Parin woke to the sound of muffled movement from across the hall, the soft thud of Win's bedroom door closing followed by the quiet shuffle of footsteps toward the kitchen. Their new apartment was spacious enough that they each had their own room—a luxury their father had insisted on when he'd bought the place near campus—but thin enough walls that Parin could still track his twin's restless energy, the same agitation that had been radiating from Win for weeks now.
The apartment was beautiful, all clean lines and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, but it still felt strange after years of easy closeness. Growing up, they'd been inseparable—finishing each other's sentences, defending each other against playground bullies, creating their own private world of inside jokes and shared secrets. But as they'd gotten older, their father's expectations had slowly pushed them into different roles. Parin found himself encouraged toward sports teams and student government—activities that built leadership and visibility—while Win was steered toward academic excellence and quiet achievement. Their father's praise flowed naturally toward Parin's public successes, while Win's accomplishments were acknowledged with distant approval before the conversation moved on. By high school, the unspoken competition their father had fostered drove them into separate worlds entirely, their connection maintained mostly through family obligations and the comfortable routine of shared car rides to and from school. Now even that daily ritual felt strained, filled with polite conversation and careful silences where easy chatter used to flow.
Win had been different for months now, nothing like the brother who had smiled and laughed so genuinely just a few months ago. Back then, Win's eyes had been bright, his happiness so real that Parin had felt relief knowing his twin had found some kind of joy even if it wasn't at home, even if their father never saw it. But now Win was worse than Parin had ever seen him—those real smiles replaced by careful, fake ones that never reached his eyes, his laughter hollow when it came at all. Whatever had made Win so happy over the summer was gone, leaving behind this hollow version of his brother. How Parin wished Win would open up to him again, would trust him enough to share whatever was causing this pain.
Even before the move, there had been a shadow in Win's eyes, a careful distance that seemed to grow wider each day. The apartment had only made it worse—where they used to at least cross paths in shared spaces at home, now Win seemed to retreat to his room whenever they were both there, emerging only for meals or when absolutely necessary. Last night, Parin had noticed the thin strip of light under Win's door well past midnight, still glowing when he'd gotten up for water at 2 AM. Win's room had finally gone dark sometime before dawn, but Parin had no idea what kept his twin awake so late, though he suspected it had something to do with whatever had been weighing on Win for months.
Something had shifted over the summer, something that had stolen his brother's light and left this shadow in its place. There was a careful distance Win maintained now, even when they were in the same room, and no matter how much Parin wanted to bridge that gap, no matter how desperately he wanted his brother back, he couldn't find it in himself to try. The words never came, the right moment never arrived, and the space between them only seemed to grow wider with each passing day.
Parin sat up quietly, checking his phone. 6:47 AM. Too early for most people, but he'd never needed much sleep. The apartment was silent now except for the distant hum of the city below. Win must have finally gone to bed—or maybe he was still awake, staring at his laptop screen in the dark. Parin had no way of knowing anymore, and that uncertainty gnawed at him.
He pulled on workout clothes and grabbed his headphones, deciding to hit the campus gym before Win woke up. Maybe some space would help him figure out how to bridge whatever gap had opened between them. He left a note on the kitchen counter—Gone to gym, back by 8—just in case Win wondered where he was. It was a small gesture, but one that felt important given how disconnected they'd become.
The gym was nearly empty, just a few dedicated early risers scattered among the machines. Parin found his usual treadmill and set a steady pace, letting the rhythm of his footfalls quiet his mind. He'd always been good at reading people—it came naturally when you were used to being the center of attention—but Win had become a puzzle he couldn't solve.
His phone buzzed with notifications from the campus group chat, messages flying back and forth about something that had apparently exploded overnight. Curious, Parin slowed his pace and opened the thread.
Holy shit you guys need to read this story.
OMG the chemistry is incredible!
Who is InvisibleHeart??? This writing is beautiful.
I'm already so invested in Alex and Kai!
Someone had shared a story called "Summer's End" from a BL fiction site, and apparently half the campus was losing their minds over it. Parin bookmarked the link, making a mental note to check it out later. If it was good enough to get the entire university talking, it might be worth reading.
By the time he got back to the apartment, Win was already gone—probably to breakfast with Pat, or maybe exploring campus on his own. The kitchen was pristine except for a single coffee mug in the sink, evidence of Win's quiet morning routine. Parin made his own coffee in their expensive machine—another gift from their father—and settled at the dining table with his laptop to check out this story everyone was raving about.
The site loaded quickly, clean and simple, with "Summer's End" displayed prominently. The author was listed as "InvisibleHeart," and the tags made Parin raise an eyebrow: angst, unrequited love, second chances. Not usually his type of reading, but the comment count was already in the hundreds.
He clicked to start reading.
The music was too loud and the crowd too thick, but I needed the noise to drown out the argument I'd had with my family earlier. I'd found a corner booth at Skyline, nursing a drink I didn't really want, when he appeared.
"Mind if I sit?" His voice cut through the chaos, confident but not arrogant. "Everywhere else is taken."
I looked up to find dark eyes studying me with curious intensity. He was tall, athletic, with the kind of presence that made people notice him—the exact opposite of me. "Sure," I managed, scooting over to make room.
"I'm Kai," he said, sliding into the booth with easy grace.
"Alex," I replied, using the name I always gave to strangers, though something about this one made me want to tell him the truth.
Parin found himself drawn in despite his skepticism. The writing was beautiful—raw and honest in a way that made his chest tight. Alex's voice was so clear, so full of longing and fear, that Parin could practically feel the character's heartbreak bleeding through the screen.
As he read on, something nagged at him. The way Alex described feeling invisible, the family dynamics, the desperate need to be seen and chosen—it felt familiar in a way that made Parin uncomfortable. Like looking in a funhouse mirror that reflected truths he wasn't ready to examine.
We talked for hours. About music, about university, about the way Bangkok looked from the rooftop bars scattered across the city. He listened like my words mattered, asked questions that showed he was actually paying attention. When I mentioned feeling invisible most of the time, he leaned forward, eyes serious.
"Maybe you're just waiting for the right person to see you," he said.
My heart did something dangerous in my chest. "And you think you're that person?"
His smile was slow, certain. "I'd like to try."
Parin's coffee went cold as he read, completely absorbed in the story of Alex and Kai's summer romance. The author wrote intimacy with devastating precision—not just the physical connection, but the way two people could become essential to each other's breathing. The way love could make you feel seen and chosen and utterly vulnerable all at once.
By the time he reached the ending—That was the beginning of the most beautiful summer of my life. It was also the beginning of the end—Parin felt like he'd been punched in the chest. His eyes stung with tears he hadn't expected, and he had to take a shaky breath before scrolling down to the comments.
The response was overwhelming. Hundreds of people pouring their hearts out, sharing their own experiences with love and loss, begging the author to continue. Many commented on how real it felt, how they could see themselves in Alex's struggle to be worthy of love.
This is so beautifully written, one person wrote. Alex's fear of being invisible really hits hard. I know exactly how that feels.
The chemistry between Alex and Kai is incredible, said another. You can feel how much they need each other.
Please tell me this has a happy ending, someone pleaded. I can't handle another tragedy.
Parin found himself typing before he could think better of it:
This story is devastating in the best way. The way you write about feeling invisible—like you're waiting for someone to choose you—it resonates so deeply. Alex's vulnerability is beautiful and heartbreaking. Can't wait to see where this goes.
He hit send and immediately felt exposed, like he'd revealed more than he intended. But there was something about the story that demanded honesty, that made him want to connect with the author and other readers who understood this particular brand of longing.
His phone buzzed with a text from Sea: Coffee? Want to go over our schedules and see what needs changing before we finalize them?
Parin glanced at the clock, startled to realize he'd been reading for over an hour. After finishing "Summer's End," he'd found himself browsing through other stories on the site, getting lost in the world of anonymous authors sharing their hearts through fiction. He grabbed his bag and headed out, but his mind remained fixed on Alex and Kai, on the summer that had changed everything and the ending that promised heartbreak.
Sea was waiting at a table in the campus café, laptop open and a stack of papers spread around him. He looked up when Parin approached, immediately frowning.
"You look weird," Sea said bluntly. "Good weird, but weird. What happened?"
Parin slid into the seat across from him, still processing what he'd just read. "Have you heard about this story everyone's talking about? 'Summer's End'?"
Sea's face lit up. "Oh my god, yes! I read it this morning and got completely lost in it. It's incredible, right? The way the author writes about longing—I felt like they reached into my chest and grabbed my heart."
"It felt so real," Parin said quietly. "Like the author was writing from experience, not just imagination."
"That's what everyone's saying. The campus group chats are going crazy trying to figure out who InvisibleHeart is. Some people think it's a graduate student, others think it might be faculty. A few are convinced it's someone from our year because the emotions feel so immediate."
Parin's phone buzzed with notifications—the campus forums were exploding with discussion about the story, everyone trying to decode clues about the mysterious author. He scrolled through speculation about the real identities behind Alex and Kai, theories about whether the story was autobiographical, passionate debates about what would happen next.
"It's wild how one story can capture an entire campus like this," Sea continued, closing his laptop to focus on their conversation. "I've never seen anything go viral this fast in our community. Even the seniors are talking about it."
Parin nodded, but his attention was divided. Something about the story kept nagging at him, a persistent itch he couldn't scratch. The way Alex described his family dynamics, the feeling of being overlooked despite trying so hard to be perfect—it reminded him uncomfortably of conversations he'd had with Win over the years.
"You know what's really getting to me?" Parin said, leaning forward. "The way Alex mentioned feeling invisible most of the time. Just that one line, but it hit so hard. Like he's used to not being seen."
Sea raised an eyebrow. "That hit close to home for you?"
Parin's laugh was hollow. "Maybe. I mean, I know Win sometimes feels like he's in my shadow, but I never thought..." He trailed off, remembering all the times Win had quietly excused himself from family gatherings, all the awards and achievements that had gone unmentioned while their parents praised Parin's latest success.
"Have you talked to him about it?"
"Tried to. But he always says he's fine, changes the subject. Lately he's been even more distant. I keep wondering if something happened over the summer that he's not telling me about."
"What do you mean?" Sea asked, leaning forward with interest.
Parin sighed, trying to put his concerns into words. "He was different over the summer - happier, actually. Like he had this light in his eyes that I hadn't seen in years. But then something changed, and now he's more withdrawn than ever. I just wish I knew what happened."
Sea studied him with the perceptive gaze that made him such a good friend. "You're really worried about him, aren't you?"
"Yeah. I am. He used to tell me everything, you know? We were always close despite being so different. But now it's like there's this wall between us that I can't get through."
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the weight of Parin's concern settling between them. Sea had been his best friend since middle school, one of the few people who saw past the golden boy facade to the person underneath who genuinely cared about the people he loved.
"Maybe you need to make yourself more available," Sea suggested gently. "Show him you're there if he needs you. Sometimes people need to hear those words directly - that you care, that you're willing to listen. And maybe..." He hesitated, then continued more carefully. "Maybe try not being the perfect brother for a while. Let him see you struggle with something too, so he knows he doesn't have to be perfect around you either."
Parin considered this, thinking about how he'd always tried to make everything look easy, to be the son who never caused problems or needed help. Maybe that had made it harder for Win to open up about his own struggles.
His phone buzzed again—another notification from the campus forums. Someone had started a thread dedicated to analyzing every line of "Summer's End," looking for clues about the author's identity. The dedication was impressive and slightly concerning.
"This is getting a little intense," Parin said, showing Sea the screen. "People are really invested in figuring out who wrote this."
"Can you blame them? It's the most honest piece of writing about love and heartbreak I've ever read. Whoever InvisibleHeart is, they've tapped into something universal. Everyone sees themselves in Alex's story."
Parin scrolled through more comments, noting how many people mentioned feeling invisible, feeling like they were waiting for someone to choose them. The story had clearly struck a nerve across the entire student body.
"We should probably head over to finalize our schedules," Sea said, gathering his papers. "But seriously, talk to Win. Even if he's not ready to open up, he needs to know you care."
After they finished handling their schedule changes and course selections, Parin found himself walking back across campus alone, Sea having headed off to meet with an advisor. Sea's words echoed in his mind as he walked: "Maybe you need to make yourself more available. Show him you're there if he needs you." Maybe his friend was right. Maybe instead of trying to decode someone else's pain, he should focus on the real relationship right in front of him.
His phone buzzed with a text from their father: Family dinner tonight, 7 PM. Don't be late.
Parin sighed, checking the time. The mandatory dinners were part of the deal for getting the apartment—their father's way of maintaining control even when they lived independently. Three times a week, no exceptions, no excuses. Win had never been enthusiastic about family dinners, but Parin suspected these new mandatory ones would be even worse for his twin.
As he made his way back to the apartment, Parin made a decision. Tonight at dinner, he would pay attention—really pay attention—to how his family interacted, to whether Win was being seen and heard the way he deserved to be. Maybe understanding their family dynamics better would help him figure out how to bridge the gap between them.
Back at the apartment, Parin found Win in the living room, laptop balanced on his knees as he sat curled in one corner of their expensive leather sofa. The soft clicking of keys filled the quiet space, and Win barely looked up when Parin entered.
"Did you get Dad's text about dinner?" Parin asked, dropping his bag by the door.
Win nodded without taking his eyes off the screen. "Yeah. Seven PM."
"Maybe we can head there early. Let me grab a shower."
Win's fingers paused on the keyboard for just a moment before resuming their steady rhythm. "Sure," he said quietly, though something in his tone suggested he'd rather avoid it entirely.
An hour later, they sat in the back of their family's car, the familiar stretch of Bangkok streets passing by in silence. Win was absorbed in his phone, fingers moving quickly across the screen, a small smile occasionally flickering across his face as he typed. Parin glanced over curiously—it was rare to see Win look that engaged with anything lately—before returning to his own phone, still seeing notifications about "Summer's End" flooding the campus forums. The story had been on his mind all day, and maybe...
"Hey," Parin said, breaking the quiet. "Have you heard about this story that's going around campus? Everyone's talking about it."
Win's fingers stilled on his phone screen, and Parin caught a glimpse of something—surprise, maybe, or tension. "What story?"
"It's called 'Summer's End.' Some anonymous author posted it on a fiction site, and now half the university is obsessed with it. Really well written, actually. Made me think about our family, I guess." He paused, not sure how to finish that thought without sounding too personal.
Win turned from his phone, meeting his eyes for the first time all day. "What's it about?"
"It's a love story, but there's something about the way it's written—the family dynamics, the way one person gets all the attention while the other just... exists in the background. It sounds really close to home, you know?"
Something flickered across Win's face, too quick for Parin to read. "Sounds interesting," Win said quietly, turning back to his phone as they approached the imposing gates of the Sirikul family home.
The Sirikul family home was exactly as Parin remembered—imposing, elegant, and somehow always making him feel like he was performing rather than simply being. Their father sat at the head of the long dining table, already in full conversation mode. Win looked composed but distant.
"Parin!" their father's face lit up as they entered the dining room. "Perfect timing. I was just telling your mother about the networking event next week. Several board members from partnering companies will be there—excellent opportunity for you to make connections."
Parin took his usual seat, noticing how their father's gaze barely flickered to Win as his twin quietly sat down across from him. "That sounds great, Dad."
"I've already spoken to Khun Preecha about introducing you to his son. He's launching a tech startup, could be valuable for your future business endeavors." Their father continued outlining opportunities and connections, painting a picture of Parin's bright future with the same enthusiasm he brought to all his business ventures.
Win reached for the water pitcher, filling his glass with quiet precision. Their mother smiled warmly at both of them, but her attention naturally drifted toward the conversation between their father and Parin, leaving Win to exist in the margins of the meal.
"And Win," their father said finally, almost as an afterthought, "so you can't speak now? Since you don't live here anymore, I barely hear from you. How is orientation going?"
Win's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "Fine, Dad. The law program looks really interesting."
"Good, good. Law is practical. Stable." Their father's tone suggested this was the extent of his interest in Win's academic experience. "Parin, what professors did you get? I want to know their names so I can look into their industry connections."
As Parin listed off his professors' names, he found himself watching Win from his peripheral vision. His twin ate quietly, occasionally nodding when directly addressed, but mostly existing in the margins of the conversation. This was what being invisible looked like—Win being pushed into the shadows by their father's relentless focus on Parin, and God help him, by Parin himself, who had never thought to redirect that attention, who had basked in it without considering the cost. The parallel to Alex in "Summer's End" hit Parin like a physical blow.
This was it. This was the family dynamic the story had captured so perfectly—one child bathed in attention and opportunity while the other faded into the background, both of them trapped in roles they'd never consciously chosen.
"I actually had an interesting conversation with one of my professors today," Win said during a brief lull, his voice careful but hopeful. "He mentioned an internship opportunity with a prestigious law firm that could—"
"That reminds me," their father interrupted, turning back to Parin, "the board meeting next month would be perfect for you to observe. See how real business decisions are made."
Win's face went carefully blank, the same expression Parin had seen him wear countless times over the years whenever his contributions were dismissed or overlooked. But now, having just read about Alex's desperate need to be seen and chosen, Parin recognized it for what it really was: the look of someone learning to disappear.
"I'm sorry, Win, what was that about the internship you were mentioning?" Parin asked, his voice cutting through their father's planning.
Win looked up, surprised. Their father paused, clearly not having been listening.
"Oh, yes," their father said dismissively. "I'm sure it's fine. Win's always been responsible about his studies."
"But what was it specifically?" Parin pressed, maintaining eye contact with Win. "Tell us about the law firm."
Win's eyes flickered with something—gratitude, maybe, or surprise at being seen. "It's with Thornfield & Associates. They're looking for a first-year student to help with research on corporate compliance cases. The professor said my academic achievements stood out, that I'd be a strong candidate."
"That's impressive," Parin said, meaning it. "Thornfield has an excellent reputation. When do you apply?"
As Win explained the application process, his voice gaining confidence with each word, Parin watched their parents' reactions. Their mother listened politely, but their father's attention had already drifted to his phone. Even when Win was speaking directly about his achievements, about opportunities he'd earned through his own merit, he remained secondary to whatever business email had just arrived.
The rest of dinner passed in a familiar pattern: their father discussing Parin's future, their mother adding supportive comments, and Win existing in the spaces between conversations. Parin found himself wishing Ning had been there—their sister had always been good at redirecting their father's attention, at making sure Win's achievements got noticed too. Without her steady presence, the imbalance felt even more stark. By the time they left, Parin felt sick with recognition.
The drive back to their apartment was quiet, both twins lost in their own thoughts. As they rode the elevator up to their floor, Win finally broke the silence.
"You know you didn't have to do that," he said quietly, not meeting Parin's eyes.
"Do what?"
"Bring up the internship. Make Dad actually listen."
Parin felt something tighten in his chest. "Of course I did."
Win glanced at him then, something vulnerable flickering in his expression. "Thank you."
"That internship sounds amazing," Parin said. "You should definitely apply."
Win glanced at him, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Thanks. I wasn't sure anyone was actually listening."
The words were said lightly, without accusation, but they landed in Parin's chest like stones. How many times had Win felt unheard, unseen, while Parin basked in their father's attention without even realizing the cost?
That night, as Parin lay in bed, he thought about "Summer's End" and the way Alex had described feeling invisible in his own family. He thought about Win's light under the door, the secretive late-night typing, the careful way his twin had learned to take up as little space as possible.
Maybe the story that had moved him so deeply wasn't just relatable—maybe it was reflecting a truth he'd been too comfortable to see, playing out right under his own roof.
Tomorrow, he decided, he would start paying attention. Really paying attention. And maybe, if he was lucky, he could figure out how to make Win feel seen and chosen in their family, the way Kai had made Alex feel seen in that crowded bar.
The parallel wasn't lost on him. Win needed someone to notice him, to choose him, to make him feel like he mattered. And while Parin couldn't be everything to his twin, he could at least start being a better brother.