Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tonight is off.

His nose is blocked.

The scent of his cologne had been obstructing his nose when he left home earlier that night. 

He thought it was annoying; too strong, too intense, too distracting. 

But it is a good cologne, expensive in its smell in a way that would leave no doubt of its cost to the people who cough a sniff of it, so he sprayed it on neck and wrists, behind his ears too without thinking twice; just like he had done every day since he bought it. 

And later, when he had greeted Wai and Safe, their scents had made their way into his nose as well, blocking it further. 

He never liked it, the alcohol base of it all inevitably became too noticeable, turning the smell sour and pungent. It made his nose hurt. 

And when the three of them stepped into the club and found Charong already drinking something in their reserved table, the same irritating feeling crept up his nostrils for the fourth time that night. 

Pran has a sensitive nose. 

When he was younger, his mother used to say it was a gift. 

He remembers, the woman would tell him his nose could keep him out of trouble.

When the smell is good, you’re on the right path. 

When you can’t stand the scent, then watch out. 

Like his nose was some kind of magical guide; like he was a dog. 

Simple enough, he used to think. 

He finds it amusing now. 

As the years passed and he grew older, he realised just how dumb of a thought that was, and started seriously considering seeing a doctor because maybe; just maybe, having such a sensitive sense of smell is not normal. 

He never did, though. 

Time has passed since the four of them started drinking, and he wishes he still had his nose clogged by the scent of cologne, because as unpleasant as that was, anything is better that this; because it has now been replaced by the sickening, revolting smell of the weed his friends started smoking maybe too early into the night.  

But, honestly, it was always too early for weed in his mind.  

He can’t stand it, it’s icky and foul. Nauseating. 

So, evidently, when Charong hands him a blunt freshly removed from his lips, he takes it to his mouth and lets the smoke get inside his system. 

He gives it back to his friend, and closes his eyes to keep the repulse down. 

“It’s strange to see you by yourself these days” Wai says. “When will Kittiya be here?” 

He shrugs, painting a smirk on his lips as an image of the beautiful girl appears in his mind. 

“She’s been with Anong since earlier today. Said they’d be here soon.”

“Is Anong still with her boyfriend?” Safe asks. “I’ve been trying to hit on her for ages.”

“Who knows?” He laughs, rubbing his eyes as he shakes his head. “Anong’s so unpredictable. It’s always on and off with her. Shit, I can’t even remember the guy’s name. Kittiya loves gossiping about it but I can never recall. ”

“If it’s even the same guy still. She changes relationships more than her underwear.” Charong adds, laughing to his heart’s content, like laughing at the girl’s dating life is the funniest thing on Earth. 

He chuckles, taking a sip of his Whiskey before looking at the man. “Yeah. You two sure have that in common. Don’t you, Charong?” 

Wai and Safe laugh, elbowing their friend and making loud teasing noises that, by the look on his stoic face, don’t fall on his good side. 

Charong conceals it, forcing his strong eyebrows to relax as he smirks back, tilting his head to the side and raising his glass towards him like he’s making a toast. 

“Damn right.”

“Nothing wrong with being a whore, buddy.” Safe laughs, the alcohol starting to be noticeable in his intonation. “At least you’re getting some. I’m so lonely, I don’t think I even remember how to have sex.” 

“That’s because you’re so damn stubborn about getting with Anong.” Wai groans, shaking the boy’s shoulder. “You’re good looking, rich, sweet, fun. You have it all! You could get any girl in the room if you really tried, but I’m sure that as soon as she steps in the club, you’ll be all over her like a puppy, and then she’ll subtly-”

“Or not so subtly.” He intervenes. 

“-Yeah. Or not so subtly reject you. And then there goes another night wasted.”

“I do not do that!” Safe protests. 

“Oh but you do.” Wai responds. 

“Every time.” He confirms. 

“We all know your script by now.” Charong adds, in a bored tone. 

“Okay! So what if I do? Nothing wrong with being persistent.”

“Nothing wrong with that.” He agrees.“But if you want sex, then maybe that’s not the best course of action.”

“Exactly. Look, man, there’s nothing wrong with wanting something more serious, like a proper relationship, but I think you need to really decide what you want, like… do you like her as a hookup or a girlfriend? Because the way you act with her isn’t necessarily hookup behaviour.” Wai pokes the boy’s chest with his finger, making it feel a little accusatory. 

“Hm. Plus, you can’t force anyone to like you, if she’s not into you, then she’s not into you.” He adds, trying to put some sense in the conversation.

Charong snorts. “And I’m not gonna lie, Anong is probably hookup material only, so if you actually like her as something more, maybe reconsider your target.” 

He scrunches his nose after taking another sip, because Charong’s comment is as annoying as the burning alcohol sliding down his throat. 

He still laughs quietly, it feels like the right thing to do anyways. 

“Of course you all would say that.” Safe complains, “Wai, your phone is full of girl’s numbers to call anytime you want and the count goes up whenever we go out, which is like… every two nights, and Charong, you get laid like you need sex to breathe, and YOU-” 

Safe points at him dramatically, raising his voice as his eyes grow two sizes. “You have a girlfriend who won’t leave your side ever! None of you understand what this is like. I’m gonna die alone.”

He breathes deeply. “You’re not gonna die alone.”

Wai speaks again. “Okay, so make a choice, either you die alone or die with someone who isn’t Anong.”

Safe groans. “Can I just die with Anong?”

He laughs, playing around with his glass. 

Charong sighs. “If, in this hypothetical scenario you do have Anong, why would you still want to die?”

“Wait, there was a third option without death?”

He laughs, louder this time, even throwing his head back. The noise resonates in the air, and his friends follow. 

Safe hits the table with his fist. “Hey, hey, hey! You’re laughing a little too loud for someone who’s taken. My jokes are for single people only, thank you very much.”

“I’m sorry for having a girlfriend?”

“You’re a show off, that’s what you are.” Safe’s voice is playfully resentful, and it dies down as he busies his mouth with his drink before resting his head on the table.

“Hey, about that.” Wai looks at him, somewhat more serious than one usually is in places like this. “Were you for real last time? You know, what you said about-” he doesn’t finish the sentence, but his hands gesticulate in a weird manner that, oddly enough, does the job of explaining what he means just fine. 

That seems to catch everyone’s attention, Safe lifts his head up to look at him, and Charong puts his phone down, coming back to reality. 

He chuckles, raising his eyebrows before drinking some more. “Yeah. I think I was serious.” 

“Don’t you think it’s a little… I don’t know, soon?” His best friend asks. 

“Yeah.” Charong snickers.“You’ve been together for what? Seven months?” 

“Ten.” He corrects. “Almost a year now.”

“Still.” Wai insists. “That’s a big step to take.”

He shrugs. “She’s nice, she’s pretty, we have a good time together.”

“You know, that’s good, but maybe you should think it through before doing anything major.” 

“What’s your verdict on Kittiya, expert Charong?” Safe asks.

The man shakes his head, looking at his glass. “My verdict is that I’m not poking my nose in this. I can’t speak on my friend’s girlfriend like that.”

“Aww.” Safe coos. “So you do have some morals deep inside you.”

His friend scoffs, getting back to his Vodka after whispering. “Keep being stupid and I’ll shove something else inside you.” 

“Speaking of the devil. ” Wai says, tilting his chin towards the entrance of the building. 

The other three turn to look in that direction. 

Kittiya and Anong are looking around, probably trying to find them, and when the blonde girl’s eyes find their table, she waves, a bright smile spreading through her face. 

Pran returns the gesture, waving back before going back to his friends. 

“I don’t know. I’m pretty sure of my decision, so all of you keep your mouths shut until it’s done. It’s supposed to be a surprise for her.”

“Obviously.” Wai scoffs. 

Pran gives him an apathetic expression and his friend responds by putting his hands up, like he’s surrendering. 

He can smell their presence next to them before he can see them. 

Anong smells of something close to fruit; very strong, vibrant fruits with the unmissable alcohol laying underneath the layers of her perfume. 

Kittya’s scent is more intense; harsh, ardent. Something like red roses. It hits his nose like a wave. 

He has learned to take it. He’s used to it, in a way. It’s never been pleasant, and it will probably never be. But Pran can take it. 

“Hey babe.” She greets, grabbing his face and bringing it to her lips in a determined kiss. 

He kisses back, of course, tasting strong alcohol in the exchange. Pran doesn’t know whose mouth releases the substance, because it’s clear she’s been drinking too.  It’s not like it matters. 

“Hey baby.” He answers. 

Kittiya contorts her body into a sitting position. 

There’s more than enough room for her, but she still chooses to sit on Pran’s lap with her arms around his neck. He places his arm on her waist as a response. In this position, that feels natural. 

It seems like the right thing to do, if his girlfriend’s soft hum and her head moving to rest on his shoulder is anything to go by. 

“EWWW!!” Safe yells, throwing a thumbs down at them as soon as they display public affection.

Kittiya rolls her eyes, showing him her middle finger. “Shut up, Safe. Get a life.”

“Wow. So mean for no reason…” Wai mutters, hiding his words behind his glass. 

“Hey, come on.” Anong says, sitting in between Charong and Safe. “Safe has a life!” 

“Yeah.” Her best friend answers. “A life to chase after you.”

“Oh, that’s not true!” She dismisses.

Pran looks at Wai, who tries his best to stay silent and keep his laugh contained, and then at Charong, who has to physically look away to stop himself from saying anything about their friend’s situation. Pran drinks, to stop himself from chuckling. 

“Yeah.” Safe giggles. “I- I have a lot going on for myself.”

“Sure you do, buddy.” Pran’s girlfriend snorts. 

Safe looks at him with a pout, and Pran only shrugs, tending to the girl on top of him who has begun to chase after his lips again.

Everything goes the way it always does then. 

The music gets louder, and the smoke of their blunts and cigarettes gets heavier, making the air dirty and foggy. Making Pran want to vomit. 

His senses start slipping away with every glass he drinks; one after another, and another, and another. 

He feels loose, lax, like his body is not in his control anymore; movements sloppy like the infinite messy, wet kisses his girlfriend provides every minute or so. 

And when Kittiya blows smoke directly into his mouth, he squeezes his eyes shut and welcomes it in. He hears her giggles, and feels her lips on his again, and again, giving him no room to breathe. 

He smiles at her, drinking one more time before licking into her mouth. She whimpers in the middle of it, and Pran smirks before repeating the gesture. 

He’s in a haze where the only real thing in his world is his girlfriend. And it is pretty nice, to have nothing going on in his life apart from this. 

When they’re out drinking and smoking, when he’s relentlessly making out with his girlfriend, nothing in the world matters. Nothing exists. Nothing can reach him. 

He has not heard his friends in what feels like hours now, and when his ears finally catch something, it’s Kittiya’s voice. He has no idea what she’s talking about. 

“Huh?” He asks. 

She sighs, like she’s stopping an eye roll before repeating herself. “I asked if you’re not playing with your friends tonight.”

“Oh.” 

When he looks away from her, he sees them out of their seats staring back at him. 

“Are you coming?” Wai asks. 

“Um-” Pran mumbles, fighting the alcohol as it works overtime to weigh him down. “I don’t know.”

Gambling tonight? He’s not sure. Maybe he’s just not drunk enough yet.

“You don’t want to?” Kittiya asks. Her voice is sweet, sticky. She caresses his cheek, brushing her nose against his own. “What about the money?”

“I mean… I don’t really need more money right now.”

“You don’t? Didn’t you promise me a new phone? Did you forget, babe?”

“Of course I didn’t. But I don’t need to gamble to buy that for you.”

“Hm. Since when is money ever too much? If you get some extra cash tonight and you don’t want it… you can always give it to me.” She giggles, as if she’s joking. “This watch you’re wearing tonight.” The girl purrs, stroking his wrist, “is kinda old anyways, isn’t it? It’s perfect for a little gamble. Would you do that for me?” 

It’s not old. It was his father’s. 

Pran looks into her eyes; hooded, inviting, attractive eyes. He looks at Charong staring back at him, waiting for an answer. 

Everyone’s waiting for an answer.  

What’s the point of going out if he’s not having fun anyways? Pran thinks, laughing a moment after. “Right. Fuck it, let’s go.”

His girlfriend smiles at him, getting out of his lap so he can stand up. 

His legs don’t quite work the way they should, they’re a little weak and hard to control. But he knows that’s normal for a night out. 

He ignores it, wrapping an arm around Kittiya’s waist and starting to walk to the gambling table with the rest of the group. 

Charong goes first, as always, and while he waits for his turn, Pran grabs his girlfriend and moves away from the spot, only a little, to the crowded space where couples are all over each other, dancing together tightly to the rhythm of the blasting music resonating in the walls. 

It’s hotter there, the ambience feels thicker, warmer. There is sweat and thrill in the air. 

He takes Kittiya’s hips in his hands, running them up and down her lower body as she sways in a little dance. Her hands are on his chest, stroking the skin and making the fabric slightly stick to the thin layer of sweat that has started to appear on his body. 

The green and red lights shining on them from above are somewhat overwhelming. The blue and yellow hit their faces non stop. 

Pran thinks it’s funny. The lights on his girlfriend’s face make it change under each tone. 

It would be creepy, if he thought about it longer. How she looks so different, depending on the light. 

She stands on her tiptoes, clashing their foreheads together. Pran smiles at her, unsure of her ability to see the gesture when they’re pressed this close together. 

Kittiya strokes his hair, going from the little strands close to his nape, all the way up to the back of his head. The feeling is nice, it makes him let out a small sigh as he leans into the touch, seeking more contact. 

It’s vaguely less enjoyable when she pulls at his hair to put some space between their faces.  

She smirks when he groans, and in a second, she’s kissing him again. 

That’s just the way she is. Sometimes she’ll do things like that, out of nowhere. Pull his hair faintly, or grab his face to kiss it, or maybe nibble on his ear lobes. 

It was a little strange at first. Pran doesn’t know how to categorize the feeling he gets from those actions. It’s not like he hates it, not really. But to say he loves it… Perhaps that would be a reach.

He has decided that’s just the way Kittiya likes to do things. In his head, she’s a little possessive, and she likes to show it. He finds it to be okay. 

After all, she is his girlfriend. It’s nice to know someone is this proud to have you, to be your significant other, to want you for themselves. 

Pran responds to the movement of her lips with his eyes open. They wander on the people around them first, and then a little further, near the gambling table. He catches sight of Charong, signalling for him to go back. 

It’s his turn to play.  

He parts from the kiss, licking his lips before speaking. 

“My turn.” He simply says, tilting his head in his friend’s direction.

The girl replaces her soft smile with one that’s bolder, bigger. One of those smiles that even make her eyes smaller. She squeaks in excitement with the thought of money in her head before grabbing his hand.

“Let’s go.” 

She guides him to the table, walking ahead of him as she parts the crowd on their way. 

“You better not lose, babe. ” He hears her say. “You don’t wanna look bad in front of your girlfriend, do you?”

Pran chuckles. “I never lose.”

Pran never loses. 

It’s a truth everyone in their group knows. It’s one of the reasons they love to gamble when he’s in the picture. 

He hadn’t lost on his first time, when Charong introduced him to the game, or the next couple of times, when the bets started getting bigger. 

He hadn’t lost when his name started to be known as one of the best in the game and more and more young, rich men like himself wanted to try his luck with him. 

He hadn’t lost when he started playing with way too much alcohol to properly function.  

He never lost. 

There is a saying. A really old one, that implies you’ll have a bad day if you start it on the wrong foot. 

He thinks it’s dumb, to let fate have so much power over your day, over your mind. 

It’s stupid, to surrender yourself to the influence of a saying buried under the dust of time. 

It’s stupid, to think fate is real. The concept of fate as a whole, is foolish. 

It’s stupid to believe . 

Pran is sure, as he takes off his watch to place it on the table, that this morning, when he cut his face as he was shaving, it was nothing but a meaningless slip; when he spilled juice on his clothes during breakfast, when he put his right shoe on the left foot and then stepped on a bug in the garden. When he had to change his outfit for the second time because a pigeon pooped on his shoulder as he was about to get into his car… He is sure all of that was nothing more than a group of unfortunate coincidences. 

An irritating delay in his day, nothing else. 

Because fate is not real and Pran is always in control. 

Because Pran never loses. 

Because Pran-

Watches as the guys in front of him celebrate, obnoxiously cheering and shouting. 

His friends deflate next to him, looking at one another stunned, startled. There is a scowl on Kittiya’s face, as she stares at the guy reaching to grab Pran’s watch, cockily dangling it in his hand. 

“Better luck next time.” He says, drawing a smirk on his lips before putting the watch in the pocket of his jeans. 

Luck. 

Luck is not responsible for anything, Pran thinks bitterly. Next time, maybe don’t be so stupid, is what the guy was really trying to say. What Pran wanted to tell himself as well. 

“Hey.” Wai calls, hugging his shoulders with one of his arms. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah. All good.”

“Are you sure?” Safe asks. “You seem a little out of it.”

“I’m fine. Just tired.”

He starts moving, attempting to make his way through the people. Suddenly he wants to get out of there. He’s not sure what it is. 

Maybe the smoke has finally become too much. Maybe he really is tired and wants to sleep. 

Maybe the burning in his stomach is a sign that he has reached his alcohol limit for the night. 

Maybe it’s tonight. Maybe he’s embarrassed. 

Perhaps his ego is actually hurt. As stupid as that sounds. 

“I’m leaving.” He says, bidding his goodbyes to his friends.

“Already?” Charong asks. “The night’s still young.”

“You guys stay and have fun. I’m just gonna go home and sleep.” He looks at his girlfriend. “Come on, baby, I’m taking you home.”

Kittiya looks at her friend with something in her face that makes her look more than annoyed, like she wants to stay. 

“Anong. Do you want a ride? We can take you home if you need.” He offers, trying to wrap up the night as soon as he can. 

“Thank you, Pran.” The girl answers. “I think I’ll stay with the guys longer.”

“I can take her.” Safe suggests in a pitiful attempt to sound casual. “I mean, if you’d like that, Anong.”

She nods with a pretty smile. “That’s great. Thank you, Safe.”

“Alright. I’ll see you then.” He ends the interaction, acknowledging them with a nod one last time before taking Kittiya’s hand in his and walking away. 

Wai rushes to catch up with them, hurriedly grabbing his shoulder. “Hey!” Pran looks him in the eye, stopping on his feet. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” His best friend asks. His tone is quieter, softer. In a way that kinda feels like he wants only Pran to hear. Like he’s silently letting Pran know he can confide in him. 

“Of course. Don’t worry about it. Have fun, yeah?”

“Okay.” The word comes slowly, a little unsure. 

Wai doesn’t sound convinced, but he doesn’t intervene further, simply letting go of Pran and losing himself in the sea of people. 

They finally get in his car, away from the noise and toxic ambiance that had started to eat his brain. As soon as he’s on the driver’s seat, Pran rubs the palms of his hands on his face. He sighs, staying still for a moment before reaching for the key in the pocket of his jeans. 

He starts driving, taking the route to Kittiya’s house in the darkness. It’s a busy night out, but he guesses that’s normal for a friday. The traffic is hell, a little bit. They’re taking way longer than usual to get to their destination, and Pran does the best he can to remain patient. 

“You can always win the money back.” The girl says next to him. “On the next night out. When is that?”

“Tomorrow.”

“See? Just play again tomorrow and you’ll have the money on you again. Like nothing happened tonight.”

“You know, that watch was my father’s. I don’t think I can get that back.”

“Oh. Well, if it was your father’s then that means it was old! Just buy a new one, problem solved.”

“Yeah…”

“It wasn’t even that nice anyways. Cheer up, you’ll find a prettier watch.”

“That’s not-” The point. That’s not what bothers me. “-hard to do. There’s plenty of watches out there.”

“Mhm. I can help you choose one. Let’s go shopping tomorrow! You can buy your new watch and my phone too. Sounds good?”

He smiles at her, squeezing her knee gently. “Sounds good.”

“I don’t like seeing you down. You’ve been weird today.”

“Hm, you think so? It’s nothing.”

“You seem off.”

“You know, a pigeon pooped on me today.” He says, because maybe that’ll make her laugh. 

Stop her from asking. 

“Disgusting.”

“Yeah.”

It does the job well enough, he supposes.

Pran is focused on the road, attempting to get out of the congestion of cars. 

In the back of his ears, he faintly hears his girlfriend rambling. 

“One of the guys Anong’s been talking to, gave her this beautiful diamond necklace. Oh my God, you should have seen it, it’s amazing. I don’t think I ever saw diamonds that big.”

“Really?” He mumbles, feigned interest tainting his tone.

“Yes! I told her she should have asked him to get her matching earrings too.” The girl laughs. “I’m so jealous. I love diamonds.” 

“I know you do.”

“You haven’t given me jewels in so long.”

“I did. On your birthday.”

She scoffs. “That was three months ago.”

“Right.”

The curves are fast, and without the light of day it’s harder to drive smoothly. 

Pran knows plenty of the cars on the road tonight are controlled by drivers with maybe too many substances messing up their brains. Like himself. It’s dangerous, if you’re not careful. 

The smell of gasoline creeps into his nostrils and he scrunches his nose. It’s completely unusual. His car is expensive, good. It never gives him trouble. It for sure never smells like this. 

“Do you smell that?” Pran asks. 

Kittiya sighs. “Babe, we were talking about me.”

“Fine. I’ll get you more jewels soon, okay?” 

“Okay!” She chirps in a squeaky tone, he can almost hear her smile. “You’re the best, I love you.”

The lights of cars behind them, speeding next to Pran’s vehicle and leaving him behind are overwhelming. They’re stressful, along with Kittiya’s chatter and the annoying, pungent smell burning his nose.

“Baby, can you smell that?” He asks again. 

“You didn’t say it back.”

“What?”

“You didn’t say I love you back.”

“I love you! I do, you know that.”

She throws herself at him, hugging his shoulders and making it hard to keep the steering wheel steady. His girlfriend kisses his cheek and neck, and it’s distracting. Too much. 

“It smells like gasoline…”

“What? No, silly. I don’t smell anything.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. Your nose has always been so weird.” She tells him with something funny behind her voice, so akin to disdain that it could be strange, if he wasn’t so distracted already.

“Something’s-” 

Wrong . Something’s wrong right now, just like something had been wrong the whole day. 

“Your birthday’s coming up-” he hears her say.

Pran hums, trying to keep his focus on the road and cars around them. 

“-we should do something special-”

Everything becomes too much; the flashing lights, the speed, the touches on his skin, her voice, never ending, the smell .

“Kittiya, can you please-”

Shut up.  

Stop for a moment. 

Can everything just stop for a moment ?  

It does. Suddenly. All at once. 

It’s over instantly, actually.

A black sports car loses control, crashing against them and hitting the door of the driver’s side. 

Kittiya’s scream is maybe as loud as the crash. Pran’s car shakes with the impact, and it slides to the side of the road, where the speed makes it stop forcefully. 

Both cars are stuck together. If Pran moves, then the impact will surely be much worse than it already is; the paint will be ruined, the metal will bend. For him to move, and cause no additional harm to the vehicle, the other person would have to move in reverse first. 

He breathes deeply, the air shaky as he fights to retain some control.

“Are you okay?” He asks Kittiya. “Did you get hurt?” 

She’s scared, holding on to her purse, breathing heavily, quickly. The girl shakes her head. 

“It’s okay.” Pran says, attempting to sound comforting. “It’s okay.” Truthfully, he’s not sure who needs those words the most.

 “It’s not too bad. Just a little hit, right? We’re okay, see? Don’t worry about it.”

His girlfriend nods, fighting a pout threatening to take over her lips. 

Pran sighs, leaning in to kiss it off her face. “You’re scared, it’s alright. It’s over.”

“I’ve never been in a car crash.” 

She sounds like she’s gonna cry. 

‘Congratulations! Now you have’ Pran wants to say. He doesn’t, because he knows the girl wouldn’t appreciate a joke right now. 

“We’re fine. Now we just have to wait until the police gets here. I’m gonna call insurance and they’ll come help us, and then we can leave and I’ll take you home, mhm? Sounds good?”

“Yes.” She breathes out shakily. “Okay, sounds good.”

“There you go. Just wait a little.”

And that is what should have happened. What would have happened, if the sports car hadn’t moved back before accelerating at an impressive speed, leaving them behind on the side of the road with nothing but smoke coming from the muffler of the vehicle escaping into the night. 

“Fuck.” Pran sighs, annoyed disbelief taking over him, making him bang his forehead on the steering wheel. 

“What? What just happened?”

“They left.”

“So what does that mean?”

“That means we’re leaving now.”

“Huh? Aren’t they supposed to pay for the crash?”

“Baby, does it look like they want to negotiate with us? They’re gone.”

“What about insurance? The police?”

“They’re not coming. Let’s go, I’m taking you home.”

He doesn’t really stop to think too much about the consequences. If he’s honest, there is something sick inside him that feels glad now that the bad thing has happened. At least the feeling of dreadful anticipation in the form of nasty smells is gone. 

By the time the car stops outside of Kittiya’s apartment building, she’s back to her regular chatty self, going on and on about how he should definitely sue whoever crashed into them. Because apparently, in her head, Pran knows exactly who was behind that wheel and their phone number is magically registered in his phone ready to be handed to the authorities. 

He unlocks the door for her, and before she gets out of the vehicle, the girl purrs. “Come pick me up tomorrow, I’ll be waiting for you.”

“I’ll call you.” Is all he says. At this point of the night all he wants to do is fall asleep. 

Even though the alcohol in his system had definitely gone down with the adrenaline of the crash, he still feels the remnants of it sucking on his energy. 

He drives with only the image of his bed behind his eyes, and when he’s finally in the garage, and tries to get out of the car, the door does not open. 

No matter how much he pushes against it, how hard he tries, it simply does not budge. 

It has to be stuck, he thinks. The hit from earlier probably ruined the way the door is supposed to function. The window won’t go down either. 

Pran curses, contorting himself to get out of the car through the passenger’s side. 

The house is silent. Because it’s almost four in the morning, probably.  

He makes his way to his room in the middle of the dark, knowing the steps he needs to take by heart.

And when he reaches his destination, he falls on the mattress, and just sleeps. 

Pran smells his sheets and the blanket he didn’t even bother to cover himself with, and, at last, the scent is pleasant. It’s calm, homey. It smells like comfort. 

Pran dreams of red roses sprinkled with gasoline and the smoke of cigarettes swirling around in the air. He dreams of a ring made of diamonds and his father’s watch. 

It’s a good, deep sleep, but underneath the layers, something disquieting lingers. He doesn’t try to shake it off, doesn’t have the energy to. He lets it poke at his unconsciousness; as it lets him know something’s not in its place, he shouldn’t be sleeping so freely. 

Pran wakes up still wearing jeans and a polo shirt. The blinds are open and the sunlight burns in his eyes. It’s entirely too uncomfortable to go back to sleep, and too eerily quiet to ignore, so he gets out of bed. 

Downstairs, in the kitchen where Mae should be, he finds a spotless, empty space. Except for the counter, where there are two neatly folded pieces of paper. 

He opens the first one, it reads: 

Hi, honey.

If you wake up when I’m not there, don’t be scared! I went out to get some groceries and should be back soon. 

There’s leftover breakfast in the fridge, just heat it up if you’re hungry :)

It’s from Mae. He smiles, putting the paper back where he found it. 

When he opens the second one, the smile disappears. 

It simply says: 

My office. 3:00 p.m. 

It’s from his mother. The handwriting, the words, the folds in the paper. He can almost hear her voice speaking to him. Pran groans, suddenly knowing exactly what the feeling interrupting his peaceful sleep was. 

It’s Saturday today, and he was supposed to be up and ready to go by eight. In the morning. 

The clock on the kitchen wall marks 2:20 p.m. 

Pran rushes through the quick routine of getting ready because he knows he can’t afford to let his mother down for the second time in a day. 

Cheery dairy is his mother’s company.

It is big, well known. Great sales, great reputation, great quality products. All orchestrated by the ever impressive, ever prosperous woman that is his mother. She handles it all by herself. 

All the big movements, anyways. 

Pran can only really think of one moment when his mom has not been successful. 

Only one . 

And even then, most people who knew the context would probably think that, compared to her reputation, her business, (arguably) her son, and her bank account, that single little moment in her life probably meant nothing. 

Pran is not so sure about that. 

Not sure at all. 

In fact, he thinks that one thing weighs heavier on her, on them, than anything else they could think of.  

It might be bigger than the tall building standing before his eyes now. 

He walks in, past the guards and secretaries, and into an elevator where he presses a small button with the number ten illuminated in a white light to reach the floor in which his mother’s office stands. 

He knocks on the glass door, just out of courtesy, before opening it as Dissaya’s voice vibrates in the air asking him to go in. 

Inside, his mother sits behind her desk. 

She’s wearing her reading glasses, and her gaze is hanging low on the papers she’s focused on. 

She says nothing as Pran makes his way in and sits on the dark leather couch in front of her. 

“Hi mom.”

“I waited for you.”

“What? No, I didn’t keep you waiting. See?” He asks, pointing at the clock on the wall. “It's 3 o’ clock. I’m right on time.”

“Pran.” She sighs, looking up into his eyes as she moves the glasses away from her face. “I said I waited for you, and you kept me waiting. We agreed to leave the house at eight in the morning today, you promised you’d be ready. And what did I find when I went into your room this morning?”

“Mom-”

“I found my son, passed out reeking of alcohol and who knows what else with barely any signs of life in him.”

He shrinks in his seat, unconsciously. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you, Pran? Sorry for what?”

“Sorry for breaking my promise?” 

He can tell it’s not the answer she wanted to hear, but being honest, even he knew it was kind of a bullshit answer. There was so much more than just not being up in time today that his mom had accumulated in her to explode. 

“Is that all you have to say?”

He sighs. “What do you want me to say, mom?” 

“I want you to be honest with me. What is going on with you? You’ve been so… unlike yourself for so long now. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Don’t lie to me, alright?”

“I’m not. There’s nothing wrong with me.”

She nods slowly. Her stoic face clearly tells him she’s not buying a single word he says. 

“What happened to your car?” 

Pran looks up at the ceiling, like maybe he’ll find a good answer in there. He doesn’t, of course, so he breathes in deeply preparing himself for what’s to come. 

“It was an accident. Someone crashed into the car when I was driving home last night.”

“And we’re gonna pretend you weren’t driving while drunk?”

“I already said I’m sorry. What else do you want?”

“I told you. I want to understand what’s going on with my son. You go out every night, you drink and then you drive after drinking, you crashed your car and do you really think Mae and I couldn’t smell the weed in the air? Do you know how worried I am?”

“So now you’re worried…”

“I have been for a long time.”

“You’re more worried about me going out than forgetting your wedding anniversary.”

“What?” 

He groans.

“Nothing. Mom, look, sorry about the car and all that. We can just buy another one, problem solved.”

“See? What’s with that? Do you think money really is so meaningless? It doesn’t just grow on trees, Pran. I work hard for it, and lately you just go out and toss it around like it’s nothing. A new car, seriously? Do you know how much you spent only last night?”

“You checked my bank account?”

“Of course I checked your bank account, I am your mother. I am worried, I gave you that money and after all that’s been going on you should be grateful I didn’t confiscate your cards.” 

“So suddenly it’s okay to invade my privacy?”

“Just like suddenly it’s okay to betray your mother’s trust and act like an asshole?”

“It won’t happen again, yeah?”

“I wish I could believe you, Pran, but I’ve heard those words before. You want money? That’s what I’m training you for. Or at least trying to. When you graduate you’ll start working here, and when I retire you will take my place, then you’ll know what it costs to make money, to take care of a business. But I can’t do that if you keep behaving this way. Do you even care about anything anymore?”

“Of course I do.”

“Like what?”

Pran thinks, for some reason, that it would be a good idea to let the woman know about his plan right now. Maybe that’s actually good news for a change. Maybe this will make her happy. Or at least make them stop arguing. 

They haven’t really stopped arguing in almost a year. 

“Mom, I think I’m gonna marry Kittiya. I’m thinking of proposing soon.”

It’s quiet in the office for a little too long. He smiles, trying to invite the woman to talk. 

Dissaya gets up from her chair slowly, walking to him with caution.

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah… What do you think?”

“Pran, you’re nineteen!” 

Ah. Not a fan of the idea, then. 

“What’s wrong with that?”

“You’re too young! You haven’t even graduated college.”

“Didn’t you marry dad when you were nineteen?”

She looks hurt, looking away from him for a moment. 

“Your father and I were a different story.”

“How?”

“Because it was us.”

“How do you know Kittiya and I can’t be like that?”

“You’ve known that girl for less than a year.”

“Ten months.”

“Like I said, less than a year.”

“Almost the same amount of time you’ve been with Wichai.”

She stops, frowning at him. Pran can see her chest going up as she fills her lungs with air. It looks like a realization is forming in her brain.

“Is that what this is about? My relationship with Wichai?”

“What? No, mom! Not everything is about you.”

“Listen. Marriage is a big deal. It’s not like dating, it’s serious and you have to be ready and emotionally mature to go into it, and Pran, I don’t want you to regret something like this later on.”

“Why are you so sure I’ll regret this?”

“Do you know how much I love you?” She asks. “I want, with everything in me, to see you find someone you love. Pran, marriage should always happen because of love. I want you to marry for love.”

“Do you think I don’t love Kittiya?”

“I know you don’t.”

“How?”

“Because I have eyes, Pran. I can see you, and I can see how much you’ve changed since that girl came into your life. Do you think it’s normal? That when I met her all she talked about was how expensive the house must be? Or how you’re always buying her pricey stuff she asks for herself? Or how she seems to like your car more than you?”

“That’s not true.”

“It is. Ask Mae, even she can see it.”

“Don’t bring Mae into this.”

“Maybe you’ll listen to her better than me.”

“You’re being ridiculous, mom.”

“I’m trying to save you from something that’s gonna drag you down so deep you won’t be able to come out when you realize your mistake.”

“Just because all your relationships fail, doesn’t mean mine will too!”

He regrets it almost as soon as he says it. The look on his mother’s face cuts through his facade. He’s sorry. For real this time. He wants to take it back,  desperately. 

“Mom…”

“Enough. Pran, I’ve had enough of you.”

“I didn’t mean-”

“I’m sending you away.”

“What? Where?”

“The countryside.”

“For what?!”

“For you to learn, baby. I’m sending you there so you can understand how things work. All the money in your bank account? That comes from the dairy products we sell, and where do you think those come from?” 

She raises her eyebrows before walking back to her desk, typing on her laptop and transcribing whatever it is she finds on the screen to a piece of paper. 

“Do you know how to milk a cow? Plant, groom a horse? How’s your egg gathering skills? You might want to look for some tutorials while you still have Wi-Fi.”

“Mom, cut it off.”

“No. You cut it off. I’m tired, Pran. I’m doing this for your own good.”

“My own good? Or your benefit?”

“Both.”

He scoffs. “I can’t be gone. What about school?”

“School will be fine considering summer break started,  what? Yesterday? I don’t think they’ll need your presence on campus for a while.”

“You said you were gonna bring me to work during summer break…”

“And you said you’d show up early today.”

“I’m not going.”

“Yes, you are.”

“You can’t make me.”

“Yes, I can. I am your mother. And your boss.”

“This is abuse of power, then.”

“The clean air will be good for you. Take it as an opportunity to clear your mind, get new perspectives. Learn a thing or two.”

“What could the farm teach me?”

“Hopefully everything it taught me.”

“And where do you think I’m gonna stay? Hotels are hard to find in the countryside.”

“Hotels? You’re funny. You’re staying with a family I know. They’re good friends of mine.”

“Who?”

“The Jindapats.”

“I don’t know them.”

“Even better! You get to meet new people. No car, no credit cards, no clubbing. The fresh air will do wonders. Some human interaction can help more than you think.”

Pran mocks. “You forgot to take my phone too.”

“I don’t need to. Good luck finding signal in the farm.”

“Are you having fun with this, mom?”

“You’ll have more fun when you’re there. I promise.”

“You can’t promise things you’re not sure of.”

Dissaya sighs, getting close to him to leave a kiss on his forehead. 

“I promise.”

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

In the evening, Mae helps him get two suitcases ready, and when his mother gets home later, she hands him a single bus ticket. No return. 

He doesn’t even recognize the name of the province written on the paper. 

Pran tried calling Kittiya to let her know about his situation, but his girlfriend didn’t pick up. She did let him know, though, that she’s pissed at him for not picking her up to go shopping like he said he would. He ends up texting, then. She’ll see the texts at some point. 

Wai does pick up, and Pran rants and rambles for maybe a little too long about how he’s being exiled. 

His best friend laughs. 

Pran is being banished and Wai laughs. 

That’s okay. He’ll miss him when he wants to hang out and can’t reach him on the phone. 

Mae makes him lunch before leaving the house. She tells him to keep it in the fridge so he can eat it on the bus tomorrow. 

Pran sees her eyes are shiny, like she’s holding back tears, and that makes him want to cry. He will miss Mae. 

Pran almost wishes he could take her with him, but that would be cruel to her. 

He doesn’t want her to experience the countryside where there’s no aircon or Wi-Fi, or electric mixers… whatever Mae is a fan of. 

The lady pats his hair and kisses his cheek. Pran hugs her goodbye before she goes. 

Dinner with his mom is a little awkward. She tries to talk like tomorrow isn’t happening, and Pran simply can’t shake things off. He doesn’t want to really hurt her again, though, so he stops snarky comments and ugly faces from coming out.

They go to sleep and the house is too quiet. Pran’s thoughts are too loud. 

The bus leaves at 5 a.m. and he needs to get some sleep before the time to get ready inevitably arrives. 

He fails. He tosses and turns until the sheets are messy under him, giving up a few hours later, simply getting out of bed to go take a shower. 

Before getting on the bus, his mom gives him a hug. Pran can’t resist, he hugs back, inhaling her ever comforting scent. Always warm, always gentle and forever consoling. 

“I love you, Pran.” She says, buried in the hug. “You’re gonna be alright. We’re gonna be okay .”

He wants to believe. 

He wants the magic to be real. 

“Yeah.” He says. “I’ll see you soon, mom.”

“Bye. I’d say call me, but I don’t think your phone will have signalwhere you’re going. Write to me!”

“Haha. Very funny.”

He gets on the bus then. A five hour drive to the middle of nowhere. Literally. 

His mom said someone will be there to pick him up from the bus station and take him to the farm he’ll be staying in. 

He actually gets to sleep now. Pran dozes off for most of the trip, lulled by the motion of the bus on the road. 

When he wakes up, he checks the time on his phone. It’s ten in the morning, and from the window, he can see some cows here and there behind wood fences barely holding themselves together. 

He knows there’s no going back when the driver stops the bus and people get up from their seats. 

He half wants to stay in his seat and wait until maybe, the driver gets back to Bangkok where he can call a taxi to take him back home, and then he’ll have breakfast with Mae and laugh about this stupid idea of going to a faraway place where nothing waits for him. 

He doesn’t do that. Clearly. 

He follows the people, getting off the bus. 

As soon as his feet hit the floor, a layer of dirt flies up to him. He knows it’s in his shoes, and probably his jeans. He ignores it, because what else can he do? 

There’s no pavement. He should have expected it. 

The bus station is really just that; a place where the bus can park in front of a red stop sign and a small corner store that seems to be the only place to buy groceries in quite a long section of land. 

The inside of the store also has no pavement, but it at least has stone flooring, which is better than dirt and dust. 

There is an old lady behind the counter who has her eyes set on him like she’s never seen a man in her life. 

“Hi.” He mutters. 

There is no answer, so he limits himself to stare into the distance as he waits for the someone who’s supposed to pick him up. 

The few people he shared the bus with are gone.

He waits about five minutes, but it feels like hours under the unrelenting stare of the woman. 

He hears an engine approaching. 

It’s a pickup truck, white, although its paint is chipped from the sun, and rain or maybe just time. 

It stops right in front of the store, where the bus had stopped earlier, and a man appears in his vision as he gets out of the vehicle. 

He’s wearing a white tank top that allows Pran to see his arms; big and toned, they seem tanned, clearly distinct where the sun has kissed them. His shoulders are wide in a way that reminds Pran of the swimmers he’s seen in the olympics. 

His jeans seem worn off. They’re ripped around the knees and higher up his thighs. 

Black boots leave marks on the dirt as he walks. 

Once he’s in front of Pran, he can smell him. 

His scent is strong; something like smokey wood and lavender. And it’s good. Too good, actually. 

It’s so pleasant on his nose that Pran wants to inhale deeply, let it take over his senses.

He doesn’t, because that would be humiliating. 

Then, Pran hears his voice for the first time. 

“Hey. Pran, right?” 

“Yeah. How do you know?”

“You’re the only one waiting in the bus station and, I don’t mean this in a bad way, but you definitely look like you come from the city.”

“Oh. Well, yeah…”

The man nods. “Ready to go home?”

“Please.”

“Of course. Let me help you with your luggage.”

“I can take care of it.”

“It’s really alright.”

“No! Let me do it.”

This man’s arms are out for everyone to see, and even though the only witness of this exchange is the old lady behind the counter, Pran feels embarrassed that this guy seems to think he can’t carry his own suitcases.

“Okay.” He says, letting go of the handle of Pran’s luggage. 

The man looks him in the eyes, and they wander to his cheek. 

“Are you okay?” He asks. 

Pran stops breathing for a moment, when the guy gets close to his face, grabbing his chin in between two of his fingers to take a good look at his skin. 

“Wh-what?”

“There’s something on your cheek. Did you hurt yourself?”

“Oh. It’s nothing, I… cut my cheek when I was shaving.”

“Ah. I see.”

Pran nods. He comes back to reality in a second, and moves away abruptly. “Excuse me. Didn’t anyone teach you not to invade people’s personal space like this?”

“I’m sorry.” The guy says. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I just wanted to help.”

“Well, don’t. Can we leave now?”

The man inhales deeply, keeping his eyes on Pran’s face. “Alright. I’m Pat, by the way. If you wanted to know.”

“Okay, Pat. Are you gonna do your job and take me to the farm now, or do I need to call a competent driver?”

Pat says nothing. He shakes his head and turns around, walking back to the truck without waiting for him.