Chapter Text
1: The Code of Conduct (And How to Break It)
Fourth Nattawat lived his life according to a very strict, highly optimized Google Calendar.
07:00 AM: Wake up.
07:30 AM: Iron khakis (two creases precisely down the front).
08:30 AM: Civil Law III Lecture (sit in the front row, nod at the professor).
04:00 PM: Go to the arcade, aggressively defeat twelve-year-olds at *Dance Dance Revolution*, and return home to study the Penal Code.
He was a good kid. A campus cutie, sure, but mostly a model citizen who wore round, non-prescription glasses to look more intellectual and buttoned his polo shirts all the way to the top. He was the pride of the Chulalongkorn University Law Faculty.
His best friend, Aston, was not a model citizen. Aston was currently a sobbing, snotty puddle on Fourth’s beige sofa, clutching a throw pillow like it was a lifeline.
"He... he told me my exhaust pipe wasn't loud enough, Fourth!" Aston wailed, wiping his nose directly onto the linen fabric. "He said he preferred girls who ride sports bikes, and then he blocked me on Instagram! I can't live like this! I’m going to jump off the balcony!"
"Aston, we live on the first floor. If you jump, you will at most sprain an ankle on a stray cat," Fourth said gently, adjusting his glasses. He handed Aston a freshly ironed handkerchief. "And I told you, dating a guy whose entire personality revolves around leather jackets and octane counts was a liability. It’s a statistical certainty that they have emotional attachment issues."
"But he was so hot!" Aston bellowed, throwing his head back. "I’m going to do it. I’m going to swallow a whole bottle of gummy vitamins!"
"Okay, this is an alarming stage," Fourth muttered, his protective, over-cautious nature kicking into overdrive.
He couldn’t stand seeing his friend reduced to a weeping pile of heartbreak over some grease monkey. Fourth’s brain, usually wired for logic, suddenly short-circuited under the sheer weight of his best friend's drama. If the law itself couldn't protect Aston’s heart, then Fourth would just have to deliver justice manually.
"Where does this guy hang out?" Fourth demanded, slamming his thick textbook closed.
"The abandoned bypass near the industrial estate," Aston sniffled. "They do illegal drag races every Friday at midnight. But Fourth, you can't go there! It's dangerous! There are men with tattoos!"
"I am a law student," Fourth said righteously, puffing out his chest under his perfectly pressed pastel blue shirt. "I am not afraid of tattoos. I am afraid of a society without order."
Two hours later, Fourth was standing on the gravelly shoulder of an unlit, half-constructed highway, regretting every single life choice that had led him there.
The place was a chaotic nightmare of neon LED strips, the deafening roar of modified engines, and the smell of burning rubber and cheap energy drinks. Dozens of bikers were gathered in a loose circle, cheering as two sports bikes revved their engines at a makeshift starting line.
Fourth stuck out like a neon sign in a blackout. He was wearing his neat beige trousers, a white polo shirt, and his glasses were pushed firmly up his nose. He looked less like an avenging angel of heartbreak and more like a lost geocacher.
He spotted the culprit immediately: a guy in a green racing jacket, boasting to a crowd of sycophants. Aston’s ex.
Marching right through the crowd, Fourth shoved his way to the front. He stood directly in front of the guy’s front tire, crossed his arms, and channeled his inner high school principal.
"Hey! You!" Fourth yelled over the roar of the engines.
The biker paused, looking down from his sleek Kawasaki. "Me? Who the hell are you, kid? Did your mom lose you at the supermarket?"
The crowd laughed. Fourth’s face flushed a bright, furious crimson.
"My name is Fourth Nattawat, and I am here to tell you that you are a pathetic excuse for a human being!" Fourth shouted, pointing an accusatory finger. "You broke Aston's heart! You drove him to the brink of a gummy vitamin overdose! You are a emotional terrorist, and furthermore, you are operating an unregistered motor vehicle in an unauthorized zone!"
The biker blinked. Then, his lips twitched. He leaned forward on his handlebars, looking thoroughly amused. He didn't look threatened at all; he looked like he had just found a very entertaining new toy. He stared at Fourth intently, his eyes sweeping over the tight polo shirt and the angry, trembling glasses.
"Wow. You're kind of cute when you're citing traffic violations," the biker grinned, pulling out his phone. "Tell you what. Give me your Line ID, and maybe I'll apologize to... whatever your friend's name is."
"I would rather ingest battery acid!" Fourth snapped. The sheer audacity of this man! The complete lack of regard for the penal code! "You think this is funny? You think illegal street racing is a joke? Driven by the absolute rage of a thousand disappointed ancestors, I am telling you right now: I am calling the authorities!"
"Yeah, right," the biker laughed. "The cops don't even know this place exists—"
*W000000000W!*
Suddenly, the night sky was illuminated by a flashing barrage of red and blue lights. Sirens wailed from three different directions as police cruisers barricaded both ends of the bypass.
"SCATTER!" someone screamed.
Total chaos erupted. Bikers threw themselves onto their machines, tires screeched, and people began sprinting into the high grass. Fourth stood frozen in the middle of the asphalt. He had actually just wanted to bluff, but apparently, the universe had excellent timing.
"Oh," Fourth whispered, realizing that as an accessory to an illegal gathering, his future judicial career was currently flashing before his eyes. "Damn it, my scholarship..."
Before he could take a single step toward safety, a massive, deafening roar rumbled through the gravel behind him. It didn't sound like the whiny buzz of the sports bikes. It sounded like a mechanical dragon clearing its throat.
A shadow fell over him. A massive, matte-black Harley-Davidson chopped low to the ground swung around in a sharp, controlled slide, stopping precisely inches from Fourth's hip. The rider was clad entirely in black leather, his face completely obscured by a tinted, matte-black helmet. He had been watching the whole scene silently from the shadows of the overpass, and now he was here.
Without a word, the rider grabbed the collar of Fourth’s pristine polo shirt and hauled him upward.
"Hey! Unhand me! Assault! Kidnapping!" Fourth shrieked, his legs dangling for a terrifying second before he was dumped unceremoniously onto the hard leather pillion seat behind the rider.
"Hold on," a deep, muffled voice commanded from inside the helmet.
"I will not! I demand to be set down this instant! I am a student of the law—"
The rider didn't argue. He simply revved the massive Harley engine. The bike vibrated so violently that Fourth’s teeth rattled inside his skull. Instinct took over. As the bike lunged forward, shooting into a narrow gap between a police cruiser and a concrete barrier, Fourth let out a distinctly un-studious shriek and wrapped his arms tightly around the rider’s leather-clad waist.
They tore through the dirt, bypassed the blockade, and launched onto the main highway, leaving the flashing blue lights and the remnants of Fourth's dignity far behind in the dust.
---
2: The Clark Kent of the Shared Kitchen
The Harley-Davidson finally slowed to a purr, pulling up next to the brightly lit, bustling entrance of a night market on the outskirts of the city. The smell of grilled pork skewers and fried pad thai immediately hit Fourth’s nose, contrasting wildly with the lingering scent of gasoline and sheer terror.
Fourth practically threw himself off the bike, landing on his knees on the pavement. He checked his glasses. Thank God, they were still intact, though slightly crooked. His perfectly ironed khakis were covered in a fine layer of highway dust.
"You are a maniac!" Fourth yelled, pointing a trembling finger at the rider. "You exceeded the speed limit by at least forty kilometers per hour! You evaded law enforcement! Do you know how many years of hard labor that carries?!"
The rider kicked down the kickstand. With a slow, deliberate movement, he reached up, unlatched his helmet, and pulled it off, shaking out a mop of messy, perfectly styled dark hair.
Fourth’s voice died in his throat.
The guy was handsome. Infuriatingly, devastatingly handsome, a smirk that suggested he knew exactly how good-looking he was, and piercing eyes that were currently crinkling with amusement.
But that wasn't why Fourth stopped breathing.
Fourth knew this face. He knew it very intimately because he had spent the last three days glaring at this face through the crack of his apartment door.
Just four days ago, the nice, quiet university couple living in the room right next to Fourth in his off-campus share-house had abruptly broken up after a dramatic fight involving a spilled matcha latte. They hastily packed their bags and sold their lease to a new tenant.
That new tenant had arrived on Tuesday morning. He had moved in carrying boxes of heavy textbooks, wearing an oversized, cable-knit beige sweater, thick-rimmed tortoiseshell glasses, and a parting in his hair so neat it looked like it had been measured with a ruler. He had introduced himself with a polite, timid bow as "Gemini, a quiet business major who likes to study in silence." Fourth had felt an immediate kinship. Finally, a fellow intellectual! A man of culture who wouldn't blast music at 2 AM!
Now, that same quiet business major was sitting on a machine of pure destruction, wearing a silver skull ring and a leather jacket that smelled of expensive cologne and rebellion.
"Wanna eat something?" Gemini asked, completely unfazed, resting his elbows on his handlebars as he looked down at Fourth.
Fourth’s brain completely derailed. He scrambled to his feet, adjusting his glasses so hard he nearly poked his own eye out.
"Gemini?" Fourth gasped.
"Yes, FotFot," Gemini replied, his smirk widening into a full, dimpled grin.
"Why are you... what is... where are your glasses?!" Fourth spluttered, his hands flailing in the air. "Where is the cable-knit sweater?! Why are you riding a mechanical beast?! You told the landlord you were allergic to loud noises!"
"I am allergic to loud noises," Gemini said smoothly, tapping the side of his bike. "But this isn't noise, FotFot. This is music. And as for the glasses... well, they tend to fly off when you're going one-forty down the expressway."
"Do not call me FotFot!" Fourth yelled, his face burning. "We are not on a nickname basis! You are a fraud! A deceiver! A public nuisance!"
"And you're a law student who just fled a police blockade on the back of an illegal vehicle," Gemini pointed out, leaning in closer. "Technically, that makes you my accomplice. If I go down, I'm telling the cops that the cute nerd in the khakis was the mastermind."
Fourth gasped, horrified. "I was conducting an intervention! A legal, civil intervention on behalf of a heartbroken friend!"
"Right, by threatening a bunch of street racers with a bad attitude," Gemini laughed, swinging his leg off the bike. He caught Fourth by the elbow, steering him firmly toward a noodle stall. "Come on, legal student. Let's get some boat noodles. My treat. Consider it a welcome-to-the-neighborhood gift."
"I do not accept gifts from criminals!" Fourth protested, though his stomach chose that exact moment to let out a loud, traitorous rumble.
Gemini chuckled, pulling out a plastic stool for him. "Sit down, FotFot. Before you faint from righteous indignation."
Fourth sat, glaring daggers at his new neighbor, realizing with a sinking heart that his peaceful, orderly life had just been hijacked by a Harley-riding sociopath who lived exactly one drywall away from him.
---
3: The Wall Between Us
If Fourth thought things couldn't get worse, the next morning proved him entirely wrong.
He woke up at 7:00 AM as usual, but his eyes were bloodshot. Every time he closed them, he felt the phantom vibration of a Harley engine and heard Gemini’s mocking voice calling him *FotFot*.
He dragged himself to the shared kitchen of the apartment floor to brew his morning chamomile tea. He was wearing his usual morning attire: a buttoned-up flannel pajama set and his neat slippers.
The door to Room 402 clicked open.
Out stepped Gemini. But it wasn't the leather-clad rebel from last night. He was back in his Clark Kent disguise. He wore a baggy grey sweatshirt, his hair was brushed flat and parted neatly down the middle, and those ridiculous, thick-rimmed glasses were perched squarely on his nose. He was holding a textbook on macroeconomics.
"Good morning, Neighbor Fourth," Gemini said, his voice entirely different now—soft, slightly hesitant, and perfectly polite. He gave a meek little bow. "Did you sleep well? I hope I didn't make too much noise closing my door last night."
Fourth stood there, holding his mug, his jaw slack. The sheer level of psychological warfare this man was practicing was terrifying.
"Are you possessed?" Fourth whispered, looking around to see if the landlord was watching. "What is this? Where is the leather? Where is the attitude?"
Gemini blinked innocently behind his thick lenses. He stepped closer, leaning down until his lips were right next to Fourth's ear. "The landlord's office is at the end of the hall, FotFot," he whispered in his deep, wicked street-racer voice. "If she thinks I’m a troublemaker, she’ll kick me out. And I really like this room. The lighting is great for studying... and watching you look confused."
Fourth scrambled backward, his back hitting the kitchen counter. "You... you devil!"
"I don't know what you mean," Gemini said aloud, shifting instantly back to his nerdy persona as the elderly landlady walked past the kitchen window. "Oh, Fourth, thank you so much for recommending that book on civil procedures! It was so informative!"
The landlady smiled warmly at them. "Such nice, quiet boys," she cooed. "I'm so glad we have good students here."
As soon as she disappeared down the stairs, Gemini burst out laughing, his shoulders shaking. "Look at you. You look like you want to sue me for emotional distress."
"I am considering it!" Fourth snapped, pointing his tea spoon at Gemini. "Section 397 of the Penal Code: disturbing the peace of another person in a public place! You are a menace, Gemini Norawit! My friends at the arcade warned me about you. They said there's a guy named Gemini from the Business Faculty who is an infamous troublemaker, a heartbreaker, and a menace to society. I didn't think he’d be my neighbor!"
"Ah, so you've heard of me," Gemini said, leaning against the counter and looking thoroughly pleased with himself. He reached out and tapped the tip of Fourth’s nose. "Don't believe everything you hear, legal student. I'm a very sweet guy once you get to know me."
"I have no intention of getting to know you," Fourth said righteously, grabbing his tea and marching back to his room. "We are neighbors. That is all. We will maintain a strict, professional boundary. Do not speak to me in the hallway, do not look at me in the arcade, and do not—under any circumstances—call me FotFot!"
He slammed his door shut.
Through the thin drywall, he heard Gemini’s muffled laughter, followed by the sound of a heavy business textbook hitting a desk. Fourth groaned, burying his face in his hands. It was going to be a very long semester.
---
4: The Arcade Showdown
The strict professional boundary lasted exactly until Tuesday afternoon.
Fourth needed to decompress. The stress of midterm preparation and the existential dread of living next to a secret biker gang leader was taking its toll. There was only one cure: *Dance Dance Revolution*.
Fourth arrived at the mall arcade in his element. He took off his glasses, wiping them carefully before putting them back on. He adjusted his pristine sneakers. He approached the machine like a gladiator entering the Colosseum. He inserted his tokens, selected a level 15 hyper-techno track, and began moving his feet with the terrifying, robotic precision of a man who had mastered the algorithm.
Arrows flashed. Fourth stomped. Left, right, up, down, double jump. He was a whirlwind of rhythmic fury. A small crowd of pre-teens gathered, watching in awe as the local nerd completely demolished the high score.
"Perfect! Perfect! Great! Perfect!" the machine cheered.
Fourth finished the song with a dramatic spin, landing perfectly on the center panel as the screen flashed: NEW HIGH SCORE - USER: FOURTH_LAW.
He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead, thoroughly satisfied. "Hah. Beat that, twelve-year-olds."
"Not bad, FotFot. But your form on the double jumps is a little stiff."
Fourth stiffened. He turned around slowly.
Standing there, holding a plastic cup of iced boba, was Gemini. He was wearing his nerdy clothes again—a massive green cardigan and his glasses—but he was leaning against a racing game cabinet with an attitude that screamed entirely otherwise.
"What are you doing here?" Fourth hissed, looking around frantically to see if anyone from the law faculty was witnessing this. "I told you not to look at me in the arcade!"
"It’s a public space, legal student. I have a constitutional right to play games," Gemini said, tossing his empty cup into a bin. He stepped onto the second player platform of the DDR machine. He slid a token into the slot. "And honestly, watching you aggressively stomp on neon arrows is the best entertainment I've had all week."
"I do not stomp," Fourth said, highly offended. "It is a precise execution of rhythmic choreography. And you can't play this. You'll trip over your own oversized cardigan."
"Is that a challenge, Neighbor Fourth?" Gemini’s eyes flashed behind his glasses. He selected the hardest song available—a track so fast it practically required a medical degree to survive. "Let's see if that law degree helps your footwork."
"Oh, it's on," Fourth growled.
The music started. It was pure, unadulterated electronic chaos.
Fourth moved like lightning, his feet a blur. But to his absolute horror, Gemini wasn't lagging behind at all. In fact, Gemini was moving with an infuriating, casual grace, practically dancing rather than just hitting the arrows. He was doing little flips, spinning around, and at one point, he actually winked at Fourth while hitting a triple-combo.
"Stop that!" Fourth gasped, trying to keep his rhythm. "You're distracting me!"
"What's wrong, FotFot? Can't handle the heat?" Gemini taunted, smoothly executing a back-step.
The crowd grew larger, cheering for the two university students who were currently treating a plastic dance pad like a battleground. It was neck and neck. The scores climbed higher and higher.
In the final five seconds, a massive rush of arrows appeared. Fourth gathered all his strength, jumping and stomping with everything he had. But Gemini, with a burst of athletic energy that definitely didn't belong to a 'quiet business major', executed a flawless, one-handed freeze-frame move on the machine's bar, hitting the final arrows perfectly.
The machine chimed.
PLAYER 1 (FOURTH): 998,000
PLAYER 2 (GEMINI): 999,500
*WINNER: GEMINI*
Fourth stood there, panting heavily, his chest heaving, his hair a complete mess. He stared at the screen in utter betrayal.
Gemini landed back on his feet, barely breathing hard. He adjusted his thick glasses, giving Fourth a sweet, completely fake nerdy smile. "Good game, Fourth! Wow, that was such a great workout. My heart is beating so fast!"
"You... you cheated," Fourth gasped, pointing a finger. "You used momentum physics that are unauthorized by standard gameplay!"
"There's no rule against style, legal tudent," Gemini chuckled. He stepped off the platform, leaning down until he was just inches from Fourth's face. The scent of his expensive cologne mixed with the arcade air. "Tell you what. Since I won, you owe me dinner. There's a great noodle place right down the street."
"I am not going to dinner with you!" Fourth yelled, his face incredibly hot.
"Fine. Then I'll just tell the landlady that you practice forbidden dance rituals in public," Gemini threatened softly, his dimples on full display.
Fourth let out a frustrated scream. "I hate you! I hate everything about you!"
"I know," Gemini beamed, grabbing Fourth by the wrist and dragging him out of the arcade. "Come on, FotFot. Let's go eat."
---
5: The Law of Attraction
By week three of their neighborly war, Fourth had realized a terrifying truth: Gemini Norawit was an infection, and Fourth’s immune system was failing.
Despite his best efforts to maintain the strict professional boundary, Gemini kept invading his space. If Fourth was studying in the kitchen, Gemini would appear with a plate of sliced mangoes, placing them on Fourth's textbook and saying, "Brain food for the future judge," before sauntering off. If Fourth was trying to carry a heavy box of law journals up the stairs, Gemini would suddenly materialize, snatch the box away with one hand, effortlessly carry it to Fourth's room, and then demand a single high-five as payment.
It was infuriating. It was confusing. It was highly unconstitutional.
On a rainy Friday evening, Fourth was sitting at his desk, staring blankly at a case file on contractual liabilities. The rain was drumming heavily against the window pane. Suddenly, a strange sound cut through the thunder.
*Thump. Thump. Thump.*
It was coming from the drywall.
Fourth frowned, leaning his ear against the wall.
"Hey, FotFot," Gemini’s voice muffled through the plaster. "Are you awake?"
Fourth rolled his eyes but knocked back. "Yes. I am trying to study the law, which is something you should be doing instead of harassing construction materials."
"I'm bored," Gemini complained. "And the power in my room just flickered. What if there's a blackout? I'm a fragile business student, Fourth. I'm afraid of the dark."
"You ride a weapon of mass destruction in the dead of night without headlights, Gemini! You are not afraid of the dark!" Fourth yelled back.
A moment later, there was a knock at Fourth’s actual front door.
Fourth groaned, getting up to open it. Gemini was standing there, clutching a large blanket over his shoulders like a cape, wearing his glasses and a look of exaggerated distress.
"My Wi-Fi is down," Gemini said flatly. "Let me study in your room."
"Absolutely not. This is my sanctuary. This is a zone of logic and order."
Gemini didn't wait for permission anyway. He smoothly slid past Fourth's shoulder, entering the room. He took a look around. Fourth’s room was exactly as expected: books arranged by color and size, a perfectly made bed, and a desk with three different colored highlighters aligned parallel to each other.
"Wow," Gemini said, dropping onto Fourth’s bed and wrapping himself tighter in the blanket. "It smells like baby powder and high-quality printer paper in here. It’s comforting."
"Get off my bed!" Fourth shrieked, rushing over. "You're messing up the hospital corners! I spent twenty minutes tucking that flat sheet!"
Gemini didn't move. Instead, he reached out, caught Fourth by the sleeve of his sweater, and pulled.
Because Fourth was completely off balance, he tumbled forward, landing directly on top of Gemini’s chest. The blanket bunched up between them. Fourth’s glasses knocked against Gemini’s glasses with a sharp clink.
For a second, the entire universe stopped.
The rain outside seemed to quiet down. Fourth was pinned against Gemini’s chest, his hands resting right over Gemini's heart. To his absolute shock, Gemini’s heart wasn't beating with the calm, cool rhythm of a confident troublemaker. It was racing. Fast. Like a Harley revving at a starting line.
Fourth looked up. Gemini was staring at him through his thick lenses, his usual mischievous smirk completely gone. His expression was soft, intense, and filled with something that made Fourth’s stomach do a complicated gymnastics routine.
"Fourth," Gemini whispered, his voice deep and entirely devoid of playfulness.
"W-What?" Fourth stammered, his face turning so hot he thought he might spontaneously combust.
"Your glasses are crooked," Gemini murmured. He raised a hand, his long fingers gently grasping the frame of Fourth's glasses and adjusting them with surprising tenderness. His thumb lightly brushed against Fourth's cheekbone. It felt like an electric shock.
Fourth scrambled backward, practically falling off the bed and landing on the floor. He sat there, his heart hammering against his ribs, his breath short.
"You... you are a safety hazard," Fourth gasped, scrambling to his feet and pointing at the door. "Out! Out of my room before I charge you with trespassing and unauthorized emotional disturbance!"
Gemini sat up slowly, the fleece blanket sliding off his shoulders. The playful smirk returned, but it didn't quite reach his eyes this time. He looked a little breathless himself.
"Alright, alright, legal student," Gemini said, raising his hands in surrender as he stood up. He walked toward the door, pausing at the threshold. He looked back, his eyes dark and intent. "But for the record... Section 397 doesn't apply when the other person wants you there."
With that final, devastating parting shot, Gemini slipped out of the room, closing the door softly behind him.
Fourth sank onto his perfectly tucked bed, clutching his burning face. He looked at his highlighters. They were no longer parallel. His Google Calendar was ruined. His logical brain was entirely broken.
He was falling for the next-door troublemaker, and there wasn't a single law in the penal code that could save him.
---
To be continued