorities.
“Be careful,” one of them said gruffly as they stepped back out into the humid night. “There are better places to eat than this late.”
“Yes, khun,” William said politely, bowing.
Outside, the street felt different.
Same mist, same flickering neon, same faint echo of motorbikes – but William’s world had shifted a few degrees. It felt like the night had an edge now. They walked in silence for a bit, turning down toward their hotel.
Then Lego exploded. “What the hell just happened?”
“Drama,” Tui replied, but his voice was tight. “Too much drama.”
“I thought William was going to kill that guy,” Hong said.
“I wasn’t going to kill him,” William said automatically. “Just… put him on the floor and make him rethink his life choices.”
“Same thing,” Lego muttered.
Nut shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. “That other guy beat you to it,” he said, tone observational instead of teasing.
William’s chest tightened. The image flashed in his mind again – the stranger stepping in, that smooth, clean movement, the way he’d controlled the situation like it was nothing.
“Yeah,” William said softly. “He did.”
Lego glanced over at him, eyes narrowing. “You keep staring at nothing. You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
He absolutely wasn’t.
He felt wired in a new way, his body buzzing with something that wasn’t just leftover adrenaline. Every time he blinked, he saw that profile again in the harsh fluorescent light. The curve of the jaw. The line of the nose. Those lush lips. The way those eyes had looked straight through him like he was just another person, not William-from-LYKN.
He wanted to know his name. His voice without stress and indifference running through it. His face without a cap shadow cutting across it. The way his expression would change if he laughed. If he got mad. If he was under him –
William swallowed, throat suddenly dry.
It was insane. He knew that. He’d just watched a stranger subdue a drunk guy in a noodle shop. That was it. Maybe he was some off-duty security guard, or an ex-soldier, or a guy who did jiu-jitsu on weekends. Maybe he had a girlfriend, a dog, a whole life that had nothing to do with William’s world.
But obsession rarely asked for permission.
“William,” Nut said quietly, falling into step beside him. “Seriously. You’re quiet.”
“I’m thinking,” William replied.
“About the drunk idiot?” Hong asked from behind.
No. About the man who saved us from the drunk idiot.>
“About a lot of things,” William lied.
Lego looped an arm through his. “Don’t think too hard Phiii. We’re alive. We’re fed. We get to sleep in actual beds. That’s enough.”
The hotel’s lit sign came into view at the end of the street, glowing like a portal back to the world where they were idols and nothing else.
William looked back once, down the direction the stranger had disappeared. He saw nothing except empty pavement and dim light.
Who are you? he thought, irrationally frustrated with the universe for not answering back. And why the hell do I care this much after seeing you for five seconds?
There was no answer. Just the soft hiss of the night, the faint rustle of leaves, the distant bark of a dog.
William turned away and followed his group into the hotel’s embrace of polished floors and cold air-conditioning.
But even as he stripped off his cap and mask in the elevator, even as Lego complained about his feet and Hong threatened to confiscate everyone’s phones past 3 a.m., the image of that side profile burned at the back of his mind.
He didn’t know yet that the universe wasn’t done with him. He only knew one thing with ridiculous, absolute clarity: Whoever that man in the cap was, William wasn’t going to forget him.
Not tonight. Nor tomorrow. Not in Bangkok. Or on the other side of the world. Maybe not ever.