Wichian smiled gently. “It’s alright, Day. I can manage. You’ve got classes anyway. Just make sure you take good notes so I can copy them later.”

Day grinned and gave a playful salute. “Aye aye, buddy!” he said before flopping back into his seat.

--------

The day passed with the usual routine — classes, lectures — for both Wichian and Wit. When school ended, the boys left in their respective cars, unaware of what was waiting for them at home.

As they stepped out of the vehicles, both stopped in surprise. Their parents were already outside, dressed neatly as if ready for a celebration.

“Are you going somewhere? Is there some occasion?” Wit asked, puzzled.

Mr. Pong smiled warmly. “Nothing special. I just thought we should go shopping for the two of you. It’s been a while since we’ve done something fun together. So… tonight, let’s shop and enjoy ourselves.”

Wichian and Wit exchanged glances — surprised, unsure.

“But I have a presentation tomorrow,” Wichian hesitated. “I still need to prep—”

Wit’s face twitched ever so slightly.

What if he finds out? 

He thought nervously. 

No… he shouldn’t see it now. Do something, Wit.

Wit quickly turned to his father. “It’s fine, Dad. Leave him if he doesn’t want to come. I’ll go with you.”

Mr. Pong’s smile faded slightly. “Wichian… I know you’ve already finished most of your preparation. Just for tonight, let’s enjoy a little. Please?”, Mr. Pong pleaded. 

Wichian stared at him, caught off guard. No one had ever done anything like this for him — not since his mother. This was the first time someone else was trying to make space for him, to include him.

A small, reluctant smile tugged at his lips. “Okay. Let’s go.”

Their parents beamed, and Wit silently celebrated his small victory. Keeping Wichian occupied — that was the goal.

The four of them got into the car, starting off into the evening as something almost resembling a family.

-------

The car pulled up to CentralWorld — one of the largest and most luxurious malls in Bangkok. Wichian stepped out, wide-eyed, taking in the gleaming lights and glittering store displays.

Though he had been here a few times with his mother for her client meetings, he had never stepped inside as a customer. Luxury was something he watched from the outside, never something he allowed himself to desire.

After his mother married Mr. Pong, she had gently insisted on shopping for him, but Wichian always refused. The idea of spending his stepfather’s money felt wrong. Undeserved. Foreign.

But today… he was brought here, not as a tagalong, but as part of the family. Mr. Pong had said it himself: “Buy whatever you like.”

The words sounded generous — maybe even kind — but to Wichian, they felt too heavy to carry.

While Mr. Pong and Mrs. Vamika wandered into a designer jewelry store, Wichian stayed behind, wandering outside the glass storefronts. His eyes caught on something — a sleek black shirt on display. It had minimal shimmer embroidery across one side, subtle but undeniably elegant. It looked expensive, far too expensive for someone like him.

Just then, a voice pierced his thoughts.

“Just go and try it,” Wit said flatly, eyes still on the shirt. “We’re here to buy things we like, not just stare at them.”

Wichian turned toward him, surprised, shaking his head. “No… It’s too much. I wouldn’t dare.”

“Useless,” Wit muttered under his breath. Without another word, he pushed open the glass door and strode inside.

Wichian followed in a quiet panic, trying to stop him, but Wit was already speaking to the salesgirl. “Get that same shirt. His size,” he said, pointing at Wichian without even glancing at him.

Even though Wit was two years younger, the sheer coldness in his stare — the calm authority in his voice — left Wichian standing silently behind him, powerless.

A moment later, their parents returned.

“Boys! Found anything you liked?” Mr. Pong asked cheerfully.

“Not yet, Dad,” Wit replied smoothly. “Phi Wichian picked a shirt. He’s just about to try it on.”

The salesgirl returned, handing over the shirt. “Here it is, sir.”

Mrs. Vamika’s face lit up. “Wow! That’s a beautiful choice, Wichian. You’ll look so handsome in it.”

“Yes, it suits you,” Mr. Pong agreed. “Go try it.”

Wit handed over the shirt, this time with a small, unreadable smile. He gestured toward the fitting rooms.

The parents who noticed the small changes in Wit , was really happy that finally their sons are getting along together.

Wichian hesitated, then walked away, shirt in hand. As soon as he disappeared behind the curtain, Wit’s expression hardened again. His thoughts turned ice cold.

You think I’m doing this for you? Don’t flatter yourself. If it weren’t for my father, I wouldn’t even bother looking in your direction.

I’ve learned my lesson — hating you openly only makes Dad protect you more. I won’t make that mistake again. From now on, I’ll smile… but I won’t stop fighting. Just not where he can see.

A small, cruel smirk crept across his lips.

Moments later, Wichian stepped out from the trial room — and everything froze.

He looked… breathtaking.

The black shirt clung perfectly to his frame, the shimmer catching the store lights in just the right way. The top two buttons were undone, revealing a glimpse of his toned chest. His sleeves were rolled up just below the elbows, showing off strong forearms. His hair, tousled with care, glowed slightly under the soft lighting.

Mr. and Mrs. Pong were stunned.

“My god… Honey, is that really Wichian?” Mr. Pong whispered.

Even Wit — who had looked away when Wichian entered — turned at the sound of the voice. And when he saw him… his heart stopped.

Each step Wichian took toward them echoed in Wit’s chest like a thunderclap. He was glowing, radiant, and the calm confidence in his walk made Wit’s throat dry.

Wichian finally reached them, smiling gently. “So… how is it?”

Their mother and stepfather launched into praise, beaming with pride. But Wichian turned toward the one person whose opinion mattered more than he wanted to admit.

“And you, Wit?” he asked.

Wit snapped out of his daze like someone waking from a trance. He quickly looked away, covering up the emotion. “Yeah. Nice. Good for you.” Then, almost too quickly, he added, “Let’s go find something for me now,” and walked away, trying to escape his own thoughts.

He moved toward the T-shirt section, pretending to browse, but his mind was still spinning.

How the hell did he look that hot… covered up like that?

Wit shook his head, cursing under his breath, forcing himself to focus on the rows of clothes. But when he glanced up — his eyes went straight back to Wichian, still talking softly with their parents.

A small, involuntary smile played across Wit’s lips.

The moment he realized it, he scowled, shoved his hands into his pockets, and turned away, trying to outrun what he was feeling.

-------

Once they finished their shopping, the family arrived at an upscale restaurant that exuded elegance and class. The best dishes on the menu were personally served at their table.

“Wichian, don’t hold back,” Mr. Pong said warmly. “Try anything you like.”

Wichian gave a polite nod, a small smile curling on his lips. He still wasn’t fully comfortable, but the effort was visible.

While everyone else was busy enjoying the food, Sorawit had hardly touched his plate. His eyes kept drifting to Wichian. No matter how much he tried to act normal, his gaze lingered—stealing glances as if Wichian might disappear if he blinked too long.

…

After a while, Wit quietly excused himself from the table and headed toward the restroom.

As he turned the corner, he overheard two young men standing near the wash basin, speaking just loud enough to catch his attention.

Man 1:“Did you see that table near us? The boy in the black shirt? Damn… he’s cute and hot.”

Man 2: “Yeah, I saw him. He’s a whole meal.”

Man 1: “I swear, I’d do anything to get my hands on him.”

Man 2: “Really? What about your girlfriend?”

Man 1 (chuckling): “Did I say I wanted him as a boyfriend? Just imagine... pinning him down and hearing him moan for every little touch—”

Before the second guy could respond, a sudden force slammed Man 1 against the wall. A hand clutched his neck, fingers tightening with cold precision.

Sorawit’s voice came low, deadly calm, and razor-sharp:

“How dare you talk filth about my brother?”

He gave a cold stare at both men saying...

“Next time, think before you open your mouth. If anyone gets to break him, it’s me. He’s mine—understood?”

The air turned cold.