Chapter Text
Bangkok was restless that night.
The air hung heavy, alive with the heat of the city the hum of motorbikes, the distant shouts of vendors, the smell of grilled skewers and sweet condensed milk.
But within the confines of a tiny café tucked away from the chaos, the world felt softer, the lanterns casting everything in gold.
Chat sat in the corner, guitar balanced across his lap.
His hair fell in loose waves around his face, catching the light with every movement.
To him, music wasn’t performance.
It was breathing.
Every chord he played was a confession, every lyric a piece of his soul laid bare.
Tonight, the café’s crowd was light. Students bent over textbooks, couples murmured secrets, and artists sprawled across mismatched couches.
No one paid much attention to him at first.
Not until the song began to bloom.
The opening notes of Am I in Love drifted through the room like smoke, curling around each listener.
Heads turned.
Conversations faltered.
And at a table near the window, Khem precise, collected, notebook filled with neat rows of numbers looked up.
He shouldn’t have.
The music pierced something in him, and he hated that it did.
He tightened his grip on his pen, forcing his attention back to calculations that suddenly looked meaningless.
Across the room, Chat noticed.
His lips quirked into a grin, just enough to say I see you.
He strummed a little harder, fingers sliding along the frets like they were dancing.
The melody swelled, and with it, the tension between the two strangers.
Khem tried to ignore it, but he felt the weight of Chat’s gaze like sunlight on his skin.
Finally, when the song ended, Chat leaned back, eyes locked on Khem.
“You know, numbers don’t dance.”
The words cut through the quiet, playful and daring.
Khem’s pen stilled.
He didn’t look up.
“And art can’t balance a budget.”
Chat laughed softly, a sound that warmed the edges of the room.
“Touché.”
Before Khem could bury himself back in his work, the café door swung open.
Moira entered.
She was all flowing silks and confidence, the kind of woman who didn’t need to demand attention because the world gave it to her willingly.
People whispered as she crossed the room.
She ignored them, heading straight for Chat.
“ You always play like you’re trying to seduce the night.”
Chat said with a smirk, “Maybe I am.”
She slid into the seat beside him, draping herself across the chair with effortless grace.
Her perfume mingled with the scent of the wooden guitar, intoxicating.
At the bar, Jay and Fuaiz Moira’s ever present companions watched with quiet amusement.
Jay whispers, “That’s the one she’s obsessed with?”
Fuaiz says, “Look at him. Wouldn’t you be?”
Khem kept his head down, but Moira caught him glancing.
Her smile sharpened, as if she could already see the invisible thread between the two men.
Chat began to play again, this time softer, almost intimate.
The notes wrapped around Khem’s chest, squeezing until he couldn’t breathe.
He hated that it made him feel something he had no name for.
When the song ended, Chat’s voice dropped, meant only for him
“Is that fear I see in your eyes…or fascination?”
Khem froze.
The words landed like a strike.
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he packed his things quickly, the numbers on his page blurring as he shoved the notebook into his bag.
Without another word, he left, the cool night air swallowing him whole.
From his seat, Chat watched him go, the smile never leaving his face.
Chat says to himself, “See you soon, Mr. Numbers.”
And with that, the first thread of something, something dangerous, something electric was woven into both their lives.