Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

When Jun woke up, he knew he didn't need to go to his window to be sure the sky was gray. He could tell by the few rays of sunlight that filtered through his curtain, so tiny they seemed to be fighting the fog for any chance of illuminating the place. But it was a futile struggle, for the sky was completely overcast, the sun long hidden by heavy clouds that darkened everything around it.

He lingered on the bed for a moment longer, allowing himself to only contemplate the ceiling and exist in that near limbo between dream and reality. Very few were the nights when Jun dreamed of something good, like the last.

But honestly, for him it was difficult to choose between the constant nightmares that made him wake up sweating and breathless, or the illusory dreams that, in contrast, made him hate even more the simple act of opening his eyes and facing the truth.

Jun rolled over on the sheets, feeling, as his skin met the fabric, the cruel realization that he was alone, as always.

For the past two years it had been like this, and it would continue to be so for all the long years that still remained to him, if fate were cruel enough to take him only in his old age.

Long as the day ahead of him — a day like all the others were, and like all the days in the future would be.

Honestly, for Jun , every day was exactly the same. Between waking up and going to sleep, there was only work and more work, with a small break to go to the gym, the only part of his routine in which there was any kind, however distorted, of contentment.

Exercising, whether lifting weights, running or cycling, was a relief, the only time he could truly forget about everything. At those moments, there was nothing on his mind but focusing on the pain in his muscles or the intensity of his steps.

The gift of forgetting was something that only exhaustion and alcohol could bring him.

But before he could go to the gym, or even to work, he first had to go through the grueling ritual of having breakfast with his family, where he was subjected to the scrutiny of his mother's gaze, and that of his half-brother, Po .

By this point, he was already used to the feelings of pity and worry he saw reflected in those two pairs of eyes. And lately, they came accompanied by the same litany, repetitive as a broken record: "remember the will," "we need an heir," "you need to get married."

Jun was tired of always hearing the same thing.

He was very aware of his responsibilities. After all, his life now revolved solely around them.

Still, he would hear every word, taciturn. Perhaps hoping that one day they would change shape, that his destiny would somehow have changed between the moment he laid his head on the pillow at night and that new morning.

Or perhaps he simply wanted his family to understand that he listened to them, and that he always would. Even if he didn't comply to their suggestions, or give in to their wishes and pleas, he would always take them into consideration. After all, even though Jun was now just a shell of who he once was, his family had always been very important to him, and he would do everything possible, and sometimes the impossible, to protect them.

So, that day, like every other, he went through the same boring routine, alternating between listening to endless complaints, enduring worried glances, and chewing.

When he finally found himself free to descend the entrance steps towards the car, where the driver was already waiting to leave for the company, Jun was relieved to find himself in silence again.

Not surprisingly, since silence was his faithful companion. Moments like these, when there was nothing but him and the emptiness, no one to complain in his ear, no meetings to attend, no problems to solve – these were the small interims in which Jun could simply exist.

In the silence, he almost allowed himself to have peace. Almost.

But the truth is that life was never made of ' almosts '. What he had was only the now, that cold and opaque reality, in which the various 'what ifs' that tormented him would never come true.

Before getting into the car to face yet another day like every other, he stopped, his hand on the car handle, and looked up at the sky.

As he had already suspected, even without taking the time to go to the window when he woke up, the horizon was just a dark, heavy mass, with leaden-colored patches scattered here and there.

He stood there for another second, observing the landscape as if wondering if it would rain, or perhaps as if lamenting the gloomy day ahead, without the presence of the sun.

But he wasn't thinking about any of those things. In fact, he gazed at the sky as one gazes into a mirror, seeing himself reflected, contemplating that which was in his own likeness.

Today, he perfectly represented how Jun felt: gray.

But the truth is, it didn't matter what state the sky was in.

Even if the horizon were just a vast blue expanse, nothing would change.

After Yada left, followed by his father, Jun 's days would forever be cloudy.

*

Dylan was late.

At least in his conception of delayment, which wasn't much of a benchmark.

The truth is that there was still plenty of time to leave home and travel to the film location, and still arrive at least half an hour before the scheduled time.

Still, Dylan was anxious, sitting at the kitchen table waiting for Thame, his leg swinging frantically and his eyes occasionally glancing at the wall clock, as if staring at the hands would change the speed at which they moved.

"Dylan, dear, you're going to end up making a hole in the floor at that pace," his mother, Praveena , said disapprovingly, her head bobbing slightly from side to side as she calmly washed the dishes.

He stopped moving, a pout forming on his lips.

"If Thame had arrived on time, this wouldn't even be an issue," he sighed, glancing at the watch once more. "I swear, if he hadn't been coming from the office, I would have already gone to the house next door and given him a slap on the wrist."

— There’s still plenty of time, Dylan...

"What if something unexpected happens? Or the traffic is worse than usual? You know I don't like to rely on luck," he stood up abruptly, resolute. "You know what, I'm going to take a motorcycle tax..."

“ I’M HERE!!!”

It was Thame, shouting from the entrance as he ran into the house, breathless as if he'd run a marathon and not just gotten out of the car less than 50 meters away.

Dylan said goodbye to his mother, bowing at the doorway to put on his shoes. Then he straightened up and crossed his arms, glancing sideways at Thame.

"Dyl, are you ready yet?" Dylan just raised an eyebrow, his face as long as a fiddle. "Don't look at me like that, love... I'm here just in time, ain’t I?"

Upon hearing the word "love," Dylan rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest.

— I already told you not to call me that. We're not dating, or anything like that.

"Because you don't want to," Thame said, shrugging. Then, gently pulled one of Dylan's arms, which he yielded, letting the other hold his hand. "You know I'm in love with you, when are you going to give me a chance?"

"Thame, we've been best friends for almost 20 years, since we were little... I said I'd think about it, didn't I?" he replied, calmly pulling his hand back.

He didn't want to waste any more time, so he didn't wait for Thame to answer his rhetorical question; he simply walked to the car, closing the passenger door behind him as if putting an end to a conversation.

The truth is, Dylan didn't know how to handle this situation. About a month ago, his best friend had confessed his feelings for him.

Honestly, he could never have imagined it.

That day, Thame picked him up from college as he regularly did — at least, whenever he managed to get off work early — and took him to dinner at their favorite restaurant. It was a place they frequented, a shabu buffet on their way home.

There was nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to indicate what was about to happen.

Not until Thame reached for Dylan's hand across the table and pulled a ring from his pocket. That's when things started to get weird.

Since then, Dylan has been doing what he promised: he's been thinking about it, trying to figure out if he can see Thame in any other way than as a friend. For the past month, Thame has been flirting with him and calling him "love," holding his hand at random moments and sometimes bringing him gifts.

Things changed very quickly, and although he doesn't mind physical touch and displays of affection, it was still difficult for him.

Not because Thame is a man, since Dylan is gay, but because he's known him for so long that in his eyes he's family.

Now 23 years old, Dylan can't recall a life in which Thame wasn't his constant companion. They had been friends since the other moved into the house next door with his mother, when Dylan was just 5 years old and Thame was 8.

His siblings were still very young, Pepper only 3 years old, and Baifern was just a baby; so he and Thame quickly formed a friendship, playing together in the street and later, attending the same school.

Their mothers also became very close friends. As the years went by, the two houses seemed more like one — sometimes Thame and his mother would come over for lunch, sometimes he and his siblings would have breakfast next door; they went to school together, and after a few years, to college.

Thame was his accomplice and confidant. When he went down like a sack of potatoes after trying to climb a tree and broke his arm at age 9, it was Thame who held his hand while he writhed in pain. At 13, when he began to question why he was much more interested in his own classmates than in the girls at the neighboring school, it was Thame who listened to him and helped him in the process of self-discovery.

They were inseparable, like two peas in a pod.

But he always saw him only as his best friend, a brother that life had given him; someone he could trust with his eyes closed.

Well, not to arrive on time at places.

“I know you're upset with me for being late, but you're very inflexible about this whole punctuality thing, don't you think? We still have plenty of time to get there.”

Dylan turned to Thame, glaring at him. Even while driving, the other noticed and shifted nervously in his seat.

"Don't even get started. How many years have you known me? You know very well that I don't like being late," he said, his voice serious.

" Okay, okay. Let's change the subject," Thame smiled, that characteristic mischievous smile of his, which had a childlike quality that Dylan found very cute. His friend knew it was an almost infallible weapon against him, who only rolled his eyes in response. "Are you excited for today? It's a big campaign, the biggest you've ever done."

“I'm more nervous than anything else. I still don't understand why such a big brand chose me.”

Dylan had started modeling a few years ago, during his first year of college.

He had never had any ambition to be famous or anything like that — it had never even crossed his mind to work as a model — but his friend Nano started an internship early in his studies in the marketing department of a large company responsible for several brands—and from then on, Nano began to insist that Dylan had the right profile for it and that he should try.

His father worked at the same company, but as a manager in a finance department — it was a gigantic holding company.

Honestly, he doesn't know how Nano managed to get an internship there so easily, but he suspects his father had a hand in it.

But the idea of turning Dylan into a model was entirely the brainchild of his crazy friend, encouraged by his boss—whom he described as a brilliant woman who was also completely nuts, and who constantly asked him if he had any good-looking friends at college who could feature in photo shoots.

This type of company dealt with brands of all kinds, so he started with small ads and supporting roles, mostly recommended by Nano, who had absolutely no decision-making power, but who always recommended his friend whenever the role suited him.

Then, with a good professional Instagram account and several small jobs already done, other brands from other companies started looking for him as well.

So, he had been the star of a campaign before, it wasn't his first time. But it was certainly his first time in a campaign for such a big brand.

Bask sold luxury goods: handbags, accessories, jewelry, and perfumes. From what he had researched, previous campaigns were generally aimed at older, successful women and men who would have that much money to spend on these types of products.

The objective of the campaign he was going to star in was different, however. From what he understood from the briefing, it would be aimed primarily at the children of these wealthy individuals, as well as younger artists and influencers — a new audience the company wanted to reach.

But something seemed strange, not only because it was an incredible opportunity that appeared out of nowhere, but also because his father, who never interfered in any of his work, had asked him for the fee to pay some bills, claiming he would pay it back later.

Dylan didn't care about money; most of what he earned went into his savings, with the intention of using it for something important in the future. He and his family lived comfortably on the income his father earned from his job.

And that's why it was so strange when, right after he told his father the news about the job he had gotten, his reaction wasn't one of excitement — he didn't even seem surprised.

He simply nodded slightly, as if confirming an already known information, and asked how much the fee would be.

Dylan had never seen his father like that before.

He seemed... lost.

"They chose you because you're handsome and talented!" Thame said, interrupting his thoughts. "Everything will be alright, Dyl. I'm excited to see you with your new hair!"

Part of the job involved dyeing his hair. They had said they wanted a color that matched the campaign's theme, but he didn't yet know what color that was, only that he would first have to go to the set's hairstylist for a full bleaching session and then they would apply the dye.

“I think I'll find it strange, I've always used it in its natural color...”

“If you don't like it, you can dye it black later and let it grow out. It'll go back to normal quickly.”

“Yes, maybe...”

Dylan simply nodded and looked back out the car window, watching the trees and buildings blur past them like indistinct shadows, his mind elsewhere—and his chest gripped by an unsettling feeling that something about this story felt definitely off.

*

Jun had already drunk three coffees and huffed about 50 times, and it wasn't even lunchtime yet. They were testing his patience, it seemed.

First there were the numbers — which didn't add up. He checked once, twice, and a third time. It was subtle, a little here, a little there, but it was clear to anyone who paid attention to details, like him.

Someone was embezzling money from the company.

It had to be someone from the finance or accounting department to even have access to those funds, and everything indicated that this was the third consecutive month that this had happened.

It wasn't a large sum yet, but he immediately called the superintendent of the finance department, demanding an investigation to find out who might be committing the fraud.

Regardless of values, he would not allow that type of behavior within his company.

Since his father fell ill, Jun had assumed his position as president of Tangsakultham Enterprise — first as interim president, and after Phat 's death, officially as the sole holder of the position.

He had been always prepared for this.

He studied Business Administration, already knowing that his destiny would be to inherit the company one day. After graduating, he began helping his father in every way possible, learning about the company — first in other departments, and then directly from his father, in order to understand all the responsibilities inherent to that position.

Those responsibilities would fall to him, he knew that — he just never imagined it would be so soon.

His father was a strong man — the kind that intimidates at first glance, who seemed indestructible. It wasn't easy at all to watch him wither away in a hospital bed, losing weight at the same rate the sparkle in his eyes faded, day after day, taken away so violently and so quickly that his family could do nothing but watch.

Now, Jun was alone in charge of that company.

Alone. In every sense, in everything that mattered.

Loneliness had turned Jun into the man he was now: someone who doesn't waste time on trivialities — everything he does is efficient, precise, and cold, as if he hadn't known for a long time what it was like to expend energy on anything unnecessary.

For that very reason, the second event that tested his patience that morning was receiving news from his secretary that there were problems with the recording of the Bask commercial, scheduled for that afternoon.

They had reported that the main product, a limited edition that hadn't yet been released, had suddenly disappeared on set, and everyone was frantically searching for it.

This type of incompetence was unacceptable, from his point of view. The brand was one of their biggest, with very important and discerning stakeholders, and they wouldn't forgive even the slightest mistake.

And now, it would be up to him to decide, of course. If they couldn't find the product, what would be the solution? He was the one who had to have the answers, who would somehow have to remedy the failures of others.

Jun was supposed to manage the chaos.

And that's what he did.

He called his secretary and asked her to rearrange his schedule. Fortunately, he had no urgent meetings or appointments that afternoon. Then, he ordered her to inform the set staff that he would be personally going to the location and that they should reserve a room for him. Furthermore, he instructed her to tell the driver that they would be leaving in half an hour.

His eyes quickly scanned the report about the commercial, where all the information was listed: product, theme, colors, visual references, script, models, materials, etc. But it was the location of the set that caught his attention.

It was very close to the cemetery. Jun no longer had the habit of visiting Yada's grave, who had been buried next to her mother in a small cemetery on the other side of the city — where he imagined she would have preferred to be. His father, on the other hand, was buried in a separate area, exclusive for his family, at Bangkok's biggest cemetery.

His mother still frequently visited her husband who had left — she liked to clean the gravestone and always leave fresh flowers there. She talked to that stone as if one day it would truly answer her.

Jun wasn't as effusive; much less did he had the same amount of free time.

Truth be told, even if he had plenty of time, he probably wouldn't go anyway.

He used to go, at first.

He brought flowers every day, trying somehow to feel some energy, some solace that there was still some trace of Yada in this world.

But a dry land and a piece of cold rock were not a sight that reminded him in any way of the woman he loved.

Jun found it more unsettling than comforting to face those words carved in marble, the epitaph stating a truth just too cruel — "Too much loved to be forgotten".

He had never even tried. Forget? How could he?

His visits became less frequent, until he hardly came anymore.

Nevertheless, seeing how close the filming location was, he asked his secretary to order a bouquet of flowers and have it delivered to the set.

He was already organizing the paperwork on his desk to leave when the door to his office suddenly opened.

To enter like that, without even knocking, it could only have been one person.

“Mom”. And she wasn't alone. Po came in right behind her, his bag slung over his shoulder, indicating they had probably come to pick him up so they could have lunch together. “Brother”.

“Are you leaving, my son? Where are you going?”

“I have matters to attend to outside. Problems with the filming of the Bask commercial”.

“Oh, what a shame, I had reserved a table for us at a new Japanese restaurant... We have some great news to share!”

Jun raised an eyebrow, skeptical. He could imagine he wouldn't like what he was about to hear at all. Even so, he said:

“I still have a few minutes; you can tell me now.”

Po and Arisa exchanged glances, as if deciding which of them would poke the bear with such a short stick.

Finally, they sat nervously on the sofa, indicating that perhaps it wasn't something so quick or simple to tell. Or decide.

Jun crossed his arms and sat down in the armchair, waiting.

Mother and son finally ended their battle of glances, and Po seemed to have been given the responsibility of speaking after all.

“So, I have a friend...”

“No”.

Jun didn't need to listen to the end. He knew perfectly well where that conversation was going.

“But she's super cool, I think you two would get along...”

“No”.

“Jun ...” This time it was his mother who spoke, trying to soothe the salvage beast and make him listen.

"How many times do I have to say this?!" he exclaimed, his voice rising. "I don't want to meet anyone's friends, any of so-and-so's cousins, or anything like that. Stop insisting, my answer will continue to be no."

"And how do you intend to meet your father's demands, then?" Arisa retorted, her gaze hardening slightly.

The truth is, she would love for her son to meet someone new and allow himself to be happy again. More than that, she simply wished that her boy could regain the sparkle in his eyes that the loss of Yada had taken away.

In an ideal world, he would have all the time in the world to recover, to overcome. In that ideal world, Jun himself would be seeking that.

The reality was crueler. Jun only sank deeper and deeper into apathy and bitterness, and he seemed resigned to it.

And then there was the will.

Arisa wasn't quite sure what had motivated her husband, in his final moments, to decide on such conditions. But it was clear, in signed and stamped paper, that Phat had conditioned Jun's inheritance on certain eligibility criteria — so to speak.

To claim his share, he needed to be married for at least six consecutive months and have an heir. Otherwise, the money and assets would go to the closest relative, in this case Phat 's brother, Jun's uncle.

And the part that fell to Jun was the most important. Arisa had got the house, some cars, and a good amount of money.

But the company's shares, the true assets, were inherited by the only fruit of that marriage, their youngest son — and Phat 's only child.

“Are you really going to let all the effort your father put into building this company and making it what it is today fall into the hands of that worthless uncle of yours? You know very well that he's a spendthrift womanizer with no sense of responsibility. He'll spend it all in the blink of an eye and leave the company to ruins”.

“No, Mom, I'm not going to. I have a plan.”

"A plan?" she inquired, her tone clearly showing her disbelief. "Would you mind sharing it with the rest of us, then? Eight months have already passed since the start of the deadline, and I haven't seen any movement from you yet."

The will's requirements came with a stipulated deadline: 2 years. If Jun did not have an heir and a stable marriage within that time, the inheritance would go to Chat, his uncle.

Arisa could only imagine that her late husband had devised a foolproof scheme to put Jun at a crossroads. His father knew very well that, if it were up to Jun, he would never again be in a relationship with anyone, living forever only with the memories of the life he could have had with Yada .

Perhaps that period was what the man had considered ideal for Jun to meet someone, fall in love, get married, and have a child.

But eight months had already passed since the reading of the will, and Jun continued to refuse to meet new people.

By that point, the woman had already accepted that everything would end up with her damned brother-in-law. Honestly, she persisted with her youngest son using the inheritance argument only because she knew that in Jun 's rational and objective mind, this was more of a valid reason. In a way, she hoped that perhaps the ends justified the means.

But in her heart, she couldn't care less about the money. She just wanted to see her boy happy again.

For that to happen, Jun would first have to allow himself to do so.

She leaned back in her seat, reaching for her son's hand, who looked at their clasped hands as if expecting another scolding.

Arisa softened her voice, however, letting out what she truly wanted to say, what she had held back for those long months. Months in which she had to be strong, for her two children, and for herself.

But being strong sometimes meant allowing yourself to be vulnerable. She let the tears stream freely down her face, and both Jun and Po startled at the sight.

"My son, I know how much you loved Yada. I know how much it hurts. Because I loved your father too, very much. But I'm trying, aren't I? I get up every day, and I try to be happy. I'm trying to move on."

The words caught Jun off guard. His eyebrows twitched, and his eyes lowered to the ground. He didn't respond immediately, and when he did, his voice trembled, becoming only a distant echo of the firm and decisive tone he usually used.

"But you have me, you have a piece of him that was left behind," he looked at his mother, and then at his half-brother, who watched the scene with a worried expression. Jun nodded towards him. "You also have Po, who needs you. What do I have, mother? What's left for me?"

He loosened the hand Arisa was holding and ran it through his hair in frustration. The corners of his eyes stung, his nose tickling, and he looked up to hold back the tears.

Jun wasn't going to cry, because crying wouldn't change anything at all.

He found that out the hard way.

When he spoke again, his eyes were still fixed on the ceiling, but his voice was firmer, a hint of anger interwoven in his words. Not anger at his mother, or his family, but at the reality he had to live in. At the things he couldn't change.

" Yada is gone, and she left nothing behind. Sometimes I wake up thinking I'm going crazy and she never existed. And then, as if that wasn't enough, Dad left us too." He shook his head slightly, his gaze lowering again to the same level as his mother's. "I couldn't save either of them. How do you expect me to forget all this?"

Arisa was startled by the woe and resentment contained in those words. She knew Jun had a habit of blaming himself for things he couldn't control, and she found herself wondering how much responsibility he gave himself for those two deaths — when the truth was that neither he, nor she, nor anyone else, ever had any power to change anything that had happened.

It was nobody's fault, except perhaps that of a cruel fate.

More than that, she couldn't conceive of the idea that her son truly felt there was nothing left to hold on to. It destroyed her to see him in such a deep pit — and no matter how much she or Po tried to help him, to throw him a rope he could use to ascend back, if Jun didn't use his own strength to climb up, it would all be for nothing.

"You have me. You have your brother. You have yourself, Jun," she moved closer again, placing her palm on her son's chest, feeling beneath her skin the way his heart beat.

Even though Jun wanted to act as if he had also died in that accident, his body was still there, functioning perfectly, each heartbeat silently screaming "I'm still alive."

He just needed to try harder and listen to it.

It pained Arisa to see her son like that, just a shell of what he once was. Grief had consumed him so much that he was unable to recover.

He didn't even try.

And if there was heaven, paradise, or something like that, she was sure that Yada and Phat were watching from up there, upset and missing Jun's beautiful smile, just like her.

He had indeed survived that accident, but now he was continually wasting even the mere possibility of actually living.

She needed him to understand that Yada would never want that.

Arisa thought of her daughter-in-law, of how much she loved her son. Of how not even death could erase the mark that such love would left on someone.

“Her love still exists within you,” Arisa continued. “You can’t let this pain consume you like this, take your life while you’re still alive and breathing. You know she would want you to be happy. The same goes for your father, even if he was sometimes very harsh with you. I’m not asking you to forget anything, Jun, but simply to live. To allow yourself to do so. Because what you’re doing now can hardly be called surviving.”

Jun placed his hand over his mother's, a tear falling and sliding down his cheek, despite his earlier efforts to hold it back.

The words hit him hard.

He knew that, of course he knew. He knew that Yada, if she were here now, would give him a phenomenal scolding. Besides being his wife, she was also his best friend, and she knew better than anyone how to reprimand him when he messed up.

But then again, she wasn't here. It was pointless to try to cling to conjectures about how she would act or what she would think — because the only reason for the whole problem was, primarily, her absence.

How could Jun be happy in a world without Yada?

Part of him would like to fulfill his mother's request, truly — perhaps a remnant of the person he once was.

But Jun was already very used to the numbness of a monotonous and emotionless life. His routine, despite being tedious, was in a way a safe haven—something certain and methodical that he could rely on.

To make a change now, where would he even begin?

Jun was too immersed in his gray and dull world to find a way out on his own; and too consumed by the pain to accept help.

Like an animal caught in a trap, he felt cornered by his own choices, too hurt to allow anyone to get close enough to get him out of there.

"I miss you, Jun. I miss my brother," Po said, his voice barely a whisper. He seemed almost terrified to speak at that moment, and that only made Jun hate himself even more.

After all, perhaps it was for the best that he kept his distance from everyone, since he seemed capable only of hurting those around him.

He removed Arisa's hand from his chest, wiped away the tear that had escaped, and then abruptly rose from his armchair, turning his back momentarily to the other two.

When he looked at them again, his stoic mask had already returned to his face.

“I think we're getting off-topic, aren't we? We were talking about the will”.

Arisa sighed, disappointed. She almost believed that Jun would listen to her this time. Po, beside her, placed his hand lightly on her thigh, offering her a silent support.

"As I was saying, I have a plan. And part of it is already in full swing," Jun continued.

This caught her attention. Could Jun have already met someone and not said anything? A spark of hope ignited in her chest.

“How so?” she asked, fearful. Jun's gaze was strange, too cold, calculating like that of a businessman.

"Well, what did Dad's will say? To receive my share of the inheritance, I need to be married for six months and have an heir, right?" Arisa simply nodded, already very familiar with the conditions her husband imposed, even after his death. "However, the text is concise. So simple, in fact, that it allows for some loopholes."

"Loopholes?" Po asked this time. "What loophole could there be in that?"

“An heir is simply someone who carries my last name, a direct descendant. There is no specification that they need to be a blood relative”.

Arisa and Po exchanged shocked glances. There really wasn't any detail of that sort in the will; no lawyer could contest a legitimate heir if he possessed the family surname and Jun was his legal guardian. But then, that meant...

“Exactly what you're imagining. I've filed the adoption papers, and the process is already well advanced. In about a month, I'll be able to pick up the child”.

Arisa was too stunned to say anything. Po was just as taken aback, but something still didn't seem right.

"Doesn't it take a long time for them to review the paperwork and approve everything?" he asked. "I have friends who spent almost two years before they were actually able to adopt a child. How did you manage it so quickly?"

The question made Jun slightly uneasy, and he rubbed his neck as if the answer would be difficult for him. It took him a moment to finally reply:

“When Yada was still alive, we had decided to adopt and we filed the paperwork,” Arisa and Po exchanged glances again. Neither of them knew this. “After the accident, I asked them to pause the process, but they had already investigated all our socioeconomic and family background back then. The orphanage director is the father of a college classmate of mine, so it wasn’t too difficult to get him to reopen the process with what he already had, without having to start all over again.” Jun shrugged, as if adopting a child were a trivial matter. “I contacted him a little over a month after we read the will, and since then I’ve decided on the child and all the process is going very well. It also helped to choose a slightly older child, since most people want younger ones.”

The truth was that Yada had fertility problems. She had tried some treatments for it, but Jun had suggested that they could try adoption. He knew that his family wanted an heir, someone to inherit the company as he would inherit from his father, but pregnancy wasn't the only way to have an heir.

The whole situation about being pregnant always stressed her out a lot — every time Yada came back from a clinic, she was always sadder than the last time. Jun had never cared much about being a father, especially since they were still quite young, but Yada always wanted to be a mother, and she felt it was her duty as a wife to bear an heir.

Jun didn't think Yada had any obligation or duty to do anything, but he understood both her desire and that of his family.

He suggested adoption precisely because it would take some time, perhaps two or three years, and by then he would be older and more mature when the child was finally theirs. They had time, after all.

He believed it — and he never been so wrong.

"Are you crazy, Jun?" Arisa 's shocked voice pulled him from his thoughts, bringing him back to reality. "What do you mean you two were going to adopt a child and never told us anything? And now you've just decided to adopt on your own because of a will?"

“Well, what's the difference? So, it's okay for me to marry and get some random woman pregnant and have a child, but adoption is out of the question?”

“We're talking about my grandson, a living being, not a piece of furniture. The difference is that the child would be conceived out of love and not for financial reasons, and would be loved as such”.

Jun laughed incredulously. It was a bitter laugh, one that came from his throat but didn't reach his lips.

“You must be very delusional if you really think I would be capable of loving another woman, even less so under these conditions. I haven't accepted either of your attempts to push me towards someone else, and I will continue to refuse each and every one of them. No other woman will set foot in our house, much less sleep in my bed”.

Arisa raised a defiant eyebrow.

“So how do you intend to meet the second requirement?”

Jun opened his arms wide, as if the whole situation were a grand spectacle.

“And here's the other loophole in the text”.

Arisa's stomach churn, seeing in Jun the calculating side of Phat that she had always hated — but which her husband, at least, had always reserved for company matters.

But as for Jun, he was deciding his own life as if it were a monetary transaction or some kind of contract — and that made Arisa feel nauseous, as if she were literally sick.

"Have you ever heard of equal marriage, Mom? Dad probably never knew about it, since the law was passed shortly before he got sick. Maybe that's why he didn't bother to specify it in his will. Who knows?" He shrugged again, watching Po straighten up, already knowing where this was going.

After all, Po was gay, and he knew it, as did his mother, but his father died without Po ever telling him. Although Phat was only Po 's stepfather, he treated him like a son.

Perhaps he knew even without him telling. Or perhaps he left without even suspecting.

Jun also never felt the need to tell anyone he was bisexual, because he had always loved Yada, since a young age. The few experiences he had during adolescence were flings, which occurred before he mustered the courage to confess to his best friend and they start dating.

Po knew, not because he had told him, but because his half-brother had caught him making out with a guy behind the school once.

Perhaps that's why his eyes widened with anticipated understanding, while Arisa still looked at him with furrowed brows, confused.

“People of the same sex have been legally able to marry since January of last year. I don't need a woman to set foot in our house, because I'm going to marry a man”.

The words fell across the room as if they weighed a ton, creating a few seconds of silence of pure astonishment and disbelief.

Po seemed to recover more quickly, and asked:

“Brother, are you sure?”

Arisa looked from one to the other, seeing some kind of agreement or secret between siblings that she clearly wasn't included in.

"Do you even like men?" she inquired.

Jun let his eyes, which had been locked in a heated, silent debate with those of his half-brother, travel back to his mother.

“It doesn't matter, Mom. I'm not going to marry for love anyway.”

“And do you intend to spend your whole life with someone you don't love?”

“And why would I spend my life with that person? The will only asks for 6 consecutive months. After I retrieve the inheritance, I can get a divorce and that's the end of it”.

Arisa was speechless.

Jun had always been very intelligent, but seeing him use his mind in that way, almost perversely, left her speechless. Her son used to be an optimistic boy who firmly believed in love. What kind of man had he become?

"Do you have anyone in mind yet?" Po asked. To be honest, he wasn't very comfortable with Jun's decision either. However, he knew there was no way to change his brother's mind once he'd made up his mind about something.

— No. I'm going to hire an actor or something like that. I asked Gam, my secretary, to screen some names and profiles. It can't be just anyone, because if our uncle finds out, he could challenge the legitimacy of the marriage in court and ruin everything”.

"And what about the child? Are you going to put some random person’s name on the adoption certificate?" Arisa asked this time.

Honestly, it was absurd enough that Jun would submit himself to that madness. But involving an innocent child? That went beyond all limits.

“What? Why would I do that? I've already filed the paperwork, Mom. In my name only. It will be my child, the fact that I'll be married doesn't change anything. Maybe it will even help, since there's a 6-month probationary period before I officially get custody of the child. When the social worker comes to visit, we can pretend to be a beautiful, happy family”.

"My son, we’re talking about a child, not a toy," she retorted, exhausted, already knowing she had lost this argument before it had even begun. Still, she tried to instill some sense into her own son.

“I'm sure they'll be better off with us than in the orphanage. If I'm not able to love them, I'm sure you and Po will be. They'll have everything they could ever want, go to the best schools, and have a great future.

Well, it wasn't entirely untrue. Arisa was certain that she would love her grandchild, and perhaps a child would help warm Jun's frozen heart. It still seemed wrong to adopt for the reasons he did, but if it would take a child out of the usually terrible existence that was life in an orphanage, then perhaps the ends justified the means.

She didn't have time to say anything more, however. Jun looked at his watch and nipped the conversation in the bud as if they had decided on what color to pain a wall, and not his own future.

"Well, it's decided. I have to go, like I said, they're having problems on the Bask set" he glanced once more at the watch on his wrist. "Actually, I should already be there."

Jun gathered his belongings from the table, while Arisa and Po watched, paralyzed.

“Brother, want to come with me? I bet you can find plenty of good inspiration for your new collection there”.

Po owned a clothing brand, his own, personal company. It had been growing a lot in recent years, and now he mainly dressed celebrities and artists in the entertainment industry.

The idea was to open a large store soon, but Po was still putting the project together, especially the launch collection.

Po was still somewhat perplexed by the news he had heard, but at the mention of his collection, he smiled. He loved visiting film sets and backstages at these big productions; he always came back brimming with new ideas.

"Yes, I want to! I’ll go with you," he said, grabbing his bag from the sofa and slinging it over his shoulder, then turning to his mother. "Can you have lunch alone today, Mom?"

"That's alright, my love. Don't worry about me, go with your brother," Arisa said.

Before they left, however, she called for her youngest son.

“Jun” she waited for him to turn and look into her eyes. Only then did she add, with sorrow in her voice. “My son, you are becoming bitter. If you continue like this, one day you will look back and regret who you have allowed yourself to become”.

Jun paused for a second — it almost seemed like he was actually thinking about it. But then, he simply turned his back and walked away.

Po looked back and forth between his mother and where his brother had gone, unsure whether to stay or go. Arisa simply nodded, indicating that he should follow Jun. And so he did.

Arisa sighed, her eyes lost on that door through which her two children had left, but her mind was elsewhere.

She spent a few more moments there alone, processing everything she had heard in the last hour. The fate Jun had forged for himself seemed grim — and there was nothing she could do to change it.

When she finally crossed the entrance hall, her mind was so troubled that she didn't even notice the absence of Jun 's secretary from her usual post behind the counter.

In her stupor, she could never have imagined that — thanks to that absence — someone had been there in that exact spot, and so had heard the entire conversation about the will and Jun's plan.

Much less could she have known that this fact, instead of causing their ruin, would actually be their salvation.

*

After all, Dylan arrived on set 15 minutes ahead of schedule.

Thame just dropped him this time, having to return to his company. In recent years, he had accompanied him on numerous shootings whenever he was free — now, it was more difficult to fit that into his work schedule.

Still, his friend offered to take him and pick him up almost every time. Dylan didn't know how to drive, much less own a car, so he depended on his father or Thame to get around in those cases.

To get to and from college, he usually used public transport if Thame wasn't available. But on days like today, when he needed to look presentable, he preferred to come by car.

Dylan wouldn't mind simply taking a Grab or even a motorcycle taxi, if necessary, but everyone around him seemed to prefer treating him like a princess and always found a way to drop him off at places.

Well, the important thing is that he was there on time.

But as soon as he stepped onto the set, he immediately realized something wasn't right. The place looked like it had been turned upside down, and people were running around completely disoriented.

A shooting session always had a chaotic element to it — and for Dylan, that was part of the charm.

Although he entered this field almost by accident, he had developed a taste for the whole process and studied more about the different areas involved in filmmaking whenever he could.

He loved asking questions to the makeup artists, costume designers, photographers, and directors, as well as interacting with the staff as a whole. Dylan already knew the rhythm of a day like that; he knew that ecosystem inside and out.

And so, he was certain that something had gone wrong on that set. To begin with, there was no one to greet him. Even when he had small roles, there was always someone responsible for directing the actors and models, whether to go to makeup, costumes, or somewhere to wait.

And yet, he was the only one starring in that campaign that day — and nobody even noticed his arrival.

He had sent a message saying he would arrive soon, both to the person in charge and to Nano, but the messages hadn't even been read.

He stood there for a few seconds, watching the people coming and going, turning everything upside down. He checked his phone again, nothing.

Finally, he decided to venture into the middle of that chaos. He didn't recognize any faces, but he identified a female employee with a staff sign and gently grabbed her arm. That was enough to stop the woman, who glared at Dylan as if she were going to kill him for interrupting whatever she was doing.

"Hello, P'," he said, making a wai gesture over his face, which the girl returned, but her gesture was much quicker and more careless, her torso already slightly turned as if she were about to run away at any second. "Do you know where P'Ing is? She was supposed to meet me here..."

The girl looked at him strangely, as if she was surprised that he even knew that name.

"I don't know, Ing must also be looking for the..." she paused, her eyes widening slightly, indicating that she had realized what that meant. "Oh, you're the model? Nong Dylan, right?"

"That's right, P'," he nodded and looked around. "If you don't know about P'Ing, then do you know where Nano is?"

The woman laughed, a mocking laugh that startled him.

"If I were you, I wouldn't look for him now," Dylan opened his mouth to ask why, but before he could even utter the first word, the staff cut him off. "Nong, we're very busy right now. Why don't you wait in the dressing room? It's at the end of that hallway."

She pointed with her finger in the direction of somewhere behind Dylan's back, and he turned to look. Indeed, there was a long corridor, with about six or seven rooms; at the end of it, there were two rooms, one facing the other.

Dylan turned to ask which of the two was the dressing room, but when he returned, the girl was no longer there. There was also no one else nearby he could ask.

He walked slowly down the hallway, searching for signs on the doors, but there were none. When he reached the last two, he stared at them as if the pattern of the wood would give him some clue — and obviously, it didn't.

With little choice, he opened one of the doors. He found himself in an empty room, a vanity with a chair at one end, and a sofa against the wall at the other.

It was definitely a dressing room. On the coffee table, there was a small basket of snacks, the kind of treat they always put out for the models in bigger campaigns like this one.

Dylan stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He must have been in the right place.

He pulled out his cell phone to try to call Nano, but before he lit up the screen, a detail caught his attention.

There was a beautiful bouquet of flowers on one of the sofa cushions, wrapped in colorful cellophane paper and tied with a satin ribbon in a perfect bow.

Dylan knew that in some big campaigns it was common to give female models bouquets of flowers. Men also received them, of course, but it wasn't as common.

Or maybe he'd just never been that important in a film shoot before to receive one.

He approached and nestled the bouquet in his arms, inhaling its fragrance. The truth was, Dylan loved plants, especially flowers. His mother tended to her garden as if it were one of her own children, and he regularly helped her, whether by watering, pruning, or planting.

Just say the name and Dylan would know how to care for it, how much sun it should get, how much fertilizer it should receive, and also what meanings were attributed to it.

He gently smoothed one of the petals between his thumb and forefinger, a smile adorning his face. In his hands was a white Japanese lily, one of the 10 that made up that bouquet.

Lilies like that one were very expensive flowers, often used in weddings and other formal ceremonies. Generally, flowers like this symbolized innocence and purity, but they also meant...

“Who are you? What are you doing here?”

... renewal.

Dylan had been so engrossed in the bouquet that he hadn't even noticed when the door opened and a man entered.

He looked up, his eyes meeting the stranger's. They stared at each other, and neither spoke for a few seconds.

Honestly, that guy was very, like VERY handsome. His brown hair matched his eyes, which were a very similar shade; his skin had a slightly tanned, almost caramel tone, and despite being thin, it was quite clear that the young man worked out a lot, as his muscles stood out even under his clothes.

He could easily be a model, and for a brief moment, Dylan did wonder if that would be the case.

But the pieces didn't fit together.

The filming location was reserved for the Bask campaign all day — and Dylan was the only model cast.

Furthermore, the person in front of him was wearing a full suit and tie, with a clearly expensive watch adorning his wrist.

None of the models he knew dressed around like that, cosplaying as businessmen — they usually dressed simply, in jeans and a t-shirt, or else very stylishly, with lots of accessories and clothes with different cuts.

That guy didn't seem to be in a costume. Although he was probably no more than 30 years old at most, he exuded the aura of someone who had the last word in a meeting, or who knew exactly which stocks to invest in.

Dylan had seen men like that before. It wasn't very common, but sometimes investors or representatives from the sponsoring company would come to watch the recording, checking if all the specifications they had requested were being met.

But never so young. And he certainly hadn't found them wandering around in a dressing room, especially hours before anything had even been recorded.

He opened his mouth, ready to throw the same question at the stranger that he had been asked, but was cut off before he could even try as soon as the man's eyes left him and noticed the flowers in his arms.

“Those flowers don't belong to you”.

Dylan looked from the man to the flowers, and back to the man again. Ah.

What a bummer, he was so happy to have them; it was the first time he'd received them from someone other than a family member. Oh well, it is what it is...

He carefully placed the bouquet back in its original spot, on the sofa.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know, I thought..." he tried to say, but was cut off again.

“How did you get in here? Who let you in?”

“The staff said this was the dressin...”

"Ah, you're an intern, aren't you? You interns don't know anything, you just do everything wrong!" the other man said, finally entering the room. He took off his jacket and threw it on the sofa next to the flowers, getting closer to Dylan than before. His perfume distracted him for a second; the fragrance was sophisticated, obviously expensive, and probably imported; but he quickly snapped back to reality when the man added: "One loses the product, the other goes where he shouldn't."

Who does that crazy guy think he is? Nice cologne and looks like a K-drama CEO, so what? He didn't let Dylan finish a single sentence; and clearly thought he was better than everyone else.

What an annoying guy.

“Hey, Khun. I think you should calm down first. I'm not an intern, and even if I were, I don't think you should talk to me like that...”

“You’re not an intern, so what are you? The son of someone working on set? If you came with an employee, you should at least have the basic sense not to go barging into other people's rooms or messing with things that aren't yours”.

Dylan felt his ears grow hot. He wouldn't classify himself as someone who lost his temper easily, but the man in front of him seemed to be challenging his convictions on that matter.

That discussion was fruitless. He was curious about who that guy was, but he wasn't going to stay there trying to talk to someone who wouldn't even let him finish a single sentence.

He tried to walk to the door, passing the stranger without saying another word, but before he could leave, the man forcefully grabbed his arm, making him turn around.

"Where do you think you're going? I'm talking to you," the other hissed while pulling him.

But the movement was very abrupt and just sudden. Dylan, who wasn't prepared, stumbled all the way down — falling half-sitting and half-lying on the sofa, partly on top of the other’s jacket and partly on top of the flowers.

Furthermore, because he was holding his wrist, the man was pulled along in the fall, landing on top of him.

They stared at each other in astonishment, their faces only inches apart, their noses almost touching. The man above him pulled his face away slightly, but still kept looking at him, as if trapped in some kind of trance.

After an awkward moment, Dylan pushed the other's chest, since it didn't seem like he was going to leave alone anytime soon.

Even after they stood up again, him fixing his hair which had been messed up from contact with the sofa, and the other straightening his clothes, the man in the suit kept staring at him — as if Dylan's mere existence was an insult.

Still, he said nothing more, and the room fell into an uncomfortable silence — which seemed quite fitting, considering what had just happened.

Then he looked down and saw the bouquet.

"Oh, no!" he cradled the bundle in his arms again, examining the damage more closely. The weight and movement of his body had caused some petals to fall off during the fall, and the flowers had been crushed. One of them had a broken stem and was hanging at an awkward angle. "Khun, I'm so sorry... They're ruined."

He pouted sadly, genuinely upset that such beautiful flowers were being ruined like that. In truth, a good portion could still be salvaged, but it would require someone who knew how to arrange them, like him, to remove what was unusable and organize the rest.

Carefully, he placed them back on top of the cushions. The man was still strangely quiet, which made Dylan feel the need to fill that silence.

“Flowers like these aren't very common. Are you giving them as a gift to someone? It must be someone very special.”

The guy in front of him crossed his arms over his chest, one eyebrow raised.

“And what if I was? They're no longer useful now. How do you intend to compensate me?”

Dylan always tried to be kind and interact with everyone on set, it's true. But the man in front of him seemed to have made it his life's mission to make that impossible.

Seriously, he didn't know what small talk was, or how to do it? Or wasn't he capable of being even remotely cordial? It wasn't even Dylan's fault that the flowers had been ruined in the first place!

What did he expect, that Dylan would pay for them?

No way! A bouquet like that would cost a good chunk of his fee today — money he needed to help his father.

“Hey, Khun, you're the one who pulled me and made me fall. Why should I compensate you? It wasn't my mistake”.

“You were the clumsy one who tripped, I didn't even pull that hard”.

Dylan rolled his eyes, seeing no point in arguing with that lunatic.

“Look, if the issue is the gift, I can rearrange the flowers for you. I'm sure whoever receives them won't even notice the difference”.

The man said nothing more, only stared at Dylan as if he wanted more reasons to continue arguing with him, his mouth opening once or twice, but in the end, he seemed to simply give up complaining again.

Dylan took it as agreement, so he sat on the sofa and began arranging the flowers in his hands, first removing what could not be used.

And once again, not much time passed before he felt the need to fill the awkward silence that surrounded them.

“Do you know the meaning of Japanese lilies? White ones like these signify pure, innocent love. But they can also mean a new beginning. Renewal. If you make a mistake, you can use them to ask for forgiveness”.

He finished making the adjustments, stood up, and threw the unusable remains into the trash can next to the vanity. When he turned back to the man, he was still in the same position, standing and looking at him.

"People usually give roses or daisies as gifts. What made you choose lilies?" Dylan asked, genuinely curious. It definitely wasn't such a common choice, and he wondered if there was a specific reason.

The other seemed surprised by the question and mumbled a nonsensical answer.

“I don't... They are...”

"Are these your girlfriend's favorites?" Dylan tried to guess, then figured, judging by the man's profile, that he must already be married, so he added, "Or your wife’s?"

The word had some effect on the other, who widened his eyes, the tips of his ears turning red.

Dylan smiled, misinterpreting those signals. Noticing the blush that spread over his features, he paid no attention to how his wrists were clenched at his sides, or how his breathing had changed.

“Oh, are you shy? Ah, how cute, you don't need to be shy...”

But Dylan didn't even get to finish his sentence, because the man closed the distance between them in a single step, and wrapped his arm around his waist with the same firm arm that had once pulled his wrist.

Dylan put his hands on the other man's chest, promptly pushing him away, but that crazy guy held him firmly in place.

“You're very nosy, aren't you? And stubborn. Well, let's see who gets shy between the two of us, me or you”.

The man, with his free hand, held Dylan's chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing him to look directly into his eyes.

They were very close, each other's breath brushing against their faces. Even against his will, Dylan felt his cheeks heat up, and within seconds, he was sure his face was as red as a tomato.

The man in front of him seemed pleased with his feat, and flashed a victorious, arrogant — and almost cruel — smile.

The moment lasted for a few more awkward seconds, the two of them stuck in that position, Dylan burning with shame and anger, the man looking at him with the smug smile of someone who had won an argument.

And then, Dylan heard the sound of a camera shutter.

The man must have heard it too, because he suddenly let go of him, pushing him away as if he was suddenly catching fire.

On the threshold of the door — which hadn't been closed the entire time they were there — stood another man Dylan didn't recognize, though he seemed vaguely familiar. Perhaps he was an influencer and he'd seen him on social media before.

In his hands, he held a Canon camera. He had an incredulous smile on his face, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing — and photographing.

Behind him, a woman was trying to see inside the room over his broad shoulders, without much success.

" Po, I thought you were with the costume crew," said the guy from before, who, now surrounded by other people, seemed to completely ignore Dylan's existence, without even glancing at him once.

“I was ... But P'Ing was looking for you, and I decided to bring her here”. Hearing her name, the girl, whom Dylan now knew to be Ing, the one responsible for picking him up and who hadn't shown up, came out from behind Po, the boy with the camera, and entered the room.

"Khun Jun, I came to..." the girl greeted the man in the suit with a " wai," whose name Dylan now finally knew.

But as soon as her eyes landed on Dylan, the girl's sentence died unfinished.

It didn't make much difference, since that guy Jun wasn't paying attention anyway. He was still in some kind of silent war with Po, who was grinning openly — which made no sense, since the response to his smile was a furious frown from Jun.

"Po, delete the photo," he demanded, moving closer and trying to reach the camera in Po's hands. But the other was faster, and skillfully dodged it from Jun 's hands.

“No way, José! I'm sending this to mom; she needs to see this”.

Jun tried to catch up with him again, and Po just dodged again. This time, he went straight for the door and simply ran out, laughing.

The other man stood there, watching him leave, a hand brushing his face in distress.

The woman, who had only observed the interaction just like Dylan, finally found her voice again.

“Nong Dylan, what are you doing here in this room?”

“I couldn't find you, P', or Nano, and a staff member said this was the dressing ro...”

Jun, upon hearing Ing 's voice, turned back towards the two of them, not even letting Dylan finish his reply before interrupting.

“So, you're the one responsible for this boy? You should have warned him not to meddle where he shouldn't”.

“Hey Khun, I was just trying to help, what's your prob...?”

Ing, fearing where that discussion was leading, quickly interrupted the two.

“Khun Jun, Nong Dylan just got the rooms mixed up. The model’s dressing room is right here in front”.

Dylan smiled, pleased with the surprised look on the other person’s face upon hearing the word ‘model’.

'Let’s see if you belittle me now,' Dylan thought.

"Is that boy the model for this campaign?" Jun asked, still in disbelief.

“Yes, Khun Jun. Dylan has worked with the company several times, and he was chosen to star in this Bask advertisement. All the superiors on the marketing team approved”.

"Hm, I see," Jun grumbled, crossing his arms and looking the other way.

“Shall I formally introduce you two, then? Khun Jun, Dylan is the model for today's campaign; he is 23 years old and studies Communications and Arts at Chulalongkorn. Nong Dylan, Jun is the president of Tangsakultham Enterprise, son and successor of Phat Tangsakultham”.

President?! With that baby face?

It was Dylan's turn to be surprised. The truth is, he had indeed heard about Phat s death — from his father, who had always greatly admired the man and spoke very highly of his management.

Dylan had even met him as a child at a company "bring your child to work" kind of event. Now, he wondered if he had also met Jun at that time and simply couldn't remember.

But even though he knew that the former president had died at a relatively young age, he had never put two and two together to imagine who would take his place, or that this someone would be his only son — who definitely seemed too young to bear such a great responsibility, and in a way, such a burden.

Honestly, Dylan didn't care who he was. That Jun guy, president of whatever he was, was a rude, tactless lunatic.

With the silence that fell, P'Ing, who was most likely more than accustomed to conflict situations and knew when to mediate or even just calm things down, decided to cut off any possibility of things escalating. They already had enough problems on set.

“Nong Dylan, why don't you wait in your dressing room? The door is right in front, like I said. I'll ask someone to come get you there later”.

Dylan simply nodded, agreeing and leaving, closing the door behind him. However, before leaving, he still managed to hear Jun say:

“That is, if we even manage to film this commercial today”.

*

Dylan was too distressed to just stand there waiting.

Nano wasn't answering the phone at all, and absolutely no one had come to pick him up. He started pacing back and forth in the dressing room, thinking about what he should do.

He knew something had gone wrong. The company president wouldn't be here just for a simple check-up, even if Bask was one of Tangsakultham's biggest brands. There were secretaries and assistants for tasks like these.

Add to that the fact that the set was a complete mess when he arrived, nobody had come to pick him up, and Nano had disappeared.

Jun 's words came to mind; when he mistook him for an intern: "one loses the product, the other goes where he shouldn't".

Could it be that...?

Oh, screw it. He opened the door and went out. Nano couldn't have gone far; he was going to find him.

In the end, it didn't take long. After asking about 5 different staff members and searching around the place once, he found his friend huddled next to a pile of boxes near the service exit — crying profusely, his face buried in his knees.

Dylan immediately knelt beside him, one hand reaching for the other's shoulder.

"Nano, what happened? Why are you crying?" His tone showed his concern, his eyes traveling over Nano's body to make sure he wasn't hurt.

His friend slowly raised his head, his eyes so brimming with tears that Dylan wondered if he could even see him.

“P'Dylaaann ...” Nano whimpered, his voice trembling.

Dylan pulled his friend into a hug, trying to calm him down a little, his palm making circles on the other's back. After a long minute, he pulled away again, adjusting the boy's hair in front of him with care.

"Are you feeling a little better?" he asked, receiving only a silent nod from Nano in response. "So, can you tell me what happened?"

Nano hesitated for a few more seconds, his eyes threatening to fill with tears again.

“P’... I'm screwed. I think I'm going to get fired...” and he started crying again.

So, it really was as Dylan had suspected.

If the complete chaos that had taken over the set was somehow Nano's fault, if he had made such a big mistake as to bring the president personally to the location... then yes, he would most likely be fired. Perhaps even his superiors would be affected, but that was unlikely.

The way hierarchical systems functioned in large companies was like a jungle, where only the strongest — or the most cunning — survived. And in situations like that, the underdog always gets the short end of the stick. Fingers were pointed at those considered disposable.

And the powerful, well, these remained untouched.

But if the recording hadn't been canceled yet, then that meant there was still time to fix whatever had gone wrong, or at least Dylan hoped so. He just needed to understand what had happened, and for that, Nano needed to cooperate.

"Nano, look at me," he shook his friend's shoulder again. "Tell me what happened. Whatever it is, we can solve it together."

"There's nothing we can do, P'. We've already looked everywhere..."

“Of course there is. Come on, tell me what happened, in detail”.

Holding back tears once more, Nano looked up, inhaling and exhaling as he tried to calm himself enough to tell the story.

“Initially, I was just supposed to accompany you and make sure everything was alright with your hair, makeup, and costume. P'Kate knows we're friends, so she preferred to leave me in charge of you rather than any other staff member. While you were on your way, I was helping out wherever I could, moving equipment and things like that”.

Kate was Nano's boss, the manager of the company's Marketing department. Now that Dylan had stopped to think about it, he still hadn't seen the woman even once that day — which was definitely strange, since she was usually the one who coordinated all the photo sessions and shoots for Tangsakultham's brands.

"And then, out of nowhere, P'Kate came in desperately," Nano continued, no longer looking at Dylan but at his hand, which he was nervously rubbing, his right thumb scratching his left palm, "saying that her teenage son had gotten into a fight at school, had hurt himself, and now she needed to pick him up and take him to the hospital. She handed me the main product of the campaign, the new Bask perfume, saying that as soon as P'Ing arrived, I should give it to her, and that she would be the one responsible for coordinating the shoot today."

Nano paused. Dylan nodded, encouraging him to continue. His friend probably didn't even see it, since his eyes were still downcast, but he continued anyway.

“P'Ing didn't even have time to arrive. I just sat there waiting, watching while the catering team delivered today's food. The box with the perfume was on my lap the whole time," Nano finally stopped scratching the palm of his hand, which was already red from being rubbed so much. He looked at Dylan again, looking completely defeated. "But then the lighting crew arrived, and they started complaining about absolutely everything, saying they needed space to set up the equipment and carrying boxes and boxes of stuff. When they saw me standing there, they asked me to help."

Ah. Dylan knew very well where that story was going. In the end, it simply came down to people treating interns like slaves; or using their hierarchically superior position to subjugate others.

“I tried to say I was busy, but they saw my intern badge and then started saying I was slacking off. They threatened to file a complaint against my department and even report me to HR. In the end, I didn't have much of a choice. I left the box on the chair where I was sitting, but when I came back, neither the chair nor the box was there anymore. I went out desperately searching. I found the chair, which they had put in another room, but the perfume had completely disappeared. When P'Ing arrived, I had already searched half the set and found nothing. She alerted everyone to search as well, but without success”.

Nano sighed, shaking his head, and paused again.

"We tried calling Bask 's representatives and ask for another sample, but they said they didn't have any available to provide with such short notice. P'Ing had no choice but to inform our superiors of what had happened," he shrugged, feigning an indifference he obviously didn't feel. "From what I heard, they even called the company president to figure out what to do."

The feigned disinterest didn't last even 10 seconds, and he buried his face in his hands, letting out a sharp, frustrated little cry.

"Seriously, I'm completely screwed," Nano concluded.

Dylan stood there, replaying in his mind the story he had just heard. Nano had last seen the box in the equipment setup room, but there was no point in looking there again, as he had already done so. And if everyone had already searched the entire set and still hadn't found it...

That was probably because it wasn't there. And if it wasn't on set, then it could only be...

Dylan thought about the details Nano had recounted again, one part suddenly standing out from the others.

“Nano, you said the catering team was delivering the food when the lighting crew arrived, right?”

“Yes, they were. Why?”

“And where's the catering team?”

“We don't have an in-house team today; they opted for a self-service model. The catering company just delivered the food and left”.

Exactly as Dylan had imagined. Nano seemed to follow his line of reasoning as well, for his eyes widened and he quickly said:

“P', do you think that...”

Dylan didn't even wait for him to finish.

“I think so. After all, if they were moving everything around, the box might have gotten mixed up with the buffet supplies and they took it by mistake”.

Nano quickly reached for his cell phone, searching for something.

"Do you have their number?" Dylan asked, figuring that was what his friend was looking for.

"I have it. P'Kate sent the number in the department group chat when we were deciding which buffet to choose," he scrolled a few times, stopping at an older message in the chat history. "Found it!"

He quickly dialed, activating the speaker mode so Dylan could hear the call too. They answered after three rings.

“Hello? Buffet Oner, how can I help you?”

“Good afternoon. P', I'm part of the team responsible for the Tangsakultham event, the commercial shoot. We hired your services today”.

“Oh, sure. Is there a problem with the delivery?”

"Not with the delivery, P'. But I'd like to know if by any chance you took a box from here by mistake. It's a gray box, with perfume inside."

“Aaaahh ! So that's where it came from. My people found this box among our supplies and were racking their brains trying to figure out where it could have come from, since we delivered food to a lot of events today”.

Dylan and Nano exchanged glances, smiling. The problem was solved, at least in part. Now they had to figure out how to retrieve the perfume and bring it back.

“P', where is the box now? Can you give me the location? I'll go get it right away”.

“It's here with me at headquarters. I'll send you the location via LINE”.

Nano hung up the call, jumping up from the floor in one swift motion, his usual energy returning in full force.

"Go on, hurry up. I'll let everyone know we found the product and that you went to get it," Dylan said, giving his friend an encouraging pat on the back, who thanked him and sped off.

He, in turn, dashed off in the opposite direction, going back inside. He went straight to the place where he had last seen Ing, Jun's room.

He didn't even need to get there. The woman was standing in the hallway, staring blankly into space like someone who had just lost a battle.

" P'Ing!" he shouted, drawing her attention. He stopped beside her and immediately put his hands on his knees, panting.

“Nong Dylan? What happened?”

"Nano... the product..." he took another deep breath, still catching his breath. Maybe he should get his act together and exercise more, because his physical condition was clearly betraying him. "We found the product; it's with the buffet. Nano went to get it."

Ing's eyes widened and she gripped his arm, a hopeful smile spreading across his face.

"Seriously, Nong?! That's great, let's go..." and then her expression fell, as if she realized something. "I'm afraid it's too late. We just left the meeting, and the president ordered us to cancel the shooting."

"And where is he now?" Dylan asked. He looked around, but didn't see Jun nearby.

“He was leaving. If he hasn't left yet, he might be in the parking lo...”

Dylan ran again, not even waiting for Ing to finish the sentence. A few seconds later, the woman ran after him, finally understanding what he intended to do.

The parking lot was located at the back of the property, an open-air space of land that may once have been a backyard, but was now used to store cars.

And there, getting into a black car, were Po on one side, and Jun on the other.

“Khun Jun ! Wait!” he shouted.

The man stopped and observed him for a second. And then, deliberately, he completely ignored him and got into the car, closing the door behind him. Po hesitated a little longer, looking at Dylan as if he wanted to help, but finally he also got into the vehicle.

Still, Dylan ran toward them. The car started and began to move.

Honestly, in another situation, Dylan would have already given up. But he thought about his friend, who loved working at that company; who had dedicated all his college years to managing his time between his internship and his studies; how close they were to graduating and how difficult it would be for Nano — who until today had his permanent placement at Tangsakultham basically guaranteed — to look for another job.

He also thought about his father, the way he had asked for the fee, and how worried he had seemed.

Then Dylan ran. He took off after the car as if his life depended on it, his feet scraping the pavement at high speed.

“Khun Jun! Khun Jun!​ Wait!” he continued shouting.

But Dylan wasn't used to running like that. Or maybe he was just really unlucky and clumsy.

The fact is, his legs betrayed him. Dylan stumbled monumentally, falling to the ground like a sack of rotten potatoes.

Lying there, all twisted and sore, he caught himself wondering if earlier, when Jun had pulled him inside that dressing room, the other had been right to blame him for the fall. Maybe the pull hadn't really been that strong, and it was Dylan who was a walking disaster.

But perhaps not so unlucky after all.

Because there, still half-sitting, half-lying on the ground, he saw the car brake suddenly. And Jun got out of the vehicle immediately afterward, coming straight towards him.

"Khun, are you alright?" the other asked, crouching beside him and holding his arms, helping Dylan to get up on his feet.

"I am, I..." Dylan was still somewhat dazed, and his sentence died on his tongue when he saw the furious expression on Jun's face.

"Are you crazy?!" Jun asked, incredulous. It hadn't exactly been a shout, but the way he modulated his voice made Dylan flinch nonetheless. "Why were you chasing a car?! Do you think you're Usain Bolt or what?"

Jun's hands were still holding his arm — and the contact of their skin made Dylan take a step back, pulling away from the touch.

Jun 's hand remained suspended there for a second, motionless in that position. But he seemed to realize it a moment later, and quickly withdrew it, resting it at his side in a clenched fist.

"If you had stopped and listened to me when I yelled the first time, then I wouldn't have needed to run after the car," Dylan retorted, crossing his arms.

"And if you had simply accepted that I didn't want to talk to you, then you wouldn't have needed to run and you wouldn't have hit the deck like this" the other retorted, raising an eyebrow in defiance.

"You don't even know what I want to talk about!" he complained.

“And I don't even want to know! I have more important things to do than talk to some random model”.

Dylan opened his mouth to protest once more, but stopped and took a deep breath. If they continued arguing like this, they wouldn't get anywhere.

"What I have to tell you is also very important," he said, his voice dropping slightly, in an attempt to steer the conversation toward something at least remotely cordial. "Regarding Nano, he locat..."

“Nano? The intern?” Jun cut him off as soon as he heard the name, crossing his arms over his chest impatiently. “What do you have to say about that incompetent kid, that could be important enough to justify you stopping me from leaving?”

The way Jun spoke about his friend, belittling him and instilling guilt in someone who had been coerced and mistreated, threw Dylan off balance, making the need to defend him outweigh the urgency of telling the other about the perfume being found.

“Khun, Nano is not to blame for what happened. That kind of responsibility isn't even part of his job description. I think...”

Again, Jun didn't even let him finish the sentence. Seriously, why couldn't that guy listen to others like a normal human being?

Dylan huffed, annoyed.

"What does this have to do with you, who's just a model for this campaign? Why are you trying to protect a...?" Jun questioned. And then, he paused for a second, the question dying on his lips as his eyes widened in sudden understanding. "Ah! Now I get it! You two are friends, is that it? So, he's the one who got you this job?" He pointed his finger at Dylan, shaking it as if he'd made a great discovery. "I knew something was fishy about this".

Dylan rolled his eyes, an action that seemed to further inflame Jun's anger. He didn't care, and replied again in a calm tone — the kind of tone one uses with a tantrum-throwing child.

“Hey Khun, be more reasonable. Nano doesn't even have the power to decide on this, and even if he did, he would never recommend me for a job that my profile wasn't suitable for. He takes his own work very seriously, and that's why I don't think a single mistake should cost him his internship and a likely permanent position”.

Jun looked at Dylan as if he were crazy.

"And who said he's going to be fired?" Dylan was surprised by the incredulous tone in Jun 's voice, as if even having that idea was absurd. "If anyone should be held responsible, it's his superior. It's part of her job to supervise the interns. On top of that, she's the one who gave the main product of the campaign, a unique limited edition that hasn't even been released yet, to a kid who isn't even a full-time employee yet. And now the product is lost. What if it falls into the wrong hands, a competitor's for example?"

Dylan didn't answer, because it was obviously a rhetorical question. Instead, he stood there for a brief moment, astonished that someone who had seemed as irrational as Jun had the discernment to separate the wheat from the chaff in this way. Not only that, but he was surprised that they thought alike on this issue, which was even more disconcerting.

But he soon came to his senses, realizing that the two of them had already gone around in circles many times and he still hadn't told him what he had come here to tell in the first place.

"It's not lost," he said, getting straight to the point. "That's what I was trying to say before. Nano has already located it. It ended up being accidentally taken along with the catering team's equipment, but he had already contacted them and gone to retrieve it."

Hearing this, Jun paused for a second, blinking once, twice. Then, his gaze shifted from Dylan to somewhere nearby.

It was only then that Dylan realized they had an audience — and a rather large one at that.

“You. Come here” Jun gestured for a staff member to approach.

Most of the team was huddled together like a school of fish on the side of the parking lot. Dylan didn't know if they'd been drawn there because of the argument, or if they'd come along with Ing when she chased after him earlier.

But they’ve been there all this time, watching Dylan and Jun's discussion as if it were a tennis match, alternating their gaze between them as if each sentence spoken were the ball being tossed back and forth.

The employee summoned by Jun walked cautiously toward them, like someone approaching a hungry and furious beast — which, to be fair, seemed a fairly accurate way to describe Jun now.

"How long does it take you to get everything ready for recording?" Jun inquired.

The poor staff member looked fearfully at Jun, seemingly unsure of how to respond, but a sharp glare was all it took for him to quickly reply:

“Well, considering we still need to bleach the model's hair and do the makeup, I'd say two and a half hours. Meanwhile, the rest of the team can organize the set and get everything ready”.

"And what about the injury on his hand?" Jun pointed to the back of Dylan's hand.

He looked at his own hand. Because of the adrenaline still lingering from the race and also from the argument between them, Dylan hadn't even realized he'd hurt himself in the fall.

It was just a small scratch, a light cut, but now that he had paid attention to it, it was bleeding a little and it stung.

He had no idea how Jun had even noticed that.

"We can cover it with makeup," the staff replied.

Dylan simply watched as Jun nodded and glanced at his watch, surely doing the math. After all, that commercial was going to be filmed at sunset — it was definitely the worst possible time to do that kind of work, as the sun set very quickly and the sky darkened rapidly.

On a day like that, cloudy and overcast, the editing team would most likely have to add the sunset later anyway. But for that to be possible, the base lighting had to be at least minimally adequate, which they wouldn't be able to achieve if they filmed at night.

Therefore, they needed to have everything ready and record all the material before nightfall.

It seemed unlikely, considering the delay.

Jun seemed to finish his mental calculations, and when he spoke again, he addressed not the staff, but Dylan.

“Your friend has 30 minutes. If he manages to get here on time, we'll record it today. If not, it'll have to wait until another day”.

Dylan smiled, pleased that he had managed to resolve the situation after all. He was certain that Nano would arrive ahead of that timeslot.

Nearby, the rest of the team also celebrated. Everyone seemed relieved that all the chaos and confusion of that day wouldn't end in layoffs and that it would have a happy ending.

But Jun hadn't finished speaking yet. Of course not.

He took a step closer to Dylan, lowering his torso slightly to look at him, his face dangerously close.

“And if that's the case, when that day comes, I'll make sure that the model starring in it isn't you”.

Dylan stood there, his face flushing — not with shame, but with anger. He could feel the blood rushing to his head.

There was a limit to how much Dylan could endure in silence, a point to which he would allow himself to be treated unfairly if it were for the greater good. But Jun had reached every possible limit.

If the goal was to get under Dylan's skin, then he had succeeded.

Nano wasn't going to be fired, so screw it. Besides, apart from his friend and P'Kate, nobody there knew that his father also worked at Tangsakultham — there wouldn't be any retaliation in that regard.

As for the money, if responding appropriately would cost him that opportunity and therefore the fee, then he would find another way to get it for his father.

"Dude, what's your problem?!" His hands found Jun 's chest before he even realized it, pushing the other man away forcefully. Jun didn't move much; honestly, that crazy guy must have been addicted to the gym, because his muscles looked like they were made of stone. "What did I even do to you?!"

The team, still watching intently from the sidelines, was startled by Dylan's outburst, some literally gasping in pure terror. To confront the president like that seemed like sheer madness — no one there would have the courage to do anything like that.

On another end, Po, who had also been observing the whole situation since the beginning, smiled as if he were watching the funniest movie he had ever seen. He was the only one who didn't seem scared or apprehensive — instead, his posture was relaxed, leaning against the hood of the car with one hand in his pocket, the camera from before hanging around his neck.

After a tense moment, a few seconds that seemed much longer than they actually were, P'Ing separated herself from the group and took a step closer to Dylan, clearly intending to hold him back, perhaps fearing that he would attack Jun again.

But Jun held out a hand, silently ordering her to stop. Even though the gesture was for her, his eyes never left Dylan for even a second.

“Leave. I want to see what this kid is capable of”.

Jun's face bore the same arrogant and cruel smile that Dylan had witnessed earlier in the dressing room. Apparently, getting under Dylan's skin amused that madman. More than ever, he felt the urge to wipe that smile away with a good punch.

"Why are you calling me a kid? You're not much older than me. I'm not afraid of you," Dylan retorted, looking the other up and down as if assessing an opponent. "You think I wouldn't have the guts to punch you in the face? You're underestimating me," he sneered, mirroring Jun 's wicked grin, one eyebrow raised in defiance.

"I'd like to see you try" the other replied, moving closer again, his smile widening.

Dylan took a step back, almost tripping over his own feet. Something about that belligerent proximity disturbed him — the way Jun 's face drew closer to his made him anxious, causing a strange sensation in the pit of his stomach.

And the truth was, even if he really wanted to punch Jun, he wouldn't win in a hand-to-hand fight against him. A single blow from Jun would probably send Dylan straight to the ground. And his face was his breath and butter, no less.

He couldn't afford to get hurt.

Jun seemed not to have expected this reaction from Dylan. Faced with the silence, his smile vanished and he took a step back.

When he spoke again, his tone of voice had changed, and he was staring at some point in the empty space beside Dylan's head.

"You know that just one word from me and you're out of this campaign, don't you?" he said, then looked at Dylan again. "Or any other with Tangsakultham"

Dylan knew very well. However, if it had already come to this point, he honestly didn't care anymore. Let Jun put him on the company's blacklist then, to hell with it.

"Really? You think you can intimidate me with your power?" he retorted, crossing his arms over his chest again. "There are thousands of companies besides yours out there, Khun. I think I'll be fine, don't worry."

The smile from before returned to Jun's face. He seemed pleased to elicit a sarcastic reply this time, rather than a retreat.

"Oh yeah, and what about your friend?" Jun asked after a moment. Dylan froze. "It would be a shame if all his effort was in vain, don't you think? He'll get here and find out the commercial was canceled because his little friend doesn't know his place." Jun shrugged dismissively. Then he lowered his face again, aligning his eyes with Dylan's. "Doesn't it worry you how your actions might harm him?" And then he smiled victoriously.

That silenced Dylan. He didn't have an answer to that question, at least not the kind he wanted.

He wanted to prove to Jun that the power the other possessed was not something he could use against Dylan, and that he would not allow himself to be subjugated by him.

However, Jun had found his weak spot. And the other knew it.

Dylan imagined Nano arriving on set, how happy his friend would be to have solved the problem, only to discover it had been in vain. He could clearly see the sad little face, and felt his heart break at the mere thought of it.

Furthermore, what guarantee did he had that Jun wouldn't actually fire Nano? The other had stated that he wouldn't do it regarding the perfume incident, which perhaps proved that he wasn't the unfair type of boss, but what certainty could Dylan have that his actions wouldn't actually cost Nano his internship?

He sighed, admitting his defeat.

"Alright. You won, satisfied?" he said, looking at some point other than Jun's face, still too stubborn to throw in the towel, his arms crossed in indignation. "What do you want from me?"

Even in his peripheral vision, he could see that Jun was still grinning, looking cruelly pleased with his victory. This angered Dylan even more, because even in that wicked way, Jun's smile was very beautiful.

Realizing that at that moment irritated Dylan more than anything else — which, considering the situation, was ironic, to say the least.

"Apologize," Jun finally replied. The other continued to look directly at him, even though Dylan insisted on looking anywhere but at Jun.

"I'm sorry," he said reluctantly, the words weighing heavily on his tongue.

"No, not like that," Jun denied with a finger, seeming to enjoy tormenting him. "More sincerity, Nong Dylan."

The way the other person called his name was filled with sarcasm, and it made his stomach churn.

Dylan took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He gathered his strength and held back the urge to jump at that annoying guy's throat. When he opened them again, he looked directly at Jun.

He joined his hands in a wai over his face, a gesture of respect, and when he spoke again, his voice was more serious and firmer.

“I'm sorry, Khun Jun. I apologize for my behavior”.

The action wiped the smile off Jun's face.

Perhaps he had imagined that Dylan would continue to fight back, or that he could continue to mock him for longer.

Who knows what was going on in that lunatic's head, anyway. Dylan was tired of even trying to understand.

Jun stepped back, returning his body to an upright position again.

"Very well. You just told me to be more reasonable, didn't you? I'll grant your request." Jun pulled a pen from his jacket pocket and placed it across Dylan's closed lips. He held it in his mouth for a second, more out of instinct than anything else, but when he made a move to pull it away, Jun raised a finger in warning. "I want to see if that mouth of yours is good for anything other than arguing. Raise your arms too."

Dylan raised his arms at his chest’s height, feeling ridiculous. That idiot seemed intent on humiliating him.

Jun looked at the clock again.

"Now, your friend has 25 minutes," he said, his eyes leaving the watch on his wrist and returning to Dylan. "You're going to stay right there, in that position, without moving. If he arrives on time, and you manage to complete this simple challenge, then I'll be benevolent and let you film the commercial. That seems reasonable enough, don't you think?"

Dylan couldn't answer, with that damned pen stuck in his mouth. He breathed heavily, his eyes glaring at Jun so intensely that there was no need for a word to be even spoken.

Rage seeped through his pores, but he held firm, his arms burning in that awkward position. Twenty-five minutes like this would surely be torture.

Seeing that Dylan had accepted his challenge, Jun turned his back on him and walked away.

" Po, let's have lunch," he said to the guy with the camera, who was still leaning against the car. The young man looked at Dylan with compassion, but finally just nodded, and the two headed inside the property, probably to get the food that the buffet had delivered earlier.

After they could no longer be seen, and basically the entire team had also retreated, P'Ing approached Dylan and took the pen from his mouth.

" P'Ing, what are you doing?" he asked, trying to retrieve the object.

"There's no need to do such a crazy thing," she shook her head. "I've never seen Khun Jun do anything like that. He's usually a very practical person, despite being strict."

Dylan shook his head, his chin moving from side to side.

“I need to do it. Didn't you hear what he said?”

“They'll have lunch inside. Nobody will see that you're not following through on this crazy idea”.

He reached out and took the pen back.

“If I accepted, then now I need to do it. Besides, who guarantees that he won't come here to check at some point?”

He didn't even wait for the woman to answer. He placed the object back to his lips and extended his arms, in the same position as before.

P'Ing simply sighed, giving up on trying to argue with Dylan, and went back inside as well.

In the end, Dylan was right.

Less than 5 minutes had passed when some members of the team arrived carrying a table with 2 chairs, as well as a parasol — which was pathetic, since the sky was completely overcast.

Behind them, Jun and Po were walking calmly, their plates full of food in their hands.

The two sat in their prepared places, Jun facing where Dylan was standing. While eating, the other would occasionally check if he was still the same, and then calmly return to enjoying his lunch.

That torture lasted exactly 21 minutes.

When Dylan could no longer feel his own arms, Nano came running from inside — most likely having entered through the main entrance, where they must have told him what happened — shouting at the top of his lungs:

“I'm here! I'm here! I brought the product!”

Jun, who had already finished eating and was now alone at the table — Po had gone back inside, who knows what for — sitting and fiddling with his phone, looked up at Nano and then stood up.

"Okay" Jun said, turning to Nano, his head nodding briefly in agreement. "You can go back. Your friend will join you soon."

Nano seemed to hesitate, wanting to get closer to Dylan. But he eventually agreed, casting one last worried glance in his direction before turning his back and returning the way he came.

Finally, it was Jun the one who approached him. The other stopped a step away and raised his hand, pulling the pen from Dylan's mouth.

"I think I owe you congratulations. You managed to complete my challenge," he said, putting the pen back in his pocket. Dylan lowered his arms, which were completely numb. "You can go get ready for the shooting."

Dylan didn't even say anything, he just sighed in relief. But when he made a move to leave...

“Wait”.

He froze, wondering what that madman would come up with next.

Dylan looked at Jun, who pointed to one of the chairs — the one Po had been sitting in before.

“Sit there for a moment”.

Exhausted, he didn't even try to argue. He just went to the place and sat down.

Jun, in turn, walked over to the car. He opened the trunk and seemed to be rummaging through something — from where Dylan was sitting, he couldn't see what it was.

Not until Jun approached again, placing a first-aid kit on the table. He sat down in the other chair, opposite Dylan's.

“Give me your hand”.

Dylan stared at Jun in disbelief. After everything he'd put him through, he now wanted to tend to his wound?

Jun noticed his hesitation and raised an eyebrow, as if asking, ‘So?’

Finally, Dylan gave in, extending his injured hand to Jun, who held it with surprising gentleness.

For what were perhaps the longest minutes of his life, Dylan watched in silence as that crazy, irritatingly handsome man applied antiseptic to the scratch, along with some other kind of medication that burned like hell.

Jun watched him from time to time, his gaze shifting between the injury on his hand and his face. He seemed to be searching for Dylan's reaction.

The moment lasted longer than it should have.

Even after finishing tending to the wound — without putting on a bandage, since the scratch would be covered with makeup later — Jun continued holding his hand for a few more seconds, and the two stood there looking at each other, enveloped in that strange silence.

And then the moment was broken. Dylan withdrew his hand, Jun withdrew his as well, and they both looked anywhere but at each other.

Jun cleared his throat, nodding toward the interior of the property.

“Go. They're waiting for you”.

Dylan didn't need to be warned a second time.

He turned and left, almost running back inside, his heart pounding erratically.

*

Jun didn't know what was wrong with him.

There was something about that boy that threw him off balance.

That's what he was thinking of, sitting there in that filthy plastic chair, waiting for who knows what. The product had already been found, the model was getting ready, the film crew had all the equipment set up.

There was no longer any reason for Jun to stay there. After all, there was no need for him to personally supervise the shooting.

And yet, there he was — his laptop open in front of him, as to pretend he was working. Anyone who saw him would imagine he was very busy.

But the truth was that his mind was far from the graphics on that screen. If he were to pinpoint where it actually was, then he would have to take a few steps and enter the property, looking for a boy of Chinese appearance — who was now most likely being attended to by the makeup team.

Jun thought again about the moment he opened the door to that room and came face to face with Dylan.

His nerves were on edge, it's true. Added to the problem with the shooting were the discovery of someone defrauding the company's funds and the fateful conversation with his mother and Po about the will.

And yet, nothing could justify the way he had acted. Being harsh, arrogant, or difficult — Jun knew very well his capacity for all of those things.

Being so young to such an important position, he often had to use his ability to intimidate and instill fear in people—  if it was what it took to be heard, he would do it.

The persona 'president of Tangsakultham ' was perhaps initially just a personality he had created to bear the weight of his position. However, without Yada, without his father, there was nothing in his life to balance that weight, at least not enough.

The words his mother had spoken to him earlier echoed in his head. Perhaps she was right, and Jun had truly become bitter.

He thought about his life before all this. About how easy it was to smile, how being kind was as automatic as breathing.

That Jun had died in that damned accident.

But the version of himself that emerged later, the person he thought he was now — apathetic, cold, someone who only cares about numbers and acts in a strictly practical way... Well, that person wouldn't act the way he did in that dressing room either.

Jun wasn't sure what it was about that image that disturbed him so much.

When he entered that room, he expected an empty space — a place where he could be alone for a moment before his meeting with the team responsible for the commercial.

That was what Jun was used to.

Empty places. Silence. Loneliness.

And yet, finding someone there shouldn't have paralyzed him the way it did.

Perhaps it was all the flowers' fault.

Because it was wrong.

Those flowers belonged to Yada, even if they were only meant to adorn her grave. To see someone take them as their own could only have caused outrage, of course.

But the conflicting feeling that arose —the one that had left him standing on that doorstep longer than he should have — had not been due to indignation, nor even to a distorted notion of possession or power.

What had affected him was the duality.

Because for Jun, flowers were synonymous with death — or at least they had been for the past two years.

They were a symbol of everything he had lost. Of how everything had gone wrong in his life.

Wrong.

Yes, that's it.

It should be wrong. It was wrong.

But somehow, right there at that moment, it felt completely right.

The flowers perfectly complemented the softness that framed Dylan's features, further highlighting his already evident beauty.

Holding that bouquet, illuminated only by the indirect light coming from the window, the boy could very well have been an angel.

There was nothing in that image that even hinted at death: not in his rosy cheeks, nor in the gentle smile that adorned his face.

While staring brazenly at him, Jun had taken his time to catalog the stranger's appearance.

His skin was fair and smooth, his dark hair creating a contrast, while also giving him a lovely and gentle vibe. And yet, this gentleness was accompanied by something quietly provocative, as if he were destined to remain in the memory of all of those who crossed his path — not only for his beauty, but for his strength of mind.

That first impression had proven to be absolutely correct.

Dylan was annoyingly shrewd and, above all, stubborn.

Perhaps Jun had become too accustomed to being obeyed. To seeing everyone around him lower their heads, to never being challenged.

Dylan's audacity had activated buttons within himself that he didn't even know he had. Impulsiveness, for example, was the kind of thing that had been erased from Jun's dictionary a long time ago.

Until that afternoon, it seemed.

Even though he thought about it again and again, the truth is he couldn't explain how he had reached this point: what could have ended in a brief exchange of words had escalated exponentially, leading him to that moment — sitting in an uncomfortable chair, too astonished with himself and confused by his own feelings.

And, even worse, he had an audience.

Po approached the table again, a persistent smile on his face — the same one that had been plastered on his face ever since he'd caught Jun and Dylan in the dressing room earlier.

The truth is, his half-brother could have left the set a long time ago. Just like him, actually.

But — when Jun made no mention of leaving — Po simply mingled with the teams again, chatting with the staff and doing who-knows-what else.

Jun wasn't naive enough to believe the excuse that his brother had stayed behind to support the crew on set and gather more references.

Po was there for only one reason: to observe his reactions.

He himself wasn't the only one who had noticed how different from his normal his actions had been today. Po had witnessed everything that had happened — and now, if there was anyone who wanted to see how far this could go, it was him.

His brother would be there to watch from the sidelines — and, moreover, to record everything that happened.

It was an old custom. Po always carried his Canon camera everywhere, always searching for inspiration and interesting references.

Anyone who didn't know him might have thought he was a photographer. Always with his camera hanging around his neck, always alert.

If something important happened, it was practically certain that Po would have it recorded. His brother kept the most beautiful and also the saddest moments of their lives on his memory card.

Now, he also had the strangest one.

And everything indicated that he was waiting for more to add to his collection.

And even knowing this, Jun remained there, his feet firmly on the ground, unable to simply get up and leave.

The room he had asked to reserve? It was empty — it had been empty this whole time, since the end of his meeting with the team.

He could have waited there comfortably.

He could have done many things — leaving was one of them.

Instead, he watched Po finally reach the table where he was sitting — the same one they had prepared for him in the parking lot earlier, but this time it had been strategically positioned in the front garden, where the shooting would take place.

In his brother's hands, lay the proof of what he would rather forget.

"Look what I got from the photography team!" Po announced, his smile widening even more, if that was even possible.

He held out not one, but three developed photos.

Even against his own will, Jun took them. He knew Po was just mocking him — and yet, his curiosity got the better of him.

The first photo was the one in the dressing room.

He tried not to show any reaction, looking at it as if staring at a wall.

But he was completely betrayed by his ears, which he immediately felt growing hot.

As much as it pained him to admit it, the photo had turned out beautifully: Dylan, with his wide eyes and completely flushed face, looked ridiculously adorable; and he, on the other hand, seemed like a different person from the Jun he had seen in the last photographs he had taken — almost all of them for formal occasions at the company.

The smile etched on his face, however cruel, had transformed his expression.

He seemed more... human.

He thought about that moment again, about Dylan's surprisingly slender waist under his hand, about the closeness between them...

Jun shook his head, trying to think of something else.

He returned to the developed photos in his hands, placing the first one on the table and focusing on the second.

It was a photograph of the argument in the parking lot.

Jun hadn't even noticed Po taking that photo — which was perhaps another indication of how out of it he'd been, since he was usually very aware of his surroundings.

It was a less compromising image than the previous one.

Jun had the same smug grin on his face, but they weren't as close, and unlike the embarrassed expression captured in the first photo, Dylan here perfectly mirrored Jun's expression.

It was photographic and tangible proof of Dylan's audacity and stubbornness.

Jun was captivated by that photograph, completely absorbed, his thumb running across the paper as if he could feel that moment beneath his skin.

First, when Dylan shouted his name as he was getting into the car — the way Jun recognized the voice immediately, even before turning around, even though he had only heard it for the first time that same day.

Then, the almost morbid satisfaction he had felt watching the boy run after his car — only to be quickly replaced by pure terror when he saw him fall.

And then, the discussion, the way Dylan had confronted him as an equal, how he had challenged him.

In everyone's eyes, Jun may have been seen as the one who came out on top in that confrontation — after all, he had the final say. He had subjugated the other to his will.

But the way Dylan had looked at him during those 20 minutes — those were the eyes of someone who wouldn't let himself be bent so easily.

Jun hadn't won anything at all, even though the other guy had announced exactly that.

"You won," he had said.

Jun felt anything but victorious.

The third photo was the irrefutable proof, concrete evidence of the truth: with lower image resolution, probably taken from a distance, it showed Jun tending to Dylan's hand injury, his earlier arrogant expression completely replaced by a withdrawn posture, bordering on shyness — he seemed almost frightened.

He definitely hadn't won anything at all.

If anything, Jun felt completely defeated.

He tossed the last photo onto the table along with the others, looking anywhere but at his brother, who seemed eager to torment him with those pictures.

Po opened his mouth, ready to launch into whatever wicked provocations he had in mind, but a shrill voice rang out from within, catching the attention of both of them.

“The model is ready!”

And then, as if taking advantage of the opportunity, Dylan appeared. Closely followed by his intern friend, he calmly walked to the middle of the garden.

Jun stood there, frozen in place.

In that dressing room, Dylan had seemed like an angel to him.

Now, he was the very personification of sin.

His eyes had been accentuated with black eyeliner and some kind of smoky eyeshadow, giving his gaze a provocative and mysterious air. His full plump lips shone, rosy and striking.

Around his neck, a necklace accentuated the V-neck of his black top, which clung to his slender body, highlighting his slim waist.

And, as if it wasn't enough how tight it already was, the top was a cropped style — ending just below Dylan's belly button, leaving a strip of his white, smooth belly exposed.

Finally, the most abrupt change, the detail that completed the look perfectly: his hair was now gray.

The tone was much lighter, leaning more towards a cement color, perhaps even lighter than that.

And while his dark hair had previously given him a youthful and gentle air, the gray sharpened all his edges and made him as sharp and dangerous as a knife.

"Be careful not to drool, brother," Po teased, standing beside him.

But even with the provocation, Jun couldn't take his eyes off Dylan.

He stood there, staring at the other in stunned silence — until Dylan, perhaps realizing someone was watching him, bored his gaze on Jun.

They stared at each other for an instant — Jun couldn't tell if it was just a few seconds or his entire life.

The moment seemed to hang in the air, his breath caught somewhere between inhaling and exhaling, those eyes holding him in place.

Until it was broken — a ray of sunlight reflected off the necklace Dylan was wearing, catching his attention, and he looked up.

Jun did the same — and was rewarded with an unlikely vision.

Earlier, he had witnessed with his own eyes the cloudy weather, how the dark leaden clouds had covered the entire horizon.

Apparently, Dylan had absorbed all the gray from the clouds into his hair.

For there, above their heads, the horizon was rapidly opening up — the clouds giving way to the sun, which was about to set.

And so, just like a dream — or like a miracle — the sky was blue once again.