Scanning the room, Milo's eyes darted from table to table until he found who he was looking for: King, his boyfriend, sitting at their usual spot. Milo's face lit up with a bright smile, but it faltered slightly when he noticed someone else sitting next to King.

Gathering his composure, Milo walked over and greeted them, "Hi."

"Oh, you arrived?" King said it with a welcoming smile. He seemed a bit too cheerful for Milo's comfort. Milo sat down next to him and glanced at the unfamiliar face beside his boyfriend.

"Who's this?" Milo asked, trying to keep his tone light and casual.

King gestured to the new guy. "This is Jay. He moved into my neighborhood about a month ago."

Milo was taken aback. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, trying to mask the hurt in his voice.

King shrugged. "It didn't seem like a big deal."

Jay extended his hand to Milo with a friendly smile. "Hi, I'm Jay. I just joined the college."

"Oh, i am Milin Channarat. everyone calls me Milo," he introduced himself

Before Jay could respond, King stood up, his enthusiasm palpable. "Actually, I was just about to give Jay a tour. Come on, Jay."

Milo started to rise from his seat to join them, but King placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, stopping him. "You should head to class, Milo. We'll catch up later."

"But..."

"It's okay, Milo. You should go to class," King said.

Milo's heart sank as he watched King and Jay walk away, leaving him alone at the table. The cafeteria, once filled with cheerful chatter, now felt eerily quiet. He picked up his bag, trying to shake off the unease, and headed to his class, his thoughts swirling with uncertainty and a hint of jealousy.

As the professor took his class, Milo couldn't shake off the feeling of unease. Som and Waan, noticing Milo's disturbed expression, whispered to him, asking if something had happened.

"Is everything okay?" Som asked softly.

Milo shook his head, attempting to dismiss their concerns. "I'm fine."

"Is it because of the King?" Som pressed, his tone gentle but probing.

Milo hesitated, then nodded slightly. "Maybe," he admitted.

Wann's expression changed to one of irritation at the mention of King's name. He whispered to Som, "For some reason, that bastard gets on my nerves."

"Same here," Som replied with a knowing nod.

Milo, catching the exchange, couldn't help but smirk. "Oh, come on, you two. King isn't that bad."

Waan rolled his eyes. "Not that bad? The guy walks around like he owns the place."

"And don't forget how he always tries to one-up us," Som added.

Milo just laughed. "You guys are being dramatic. He's really sweet once you get to know him."

Waan and Som exchanged a skeptical glance but didn't argue further. They knew better than to get into a debate about King with Milo.

They both looked at Milo, concern etched on their faces. 

Milo sighed, feeling the weight of their worry. "It's probably nothing. Don't worry, I'm fine."

When the class finally ended, Som and Waan walked with Milo, their concern palpable. "Are you sure you're okay?" Som asked again.

Milo forced a smile. "Yeah, I'll be fine. Thanks, guys."

Milo walked away. Waan and Som sigh, and they are a little worried about him.

                                                                                           ***

Milo was walking back home in the evening, his eyes fixed on his phone. He had texted King, 'Reached home?' but had yet to receive a reply. 

The soft hues of the setting sun painted the sky in shades of orange and pink, casting long shadows on the pavement. As he strolled through his familiar street, a sudden scream pierced.

"Help... help..."

His heart pounded as he followed the desperate voice, his phone still clutched in his hand. He turned a corner and saw a group of men in black suits. One of them, a tall figure, was holding a gun. The man's face was obscured by the intense light of the setting sun. His heart pounded as he followed the desperate voice. He instinctively hid himself, his breath quickening. His phone was still clutched in his hand.

"Wha...what...what's happening here!?" he muttered to himself in shock and fear.

Instinctively, Milo opened his phone's camera and began recording. The man on the ground was pleading, his voice trembling with fear. "Pl...please, let me go."

The tall man bent down slightly, his voice cold. "Why should I?" and without hesitation, he pulled the trigger. The gunshot was eerily silent, thanks to the suppressor.

Milo gasped and stumbled backward, falling to the ground in terror. The noise caught the tall man's attention. He turned towards the sound, his face now illuminated. Kiet -- He was strikingly handsome and had a striking physique, but his eyes were dark and menacing.

Kiet approached with a predatory grace, his gaze locked on Milo. Panic surged through Milo, and he scrambled to his feet, turning to run. As he fled, he heard a voice behind him, another man asking, "Should we catch him?"

Kiet's response was calm and measured. "Just keep an eye on him," he said. He glanced back at the lifeless body on the ground and added, "Clear things up here."

Milo ran as fast as he could, his mind racing with fear and confusion. He had to get away to find safety. His thoughts were a chaotic swirl—he had witnessed a murder, and the murderer knew he had seen everything.

Milo ran as fast as his legs could carry him, his breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps. The streets of his small town blurred around him, his mind consumed by the horrifying sight he had just witnessed. He didn't dare look back, afraid that the terror might be following him.

His house came into view, and he pushed himself to run even faster. He burst through the front door, startling his mother, who was in the kitchen. She turned, a warm smile on her face, ready to greet him.

"Milo, you're home ea—" she began, but Milo didn't stop. He dashed past his mother, ignoring his father, who was watching TV in the living room, and ran straight to his bedroom. His heart pounded in his chest as he fumbled with the latch on his door, finally locking it behind him. His phone was still recording, and with shaking hands, he ended the video, his mind racing with the implications of what he had just witnessed.

Downstairs, his parents furrowed their brows in confusion. His mother, still holding a spatula from cooking, looked at Milo's younger brother, Nuea, who was lounging on the couch. "Do you know something?" she asked.

Nuea, shaking his head. "No idea," he replied, looking as puzzled as his parents.

Inside his room, Milo was panicking. He leaned against the door, sliding down to the floor. "What—what was that? Was that real?" he muttered to himself, replaying the horrific scene in his mind. His breaths came in short, shallow gasps as he tried to make sense of it all.

The image replayed in his mind over and over again: the shadowy figure, the gun, and the lifeless body crumpling to the ground. He felt his stomach churn and his hands tremble.

Desperate to talk to someone, he grabbed his phone and dialed his boyfriend, King. The phone rang once, twice, and three times, and then an automated voice responded, "The number you're trying to reach is busy." 

Milo's frustration mounted. "Come on, king. I need you," he muttered, clenching his fists. He felt the walls closing in, the isolation amplifying his panic.

"What do I do?" he asked himself, still shaking in fear.

A knock on his door startled him, and he heard his father's concerned voice. "Milo, are you okay in there?"

His mother's voice followed, filled with worry. "Sweetheart, what's wrong? Please talk to us."

Milo wanted to open the door and tell them everything, to let them hold him and make him feel safe, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He felt trapped in his own fear, unable to find the words to explain what he had seen.

"Milo, we're really worried. Please, just let us in," his father pleaded, the sound of his knuckles rapping softly against the wood.

Milo sat on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. Maybe he could at least let them know he was physically alright, even if he couldn't yet tell them about the nightmare he had witnessed.

"I'm fine, Mom. Just... just give me a minute," he called back, his voice trembling.

"Are you sure? You looked really upset," his father added, his voice muffled through the door.

Milo knew he couldn't stay locked in his room forever. He needed to talk to someone, but he didn't know how to begin to explain what he had just seen.

"Should I tell them?" he asked himself.

His heart was racing as he bit his lips and paced back and forth in his room. The terror of what he had just witnessed played on a loop in his mind. He kept glancing at his phone, the recorded video a chilling reminder of the crime he had seen.

"What if it puts them in danger?" he whispered to himself, running his hands through his hair. His thoughts were chaotic, a tangled mess of fear and confusion. The image of the tall man with the gun and his cold, emotionless face haunted him every time he closed his eyes.

                                                                                       ***

Bangkok, Rattanakorn Mansion

The grand bedroom was adorned with opulent decor, but it still exuded a sense of emptiness and isolation. Dark, heavy drapes framed the large windows, and expensive artwork lined the walls. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting a soft glow over the room. Despite its grandeur, the room felt cold and uninviting.

A man in a black suit entered the room, his footsteps barely making a sound on the plush carpet. He moved with the precision and confidence of someone accustomed to such surroundings. He paused near the center of the room, waiting.

From the adjacent bathroom, the sound of running water ceased. Moments later, a tall man emerged, his hair wet and glistening under the light. He wore a black robe that clung to his muscular frame, showcasing his defined abs. The tall man was Kiettisak Rattanakorn, a figure known for his power and ruthlessness.

"What's the update?" Kiet asked, his voice steady and commanding.

"I took care of the body, sir," the bodyguard replied, standing at attention.

"Good. And the boy?" Kiet inquired, moving to the dresser and picking up a towel. He began drying his hair, his piercing eyes fixed on his reflection in the mirror. 

"We are keeping an eye on him, sir," the bodyguard informed him.

"Find out everything about him," Kiet ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"We are on it, sir," the bodyguard confirmed.

"Good," Kiet said, his eyes never leaving his own piercing gaze in the mirror. He smirked slightly, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Let's see what he does next."

The bodyguard nodded and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. Kiet's thoughts drifted to the terrified face of the boy he had seen running away—the face of Milo. He recalled the fear in his eyes and the way he had gasped and stumbled in terror.

A sinister smile curled his lips as he muttered to himself, "What should I do with you?"