Archive of Our Own

The newsroom was loud. It always was. Phones ringing. Keyboards clicking. Conversations overlapping one another. Television screens mounted along the walls played muted broadcasts while journalists hurried from one desk to another carrying coffees, cameras, and deadlines.

Por barely noticed any of it.

He sat at his desk near the large windows overlooking Bangkok's skyline, one hand supporting his chin as he reviewed the final draft of an investigative piece scheduled for publication the next morning.

His eyes scanned the screen carefully. Every sentence. Every quote. Every detail.

Years in journalism had made him meticulous. It was why people trusted his work. It was why his name carried weight within the industry. And it was why he had climbed so high within the company before even turning thirty.

Across the office, however, a different conversation was unfolding. One that Por wasn't paying attention to.

At first.

"Wait, who's covering the exhibition next week?"

"I think our team is."

"Seriously? Khun Wanpichit's exhibition?"

"Yeah."

That name.

Por's fingers paused above the keyboard.

Just for a second.

Only a second.

Then he continued scrolling through his article. As if nothing had happened. As if his heartbeat hadn't skipped. As if hearing that name after all these years still didn't do something strange to him.

Across the room, the discussion continued.

"I've never interviewed him before."

"Neither have I."

"I heard he's difficult to approach."

"Not difficult. Just private."

"Same thing."

A few people laughed.

Por kept his eyes on the screen. A sentence blurred. Then another. The cursor blinked. His focus slowly slipping away.

"How do we even get an exclusive interview?"

"I don't know."

"Maybe catch him during the opening event?"

"Nah, there'll be too many people."

"Then what?"

Silence.

A brief pause.

Then, "If you want an exclusive interview, don't approach him during the event." The words left Por's mouth before he even realized he'd spoken.

Several heads immediately turned. Including his own. As if he were only now catching up with what had happened.

The newsroom suddenly seemed quieter.

His colleagues stared.

Por blinked.

One of the younger reporters leaned forward. "You know him?"

Por's stomach tightened slightly. Not because of the question. But because the answer had come so naturally. Without thought. Without hesitation. As though six years had never passed. As though he still knew Teetee's habits by heart.

Still.

The reporter waited. So Por continued. Calmly. Professionally. As if he were simply sharing information.

"If you approach him during the opening ceremony, you'll be competing with everyone else."

A few people nodded.

"Then when?"

Por's eyes drifted back toward his monitor. Though he wasn't really looking at it anymore. "He usually disappears after greeting the guests."

Another pause.

"He'll probably end up somewhere quieter."

"Where?"

"The gallery," Por answered instantly. "Near the back sections."

The reporters exchanged glances.

"He likes observing people's reactions to the photographs."

Another beat.

"Sometimes he stays there for hours."

The realization hit Por a little too late. The room had gone completely silent. Everyone was listening. Watching. Waiting.

And Por...Por had not stopped talking.

"He doesn't really enjoy being the center of attention." A faint smile touched his lips. Small. Unconscious. Almost nostalgic.

"He prefers watching."

A memory flashed briefly through his mind. A much younger Teetee hiding behind his camera while everyone else socialized. Watching the world instead of participating in it. The memory vanished as quickly as it came.

"If you find him alone, he'll probably be more willing to talk."

One of the reporters quickly scribbled notes. "Anything else?"

Por's gaze lowered. Just slightly. Then he said quietly, "Don't push him with personal questions."

The reporter paused. "What kind of personal questions?"

Por stared at the blinking cursor on his screen.

The answer came automatically. Like breathing.

"Relationships."

The room fell silent again. A strange silence. One that made Por finally realize exactly how much he had just revealed. Not about Teetee. But about himself. Because none of those details were public knowledge. Not really. Not the way he'd spoken them. Not with that certainty. Not with that familiarity.

One of his colleagues slowly raised an eyebrow. "Wow."

Another laughed. "You sound like you've interviewed him a hundred times."

The comment hit harder than it should have.

Because once upon a time... Por had known things no interview ever could. How Teetee liked his coffee. How he got quiet whenever something bothered him. How he would spend twenty minutes adjusting a photograph nobody else could tell was different. How he looked when he was happy. How he looked when he wasn't.

Things that belonged to another lifetime. A lifetime six years gone.

Por cleared his throat softly. The sound breaking whatever spell had settled over the conversation. Then he smiled. The practiced smile of a journalist.

Professional.

Polite.

Controlled.

Nothing more.

"I wrote a feature on him three years ago." The tension immediately dissolved.

"Oh. That explains it."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. I remember that article. It was huge."

Por nodded. "Spent a lot of time researching." A simple explanation.

Easy.

Believable.

Nobody questioned it. Nobody looked deeper. Nobody knew that three years ago, while writing that article, he hadn't needed to research the person. Only the career. Because the man behind the photographs... Por had known him long before Bangkok did.

The conversation moved on. The reporters returned to discussing schedules and coverage plans. The newsroom gradually returned to life. Phones rang again. Conversations resumed. Deadlines reclaimed everyone's attention.

Por stared at his monitor. The article before him was forgotten. For several long moments, he didn't move. Then, slowly, he reached for his coffee. Now cold.

He took a sip anyway.

His eyes drifting toward the city beyond the windows. Somewhere out there. In the same city. Under the same sky. Teetee was living his life. Just as he had for the past six years.

And somehow... Por still knew exactly where he'd hide during an exhibition.

---

The red room had always been Teetee's favorite place. Long before it became known among gallery staff as "the red room." Long before visitors whispered about the mysterious private space on the second floor where the photographer often disappeared during events.

To everyone else, it was simply another room.

To Teetee, it was sanctuary.

A place where the world became quiet. A place where expectations couldn't reach him.

The walls were painted in deep crimson tones, illuminated by warm amber lights that softened the room's edges. Framed photographs lined the walls, some completed works, others experimental pieces that had never been shown to the public.

A vintage record player sat in the corner. Soft jazz drifted through the room.

Gentle.

Familiar.

Comforting.

Outside, his gallery buzzed with life. Guests wandered between exhibits. Art critics discussed interpretations. Photographers admired techniques. Collectors evaluated potential purchases.

Everyone celebrating his work. His success. His name. Yet here he was. Hidden away. Exactly where he preferred to be.

Teetee stood before a large display board, studying several photographs pinned across its surface. One hand tucked into his pocket. The other holding a pencil. His eyes moved slowly from one image to another. Evaluating. Comparing. Choosing.

His next exhibition was only weeks away. Most of the collection had already been finalized. But Teetee was meticulous. There was always one photograph he wasn't sure about. One frame he kept reconsidering. One story he hadn't fully decided how to tell.

The music continued playing softly. The room remained still. For a brief moment, there was nothing else.

No interviews. No deadlines. No expectations. Just him and his photographs.

Then—Knock. Knock. A gentle sound against the door.

Teetee smiled before the person even entered. "Come in."

The door opened.

His assistant stepped inside.

She had worked with him for nearly four years now. Long enough to understand his habits. Long enough to know where he'd disappear whenever the gallery became too crowded. Long enough to know that if she couldn't find him anywhere else—he would always be here.

"There you are."

Teetee laughed softly. "I wasn't hiding."

She gave him a look. "You literally disappeared."

"Disappeared sounds dramatic."

"It is dramatic."

Another smile. The easy kind. Comfortable.

She shook her head before lifting her tablet slightly. "Do you have a minute?"

Teetee nodded.  "Of course."

"Good." She sighed dramatically. "Because your next showcase is giving me stress."

That earned a laugh from him. A genuine one. The kind that rarely appeared in front of cameras. "Let's hear it."

Together, they exited the room. The music continued playing behind them as the door closed. The second floor of the gallery was quieter than the first.

More spacious. Less crowded.

As they walked through the corridor, Teetee glanced down at the floor below. Visitors moved between displays. Some stopped to take photographs. Others stood quietly before certain pieces. Absorbing them. Feeling them.

A familiar warmth settled in his chest. That part never got old. No matter how many exhibitions he held. No matter how many awards he won. Watching people connect with his work would always mean something.

His assistant began reviewing the preparations. "The installations are finished."

"Mhm."

"The lighting team completed adjustments yesterday."

"Good."

"The guest list is finalized."

Teetee nodded. Everything sounded fine. Expected. Routine.

"The sponsors are confirmed."

"Great."

"The press invitations have been sent."

"Perfect."

His assistant looked up from her tablet. "Anything you'd like to add?"

Teetee shook his head. "No." He glanced down toward the gallery floor again. "Everything sounds good."

"Nothing needs changing?"

"No."

A pause. Then she continued. "Oh, and one more thing."

Teetee hummed.

"The media turnout is expected to be bigger than usual."

That wasn't surprising. His recent collection had attracted significant attention. "Okay."

"A few organizations have already requested interviews."

He nodded absentmindedly. "Expected."

"Some are asking for exclusive interviews."

That earned a soft groan from him.

His assistant laughed. "I know."

"They always ask."

"And they always end up disappointed."

"Also true."

She scrolled through her tablet. Then began listing names.

Major media organizations. Photography magazines. Cultural publications. News outlets.

The names blurred together. Familiar. Unimportant.

Until, she mentioned one media name. And suddenly, everything sharpened.

Teetee's steps slowed. Then stopped entirely.

His assistant nearly walked past him before realizing. She turned. Confused.

"Tee?"

He blinked.

The name of the media company still lingering in his mind. The one that had published articles about him for years. The one whose writing style he could recognize instantly. The one where—Por worked.

Something shifted quietly inside his chest. Small. Almost imperceptible. Yet undeniable.

He looked at his assistant. "What was the last one?"

She glanced at her tablet. "Hm?"

"The media company you just mentioned."

"Oh." She checked again, then repeated the name.

Teetee nodded slowly. His expression remained calm. Neutral. Professional. Only his fingers tightening slightly around the edge of his sleeve betrayed him.

"How many people are coming from them?"

His assistant frowned. A little surprised by the question.

She checked her list. "Two, I think."

Two.

Not many.

Not impossible.

His heartbeat did something strange. A stupid thing. A hopeful thing.

"Do you have their names?"

His assistant looked up. Now genuinely curious.

"Sure." She scrolled. Then read them aloud.

One. Then the second.

Silence.

Neither name was Por's.

Of course not.

The feeling settled almost immediately. Not disappointment. Not exactly. Something quieter. Something older.

A familiar ache that had long ago become part of him. The kind that didn't hurt anymore. Not really. Just lingered. Like an old scar.

Teetee smiled.

Small.

Crooked.

Bittersweet.

The kind of smile that appeared when reality confirmed what you already knew.

"Thank you."

His assistant tilted her head. "Was there someone specific you were expecting?"

The question caught him off guard. Only for a second. Then he laughed softly. "No."

A lie. A harmless one. A necessary one.

"No one."

His assistant accepted the answer. Mostly.

Teetee glanced toward the windows overlooking Bangkok. The city stretched endlessly beyond them. Somewhere within it—Por existed.

Working.

Writing.

Living.

Just as he had for six years.

And somehow... Teetee still checked that media company's publications first whenever a new article appeared. Still recognized Por's writing before reading the byline. Still read every single piece.

No matter the topic. Politics. Economics. Culture. Investigations.

He read them all.

Because somewhere between the paragraphs and the carefully chosen words—he could still hear Por.

"Actually."

His assistant looked up. "Yes?"

Teetee smiled. A little amused now. A little mischievous. "Can you do me a favor?"

"Depends."

His smile widened. "Tell the media something."

She raised an eyebrow. "What?"

Teetee tucked his hands into his pockets. "If anyone wants an exclusive interview..."

His assistant immediately began typing.

"...they should try catching me first."

Her fingers stopped. "What?"

He laughed. "They can find me themselves."

"Tee..."

"I'm serious."

She stared.

He looked entirely serious. Which somehow made it worse.

"You want me to tell the press that?"

"Yes."

"They'll lose their minds."

"Probably." His grin widened.  "And if they manage to find me... Then maybe I'll answer their questions."

His assistant blinked. "Any questions?"

"Maybe."

"Even personal ones?"

For a brief second—Teetee's eyes softened. A quiet emotion flickering behind them. Gone almost instantly.

"Maybe even those..."

His assistant looked genuinely shocked.

Four years... Four years working together. And never—not once—had Teetee allowed personal questions. Not one. Yet now... "Are you feeling okay?"

Teetee laughed. "I'm perfectly fine."

She narrowed her eyes. Suspicious. Very suspicious. But eventually sighed.

"Fine. I'll tell them."

"Thank you."

His assistant shook her head. Still confused.Still wondering what had gotten into him. But she knew better than to ask.

Teetee smiled once more before walking away. His footsteps echoed softly through the corridor. His assistant disappeared behind him. Returning to work. Returning to schedules. Returning to reality.

Meanwhile, his thoughts wandered elsewhere. To another time. Another life. Another person.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Because the truth was—the challenge was impossible.

No reporter would catch him. No journalist would get more than five minutes. No interview would ever become personal. No one knew how. No one ever had. Except one person...

Only one. One journalist. One voice. One man who somehow always got him talking.

A five-minute interview becomes thirty. Thirty becomes an hour. An hour becomes an entire evening...

Not because he was persistent. But because Teetee never wanted the conversation to end.

His gaze lowered slightly. The smile lingered.

Soft.

Melancholic.

Fond.

And after all these years... the name still came as naturally as breathing.

Por Suppakarn...

The only journalist who had ever managed to interview, not the photographer. But the man behind the camera...

---

The newsroom was in complete chaos. And it wasn't even nine in the morning.

Phones rang endlessly. Messages flooded company group chats. Journalists rushed between departments carrying folders, tablets, and cups of coffee they had long forgotten to drink. The entire media industry seemed to have collectively lost its mind overnight.

And honestly? For good reason.

Because sometime yesterday evening, every major media company in Bangkok had received the exact same email.

A challenge. An invitation. And perhaps the most valuable opportunity of the month.

Courtesy of Teetee.

The photographer's assistant had sent a formal statement regarding today's exhibition.

A simple announcement. Yet somehow it had thrown every newsroom into absolute panic.

If a journalist managed to secure an exclusive interview with Khun Wanpichit before everyone else... the interview would be theirs.

No restrictions. No lottery. No selection process. No company favoritism. Simply—Catch him first. And win.

The result? Every media company in Bangkok was now strategizing as if preparing for war. Including Por's. Which was exactly why every senior journalist was currently gathered inside one meeting room.

Trying to figure out their chances. Trying to figure out who they should send. Trying to figure out how on earth they were supposed to beat every other news organization in the city.

Por sat near the far end of the table. Silent. Completely uninterested.

His phone rested in one hand as he scrolled through emails. Unread drafts. Upcoming deadlines. Project revisions. Anything but the discussion taking place around him.

Around the table, however, everyone else was very invested.

"We should send someone aggressive."

"No, that'll scare him away."

"What if we approach him before the exhibition?"

"His assistant would never allow it."

"We need a strategy."

"We need luck."

Someone sighed dramatically.

"Honestly, I don't even know where to start."

A chorus of agreement followed.

Por kept scrolling. Unbothered. Or at least pretending to be.

Beside him, Auau watched the entire thing unfold. And grinned.

Uh oh.

Por immediately felt the grin.

Years of friendship had taught him to recognize danger. Slowly, he looked up. Auau was staring directly at him. With that look. That stupid look.

Por immediately frowned. "No."

Auau hadn't even spoken yet. Yet somehow Por already knew. "No."

Auau's grin widened. "I didn't say anything."

"You were about to."

"I was."

"No."

Auau laughed quietly. "Come on."

"No."

"Por."

"No."

"Por."

Por sighed heavily.

Across the room, nobody noticed them. Everyone remained busy discussing strategies. The perfect opportunity for Auau to become a menace.

"You know exactly how to win this."

Por immediately looked away. "No, I don't."

"Yes, you do."

"No."

"Por, c'mon now."

"No."

"Por."

"For the love of—"

Auau lowered his voice. "You literally know HIM."

Por almost groaned. "There are dozens of people who know's him."

"Not like you."

"Auau."

"Not like you, Por."

Por pinched the bridge of his nose. This was exactly why he hated having friends. Especially friends who knew too much.

"Think about the company."

"No."

"This would be huge, Por."

"No."

"We'd get the exclusive."

"No."

"You could literally walk up to him."

"No means no, Auau."

Auau stared.

Por stared back.

A silent battle. Neither willing to surrender. Then, a voice interrupted. "What are you two whispering about?"

Oh.

Of course.

Of course it was Thomas.

Por closed his eyes. Slowly. Painfully. Because naturally the one person who noticed would be Thomas.

Senior journalist. Department lead. Professional problem creator.

When Por opened his eyes again, Thomas was looking directly at them from across the table. The entire room gradually quieted. Everyone suddenly curious.

Wonderful.

Just wonderful.

"It's nothing," Por answered immediately.

"Didn't sound like nothing."

"It was nothing."

Thomas pointed at Auau. "Then explain."

Auau grinned.

Por immediately felt dread.

Pure. Unfiltered. Dread.

Because Auau looked exactly like someone about to make bad decisions. "Well..."

"Auau, don't."

"...I was just saying that Por actually knows Khun Wanipichit."

Silence.

The room exploded.

"WHAT?"

"HE DOES?"

"ARE YOU SERIOUS?"

"WAIT WHAT?"

Por wanted to disappear. Immediately. Preferably through the floor.

Every journalist in the room suddenly looked at him. Excited. Interested. Far too invested.

Por slowly turned toward Auau. The glare he sent should have been classified as a threat.

Auau ignored it. Completely.

"Is that true?"

"Por!"

"You know Teetee?"

"Since when?"

"How?"

Por forced an awkward smile. The same smile people used when their lives were falling apart. "It's not like that..."

Everyone leaned closer.

"It really isn't."

"Then explain."

Por sighed. "We... knew each other in high school."

Several journalists gasped.

"Oh my god!"

"No wonder."

"That's huge!"

"It's really not."

"It absolutely is!"

Por rubbed his forehead. Unfortunately, Auau wasn't finished. "He's lying."

Por froze.

Slowly. Very slowly. He turned.

Auau smiled. Brightly. Innocently. Like a criminal.

"We're not doing this, Auau."

"Oh yes, we are."

"Auau."

"They weren't just acquaintances."

"Auau, stop."

"They were close."

"Auau."

"Very close."

Por immediately smacked his arm. Hard.

Auau yelped.

The room erupted into laughter.

"STOP!"

"I'm helping."

"YOU AREN'T."

"They've known each other for almost ten years."

Por covered his face.

Somewhere in the distance, he could hear his dignity leaving his body.

High school.

University.

Nearly a decade.

The room collectively lost its mind. Then, Thomas spoke. "What if we send Por?"

Silence.

Por stood up so fast his chair nearly tipped over. "I'm sorry, but no."

The answer came instantly. Firm. Absolute. Final.

"No."

The room blinked. Thomas raised an eyebrow.

Por pointed at him. "I'm sorry. But I can't."

"You haven't heard the full—"

"No, Thomas."

The journalists stared. Suspicion immediately spreads. Because Por wasn't simply refusing. He was defensive. Extremely defensive. And everyone noticed.

"Por..."

"No."

"Why not?"

"I have work."

"You always have work."

"I have MORE work."

Laughter followed.

Por wasn't amused. "I have deadlines."

"So do we."

"I have projects."

"So do we."

Por groaned. Then pointed directly at Auau. "You want a solution? There. He's your guy."

Everyone turned.

Auau blinked. "What?"

"He should go."

"Wait? What?" Auau tried to stop Por from saying anything else, but he couldn't; he was too late.

"He knows Teetee."

"WHAT?"

"You know him too."

"THAT'S NOT THE POINT." Auau tries to change the topic.

"You were friends." Por points out.

"So were YOU!"

Por smiled. A dangerous smile. A revenge smile. "Exactly."

Auau stared in betrayal.

Thomas nodded slowly. Actually considering it. And that was when Auau knew he was doomed.  "I don't like that look..."

Thomas pointed. "You're going."

Auau's jaw dropped. "EXCUSE ME!?"

"You're going."

"WHAT!?"

"Take a junior reporter."

"THOMAS."

"Decision made."

The room erupted into cheers. Meeting over. Everyone immediately stood. Satisfied. Excited. Already discussing plans.

Within minutes, the room emptied. Leaving only three people behind.

Por.

Auau.

Thomas.

The moment the door closed—"WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT!?" Auau pointed dramatically at Thomas. "WHY ME?"

Por laughed. Actually laughed. The first genuine laugh of the morning. "This is what happens when you mess with me."

Auau looked betrayed. Deeply betrayed.

Thomas ignored both of them. Instead, he looked at Por. Thoughtfully. Carefully. Like a friend. Not a superior. Not a boss. A friend.

"Why won't you go?"

The room quieted. Immediately.

The amusement faded. Por's smile disappeared.

Thomas continued. "You've covered his work before."

Por said nothing.

"Several times."

Still nothing.

"Three years ago, you wrote one of the most successful features our company published."

The silence stretched.

Auau shifted slightly. Uncomfortable now. Because, unlike everyone else—he knew. He knew exactly why.

Thomas folded his arms. "So what changed?"

Por finally looked up. Meeting Thomas' gaze. He understood immediately. Thomas wasn't asking as management. He was asking because he genuinely wanted to know.

Auau opened his mouth. Ready to intervene. Ready to redirect.

But Por gently stopped him. "It's okay."

Auau hesitated. Then nodded.

Por looked back at Thomas. For a moment, he considered the truth. Then decided against it. Instead—he smiled softly. Tiredly...

"I'm not the right person for the assignment."

Thomas frowned. "Why?"

Por glanced toward the window. Toward the city beyond it. Then sighed. "I just don't think I am..."

It wasn't exactly a lie. Not really.

Because if anyone knew how dangerous that assignment would be—it was him.

"There are other journalists." He pointed toward Auau. "He's capable."

Auau rolled his eyes. "Gee, thanks."

Por ignored him.

"He'll do fine."

Then he gathered his tablet. His notes. His phone. And stood. "I should get back to work."

Thomas still looked unconvinced. But eventually nodded.

Por smiled politely. Then walked toward the door. Step after step. Until he disappeared into the hallway. Leaving Thomas and Auau alone.

The room became quiet. Neither spoke immediately.

Then finally, Thomas exhaled. Slowly. Thoughtfully. His gaze lingered on the closed door. And for the first time that morning, he found himself wondering.

What exactly happened between Por and Teetee... that made Por willing to write about him for years. But unwilling to see him now...

---

The gallery had not even officially opened yet. And chaos had already arrived.

Standing beside the large tinted windows overlooking the front entrance, Teetee quietly observed the growing crowd below.

The afternoon sun bathed the streets in gold. Guests lined up near the entrance. Some carried invitation cards. Some were familiar faces from previous exhibitions. Some were collectors. Some were artists. Others were simply admirers of his work.

The showcase would begin at five. Yet people had started arriving long before that.

As expected.

His gaze drifted further. Towards the row of media vans parked neatly across the street.

A small laugh escaped him.

Of course... There they were.

Reporters. Journalists. Camera crews. Photographers. Entire teams already preparing their strategies. Even from up here, Teetee could practically see them plotting. Trying to figure out how they would catch him.

How they would secure that exclusive interview. How they would outsmart every other media company in Bangkok.

Some were already dressed like ordinary guests. Blending in. Trying not to stand out. Trying not to look like reporters. Which only made them look even more like reporters.

Teetee shook his head. Amused.

"You people are unbelievable."

His reflection stared back at him through the glass. Simple black suit. Plain white shirt underneath. No tie. No unnecessary accessories. His glasses rested comfortably on his nose after spending most of the afternoon finalizing the arrangement of several pieces.

Simple.

Comfortable.

Exactly how he liked it.

Behind him, footsteps approached. His assistant appeared beside him. She followed his gaze outside. Immediately understanding what had amused him.

"The media are losing their minds."

Teetee chuckled. "A little."

"A little?" She laughed. "Half the city is trying to hunt you down."

"They volunteered."

"You challenged them."

"True."

She shook her head. Still unable to understand why he had created such a headache for everyone. Including himself.

For a moment, they simply stood there together. Watching the growing crowd. Then his assistant glanced toward him. "You have a guest."

Teetee frowned. "A guest?"

His invited guests weren't expected for another hour. Most of them were still on their way. Who would arrive this early?

Before he could ask further, a familiar voice called from behind.

"Tee."

Warm.

Friendly.

Comfortable.

A voice he knew immediately.

Teetee's expression softened. The moment he turned around.

"There you are." Yim stood several meters away. Smiling. And beside him—Tutor.

Teetee's face immediately lit up. "PHI?! GOD, YOU TWO." Without hesitation, he crossed the room and pulled Yim into a hug.

Yim laughed. Patting his back. "Hello to you too."

Tutor rolled his eyes. "What am I? Invisible?"

Teetee immediately released Yim and hugged Tutor next. "There. Happy now."

"Much better."

His assistant smiled quietly before excusing herself. Leaving the three friends alone. Exactly as she knew they preferred.

The moment she disappeared, Teetee looked between them. "What are you doing here this early?"

"Supporting local artists." Tutor deadpanned.

Yim laughed. "He's lying."

"I know."

"We wanted exclusive access."

Teetee raised an eyebrow. "Exclusive access?"

"Obviously." Yim gestured dramatically around the gallery. "In another hour, you'll belong to the public."

"Phi."

"I'm serious."

Tutor nodded. "You've become annoyingly famous."

Teetee groaned. "Not you too."

"No, seriously." Tutor pointed at him. "Do you know how many people at my workplace ask me about you?"

Teetee laughed. "I don't want to know."

"They ask more questions about you than they ask about me."

"That's concerning."

"It's very concerning." Yim immediately agreed. "Honestly, we're starting to think you're the favorite friend."

"I am the favorite friend."

The three of them burst into laughter. The easy kind. The kind only years of friendship could create.

As they walked through the gallery, they slowly caught up.

Work. Life. Recent travels. Mutual friends. Everything and nothing. Comfortable conversations filling the hallways.

For a little while, it almost felt like they were back in university.

Before careers.

Before distance.

Before life became complicated.

Then, Yim casually spoke. "So..."

Teetee immediately knew that tone.

Dangerous.

Very dangerous.

"What?"

Yim grinned. "The media challenge."

Ah.

There it was.

Tutor immediately joined in. "Yeah. What's that about?"

Both of them looked at him. Far too interested. Far too curious.

Teetee laughed. "What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what we mean." Tutor folded his arms.

"You?" He pointed dramatically. "Inviting journalists to hunt you down?"

Teetee smiled. "I wanted to try something different."

Neither believed him. Not even slightly. The look on their faces made that very clear.

"You?" Yim laughed. "Trying something different?"

"Yes."

"That's the excuse?"

"It's true."

"Tee."

"It is."

The three continued walking. Then suddenly, Yim asked a question. One simple question. And it made Teetee stop walking completely.

"Are you trying to lure someone into finding you?"

Silence.

The hallway suddenly felt much quieter.

Tutor immediately looked at Yim. Then at Teetee. Then back at Yim.

Neither said the name. They didn't need to.

Teetee knew exactly who Yim meant. Slowly. He turned—Meeting Yim's gaze. A faint smile appeared.

Small.

Gentle.

Sad.

Then he shook his head. "No." His voice remained calm. Steady. "I'm not luring anyone."

Yim raised an eyebrow. Clearly unconvinced.

"I just thought it'd be fun."

"Tee."

"The media have been trying to interview me for years." He resumed walking. "For once, I decided to let them try."

Tutor hummed. Still suspicious. "And you'll answer personal questions?"

"Maybe."

"That's new."

"I know."

"Very new."

Teetee laughed softly. "Maybe I'm feeling generous."

"Maybe you're lying."

Teetee groaned.

Yim immediately pointed. "See?"

"Phi."

"You are absolutely hiding something."

"I'm not."

Tutor suddenly spoke. "I have a theory."

Immediately?

Teetee knew where this was going. "No."

Tutor smiled. "Oh yes."

"Oh no."

"I definitely have a theory."

"Don't."

"It's Por, isn't it?"

The name landed softly like a pebble dropped into still water. Creating ripples. Everywhere.

Teetee stopped again. This time, he didn't answer. Didn't laugh. Didn't deny it immediately. And somehow—that was answer enough.

Yim sighed. Deeply. Knowingly.

After all. Of everyone standing here, he knew.

He knew everything. He had watched it happen. Watched the beginning. Watched the middle. Watched the end. He had been there six years ago. He had seen Teetee sitting alone after the breakup. Seen him trying to smile through tears. Seen him trying to convince everyone he was okay. Seen how difficult it had been.

And perhaps worst of all—he had spent six years watching Teetee quietly carry those memories.

Not openly. Not dramatically.

Just... quietly.

Like a photograph he could never bring himself to throw away.

Yim stepped closer. "You hoped he'd come... Didn't you..."

Not a question. But a statement.

Teetee looked away. Toward the gallery below. Toward the crowd gathering outside. Toward the media vans. Toward possibilities.

And maybe... Maybe Yim was right.

A small part of him had hoped.

Maybe when his assistant mentioned Por's company. Maybe when he created that challenge. Maybe when he imagined journalists trying to find him. A tiny part of him had wondered.

What if?

What if they sent Por?

What if he walked through those doors?

What if—After six years—they finally stood in the same room again?

The thought alone felt dangerous. So Teetee remained silent. And Yim understood immediately.

Tutor sighed. Then asked quietly, "Have you ever thought about calling him?"

Teetee looked horrified. "No."

"Texting?"

"No."

"Asking how he's doing?"

"Absolutely not."

Both of them stared.

Teetee shook his head immediately. Firmly. "No."

"Tee—"

"No." His voice softened. But remained certain. "I won't."

"Why?"

The answer came almost instantly.

Because he had thought about it before. Far too many times.

"Because I don't want to disturb him." The words were quiet. Honest. Painfully honest...

"I don't want to make things difficult for him."

His gaze lowered.

"He has a life."

A successful one.

A good one.

Teetee knew that. He had watched it. Article after article. Year after year. He had seen Por grow. Seen him become respected. Seen him build the career he'd always wanted.

And maybe that was enough... Maybe it had to be enough.

"The last thing I want..." His voice softened further. "...is to make him hurt again."

Silence followed.

Neither Yim nor Tutor knew what to say. Because there was no cruelty in those words. No bitterness. No resentment. Only care. The kind that remained long after relationships ended.

Finally, Yim stepped closer. His hand gently rested against Teetee's arm.

Comforting.

Familiar.

A friend.

Just a friend.

"It's been six years."

Teetee smiled faintly. "I know."

"You don't have to keep carrying everything alone."

The smile faltered. Only slightly.

Yim squeezed his arm gently. Then smiled. Warmly. Hopefully. "Maybe not today."

Teetee looked at him.

"Maybe not tomorrow."

Tutor nodded. "But someday."

"Someday..." Yim's smile softened. "When you're both ready. When life stops getting in the way. When the timing finally decides to be kind for once."

The three stood quietly in the gallery. Surrounded by photographs. By memories. By years.

And Yim spoke one final truth. The truth they had all known for a very long time. "You two need to talk."

Teetee lowered his gaze. A small smile appeared.

Bittersweet.

Tender.

Uncertain.

Because maybe Yim was right. Maybe someday... After all these years... They would finally find the courage to stop watching each other from afar. And simply say hello again.

---

By the time the showcase officially opened, the gallery had transformed completely. The once quiet building now buzzed with life. Guests moved from one display to another, pausing before photographs, discussing interpretations, admiring details hidden within each frame.

Soft music flowed through the halls. Conversations overlapped gently. Laughter occasionally echoed from distant corners.

Despite the large crowd, there was a calm rhythm to everything. A carefully controlled chaos. Exactly how Teetee liked it.

Standing near one of the central exhibition spaces, Teetee greeted another group of invited guests.

His assistant remained beside him, tablet in hand. Whenever one conversation ended, she would quietly lean closer. "The curator from Gallery Twelve." A pause. "The sponsor from last year's exhibition." Another pause. "The art critic from Bangkok Monthly."

Teetee nodded each time. Offering polite greetings. Handshakes. Small conversations. Smiles. The practiced routine of an artist attending his own event. Yet every now and then, his attention drifted elsewhere.

Toward the visitors. Toward the guests. Toward the people quietly enjoying his work.

A young couple stood before one photograph longer than the others. An elderly man studied another piece with remarkable focus. A group of university students excitedly discussed their favorite display.

Those moments always made Teetee smile.

Not the media coverage.

Not the awards.

Not the recognition.

This... Watching people connect with something he had created. Watching stories become meaningful to strangers.

That was his favorite part... 

His assistant eventually excused herself to check on several arrangements near the entrance. Leaving Teetee alone for the first time in nearly half an hour.

The silence felt refreshing.

For a moment, he simply stood there.

Observing.

Listening.

Breathing.

Then, someone appeared beside him.

Teetee didn't even turn.

The person opened their mouth. Ready to speak. Ready to introduce themselves. Ready to begin whatever carefully planned approach they had prepared.

Unfortunately, Teetee spoke first. "You should try a little harder."

The stranger immediately froze.

A beat of silence.

Then Teetee glanced sideways. A faint smile was already forming. "I almost believed you were a guest."

The man's eyes widened. "Oh?"

Teetee chuckled softly. Then continued. "The jacket was a nice touch."

The man blinked. "What?"

"The notebook in your pocket ruined it."

The stranger immediately looked down. Instinctively. Exactly where the notebook was hidden.

Teetee laughed. "There it is."

The man's face immediately flushed. "Oh no..."

"Oh yes." Teetee finally turned toward him fully. Still smiling. Relaxed. Amused.

"And if I'm not mistaken..." His eyes moved briefly toward the press badge hidden beneath the man's coat. "...you're from Bangkok Insight."

The reporter stared. Completely defeated. "How did you—"

"I spend my life observing people." The answer came naturally. "As you can imagine, I'm pretty good at it."

The reporter groaned. His entire plan had collapsed within seconds.

Teetee couldn't help laughing. "Nice try though."

The reporter immediately straightened. "Wait, hold on—"

Teetee raised a hand. "No."

"But—"

"No thank you."

"I only need five minutes."

Teetee smiled. "You've already spent two trying to trick me."

The reporter looked heartbroken.

Teetee almost felt bad.

Almost.

"Good effort." Then he patted the man's shoulder. "And better luck next time."

Before the reporter could protest again, Teetee was already walking away. Leaving behind a very defeated journalist. And several amused guests who had accidentally witnessed the entire interaction.

Teetee continued through the gallery. His hands tucked into his pockets. His expression relaxed. Then—He noticed it. Someone following him.

Not closely.

Not obviously.

But enough.

A small grin immediately appeared.

Oh.

This one was new.

Very new.

The person attempted to look casual. Pretending to admire photographs. Pretending to wander naturally. Pretending they weren't repeatedly appearing wherever Teetee happened to be.

Teetee nearly laughed.

Cute.

Very cute.

He slowed his pace. Then stopped completely.

Waiting.

Several seconds later, the nervous figure finally approached.

A young woman. Probably in her early twenties. Holding a notebook. An audio recorder. And absolutely no confidence whatsoever.

The moment she reached him, she bowed slightly. "Hello, Khun."

Teetee smiled. "Hello."

She swallowed nervously. "I'm a journalist."

"I know."

The poor woman immediately looked horrified. Teetee laughed. That only made her panic more. "I mean—"

"I know."

"Right."

"Yes."

"Oh no." Now she was embarrassing herself.

Teetee could practically see it. And somehow, it reminded him of someone starting their first week in the industry. Trying desperately not to fail. Trying desperately to prove themselves. Trying desperately not to get yelled at by their seniors.

His smile softened. "What can I do for you?"

The journalist blinked. Then blinked again.

Wait.

Was he actually letting her ask questions?

Immediately, she scrambled for her notebook. "Right!"

Her recorder nearly fell. She caught it. Barely. Then finally began.

The questions weren't groundbreaking. Nothing particularly unique. Questions about his work. His inspirations. His recent collection. His creative process.

Yet Teetee answered them patiently.

The conversation flowed surprisingly well. The journalist gradually relaxed. Her confidence was growing with every answer.

One minute became two.

Two became three.

Three became five.

And somewhere around that point, Teetee decided he had been nice enough. "Alright."

The journalist paused. "Hm?"

"I have to go."

The panic immediately returned. "What?"

"I have another guest to meet."

"But—"

Teetee laughed.

The realization finally dawned on her. "Oh."

"Oh?"

"You tricked me."

The accusation made him laugh harder. "You tricked me first."

"That's different."

"It isn't."

"It is."

Teetee shook his head. Amused.

The journalist immediately clutched her notebook. "Just five more minutes."

"No."

"Three."

"No."

"Two?"

"No."

The journalist groaned dramatically.

Defeated.

Again.

Teetee smiled. Then gently patted her shoulder. "You did well."

She looked up. Surprised.

"I'm serious." The sincerity in his voice made her pause. "You kept the conversation going."

"Really?"

"Really."

Her shoulders relaxed slightly.

Then Teetee added, "And I know you're new."

The journalist froze. "...how?"

Teetee raised an eyebrow. "You're carrying three pens."

The journalist looked down. "...oh."

"You checked your recorder every twenty seconds."

"...oh."

"You apologized four times."

"...oh."

Teetee laughed. The poor woman looked ready to disappear.

"You'll be fine." His voice softened. Encouraging. Gentle. The way someone might encourage a younger sibling.

"Next time, blend in a little better."

The journalist nodded. "Okay."

"And tell your seniors something."

"What?"

A playful grin appeared. "Tell them I was being nice."

The journalist stared. Then burst out laughing.

Despite herself. Despite the failed interview. Despite losing the challenge. She laughed. And somehow—that felt like a victory too.

Teetee offered one final smile. Then turned. Walking deeper into the gallery once more. Leaving the young journalist standing there. Notebook still in hand. Recorder still running. Completely stunned. Because she had come hoping to catch the famous photographer.

Yet somehow—for five brief minutes—she had met the person behind the camera instead.

---

The gallery had become busier as the evening progressed. More guests arrived. More conversations filled the halls. More journalists continued their increasingly desperate attempts to track down the gallery's elusive owner.

Meanwhile, Teetee had quietly disappeared again.

Some things never changed.

The second-floor outdoor showcase remained one of his favorite places within the entire building. Unlike the crowded exhibition halls below, the balcony felt peaceful. Private. Almost hidden. Only a handful of visitors occupied the space.

Three people sat near one corner discussing photography. Another couple slowly admired the outdoor installations. Beyond that—Silence. Exactly how Teetee liked it.

A member of staff passed by carrying refreshments.

Teetee accepted a glass with a grateful nod. "Thank you."

The staff smiled before continuing their rounds.

Teetee wandered toward the railing. Leaning against it comfortably. The warm Bangkok breeze greeted him immediately. Below, traffic flowed through the city. The distant sounds of life drifted upward. For the first time in nearly two hours—He relaxed. Just a little.

The tension left his shoulders. His grip loosened around the glass. His breathing slowed. Peace. Brief but welcome.

Then—A voice appeared behind him.

"He was right."

Teetee froze. The smile disappeared from his face. Not because he disliked the voice. Quite the opposite. Because he recognized it instantly.

"I knew I'd find you here."

For a moment, he genuinely wondered if his mind was playing tricks on him.

Slowly—Teetee turned around. And immediately laughed. "Well. Didn't expect to see you here, Auau."

Standing several feet away was Auau. Hands tucked into his pockets. A casual button-up shirt. Dark trousers. No suit. No tie. No press badge. No obvious indication he belonged to one of Bangkok's largest media companies.

Honestly?

The disguise was surprisingly decent.

Teetee was almost impressed.

Almost.

Behind Auau stood a younger man. Probably mid-twenties. Holding a notebook. Looking slightly overwhelmed.

Definitely a journalist. Definitely new. Definitely trying very hard.

Teetee's eyes returned to Auau. The grin on his face widened. "So." He took a sip from his drink. "Did you volunteer?"

Auau groaned immediately.

Teetee continued. "Or did they force you?"

Another groan.

Teetee laughed. The answer was obvious. The expression alone told him everything. "Seeing how annoyed you are now, you don't even have to answer."

"I hate you."

"No, you don't."

"Right now I do."

Teetee laughed again.

Then suddenly—Auau stepped forward. And wrapped him in a hug. The action caught Teetee slightly off guard. Only for a second. Then he hugged him back. Warmly. Naturally. Like old friends always did.

"It's been a while."  Teetee smiled.

"Last year's reunion was the last time we saw each other."

"That's still too long."

"Agreed."

When they finally pulled away, Auau gestured toward the younger journalist. "Oh. Right. I should probably introduce him before you scare him away."

The younger man immediately straightened.

Auau pointed. "This is Save."

Save bowed slightly. "A pleasure to meet you, Khun Wanpichit."

Teetee smiled. The politeness immediately gave away his nervousness. "No need for formalities."

Save blinked. "Really?"

"Just call me Phi."

The younger journalist looked relieved. Then confused. Then relieved again. He shook Teetee's hand carefully. Trying not to look starstruck. Trying and failing.

Teetee found it adorable.

Save glanced between the two older men. Then frowned. Something clearly wasn't adding up.

After all, the famous photographer who had spent all evening dodging journalists... Was now casually chatting with one. Very casually. Suspiciously casually.

Auau immediately noticed Save's expression. "Oh." He laughed. "You have questions."

Save looked embarrassed. "No, I—"

"You do."

"I mean—"

"You do."

Save gave up. A little. "Maybe."

Teetee chuckled.

Auau looked toward him. "Work mode or friend mode?"

The answer came instantly. "Friend mode, please. I have no energy to handle any Journalists right now."

Not even a second of hesitation. Auau nodded. "Good. Very good."

Teetee pointed toward the gallery. "I've spent all evening running from journalists."

"Fair."

"I don't want one standing next to me right now."

"Also fair."

"And having you here is excellent."

Auau raised an eyebrow. "Excellent?"

Teetee nodded. "You're basically journalist repellent."

Auau gasped. Mock offense. "How dare you."

"It's true."

Save laughed. Accidentally. Then immediately covered his mouth.

Both older men turned toward him. Save wanted to disappear.

Teetee burst out laughing.

Finally Auau pointed toward the gallery. "Go enjoy yourself."

Save blinked. "What?"

"Go."

"But—"

"Go."

"I should stay—"

"You should not." Auau waved him away. "I'll text you when we're leaving."

The younger journalist looked utterly confused. But eventually nodded. And disappeared back inside. Leaving only the two friends alone.

The moment Save vanished—Both immediately relaxed. The comfortable kind of silence only old friends shared. Together they leaned against the railing.

Watching Bangkok below. Watching the city continue moving. Watching life happen.

Then Auau spoke first. "What the hell were you thinking?"

Teetee immediately laughed. "There it is."

"No, seriously." Auau pointed at him. "What the hell were you thinking?"

Teetee tried to look innocent.

It failed.

"Hm?"

"The challenge."

"Oh."

"Yes. The challenge."

"You mean my brilliant idea?"

"Your terrible idea."

"Brilliant."

"Terrible."

Teetee grinned.

Auau groaned. "You've caused absolute chaos."

"You're welcome."

"Every newsroom in Bangkok is losing their minds."

Teetee laughed harder. "Good."

"Tee."

"I'm serious."

"So am I." Auau stared.

Teetee stared back.

Neither broke. Then both started laughing.

Eventually Teetee glanced through the gallery windows. Toward the exhibition halls. Toward the crowd. And immediately noticed several people watching them. Journalists. Reporters. Photographers.

All staring. All whispering. All looking horrified.

Because from their perspective, Auau had somehow succeeded. He had found Teetee. And now the two were casually talking together. For nearly half an hour. The prize had effectively been stolen.

Teetee smiled to himself.

Auau followed his gaze. Then laughed. "They hate me."

"A little."

"A lot."

"Probably."

The thought amused both of them.

Then Teetee tilted his head. "You know. You never answered my question."

"What question?"

"The one from earlier."

Auau looked confused.

Teetee took another sip. "You said someone was right. You said you'd find me out here, and someone was right about it. Who did you mean by that?"

Recognition immediately appeared. "Oh." For the first time all evening, Auau hesitated.

Only slightly.

But Teetee noticed. "Hm."

"It's nothing."

Teetee narrowed his eyes. "It's not nothing."

"It is."

"You hesitated."

"I did not."

"You absolutely did."

Auau sighed. Then looked away. Toward the city. Toward anywhere but Teetee. Finally—"I just had a feeling."

"A feeling."

"Yes."

"That's the excuse?"

Auau nodded. "You're predictable."

Teetee gasped dramatically. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

"Rude."

"You literally hide in quiet places every single time."

Teetee pointed at him. "I do not."

"You absolutely do."

"I don't."

"You do."

"I don't."

"Tee."

"I don't."

"You disappeared during three university events."

"Those were emergencies."

"They were not."

"They felt like emergencies."

Auau laughed. And somehow—The conversation continued. Effortlessly. Like it always had.

Stories. Work. Mutual friends. Old memories. Random nonsense.

Half an hour passed before either of them noticed. Then—In the middle of a story—Teetee sighed. A small one. Barely noticeable.

But Auau caught it. Immediately. "What?"

Teetee shook his head. "Nothing."

"You're sighing."

"I'm breathing."

"You're sighing."

Teetee rolled his eyes. "I'm fine."

Then slowly, he straightened. Stepping away from the railing.

Auau immediately recognized the movement. "No."

Teetee laughed. "Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"Tee."

"And my time's up."

Auau looked offended. "Excuse me?"

"My time's up."

"We weren't even working."

"You were."

"I wasn't."

"You absolutely were."

Auau pointed at himself. "I didn't ask a single interview question."

"You didn't need to."

"What?"

Teetee smiled. Far too knowingly. "In the last thirty minutes, you asked how I've been, my career life, my personal life, everything. And I answered them all. Now that's anough material for your writing."

"No."

"You've gathered enough information."

"No."

"You absolutely do."

Auau opened his mouth. Then closed it. Because, unfortunately—Teetee was right. Again.

He hated it when Teetee was right.

"You talked about your projects."

"That's because you asked."

"You talked about your future exhibitions."

"Same as the first one."

"You talked about your life."

"You asked."

"I didn't ask directly."

"Tiny details count."

Auau groaned. Defeated. Completely defeated. "You are impossible."

"I know."

"Annoying."

"I know."

"Worst interview subject ever."

"I know."

Finally Auau sighed. Accepting defeat. Once again. "I guess there's no winner."

Teetee smiled. Softly. "No. I'm afraid there isn't..." 

His gaze drifted toward the gallery. Toward the journalists still hunting. Still searching. Still trying.

For a moment, silence settled between them.

Then Auau looked at him. Really looked at him. And suddenly—His expression changed. The playfulness faded. Only slightly. But enough.

"There could've been..."

Teetee froze. Immediately. Because he knew. He knew exactly where this was going.

"Auau."

But Auau continued. Quietly. Carefully. "It's been six years, Tee..."

The city noise seemed distant now. Muted.

"I honestly thought..." Auau smiled sadly. "...that maybe today he'd be the one coming."

Teetee lowered his gaze.

"I thought maybe he'd want to be the one who found you."

The words landed heavily. Far heavier than either of them wanted.

"But instead..." Auau laughed softly. Without humor. "...I got dragged here."

"Auau—"

"Thomas practically forced the assignment on me."

Teetee's eyes widened slightly. "Wait? What do you mean?"

"This morning, when we were having a meeting with every head journalist of each department, to discuss who will come to your event today, I pointed out that Por should be the one coming here, since he knows you... But Por refused. Even Thomas tried to persuade him, but still. Por refused to come. That's why right now, I'm the one who got handpicked by Thomas to be here."

Something painful flickered across Teetee's face.

Brief.

Small.

Yet impossible to miss.

Auau saw it.

Of course he did.

"Tee." His voice softened. "He wanted to. Deep down, I believe he wanted to."

silence.

"But he was afraid..."

Teetee looked away. Toward the city, the lights begin to appear. Toward anything except Auau.

Then Auau quietly added—"And honestly? You're afraid, too."

Teetee already knew.

He knew what was coming next.

The truth hurt. Because it was true.

Auau gestured around them. "The challenge."

The gallery.

The event.

Everything.

"This entire thing." His eyes met Teetee's. "It's proof..."

Teetee swallowed. Slowly.

"You wouldn't dare contact him yourself."

The words were gentle. Not cruel. Not judgmental. Simply honest.

"Because you're afraid you'll hurt him again."

Teetee closed his eyes briefly. The accuracy hurt. Because yes. That was exactly why.

Auau smiled sadly. The silence stretched. Then Auau took a step closer. And spoke the thing nobody had dared say.

Not Yim.

Not Tutor.

Not anyone.

"Maybe now is the right time."

Teetee looked up. Confused. Lost. Hopeful. Terrified. All at once.

"The right time for what?"

Auau smiled. "The closure you've both been chasing for six years."

The words struck harder than anything else.

Because closure... That was exactly what neither of them had found.

Not really.

Not completely.

Not after all this time.

"Auau..."

But Auau wasn't finished.

Not yet.

"And honestly?" He laughed softly. "What's the worst thing that could happen?"

Teetee stared.

Auau shrugged. "You'll cry." The answer came instantly. Matter-of-fact. Certain. "You'll both absolutely cry."

Teetee couldn't help it. A laugh escaped. Through all the emotions. Through all the tension. He laughed.

"Probably."

"No." Auau pointed. "Definitely."

That made Teetee laugh harder.

"There will be ugly crying."

"Auau."

"Very ugly crying."

"Stop."

"I'm serious."

Teetee shook his head. Still laughing despite himself.

Then Auau's smile softened. Into something gentler. Something sincere. Something only a friend could offer.

"But wouldn't that be worth it?"

The question lingered.

Heavy.

Quiet.

Real.

"Instead of spending years wondering." Auau patted his shoulder gently. "Take action."

His smile remained. Small. Warm. Hopeful.

"It's better to regret something you've done. Rather than spending the rest of your life regretting what you never did."

For a moment, neither spoke.

The city continued moving below. The gallery continued buzzing behind them. Life continued as normal. Yet somehow—Everything felt different.

Then, finally, Auau stepped back. "Think about it."

And before Teetee could respond—Before he could argue. Before he could hide behind excuses. Auau turned. And walked away.

Leaving the balcony. Leaving the conversation. Leaving Teetee alone.

Once more, the photographer remained standing by the railing. The evening breeze brushes against his face. The glass forgotten in his hand. And for the first time all night—The noise of the gallery disappeared. Because only one thought remained. One person. One name. One possibility.

Six years. And somehow... Por was still the first thing that came to mind.

---

The newsroom had grown quieter. Not silent. Just quieter. The kind of quiet that only appeared after an exhausting workday.

Several desks now sat empty. Computer screens had gone dark.

The usual rush of journalists moving between departments had slowed considerably. It was already evening. A little after seven. Outside the large windows, Bangkok glowed beneath the approaching night. Traffic lights flickered. Buildings illuminated the streets.

The city remained awake. The newsroom, however, was slowly preparing to sleep.

Most journalists had already left. A few remained. Finishing reports. Editing drafts. Preparing tomorrow's assignments. Somewhere among them sat Por. Alone at his desk.

His laptop remained open. Documents covered his screen. Deadlines. Drafts. Notes. All completed. Finished nearly twenty minutes ago. Yet he remained seated. Doing absolutely nothing.

His fingers rested loosely on the edge of his desk. His eyes focused somewhere beyond the computer. Beyond the office. Beyond the city.

Lost. Somewhere else entirely.

His thoughts drifted without permission. Back to the exhibition. Back to Teetee. Back to all the things he had spent the entire day trying not to think about.

The irony wasn't lost on him. He had refused the assignment. Avoided the event. Redirected every opportunity to someone else. Yet somehow, he had spent the entire day wondering how it was going. Wondering if the turnout was good. Wondering if Teetee looked tired. Wondering if he was happy.

A soft tap landed on his shoulder.

Por nearly jumped. Blinking himself back into reality.

"Por."

The familiar voice made him turn immediately. "Phi Thomas."

Thomas stood beside his desk. Jacket slung over one arm. Bag resting on his shoulder. Clearly finished for the day. Heading home.

Por immediately stood up. A polite smile appeared. "You scared me."

Thomas laughed. "You were zoning out."

"I wasn't."

"You absolutely were."

Por smiled awkwardly. The guilty kind.

Thomas raised an eyebrow. "See?"

Por groaned. "Okay, maybe a little."

"A little?" Thomas looked around dramatically. "I called your name twice."

Por laughed despite himself. "Sorry."

Thomas simply shook his head. Then looked toward the mostly empty office. "Why are you still here?"

Por glanced at his computer. "Oh. Yeah. I just had a few things to finish."

Thomas narrowed his eyes immediately. The answer sounded rehearsed. Convenient. Suspicious.

Por noticed. And immediately added, "But I'm not staying late."

"Hm."

"I'm serious."

"Hm."

"Phi."

"Okay, okay, I believe you."

Por laughed.

The older journalist finally sighed. Then leaned casually against a nearby desk.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then Thomas quietly asked, "Are you okay?"

The question caught Por completely off guard. The smile immediately faltered. Just slightly.

"What do you mean?"

"You seem off today."

Por looked away. Instinctively.

The answer came too quickly. "I'm fine, Phi."

Thomas sighed.

Exactly what he expected.

"Por."

"I'm okay."

"Are you?"

Por looked down. His fingers tightened around his phone. Not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough for Thomas.

The older journalist watched him carefully. Patiently. Giving him room. Giving him time.

Yet Por only nodded again. "It's really nothing."

A lie.

A terrible lie.

Both of them knew it.

Thomas could hear it. See it. Feel it. But he also knew pushing further wouldn't help.

Not tonight.

Not with Por.

Finally—he nodded. Accepting defeat. For now. "Alright."

Por offered a grateful smile.

Thomas reached over. Patting his shoulder gently. The gesture carried more concern than words ever could. Then he stepped back. "Get some rest."

"I will."

"Go home."

"I will."

"Tonight."

"I know."

Thomas pointed. "I'm serious."

Por laughed. "I know."

Satisfied enough, Thomas finally left. His footsteps gradually disappeared down the hallway. Leaving Por alone once more.

The office felt larger after that. Quieter. Lonelier.

Por slowly sat back down. Exhaling.

His gaze drifted toward the city lights outside. The newsroom reflected faintly against the glass. His own reflection stared back.

Tired.

Thoughtful.

Lost.

Then, his phone vibrated.

The screen lit up.

Incoming call.

Por reached for it. The moment he saw the caller ID, he laughed.

Of course.

Auau.

Without hesitation, he answered. The second he placed the phone against his ear—"THIS IS BULLSHIT."

Por laughed immediately. No greeting. No hello. Nothing. Just pure outrage.

"Hello to you too."

"THIRTY MINUTES."

Por bit back another laugh. "Good evening, Auau."

"THIRTY. MINUTES."

Por could practically picture him pacing. Probably somewhere outside the gallery. Probably dramatic. Very dramatic. "What happened?" he asked.

"What happened?" Auau sounded personally offended. "What happened was, I got nothing."

Por laughed. "Oh?"

"I spent thirty minutes talking to him."

"Mm."

"Thirty!"

"Yes, I heard you."

"And I still didn't win."

Por finally laughed openly.

The sound earning an offended noise from the other end. "You're enjoying this."

"A little."

"I hate you."

"No, you don't."

"I do right now."

The conversation continued effortlessly. Auau venting. Por listening. Exactly as they always did.

Apparently, every journalist in Bangkok had spent the evening interrogating Auau. Apparently, several competitors had already approached him. Apparently, one reporter had nearly followed him through three exhibition halls, trying to figure out how he had managed to get so much time with Teetee.

Por laughed harder at that. "You're famous now."

"Shut up."

"You're a celebrity."

"I hate you."

Por smiled. The first genuine smile he'd worn all evening.

Then Auau suddenly asked, "Have you left the office yet?"

"No." The answer came naturally.

A beat of silence followed.

"What do you mean no?"

Por winced.

Here we go.

"I was finishing some work."

"Por."

"I'm done now."

"Por."

"I'm serious."

"Why are you still there?"

Por laughed softly. "I was about to leave. Then someone decided to call me."

Auau immediately understood. The grumble that followed made Por smile.

"Fair enough."

"Exactly."

For a while, they simply talked.

Comfortable.

Easy.

Then, eventually—The conversation slowed. The silence that followed felt different. Heavier. Thoughtful.

Por heard Auau sigh. Then another. Then—"Aren't you going to ask?"

Por already knew.

The question still made his chest tighten.

"What do you mean?"

"How he's doing."

Silence.

Auau continued. "How he's been."

Another pause.

"At the very least..." His voice softened. "...whether his gallery is nice."

Por stared at the city outside. The lights blurred slightly. Not because of tears. Just because he suddenly couldn't focus.

The answer sat at the edge of his tongue.

Waiting.

Then, finally, he asked the only thing he truly wanted to know. "Was he happy today?"

Silence.

Long enough to hurt.

On the other side of the call, Auau turned. Searching the gallery. Searching the crowd. Until eventually—He found him. Teetee stood near the center of the room. Assistant beside him. Several important guests surrounding him. The same professional smile rested on his face.

Polite.

Elegant.

Perfect.

And completely exhausting.

Auau laughed softly.

The sound confused Por. "What?"

"He looks like he's five minutes away from escaping his own gallery."

Por laughed. Immediately. Because yes. That sounded exactly like Teetee.

The image appeared effortlessly in his mind. And for a brief moment—It felt like no time had passed at all.

Por smiled. Looking down at his desk. "Good..."

The answer was almost a whisper.

Auau heard it anyway.

Then Por added quietly, "I don't have anything else to ask."

The silence that followed lasted longer. Much longer.

Then, Auau spoke again. And suddenly—Everything changed.

"Por." His voice had become serious. Completely serious. "He hoped you'd come..."

Por froze.

The words landed harder than expected. Harder than they should have.

His grip tightened around the phone.

Auau continued. "Teetee hoped you'd be the one coming here."

Silence.

The city disappeared. The office disappeared. Everything disappeared. Leaving only those words behind.

He hoped you'd come.

Por lowered his gaze. Unable to answer immediately.

When he finally spoke—His voice sounded smaller. Quieter. "I don't think now is the right time..."

The response came automatically. The same excuse. The same reasoning. The same fear.

But Auau immediately cut him off. "Then when?" The frustration in his voice surprised him. "When, Por?"

No answer.

"When are you both going to stop doing this to yourselves?"

Por closed his eyes. "It's not that simple."

"Isn't it? It's been six years."

Por swallowed. Hard. "It's not easy." His voice cracked slightly.

Barely.

But enough.

"You don't just walk back into someone's life after six years..."

Auau remained silent. Listening.

For once. Por laughed weakly. Without humor.

"Six years ago... I was the one who left."

There it was.

The truth.

The guilt.

The burden he'd carried for years.

"We ended things together." His eyes lowered. "I was the one who started it."

The confession lingered.

Raw.

Painful.

Honest.

"I made the choice."

The silence that followed felt endless.

Then Auau groaned loudly. Frustrated. Exasperated. Almost tired. "Look at you."

Por frowned. "What?"

"Look at yourself." Another sigh. "He still matters to you."

Por said nothing.

"And you still matter to him."

Still nothing.

The truth hurt because it was true. Neither knew what to do with it.

For several moments—Neither spoke. Both lost somewhere inside their own thoughts.

Then finally, Auau checked the time. The exhibition would end soon.

Very soon.

Only thirty minutes left.

His expression softened. And when he spoke again, the frustration was gone. Only sincerity remained. "It's seven-thirty."

Por looked at the clock. He was right.

"If you're still too afraid to face what you want tonight..." Auau sighed. A sad smile touching his lips. "...then I don't know when you'll ever be ready."

Por remained silent. Listening. Because deep down, he knew Auau wasn't wrong...

The city continued moving outside. The gallery continued buzzing behind Auau. And somewhere between those two places—Auau quietly delivered one final truth.

"Because tonight... feels like the only chance the universe has given both of you."

The words lingered. Long after they were spoken. Long after the conversation ended. Long after Auau finally hung up. Leaving Por alone. Once more.

The office had become completely silent now. The clock ticked quietly on the wall. The city lights shimmered beyond the glass. And Por sat there. Phone still resting in his hand. Heart suddenly heavier than before.

His eyes drifted toward the time.

7:32 PM.

The exhibition would end soon. Very soon...

And for the first time all night, Por found himself asking a question he had spent six years avoiding.

What did he truly want? The answer frightened him. Because deep down... He already knew.

---

The exhibition had officially ended.

Eight o'clock.

The moment the clock struck the hour, the gallery slowly began to empty itself. The once crowded halls were now filled with the sounds of departing footsteps. Conversations softened. Guests collected their belongings. Staff members quietly began organizing small things around the building.

The evening was coming to an end. And Teetee was exhausted.

Not physically.

Not entirely.

But socially.

Emotionally.

The kind of exhaustion that only came after spending hours smiling, greeting people, answering questions, and pretending not to notice dozens of journalists attempting to hunt him down.

Still, he remained by the lobby. Standing near the entrance doors. Doing what he always did at the end of every showcase. Thanking people personally. One by one.

A warm smile. A small bow. A sincere thank you.

The guests appreciated it. They always did.

Slowly, the crowd became smaller. And smaller. Until eventually, a familiar face appeared.

Auau.

Beside him stood Save. The younger journalist looked just as tired as everyone else. Perhaps even more.

The moment Teetee saw them, he smiled. "There you are."

Auau laughed. "Unfortunately."

"You survived."

"Barely."

Teetee grinned. "Good."

"You're evil."

"I know."

The two laughed.

For a brief moment, it felt less like the end of a gallery event and more like old friends casually meeting after work.

Auau stepped forward. Patting Teetee's arm gently. "We should meet again."

The suggestion came naturally. Without hesitation. Without awkwardness. Just a simple truth.

Teetee immediately nodded. "Definitely. But don't disappear on me."

"You disappear more than I do."

"That's a lie."

"It isn't."

"It absolutely is."

Teetee laughed. Then finally nodded again. "I'll call you."

"You better."

"I will."

Save watched the exchange quietly. Still finding it difficult to process just how comfortable these two were around each other. Eventually he stepped forward as well. Politely bowing his head.

"Thank you for today, Phi."

Teetee smiled warmly. "You did well."

Save blinked. Surprised. "I did?"

"You did."

The younger journalist immediately brightened. The praise clearly meant something.

Teetee found himself smiling a little wider. "Keep practicing."

"I will."

"Good."

Finally, the goodbyes were said. The event was over. And the two journalists began making their way toward the parking lot. Together.

Meanwhile—Back inside the lobby—Teetee continued greeting the remaining guests. Unaware. Completely unaware. That something had already changed. Outside...

Auau and Save walked side by side across the parking lot.

The night air felt cooler now. The crowd had mostly dispersed. Only a handful of vehicles remained. Most guests had already gone home.

Save was halfway through complaining about his feet when suddenly—Auau stopped. Completely stopped.

His footsteps froze. His expression changed.

Save nearly walked into him. "Phi?"

No response.

Auau continued staring.

At first, Save thought perhaps something had happened. Maybe an accident. Maybe someone was calling them. But then he followed Auau's gaze. Toward a black car parked several rows away. Nothing unusual.  At least, not at first glance.

The windows were dark. The interior hidden. No driver visible. No movement. Nothing.

Yet Auau remained staring. As if he had just seen a ghost.

Save frowned. "Phi?"

Still nothing.

Then finally, Auau exhaled. A small laugh escaping him. One filled entirely with disbelief. "No way..."

Save looked back toward the vehicle. Then suddenly—Recognition struck.

His eyes widened immediately. "Wait." He looked at Auau. Then back at the car. Then back again. "No..."

Auau remained silent.

"Phi, that's—"

"No."

"That's Phi Por's car!"

"No, it isn't."

"That is literally Por's car."

"It isn't."

"It is."

"It isn't. You're just seeing things."

"It is. And I'm not seeing things." The younger journalist pointed dramatically. "I've seen that car."

"You haven't."

"I literally parked next to it last month, Phi."

"You didn't."

"I DID."

Auau groaned. Immediately grabbing Save by the shoulder. "Come on."

"Phi—"

"Come on."

"PHI."

"Save."

"THAT'S PHI POR'S CAR."

"It isn't."

"YOU'RE LYING."

"I am."

"WHAT?"

Auau immediately regretted that.

Save stared. Horrified. Confused. Victorious. "YOU ARE LYING."

"Get in the car."

"PHI."

"Get in the car."

"PHI."

"Save."

"PHI."

Eventually—After an unnecessary amount of resistance—Auau managed to shove the younger journalist into the passenger seat.

The door closed. Save immediately rolled down the window. Still demanding answers. Still pointing dramatically at the suspicious vehicle.

Auau ignored him completely.

Instead, he turned. Looking once more toward the black car. The dark windows. The quiet engine. The familiar license plate. And despite not being able to see inside, he knew. He knew exactly who was sitting there.

A smile slowly appeared. Disbelieving. Fond. Almost relieved.

"You idiot..."

The words left him quietly.

Without anger. Without judgment. Just affection.

Because after everything—After six years. After all that stubbornness, Por had come...

Late.

Terribly late.

But, he had come... Finally.

Auau reached into his pocket. Pulling out his phone. His thumb hovered over the screen. Already preparing a message. Already knowing exactly what he wanted to say.

Something sarcastic. Something dramatic. Something that would make Por suffer a little. But before he could type, a notification appeared.

New message.

From Por.

Auau immediately opened it. The text was short. Simple.

Por:
"You can leave. Don't worry about me.
And... thank you."

Auau stared at the screen for several seconds. Reading those two words again.

Thank you.

His smile softened. Because he knew. He understood exactly what Por meant.

Not for covering the event. Not for helping with work. Not for any of that.

The thank you meant—Thank you for pushing me. Thank you for not letting me hide. Thank you for saying the things I didn't want to hear. Thank you for giving me one final chance.

Auau shook his head. Laughing quietly to himself. Then finally typed back.

Auau:
"Glad to know you still have some sense left in that head of yours.
Call me if you need anything. Or text me. And when you're safely back home, let me know."

He hit send.

The typing bubble appeared. Then disappeared. Then appeared again.

Finally, a reply came.

Por:
"Okay."

That was all. Just one word. Very Por.

Auau smiled.

The screen went dark. Por was offline again. Probably gathering whatever courage he still had left.

Slowly, Auau lowered the phone. His gaze drifting between two places. The gallery entrance. And the parked car.

Through the glass doors, he could still see Teetee. Standing inside. Thanking guests. Smiling politely. Completely unaware. Meanwhile—Somewhere inside that car sat Por. Equally unaware.

Neither knew what the other was doing. Neither knew how close they were. Neither knew that fate had already brought them to the exact same place.

Again... After six years.

Auau leaned against his car for a moment. Watching both worlds—The photographer. The journalist. Two people standing only a few hundred meters apart. Yet somehow separated by six years of silence.

His smile returned.

Small.

Hopeful.

Soft.

Then he quietly opened the driver's door. Sliding into his seat. Because this part? This wasn't his story anymore. Tonight belonged to them. And judging from the look of things, it was going to be a very long night.

---

The gallery had finally fallen silent. Not completely. There were still distant sounds. A few staff members moving equipment. The faint hum of the air conditioning. The occasional footsteps echoing somewhere down the hallway.

But compared to only an hour ago, it felt empty. Peaceful.

The event was over. The guests had gone home. The photographers had packed their cameras. The journalists had finally given up their hunt. And for the first time all day—Teetee was alone. Almost.

He stood quietly in front of one of his photographs. Hands tucked into his pockets. His gaze rested on the image. Not really looking at it. Not truly...

His thoughts had already drifted elsewhere. A familiar pair of footsteps approached. He didn't need to turn around.

"You're still here?"

His assistant stopped beside him. Immediately she laughed. The sound soft and amused. "I was about to ask you the same thing."

Teetee smiled. Turning slightly toward her. "Hm?"

She folded her arms. Looking around the nearly empty gallery. "The event ended twenty minutes ago."

"I know."

"Half the staff have already gone home."

"I know."

"The guests are gone."

"I know."

"The journalists are gone."

"I know."

His assistant stared. Then sighed dramatically. "So why is the owner of the gallery still wandering around like a lost visitor?"

Teetee burst out laughing. "That's rude."

"It's true."

"A little rude."

"A little true."

Teetee shook his head. Still smiling.

His assistant smiled too. Then eventually glanced toward the exit. "I should get going."

Teetee nodded. "You should."

"You too."

He laughed softly. "I'll leave soon."

"You always say that."

"This time I mean it."

His assistant narrowed her eyes. Clearly unconvinced. Then she pointed at him. "You have meetings tomorrow."

"I know."

"Important meetings."

"I know."

"Don't stay here until midnight."

Teetee laughed. "I won't."

"You said that last month."

"That was different."

"It wasn't."

"It was."

"It wasn't."

Eventually, she gave up. Shaking her head.  The familiar gesture made Teetee smile.

"Goodnight, Tee."

"Goodnight."

Then she left. Leaving him alone. Truly alone this time.

The gallery grew quiet once more. The silence settled around him. Comfortable. Yet somehow—Tonight it felt different.

Teetee remained standing there, looking at nothing, thinking about everything. Then—Without warning—Yim's voice resurfaced inside his mind.

"You hoped Por would come today... didn't you?"

His chest tightened. Teetee lowered his gaze. Then came another voice.

Auau.

"It's been six years, Tee. Maybe now is the right time..."

His grip tightened inside his pockets. Immediately, he shook his head.

No. No. He shouldn't. Not now. Not after six years. Not like this. He had lived this long without reaching out.

What difference would one night make? What difference would one phone call make?

He shouldn't be impulsive. He shouldn't allow old emotions to control him. He shouldn't—But his heart disagreed.

Violently.

Painfully.

And suddenly—Before he even realized what he was doing—His hand moved. His phone appeared in his palm.

The screen illuminated softly. The familiar wallpaper. The familiar applications.

His thumb automatically opened his contacts. Then stopped.

Because there it was.

A name.

One contact among hundreds. One number among countless others. The number he had never deleted. Never changed. Never touched. For six years.

Teetee stared.

His breathing slowly faltering.

Because the name wasn't Por. It had never been Por. Not in his phone. Not even now. Not after everything. The contact still carried the same name it had six years ago. Exactly the same. The same name from high school. The same name from late-night calls. The same name from countless messages. The same name from when they were twenty.

Teerak.

Beloved.

His thumb trembled slightly. Hovering over the call button. Unable to move. Unable to decide.

His eyes shifted toward the time. Almost nine.

Por was probably home already. Probably showered. Probably resting. Maybe reading. Maybe asleep. Maybe busy. Maybe... Maybe he had deleted Teetee's number years ago. Maybe he wouldn't recognize the call. Maybe he had moved on. Maybe he wouldn't answer. Maybe... Maybe he had blocked him.

The thought hurt more than expected.

Teetee laughed weakly to himself.

Of course.

Why wouldn't he?

Six years. Six entire years... People changed. Lives changed.

Maybe he shouldn't do this. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe he should put the phone away. Maybe—Then something inside him finally broke. Not painfully. Not dramatically. Just enough. Enough to create courage.

Tiny.

Fragile.

Terrifying courage.

One call. Just one.

If Por didn't answer—That was it. No second call. No messages. No interruptions. No bothering him again.

One chance. One answer. Then he would let it go...

Slowly—Teetee pressed the button.

The call began. The ringing echoed softly through the phone.

Once.

His heart pounded.

Twice.

His breathing became uneven.

Three times.

His fingers tightened around the device.

Four.

The gallery suddenly felt too quiet. Too empty. Too large.

Teetee closed his eyes.

Maybe this was enough. Maybe he should hang up. Maybe—The fifth ring never came. Instead, the line connected. Immediately.

Teetee froze. Completely.

His entire body stopped moving. Stopped breathing. Stopped thinking.

Because then—A voice reached him.

Soft.

Warm.

Familiar.

A voice he had not heard in six years.

"Hello..."

The world disappeared. The gallery disappeared. The photographs disappeared. Everything disappeared. Leaving only that one word.

"Hello..."

Por... It was Por. Actually Por. Not a memory. Not an old recording. Not a dream. Por.

His voice sounded older. Softer. A little deeper than before. Yet somehow exactly the same.

And Teetee nearly lost his balance. His free hand immediately grabbing the edge of a nearby display. Steadying himself.

His heartbeat became deafening.

Was this real? Had he really answered? Had Por actually picked up?

The silence stretched.

Neither spoke. Neither moved. Neither seemed capable of forming words.

On one side, a photographer stood alone inside an empty gallery. Holding six years of unsaid feelings in his chest.

On the other hand, a journalist sat quietly inside a parked car. Only a few hundred meters away. Holding the exact same thing.

Neither knew how to begin. Neither knew what to say first.

Because after six years... How do you even start?

The silence continued.

Heavy.

Fragile.

Then, a faint breath came through the speaker. Por's breath.

And when he spoke again, his voice was gentler this time. Almost hesitant. Almost afraid. As if he couldn't quite believe this was happening either... "Tee?"

"Tee?" The nickname landed softly against Teetee's heart. So familiar... So painfully familiar.

For a moment, he forgot how to breathe. Forgot how to think. Forgot how to respond.

His grip tightened around his phone.

Across the line, Por remained patient. He didn't rush him. Didn't push. Didn't fill the silence. He simply waited. Just like he always used to. Waiting until Teetee was ready. Waiting until Teetee could find the words himself.

And somehow... that made everything worse.

Because it reminded him how much had changed. And how much hadn't.

Finally, Teetee forced himself to speak. "You picked up..." The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them. Immediately. His eyes widened.

Oh god.

What kind of response was that?

Six years.

Six entire years.

And the first thing he says is that?

"Tee—"

"I mean—" Teetee squeezed his eyes shut. "I'm sorry." The words tumbled out one after another. "I didn't mean it like that. I just... I wasn't expecting you to answer. And if I called at a bad time, or if you're busy, or if—"

A soft chuckle interrupted him.

Warm.

Gentle.

Dangerously familiar.

Teetee immediately stopped talking.

Por laughed quietly on the other side. "Tee, slow down..."

The photographer froze.

A pause.

Then Por's voice softened. "You're not bothering me."

The tension in Teetee's shoulders eased slightly. "I'm not?"

"No." Another small chuckle. "I'm free."

Teetee lowered his gaze. Relief washed through him. Embarrassing relief. The kind he couldn't explain. "Oh..."

Silence returned.

Not uncomfortable.

Not exactly.

Just... fragile.

Two people trying to relearn how to speak to each other. Two people standing on a bridge, neither had crossed in years.

Por sat quietly inside his car. Looking out through the windshield. Watching the illuminated gallery building.

Meanwhile—Inside the gallery—Teetee remained standing in front of one of his photographs. Still holding his phone tightly.

Neither knew what to say next. Neither wanted to hang up.

Eventually, Por gathered enough courage. "Tee?"

"Hm?"

"Why did you call?"

The question was gentle. Careful. No pressure. No assumptions.

"Is there something you needed?"

A pause.

"Something important?"

Teetee immediately froze.

Right.

Of course.

He was the one who called.

He should have an answer.

A reasonable answer. A normal answer. Not—Because I missed hearing your voice. Because I've spent six years wondering if you're okay. Because I thought maybe tonight was finally the right time...

No.

He couldn't say any of those things. So instead, he grabbed the first excuse he could find.

"I met Auau today. He told me he was taking someone else's place for today's showcase."

Silence.

Then—A faint laugh came from Por. "Ah..."

Teetee looked down. "You were supposed to come?"

For a brief moment, Por closed his eyes. Because that question hurt more than expected. "At first... yes." A lie formed effortlessly. The same lie he had been repeating all day.

"I had some work I needed to finish."

Another lie.

"Something urgent came up. I'm sorry, Tee..."

Teetee immediately accepted the explanation.

Of course he did.

Por had always been dedicated to his work. Always responsible. Always putting obligations first.

Teetee smiled faintly. "It's okay."

Por remained silent.

"I was happy to see Aau." A small pause. "It was nice seeing an old friend."

The corner of Por's mouth lifted. "Yeah." His voice was quiet. "He's hard to get rid of."

That earned a laugh.

A real one.

Small.

But real.

For a few seconds, it felt like university again. Like old times. Like neither of them had spent six years apart.

Then—Silence returned.

Both staring at different worlds.

Por had questions. Thousands of them... How are you? Are you eating properly? Do you still work until two in the morning? Do you still forget to take breaks? Are you happy? Have you been okay? Have you missed me too?

But he couldn't ask.

Not yet.

Meanwhile, Teetee wanted to ask the exact same things.

Yet neither dared.

And so—The silence stretched. Until suddenly,

"Tee—"

"Por—"

Both stopped. At the exact same time.

Then immediately laughed.

Softly.

Awkwardly.

Disbelieving.

Por shook his head. "You go first."

"No." Teetee smiled despite himself. "You go first."

"Tee."

"It's fine."

The familiar argument felt almost surreal.

Eventually, Por surrendered first.

A long breath escaped him. Then—"Are you still at the gallery?"

Teetee frowned slightly.

The question felt random.

"Yes. I am."

He glanced around. The empty halls. The quiet lights. "I'm still here. Why do you ask?"

"Hmm... Good."

A pause.

Then Por spoke again. And this time—Something about his tone changed. "It looks beautiful..."

Teetee blinked. "What?"

"The photograph. The one you're looking at... It looks beautiful..."

The world stopped. Completely.

Teetee's heartbeat instantly dropped. Then skyrocketed.

His grip on the phone tightened. Every muscle in his body froze.

No.

No.

No.

It couldn't be.

Could it?

Slowly—Almost mechanically—Teetee turned around.

The gallery lights reflected against the massive floor-to-ceiling glass windows. The city glowed beyond them. The parking lot stretched into the night. And there—Standing outside. Only separated by glass. Only separated by a few steps. Was Por...

One hand holding his phone against his ear. The other tucked into his pocket.

Still.

Silent.

Looking directly at him.

Teetee forgot how to breathe. Forgot how to blink. Forgot how to think.

Because after six years, there he was... Real. Not a memory. Not a photograph. Not a name beneath an article.

Por.... Standing right there.

Por watched realization spread across Teetee's face.

Watched shock. Disbelief. Emotion. Everything at once.

A soft laugh escaped him. Small. Nervous. Almost as overwhelmed as Teetee was.

And then—For the first time in six years—Their eyes truly met.

No screens. No articles. No secondhand updates. Just them.

Teetee's lips parted slightly. His voice barely above a whisper. "Is this real..."

Por's smile softened.

The same smile.

The one Teetee remembered.

The one he never forgot.

And Por nodded.

Once.

Slowly.

"Yeah. This is real..."

The word was almost lost beneath the night air. Then he held his gaze. Steady. Gentle. And somehow impossibly brave.

"So... Do you happen to have time for one more visitor... Khun Wanpichit?"

---

For several seconds after opening the door, Teetee stood there. Staring. Still trying to process the fact that Por was actually standing in front of him. Not through a phone. Not through a screen. Not through an article. Not through a photograph. Actually here. In front of him. Real. Alive. Smiling.

The silence stretched.

Then Por tilted his head slightly. A familiar grin appeared. "So..."

Teetee blinked.

Por raised an eyebrow. "Are you going to leave your guest waiting outside?"

Teetee immediately snapped back to reality. "Oh." His eyes widened. "Right, sorry."

Por laughed. A soft sound. Warm.

God, Teetee had forgotten how much he missed that laugh.

Quickly stepping aside, he gestured toward the entrance. "Come in."

Por nodded. "Thank you." Then he walked inside. And somehow that simple action made Teetee's chest tighten.

Because six years ago, Por used to walk into every part of his life without needing permission. Now—He was thanking him. As if he was a visitor. As if he was a stranger.

The thought hurt more than expected.

The gallery doors slowly closed behind them. The building had become almost completely silent now. Only a few lights remained on. Most of the staff had already left. The entire gallery felt larger at night. More intimate. More personal.

Teetee turned toward him. Still unable to fully comprehend what was happening. "I didn't think you'd actually be here."

Por looked around the gallery. His gaze briefly settled on a photograph hanging nearby. Then another. Then another. The same focused look he always had whenever he studied Teetee's work. The same look from university. The same look from six years ago.

Finally, his eyes returned to Teetee.

Neither spoke for a moment.

Then Teetee quietly asked, "Por, why are you here?"

Por's expression softened slightly.

"It's late. You should be back at your apartment by now."

For a moment, Por didn't answer. Instead, he slowly looked around the gallery again. His gaze drifted across the walls. Across the photographs. Across years of Teetee's life displayed in frames.

Then finally, he looked back at him. And simply said, "Walk with me."

That was all.

No explanation.

No excuse.

Just three words.

Yet Teetee nodded immediately. Without question. Without hesitation. Because some part of him had always followed Por. And perhaps, always would...

Together they began walking. Side by side. Through the gallery. Past landscapes. Past portraits. Memories frozen in photographs.

Neither rushed. Neither pushed the conversation.

The silence wasn't uncomfortable. It felt... strangely familiar. Like putting on an old sweater after years of not wearing it.

Por stopped occasionally. Taking time to look at certain photographs. Studying them carefully. As if he wanted to remember every detail.

Teetee stayed beside him. Matching his pace. Never interrupting. Never hurrying him.

Eventually—Por spoke. His voice quiet. Honest. "I kept wondering..."

Teetee looked at him.

Por continued walking. His eyes were fixed on a photograph ahead.

"I wondered how today's event went. I wondered if it was like your other exhibitions."

A pause. Then—His lips curved faintly. "And I was curious."

Teetee already knew where this was heading. "The challenge?"

Por glanced at him. "Yes. The challenge."

Teetee laughed softly.

Of course.

Of course Por would ask about that.

Por stopped walking. Turning toward him. "I heard Auau only got thirty minutes."

"He talks too much."

"He complained for almost an hour."

That made Teetee laugh. "I believe that."

"He sounded devastated."

"Don't worry, he'll survive."

Por chuckled. Then folded his arms. Studying him. "Still. Thirty minutes is generous."

Teetee shrugged. "I was being nice. But still, he didn't get the prize. He never stood a chance." then, he grinned.

"Oh, I see..."

A playful silence followed.

Then—Something changed.

A glimmer appeared in Por's eyes. One Teetee recognized immediately. Dangerous. Familiar. The same look Por used to have whenever he was about to do something that would make him panic.

Teetee immediately became suspicious. "Por."

"Hm?"

"What's with the look?"

"Nothing."

That answer made it worse.

Much worse.

Then, Por took a step forward.

Teetee blinked. And instinctively took one step back. "Por."

"Hm?"

Another step.

Teetee retreated again. "What are you doing?"

Por's smile widened. Nothing dramatic. Nothing obvious.  Yet somehow it made Teetee increasingly nervous.

"Por, I asked you a question."

"I know."

Another step.

Teetee stepped back again. "Por."

"Hm?"

"Stop that."

"Stop what?"

"This."

Por looked genuinely innocent. Which somehow made him even more suspicious.

The distance between them continued shrinking.

One step.

Then another.

Teetee found himself retreating without realizing it. His heart steadily accelerating. "Por."

"Yes?"

"You're being weird."

A laugh escaped the journalist. "Weird?"

"Yes."

"Interesting."

"Por."

Another step.

Teetee immediately moved back. Until suddenly—His shoulders hit something. A wall.

He froze.

Oh no.

Slowly—Very slowly—His eyes lifted.

Por had stopped moving.

Finally.

Only a few inches separated them now. Close enough for Teetee to clearly see the amusement dancing in his eyes. Close enough to notice the tiny changes six years had left behind. Close enough to make his heart completely forget how to function.

"Ter..." His voice came out embarrassingly weak. He didn't even realise he called Por 'Ter'.

Por looked entirely pleased with himself.

The worst part? He knew it. He absolutely knew it.

Then, Por tilted his head slightly. A playful smile appears. The same smile that had always been Teetee's downfall. And softly—Almost casually—He asked, "So... Will you let me win the prize tonight, Khun Wanpichit."

Teetee's brain immediately stopped working. Completely.

Because somehow—Somehow—After six years apart—Por was still impossibly good at making him forget every word he knew...

---

The office felt much smaller than before. Or perhaps it was simply because Por was here. Sitting across from him. Existing in the same room. Making everything feel unfamiliar again.

After eventually escaping that dangerous conversation in the gallery hallway, Teetee brought Por upstairs to his office. A place much quieter. More private. Away from the remaining staff. Away from curious eyes. Away from the rest of the world.

Just them.

Just for a little while.

The room itself wasn't particularly large. A desk. A couch. A bookshelf. A few framed photographs. A coffee machine sitting in the corner. The kind of room Teetee spent most of his nights in.

Por noticed everything.

Of course he did.

He always noticed things.

Teetee was currently standing beside the small coffee station. Preparing drinks. When he returned, he placed a cup of tea in front of Por.

Por looked down at it. Then laughed softly. "Tea?"

"You're driving. I didn't think you'd want to drink anything strong."

Por nodded. "Fair."

Meanwhile, Teetee carried his own mug back to his desk.

Por watched him sit. Watched him lift the cup. Watched him take a sip.

Then—His eyebrows furrowed. Slightly.

Teetee immediately noticed. "What?"

Por pointed at the mug. "You drink coffee now?"

Teetee blinked. Then looked down at his cup. And suddenly—He understood.

A small smile appeared.

Ah.

Right.

Por doesn't know.

Back then, Teetee hated coffee. Absolutely hated it.

He never understood why people willingly drank something so bitter. Especially Por. Who practically survived on caffeine during university. There had even been a running joke between them.

Por would offer him coffee. Teetee would make a face. Por would laugh.

The cycle repeated for years.

Now—Por was staring at him as if he'd grown a second head.

Teetee laughed quietly. "I started a few years ago."

"Really?"

"Hm."

"When?"

He thought for a moment. "Three years, maybe."

Por looked genuinely surprised.

Three years.

A strange thought.

There had been an entire chapter of Teetee's life that Por knew nothing about. And vice versa. The realization settled quietly between them.

Finally, Teetee lifted his shoulders. "I got used to it. Then eventually I started liking it."

Por stared at the cup. Then at him. "The bitterness?"

Teetee smiled faintly. "Yes, the bitterness."

Something flickered across Por's face. Something thoughtful. Something sad.

Then he nodded. As if he understood more than Teetee intended to say.

The room became quiet again. Comfortable. Not quite awkward. Just... careful. Like both of them were testing unfamiliar ground.

Eventually, Teetee leaned back in his chair. One arm resting against the armrest. His eyes settled on Por. A playful glimmer appeared. The first one all evening. "Well..."

Por raised an eyebrow. "Well?"

Teetee tilted his head. "You're the one who wanted the prize."

A grin appeared.

Immediately.

"Oh?"

"You asked if you could win."

"I did."

Teetee nodded. Then pointed at him. "So try."

Por laughed. "What?"

"The interview. I'll give you fifteen minutes."

Por looked intrigued.

"If you manage to keep me interested." Teetee lifted his coffee. Taking another sip. "Maybe I'll extend it."

Por immediately sat straighter. "Oh." The competitive spark appeared instantly.

There he was. The famous journalist. The one every media company wanted. The one nobody wanted to compete against. Because once Por became focused, he became terrifying.

Teetee knew that better than anyone. Which was exactly why he was already regretting his own challenge.

Por adjusted his posture. Crossed one leg over the other. Then reached into his bag. Pulling out a recorder.

Teetee watched.

Amused.

Por carefully placed it on the table between them. Professional. Prepared. Focused. The same way he had looked before every important interview.

Then Por looked up. Meeting his eyes. "Do I have your consent?"

Teetee laughed. "You do."

"You're comfortable?"

"I am."

Por nodded. Then pressed the button. The tiny red light blinked on. The recorder began running. And for a brief second—Everything felt normal. Professional. Safe. Simple.

Then, Por stared at the recorder. His hand was resting beside it.

Silent.

Thinking.

Teetee frowned slightly. "Por, What is it?"

No answer.

Por remained still. Then slowly—Very slowly—He reached forward. And turned it off.

The red light disappeared. The room fell silent.

Teetee blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Confused.

"What are you doing?"

Por didn't answer immediately. Instead,  he looked at the recorder. Then at the table. Then, finally, at Teetee.

Something had changed.

The journalist from a moment ago was gone. The professional mask. The confidence. The practiced composure. Gone.

What remained was simply... Por. And somehow that version felt far more dangerous.

Teetee couldn't quite understand the expression on his face. Couldn't read it. Not immediately. Not until Por finally spoke.

Quietly.

Honestly.

Almost painfully so.

"Tee..."

Teetee stilled.

Por held his gaze.

Neither looking away.

Then—After six years. After countless articles. After countless photographs. After countless nights wondering... He asked the only question that had truly mattered.

"Did we make the right choice?"

Teetee's breath caught.

The room suddenly felt very still. Very small.

Por's eyes never left his. "Six years ago..." His voice softened. Barely above a whisper. "Did we make the right choice, Tee?"

And just like that—The interview was over before it had even begun. Because neither of them had come here for an article. Neither of them had come here for publicity. Neither of them had come here for an exclusive interview.

They had come here for an answer.

And for the first time in six years—Neither of them could run from the question anymore.

The office fell silent. Painfully silent. Teetee remained still in his chair. His fingers wrapped tightly around his mug. His eyes fixed on Por's.

Neither of them looked away. Neither could. Because the question sitting between them was far too heavy. Far too familiar.

For six years... Six entire years. Teetee had asked himself that exact same question.  Over and over again. On sleepless nights. During lonely flights. After successful exhibitions. After receiving awards. After opening his gallery. After every achievement that should have made him happy.

The question always came back.

Was it worth it?

Across from him, Por slowly pulled his chair closer. Not much. Just enough.

The movement was subtle. Careful. As if he was trying not to scare him away.

"Tee..." His voice was gentle. "I'm not here as a journalist."

Teetee listened.

"I'm not here for an interview. And I'm not here to win your prize..."

Something softened in Por's eyes.

"I'm here because I want closure."

The word settled heavily in the room.

Closure.

Such a simple word. Yet somehow neither of them had been able to find it. Not in six years.

"And I think... I think you're looking for it too." Por continued quietly.

Teetee lowered his gaze.

For a moment.

Just a moment.

Then he took another sip of his coffee. The drink had long gone lukewarm. He barely noticed.

Slowly, he set the mug down. The ceramic making a soft sound against the table.

Then he sighed. A tired sigh. The kind that seemed to carry years within it.

Finally—He looked back at Por. A faint smile appeared. Small. Bittersweet.

"I've been asking myself the same thing, Por..."

Por remained silent. Waiting. Listening.

"I keep wondering..." Teetee's voice grew quieter. "If it was worth it..."

The smile remained. Though it looked fragile now. Almost sad.

"Six years ago..." His eyes drifted somewhere distant. Somewhere only he could see. "When we chose to separate... Was it worth it?"

Por didn't answer.

He couldn't.

Not yet.

Because Teetee wasn't finished.

Por leaned back slightly. Still looking at him. Then asked the question that neither had ever dared voice aloud before.

"What would've happened if we stayed together?"

The room became still. Completely still.

And suddenly—Por found himself back there. Six years ago.

Back in that tiny condominium unit they had rented together during their final year. Back when life felt impossibly fast. Back when every day felt like a race. Back when they were both desperately trying to build futures, they weren't willing to sacrifice. Back when they were still in love. Very much in love.

Maybe that was the tragedy.

The problem had never been love. The problem was everything around it.

Por remembered those months clearly. Too clearly.

His internships. His deadlines. His endless travels. Every media company he admired seemed to be calling at once. Every opportunity felt like it could determine the rest of his life. He spent more time on trains. On buses. On planes. In hotel rooms. Than he did at home.

He was chasing his dream with everything he had. A journalist. A real journalist. The future he had imagined since he was a teenager.

Meanwhile—Teetee was doing exactly the same thing.

Building something. Creating something. Fighting for something. His photography. His exhibitions. His portfolio. His future gallery. Every competition. Every showcase. Every opportunity. He grabbed all of them.

Because he had dreams too. Dreams just as important. Dreams just as demanding.

And somewhere along the way—They started missing each other.

Not emotionally.

But Physically. Literally missing each other.

Whenever Teetee had time, Por was gone.

Whenever Por returned, Teetee was working.

Whenever one reached out, the other was exhausted.

They stopped eating meals together. Stopped sleeping at the same time. Stopped sharing stories. Not because they didn't want to. But because they were simply too tired. Too busy. Too overwhelmed.

At first, they told themselves it was temporary.

Just one more internship. One more exhibition. One more semester. One more project. One more deadline. One more month. Then everything would be okay.

Except it wasn't...

Because one month became two. Two became six. Six became an entire year. And slowly—The frustration began.

Small arguments. Tiny disappointments. Unanswered messages. Cancelled plans. Forgotten promises. None of them were serious. Not individually. But together—They piled up.

One by one. Until every conversation felt heavier. Every misunderstanding felt sharper. Every goodbye felt longer.

Eventually—Arguments became fights. Not because they hated each other. But because they missed each other. Not because they stopped caring. But because they cared too much. And neither knew how to fix it.

The harder they tried to hold on, the more exhausted they became. The more distracted. The more frustrated. The more afraid.

Afraid they were becoming obstacles in each other's lives. Afraid they were holding each other back. Afraid that love was turning into guilt.

Por lowered his eyes. His voice barely above a whisper. "I remember that dinner we had 6 years ago..."

Teetee's expression softened immediately. Because he remembered it too.

Neither could ever forget it.

The condominium was quiet that night. No fighting. No arguing. No raised voices. Just silence.

Two exhausted people sitting across from each other. Dinner growing cold. Both knowing something was wrong. Neither wanting to say it. Until eventually—One of them did.

A simple question. One sentence. One moment that changed everything.

"Maybe... we should end this."

Por still didn't remember who said it first. Maybe it was him. Maybe it was Teetee. Maybe they both did at the same time.

But what he remembered most—Was what came after. Neither of them argued. Neither of them protested. Neither of them fought. Because the moment the words were spoken—They both realized the same thing. At the same time.

They couldn't make it work.

Not then.

Not like that.

Not while they were becoming people neither recognized anymore. Not while every dream demanded everything they had. Not while they were slowly breaking each other, trying to hold on.

Por finally looked up. Meeting Teetee's eyes again. And for the first time that evening—His smile looked tired. Heartbroken. Honest.

"Por... We loved each other."

A pause.

"But... we just couldn't survive that version of our lives..."

And somehow... That truth hurt more than any betrayal ever could.

---

The office became quiet again. Not the heavy silence from before. Not the silence filled with questions. This one felt different. Gentler. Softer. As if both of them had finally put down a weight they had been carrying for years.

Teetee lowered his eyes toward the coffee sitting on his desk. The drink had gone cold.

Neither of them seemed to care.

Outside the office windows, Bangkok continued moving. Cars passed. Lights flickered. The city remained awake. Yet somehow, inside this room, time felt slower. Almost suspended.

For a long moment, neither spoke.

Then, finally—Teetee smiled. A small smile. The kind that only appeared when he was remembering something bittersweet. "You know..." His fingers traced the edge of the mug. "We were right."

Por looked up.

Teetee met his gaze. "Back then... We couldn't survive that version of our lives."

Por slowly nodded. Because it was true.

No matter how painful it was. No matter how much they wished things had been different. The truth remained unchanged.

At twenty-two. At twenty-three. They simply weren't ready...

Not for the lives they wanted. Not for the sacrifices those lives demanded. Not for the pressure. Not for the distance. Not for everything that came with chasing dreams.

And perhaps—That wasn't anyone's fault.

Teetee leaned back slightly. A faint laugh escaped him. "But hey, look at us now."

Por followed his gaze. The framed photographs. The awards. The gallery. Everything Teetee had dreamed about.

Then, Teetee looked at him. The successful journalist. The respected writer. The career he had worked endlessly for. The dream he had achieved.

"We're doing okay, Por... More than okay."

Por smiled, "Yeah..."

Another quiet laugh came out from Teetee, "Our careers survived. Our friend group survived. We survived..."

Por nodded. "We did."

Then the smile slowly faded. Not completely. Just enough.

Because both of them knew what Teetee hadn't said. The one thing missing for six years.

Neither of them had truly moved forward romantically.

There had been attempts. Friends introducing people. Blind dates. Well-meaning encouragement. Suggestions. Setups. Every effort imaginable. Yet somehow—Nothing ever stayed. Nothing ever felt right. Nothing ever became something real.

The realization lingered quietly between them.

Then Por sighed. A tired sigh. The kind that came from years of understanding. "Tee..."

Teetee looked up.

Por hesitated. For the first time that night.

Then finally, he asked, "What about now?"

The room became still. Por held his gaze.

"If we tried now..." His voice was quieter. More vulnerable. "Would it work?"

Teetee didn't answer.

Not immediately.

Because he knew what question was really being asked. And Por knew it too.

A pause. Then another.

Until finally, Por asked the most important one. The one neither had dared voice before.

"Am I still the person you love..."

The words settled gently between them.

No pressure.

No expectations.

Just honesty... Pure honesty.

Teetee's expression softened instantly.

Almost painfully so.

For a moment, he simply looked at him. Really looked at him.

The familiar eyes. The familiar smile. The familiar voice. The man who had shaped so much of his life. Then slowly—He sighed. A small laugh escaping him.

The answer was almost ridiculous.

Because both of them already knew it.

Still, he chose to say it. "Yes... "

Por's breath caught. Just slightly.

Teetee smiled. A sad smile. But a beautiful one.

"Yes..." His voice grew softer. "And I think you already knew that... Even if I never said it."

His eyes remained steady.

"I still love you, Por..."

The confession felt strangely peaceful. Not dramatic. Not overwhelming. Just true. The simplest truth he knew.

"I think a part of me always will."

Por lowered his eyes. Unable to look away for too long. Because hearing it still affected him. Even now. Even after everything...

Teetee continued. "I never blamed you."

A pause.

"I couldn't."

His smile trembled slightly. "Because even now... I still think you were the right person for me."

Por's eyes lifted again. Meeting his.

Teetee laughed quietly. Though there was sadness behind it. "Maybe we really were one of those stories... The right person, wrong time..."

The room fell silent again.

And strangely—Por agreed.

Because even now. Even sitting here. Even after six years. Even after all this time... His heart still reacted to Teetee in ways nobody else ever had.

No matter how much time passed. No matter where life took him. Some part of him still carried Teetee with him. Always. And perhaps it always would.

But something had changed. Something important. Something neither of them understood when they were younger.

Love wasn't supposed to hurt forever. Not like that. Not endlessly. Not until it consumed you.

And suddenly, Teetee asked quietly. "Por."

"Hm?"

A pause.

Then—"Do you still love me the same way you used to?"

The question lingered in the room.

Por didn't answer immediately. Because it deserved honesty. Not instinct. Not emotion... But honesty.

He sat there for several seconds.

Thinking.

Reflecting.

Understanding.

Then, finally—A crooked smile appeared. Bittersweet. Gentle. Heartbreakingly gentle.

His eyes met Teetee's. And for the first time that night, they looked peaceful.

"I love you..."

The words landed softly.

Without hesitation. Without fear. Without regret.

"I still love you."

Teetee's eyes immediately began to glisten.

Por smiled faintly. "But... Not the same way."

The room became still.

Por looked down briefly. Then back at him. "Six years ago..." His voice softened. "It hurt when I had to let you go."

A small breath escaped him. "It felt impossible."

The memory still lingered.

The grief.

The loss.

The heartbreak.

But then he smiled. And somehow—That smile looked free.

"But now..." His eyes remained on Teetee. "I love you in a way that lets me let you go..."

Teetee froze.

Por continued quietly.

"I think that's what changed."

A pause.

"Letting you go doesn't hurt the way it used to." His smile trembled slightly. "Maybe that's what happens when you truly love someone..."

The office blurred slightly through Teetee's eyes. Because he understood. Completely.

For the first time. He understood.

And slowly—Very slowly—He nodded. Because he felt it too. Exactly the same.

His love had never disappeared. Not completely. Not even after six years. But it had transformed. Grown. Healed. Became something softer. Something kinder. Something freer.

"I know..." His voice was barely above a whisper.

Por smiled.

Teetee smiled back.

And somehow—Neither looked heartbroken anymore. Just grateful. Grateful that they had loved. Grateful that they had been loved. Grateful that they had finally found the answer. Because tonight—Neither of them needed another chance. Neither of them needed promises. Neither of them needed forever. What they needed... Was closure.

And finally—After six years—They had found it...

Not by forgetting each other. Not by falling out of love. But by accepting that sometimes... love remains. Even when the pain no longer does. And for the first time in a very long while... Both of them felt at peace.

---

Neither of them realized how late it had become. The coffee on Teetee's desk had gone completely cold. Por's tea was no different.

Somewhere between memories, laughter, old regrets, and long-awaited honesty, the hours had slipped by unnoticed.

Teetee glanced at the clock on the wall. Almost midnight. He let out a quiet chuckle. "I've officially kept my guest far longer than fifteen minutes."

Por followed his gaze before laughing too. "I suppose that means I won your challenge."

"You did."

"No conditions?"

Teetee shook his head. "No conditions."

The words carried more meaning than either of them acknowledged.

For years, they had measured everything in conditions.

When work settles down.

When life gets easier.

When the timing is right.

Tonight, there were none. Just acceptance.

Por slowly stood from his chair. "So... I should probably head home."

Teetee rose as well. "I'll walk you out."

They made their way through the now-dark gallery. The overhead lights had been dimmed, leaving only the soft illumination above selected photographs. Their footsteps echoed gently across the polished floor.

Neither hurried. Every few moments, Por would stop to admire another photograph. Sometimes Teetee would explain where it had been taken. Sometimes he wouldn't. Silence no longer felt awkward between them. It felt earned...

When they reached the lobby, the front doors reflected the city lights outside like mirrors.

Teetee unlocked them.

The cool night air drifted inside. Bangkok was quieter now. Still alive. But gentler than before.

Por stepped outside first before turning back toward him.

For a second, neither spoke. Then Teetee smiled. "Aren't you going to ask for your exclusive interview?"

Por tilted his head. "I think I already got it."

"You didn't record anything."

"I know."

"And your editor?"

"I'll tell him the artist was impossible to catch."

Teetee laughed. "That's believable."

"It is."

They shared another smile. Simple. Unforced. Real.

Then Por reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He held it up slightly. "I'm not deleting your number this time."

Teetee instinctively looked down at the phone in his own hand. His contact list still contained the same entry he had never managed to change. The same name. The same person. He looked back at Por. "I wasn't planning to delete yours either."

No promises followed. No declarations that they would call tomorrow. No agreement to meet every weekend. Life had taught them that certainty was fragile.

Instead, Por simply said, "Maybe next time, don't wait six years."

Teetee's smile widened. "I'll try."

Por nodded once. Then turned toward his car. He opened the driver's door, paused, and looked back one last time.

Teetee was still standing beneath the gallery lights. Hands tucked into his pockets. Watching him with the same calm expression he used to wear all those years ago.

Por raised a hand. A small wave.

Teetee returned it.

Then the engine started. The car slowly disappeared into the sleeping city.

Teetee remained where he was until the taillights vanished around the corner. Only then did he exhale. He reached into his pocket and unlocked his phone. The recent calls list was still open. At the very top sat one name.

Teerak.

For the first time in six years, the word no longer made his chest ache. It simply made him smile.

He slipped the phone away and looked up at the night sky.

Perhaps some people entered your life to stay forever. And perhaps others stayed forever in a different way. Not beside you. Not within reach. But quietly woven into who you became.

Teetee turned off the last light in the gallery. Locked the front door. And walked toward his own car. Behind him, the building stood peacefully, filled with photographs that captured moments impossible to repeat. Ahead of him, the road stretched into tomorrow.

For the first time in years, he didn't feel like he was leaving something behind. He felt like he was carrying something forward. Not regret. Not longing. Just gratitude.

And somewhere else in the city, stopped at a red light before heading home, Por found himself smiling for no reason at all. When the light turned green, he drove on.

The future remained unwritten. But tonight had finally rewritten the past. And somehow... that was enough.

---

One Month Later...

Life settled back into its familiar rhythm. Morning meetings. Flight schedules. Deadlines. Exhibitions. Interviews. Articles. Editing sessions. Nothing extraordinary. And perhaps that was exactly what made everything feel extraordinary.

Because somewhere between all of it, there was one subtle difference. Neither Teetee nor Por felt like they were carrying unfinished business anymore...

The meeting wrapped up just after lunch.

Teetee stepped out of the conference room, thanking the organizers before making his way through the lobby of the office building. His assistant walked a few steps behind him, already listing tomorrow's schedule from the tablet in her hands.

He only half-listened. Instead, his attention drifted to the iPad tucked beneath his arm. A notification had just appeared.

New Article Published.

Curious, he tapped it open while waiting for the elevator.

His lips curled upward almost immediately.

At the top of the page, beneath the headline, was a familiar byline.

Written by: Por Suppakarn.

He couldn't help but smile.

The article itself was elegantly written, praising the success of last month's showcase while weaving in observations about the visitors, the atmosphere, and the growing influence of Teetee's photography in Bangkok's art scene.

Then came the final paragraph.

Rumors continue to circulate that one journalist managed to secure the artist's long-promised exclusive interview after the event concluded. However, the identity of that journalist—and even the media company involved—remains unknown. Whether fact or carefully cultivated mystery, only the artist himself seems to know the truth.

Teetee laughed under his breath. "You're unbelievable."

He reached his waiting car and slid into the back seat.

His assistant settled into the passenger seat while the driver started the engine. "Where to next? You don't have any appointments this afternoon," she informed.

He looked out the window for a second before answering. Then smiled. "Take us to Por's office."

His assistant blinked. "...The media company?"

"Yes."

"Special visit?"

"Very."

She didn't ask another question. Instead, she simply nodded toward the driver.

Within moments, the car merged into traffic. Still smiling to himself, Teetee unlocked his phone and tapped a familiar contact. The call barely reached its second ring. It was answered immediately.

Before Teetee could even say hello, Por spoke first. "Before you start—yes, I was praising you."

A beat.

"And second..." A quiet chuckle came through the speaker. "You're a very fast reader."

Teetee laughed outright. "I've caught you."

"You always do."

He leaned comfortably against the leather seat. "Be in your lobby in twenty minutes."

Silence.

Then—"...What?"

"Twenty minutes, Por."

"Tee."

"No questions."

"I have several."

"I know."

"I'd like answers."

"You won't get any."

Por sighed dramatically. "I can hear you smiling."

"Wow, you really are a good journalist."

"What are you planning?"

Teetee glanced out the window as buildings slipped past. "Bring Auau with you."

"...Okay. But why?"

"And if he's with Save, bring him too."

Now Por sounded genuinely suspicious. "Okay wait, what's going on?"

"Just do it."

A pause.

Then Por surrendered. "...Fine."

Before ending the call, Teetee quietly added, "And Por?"

"Hm?"

"You shouldn't be surprised." A tiny laugh escaped him. "You should've seen this coming."

Click.

The line disconnected. Leaving Por staring at his phone with a knowing smile already forming.

---

Exactly twenty minutes later. Por stood in the lobby beside Auau. Somehow, Auau had also dragged Save downstairs after pulling him straight out of another meeting.

Save looked between them in complete confusion. "Phi... what exactly are we waiting for?"

Por merely folded his arms. "You'll see."

Auau narrowed his eyes. "You know something."

"I might."

"And your not telling me."

"I'm not."

"You enjoy being mysterious too much."

"I've learned from someone."

Before Auau could demand another explanation—The automatic glass doors slid open. All four men instinctively turned.

And there he was... Teetee. Fresh from his meeting. Dressed in a tailored casual suit, tablet tucked beneath one arm, glasses resting neatly on his face.

Professional.

Composed.

And somehow still unmistakably himself.

Por took one look at him and burst into a quiet laugh. "I knew it..."

Teetee walked toward him with an amused smile. "So... You guessed."

"I did."

"I expected nothing less."

Around them, employees crossing the lobby visibly slowed. Whispers spread almost instantly.

"Isn't that Teetee?"

"Why is he here?"

"Wait..."

"Isn't he talking to Por?"

"I heard they were old friends."

"So the rumors were true?"

Auau finally found his voice. He pointed dramatically at Teetee. "TEETEE WANPICHIT! Explanation. Right now."

Teetee looked delighted. "It's nice to see you too, Auau."

"No, don't dodge the question."

Save stood frozen beside them, looking as though he wasn't entirely convinced this was reality.

Por, meanwhile, simply watched Teetee. There was that expression again. That familiar one. Playful. Mischievous. Dangerously confident. He had missed seeing it.

Without saying another word, Teetee glanced toward his assistant. She stepped forward, tablet already open. Reading in a calm, professional tone, she announced,

"Khun Wanpichit's revised schedule for this afternoon." She cleared her throat. "At two-thirty p.m., an exclusive interview session will be conducted with the journalist who officially won last month's showcase challenge."

Auau frowned. "...I didn't win."

Save whispered, "I definitely didn't."

Then realization struck.

Slowly.

Painfully slowly.

Auau's jaw dropped.

Por simply laughed.

Of course.

Of course, this was what Teetee had been planning.

Por folded his arms and looked directly at him.

"So... Since you're the winner, Khun Suppakarn... is now the perfect time to claim the exclusive interview your editors have been hoping for."

Auau groaned. "You sneaky little—" Then he started laughing instead.

Save stood beside him, looking completely stunned.

Por closed the remaining distance between them. Only a single step separated them now. He extended his hand. A formal gesture. One journalist. One artist.

Teetee accepted it immediately. Their hands met in a firm handshake.

Por smiled. Professional on the surface. Fondness hidden underneath.

"I won't go easy on you, Khun Wanpichit."

Teetee's eyes sparkled. "I'd be disappointed if you did." He squeezed Por's hand once before letting go. "Ask me anything."

A pause.

Then, with a grin that only Por truly understood—"Because today... I won't be holding anything back either."

And as the lobby buzzed with curiosity around them, Auau quietly leaned toward Save and muttered, "You know what's funny?"

"What?"

"I'm pretty sure this interview is going to last a lot longer than fifteen minutes."

Save looked at the two men already walking toward the elevators side by side. Then smiled. "I have a feeling... it's going to last the rest of their lives."

---

"In another lifetime, we might have been right for each other from the beginning. In this one, we simply found our way back when we were finally ready to meet again."

-sarawranne-