Santichai stood inside the terminal building, his gaze anchored to the center of Asnee's back. He watched as Asnee dragged his suitcase toward the security checkpoint, the rhythmic rumble of the wheels fading into the airport's hollow hum. Asnee kept moving forward, his eyes fixed on the gate ahead. He didn't turn around. He didn't even pause.
Santichai stayed behind the glass partition, rooted to the spot where airport security dictated, he must stop. He knew better than to expect a final wave. In the ten years they had known each other, Asnee had always made it a point to turn his back on Santichai when they were in public, as if their life together was a secret that needed to be kept behind closed doors.
Though he wanted to linger in the terminal—to hold onto the last place he had seen Asnee—Santichai knew the clock was ticking. In an hour, the moving company would arrive at the home they shared. He shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets, shoulders hunched and walked slowly toward the exit.
The taxi ride back was a blur of gray highway and swallowed sobs. Every time the car hit a bump, Santichai felt the ache in his chest sharpen, but he forced himself to look out the window, refusing to let the driver see him break. The journey should have been short, but the traffic seemed to stretch like a physical weight until the taxi finally pulled to the curb.
Midway through the ride, his phone vibrated against his thigh. His heart leaped—a foolish, reflexive hope—as he pulled it out.
Asnee's text:Darling, stay home. I'll be back in a week at most, but if all goes well, I'll see you in three days.
Santichai stared at the word "Darling" until it lost all meaning. His thumb hovered over the screen before he typed a hollow reply: O.K.
Back at the apartment, the silence was deafening. Santichai headed straight for the bedroom and began running strips of duct tape across the ten boxes lined up against the wall. His life was already packed; it had been since the day they moved in together. He had never truly unpacked his heart, keeping his belongings boxed up as if he always knew this day would come. He had started the secret packing a month and a half ago, long before Asnee announced this trip to visit his parents. The announcement had sparked a firestorm—a heated argument that sent Asnee storming out into the night for three weeks.
As he tried to stack a small box atop a larger one, his grip slipped. The box hit the floor with a heavy thud, the lid popping open to scatter a dozen photographs across the hardwood.
Santichai knelt, his breath catching. He picked up a faded print of two teenagers in high school uniforms—himself and Asnee, a decade younger and a lifetime happier. It had been taken at the start of the school year. For a fleeting second, the quiet of the empty apartment was replaced by the phantom echoes of rowdy classmates and the ghost of a boy who used to look back.
The edges of the photograph were yellowed, but as Santichai stared, the static image began to breathe. The silence of the empty apartment faded, replaced by the ghost of a school bell and the scent of floor wax.
He was back in the hallway, trailing behind Mrs. Chantha. When they reached Room 22, the teacher's knuckles rapped sharply against the blackboard, silencing the chatter.
"Listen up, everyone," she announced. "We have a new transfer student today." She beckoned him forward with a smile. "Go on, tell us about yourself."
Santichai felt fifteen pairs of eyes bore into him. He looked at his shoes. "Hello," he whispered, his voice cracking. "My name is Santichai Kittibun."
A heavy silence followed. The students waited for more—a hobby, a hometown, a joke—but Santichai had run out of words. Sensing his panic, Mrs. Chantha gently gestured toward an empty desk.
Before he could even sit down, a warm hand patted his shoulder. Santichai turned to find a boy with a bright, reckless grin.
"Hey, I'm Asnee, but call me Nee," the boy said, already claiming him. He pointed to the right. "That's Ruangsak—call him Run. And the guy in front of him is Somsak, or Som. You're with us now."
"Nice to meet you," Santichai replied, a small spark of relief warming his chest. "I'm Chai."
By lunch, Asnee had appointed himself Santichai's guide. In the crowded cafeteria, they huddled around a table with Run and Som.
"Hey, you two, get in here!" Asnee shouted, pulling his friends close. "Let's take a photo."
Run and Som grabbed Santichai, sandwiching him between them. Asnee held his phone up, capturing the four of them in a flash of digital light. He grinned at the result. "What's your number? I'll send it to you."
Santichai looked down at his tray. "I don't have a mobile phone."
The table went quiet. Asnee blinked in genuine shock. "What? Everyone has a phone these days." He leaned in, his expression softening from surprise to curiosity. "How am I supposed to give you this?"
"It's okay," Santichai said, used to being the odd one out.
Asnee just shrugged and tucked the phone away. "Fine. We'll be friends for life anyway. It's okay if you get the picture later."
Four months passed, and Santichai lived in the shadow of Asnee's charisma. One afternoon, he walked down the hallway to return a sweater Asnee had lent him. As he rounded the corner, a familiar voice stopped him cold.
"Ai Nee, I don't get why you keep him around," Somsak said, his brow furrowed. "He doesn't fit with us at all."
"I agree," Ruangsak chimed in. "He's just... there."
"He's a loner," Asnee's voice rang out, confident and casual. "Let him hang out with us. There's nothing wrong with it. We're giving the kid a good high school memory, aren't we?"
A girl nearby giggled. "Phi Nee, you're too nice. That's why everyone's obsessed with you."
"You guys just need to show more empathy for loners," Asnee added, his tone almost heroic.
Santichai stood frozen, clutching the soft wool of the sweater until his knuckles turned white. He felt small—a charity project. When he saw Mr. Sichai approaching, he quickly bowed his head. "Good afternoon, Teacher."
"Student Kittibun? Lunch is over. Get back to class."
"Yes, sir."
Santichai forced himself to walk forward. He saw them then—the "cool" group. Asnee had his arm draped around a girl, looking every bit the king of the school. Santichai stepped into the circle and held out the sweater.
"Here," he said softly. "Your sweater."
Asnee didn't look guilty. He took the garment and immediately wrapped it around the girl's shoulders. "You said you were cold," he told her. She beamed, kissing his cheek.
"You're such a sweet baby," she cooed.
Santichai turned to leave, but Asnee's hand shot out, gripping his arm. "Hey, where are you going?"
"Lunch is over," Santichai said, his voice flat. "I'm going to class."
"Are you guys ditching?" Asnee asked the others.
"Yeah," Somsak called out.
Asnee nodded. "You two go on. I'll take Ai Chai back to the room."
"I know the way," Santichai snapped, pulling away and walking toward Room 22.
Asnee was on his heels in seconds. "Hey! Ai Chai! Did you hear what we were saying?"
"Yes."
"I can explain." Asnee grabbed his arm again, his grip tight and insistent.
"You don't need to. I understand perfectly. Go back to your friends."
Instead of letting go, Asnee hauled him into the nearby men's room and kicked the door shut, locking it. "Ai Chai, listen to me—"
"Student Asnee, you don't have to force yourself to be my friend!" Santichai shouted, trying to shove him back toward the stalls. "I'm going to class. There's a quiz."
Suddenly, Santichai's back hit the door with a dull thud. Asnee slammed his hands on either side of Santichai's head, pinning him. Before Santichai could draw breath to protest, Asnee leaned in and kissed him—hard, messy, and desperate.
When Asnee finally pulled back, he was gasping for air. "Are you going to listen now?"
Santichai could only nod, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
Asnee let go of his hands and stepped back, looking suddenly uncertain. "I want you around because... because if you're not there, the circle isn't complete. I feel like I'm missing something." He glanced at the floor, then back at Santichai's lips. "Run is an idiot; his mouth moves faster than his brain. You don't need to care what they think. You only need to care what I think."
Santichai nodded again, unable to find his voice.
Asnee sat back on the edge of a porcelain sink, his eyes trailing down the curve of Santichai's neck. A dark, intense look crossed his face. "You can go. But if you ignore me again... I'll kiss you harder next time."
Santichai spent the next week in a fog of suspicion. He avoided the group, convinced he was the punchline of a joke. Maybe it was a bet. Maybe Asnee was just cruel.
On Friday afternoon, as the school emptied, Santichai tried to lose himself in the crowd. He rushed into the hallway, looking left and right, his heart racing. But halfway down the stairs, he saw him. Asnee was leaning against the railing, waiting.
Santichai's heart trembled. He descended the steps like a prisoner walking to the gallows.
Asnee looked up. "Are you avoiding me?"
"No," Santichai lied.
"Then why aren't you hanging out with us?"
"I... I have to study. For the midterms."
Asnee reached out and snatched Santichai's wrist. "You stutter when you lie, Chai." He didn't let go. Instead, he began pulling Santichai toward the exit.
"Where are we going?" Santichai asked nervously.
"Shut up," Asnee said, his voice a mix of frustration and command. "Just come with me."
And just like that, Santichai was dragged out of the gates and into Asnee's world.