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Chapter Text

This must be her punishment, for the many years of merciless and mostly consequence-less duty-bound protection of evil people. 

Anyone that had ever been important enough that their lives were in constant threat that it rendered them needing protection, Tawan learned the hard way that all of them would be terrible people in the end. They put a roof above her head, and food on her table. They were nice and respectful individuals. Some even cared enough to remember her birthday, going as far as sending a generous gift even years after her employment with them. A remembrance. A belated thanks. 

Outwardly, it all seems like a kind gesture.

But it’s all just a façade.

Beauty is part of the façade, this time.

Ayla is immensely beautiful. At their first meeting where Tawan thought she would be refusing Ayla’s offer, she had learned that a heart can indeed skip a beat, and that it isn’t merely an exaggerated expression. 

But more importantly, the reason that Tawan hadn’t refused is because Ayla is stubborn and knows what she wants. So, this must be Tawan’s punishment. That Ayla would stop at nothing in order to have things her way. It must be her punishment that Ayla always gets what she sets out to have.

It’s Tawan or no one. No second choice. It’s either Tawan or no one else.

So, Tawan is wearing the company assigned uniform reserved for VIP’s, an entire suit in humid as hell Bangkok. She forgoes the necktie, finding it stifling and suffocating. All the more, she’s starting to reconsider the contract terms. She doesn’t have to be head of this operation at all. She hasn’t been the acting head of operations since that foiled rescue attempt of that businessman many years ago that resulted in a bomb going off. 

She’s deaf in her left ear because of it, a constant reminder of her failure. A failure inked deep in her employment records that it’s a wonder why she was chosen at all. Tawan personally wouldn’t want to involve herself with a case so closely related to another bomb threat.

If Ayla’s team did their research, they would have known that Chanya’s their company’s bomb specialist. 

Chanya knew of a bomb threat in the general vicinity of Ayla’s public event hours before any of the mall’s security personnel had been alerted of the scare. It was Chanya who was in a phone correspondence with the local police on how to neutralize the threat and eradicate it completely.

Maybe, Ayla’s team did their research. Because Chanya works best alone, and only always a phone call away. 

Chanya answers Tawan’s call after three rings.

“What’s up?” Chanya sounds like she’s smiling.

“Remind me again why I’m doing this,” Tawan swears she isn’t begging. But it would be nice to be reminded.

“Because your father told you to.” Chanya is always straightforward, and always has the answers, “And also because it pays a lot.”

“Who knew celebrities would pay better than government officials.”

“Surprisingly, a hoard of die-hard fans are more difficult to subdue.” She sounds to be typing, the clicking of the keyboard heard in the background. “If it makes you feel any better, a bomb wouldn’t be an issue again. Well, not in such a close interval to the last one at least.”

“You got any leads?”

“Nope. But in such cases, it’s not impossible that it’s an inside job. Better to keep intel within the team.”

“Gotcha,” Tawan takes a deep breath, “Any final updates on the previous job?”

“None that should matter to the team.” Chanya reassures her. 

After helping expose an investment fund scam doing double agent work, suddenly the team is working for a celebrity. A celebrity whose life was in danger, sure, but it feels like a strange pivot. They were transitioning well into doing a bunch of jobs that felt fulfilling. Some sort of retribution for previously working for powerful people whose hands are definitely marked with blood. 

Not that any of their recent good will might be able to erase their history of wrongdoings.

“I’m doing a background check on our current assignment.”

“I don’t think she’s dangerous.” Tawan admits, but only mostly by observation. She knows what being exposed to and being around dangerous people is like.

“Hey,” Chanya’s voice rises with intrigue. “I didn’t say she is. If anything, innocent civilians are often the victims of bomb threats.”

“I don’t think of innocence either when I see her.”

“Well, that’s different, isn’t it?” There’s a teasing lilt to her voice this time. “Bit of a seductress, isn’t she? She’s this month’s Vogue cover girl.”

“I haven’t seen it. I don’t intend to.”

“Check our messages. I already sent the photos.” 

“If that is what you mean by background check then please leave me out of it.”

“Fine, if that’s what you want.” Chanya concedes, already sounding finished with their conversation.

The call ends before they can utter their goodbyes, the cellular signal cutting out as Tawan drives through the entrance of the basement parking lot. Tawan will get back to Chanya when it’s needed.

*

Ayla is right on the dot, and dressed to the nines. They’ve met previously so Tawan doesn’t know how she can still be captivated by her. It’s been at the forefront of her mind since. A charisma so pulling, Tawan understands the people who wait for hours on end just to see the crown of her head, to glimpse a brief moment of her smile.

And fine, fine, Tawan understands because she is only a weakling like plenty of lowly mortals that would kiss the ground Ayla walks on. So, of course, Tawan took a peek at the picture Chanya sent. It’s a good picture. A white form-fitting dress hugging her body and showing curves that has Tawan perfectly understanding too how people coined the term stunner. She’s stunning. Tawan is stunned.

More than being beautiful, she is put together, smiling and offering a respectful answer even to the dumbest questions raised by the police officers, feeding them everything they want to hear. It is far more impressive that Ayla knows how to handle the situation well, having them at the palm of her hands.

Her manager is drumming her fingers on the table impatiently, like they have more important things to attend to. Still, Ayla makes none of the impatience appear on her own person, following standard procedure as one does when they’ve become the center to a nationwide scare. Her name is all the news is buzzing about after all.

Tawan listens intently but it’s all the same details from the files she’s been provided.

Ayla’s manager follows the chief of police after the questioning, seemingly to inquire about Ayla’s attendance at an upcoming awards show. It sounds important, but the conversation doesn’t remain within earshot for Tawan to hear its conclusion.

Ayla heaves a deep sigh before standing up.

The security team all focus on her instantly. 

Ayla and Tawan lock eyes, and it is Ayla that breaks the silent moment, “Surely a girl can go to the toilet alone?”

Ayla can’t.

Tawan and Nana join her inside the bathroom, guarding the stall Ayla’s chosen to occupy, as Typhoon stays on guard outside. Tawan, Nana and Typhoon work well together as a team. Tawan always brings them onto her work assignments, her own non-negotiable since Ayla has her own non-negotiables. 

Nana and Typhoon are good. They contribute to whatever Tawan is lacking, where Tawan is cold and stoic, Typhoon is warm and friendly; where Tawan is upfront and strictly professional, Nana is caring and accommodating. That’s how they always operate.

“This is embarrassing…” Ayla whispers under her breath, as she washes her hands after she’s finished.

“Always within my line of sight,” Tawan states matter of factly, “That’s the deal.”

When they received Ayla’s schedule for the month, they had also been informed that many of them are subject to change. And within their first day at the job, Tawan is quickly realizing what that means, as Ayla gets passed around from one room to another, from listening sessions to fittings, to meetings.

When a bomb threat doesn’t manage to temporarily derail Ayla’s life, Tawan briefly contemplates what would do it. Only very briefly because they’re moving again, passing through a shortcut inside the building Tawan isn’t familiar with yet, so she walks in step with Ayla.

Turns out, Ayla can be a big pain in the ass.

Tawan walks side-by-side with her, following Ayla’s pace, and when she stops and takes a step back, Tawan’s unperturbed focus follows her without question. Ayla snickers beside her, enjoying the game she set up herself, with Typhoon and Nana behind them finding the situation equally humorous.

Tawan shoots the two of them a warning glare, as Ayla continues their journey to another conference room. 

Nam, Ayla’s manager, hands each person from the security team an NDA to sign. 

But as the meeting goes on, with heavy emphasis on strategies on increasing streams and listeners and merch and album sales, Tawan thinks this isn’t worth signing an NDA for. Even after they flash concepts and visuals for the next album release, Tawan thinks the three of them care little about it to go around telling it to other people not involved in the job.

However, when she sees Nana mesmerized by the ongoing presentation, Tawan realizes that they have a fan in the team. Later, Tawan requests they sign a general non-disclosure agreement that would cover everything so they don’t have to constantly sign a new one depending on the occasion and Nam provides them with one without much questioning.

Then very quickly the presentation becomes a reality as they shuffle over to a dressing room, where Ayla gets fitted with a variety of pieces, ranging from formal dresses to an entire denim ensemble with a cowboy hat completing it.

It’s decidedly a very different world from what they’re used to. Still it is nothing the team can’t take in stride. 

There is a shrill scream that has Tawan immediately turning to the source. Ayla covers her mouth with her hands to stop the involuntary sound from her mouth, her eyes widening as they look at the spilt coffee from Typhoon’s hands.

The entire room stills. The stylist team immediately shows their concern for the pieces in the nearby rack.

Typhoon remains frozen in place, and when he and Ayla lock eyes, Ayla bursts into laughter. 

Ayla almost folds in half laughing, striking at his shoulder playfully, “Oh my god, you should see your face.”

Tawan doesn’t say anything in case it spoils the already lighthearted mood in the room. The stylists heave a collective sigh of relief after inspecting the clothes and confirming it to have been spared from the accident. Typhoon apologizes to the cleaning staff for the mess he created. 

Still, of course, at the end of their work day, privately Tawan gives him a warning for the unnecessary commotion he had created. He looks like a kicked puppy, unable to make eye contact with her, and Tawan would consider giving him more serious reprimanding, but Ayla only laughed at the mishap, so who is Tawan to make the situation bigger than it actually is.

She imagines if the clothes got stained even by the smallest speck that it would have caused a bigger chaos. It would have cost them money they didn’t have. But Ayla only laughed, and it was the crystal clear sound of her laughter that put everything at ease, and maybe Tawan understands it a little, the kind of person she is whose response dictates the room’s mood.

Ayla seems equally aware of the influence she holds over other people, presenting herself through a balance in the tightrope of approachable and not approachable at all, depending on what the situation needs.

And so when Nam carefully lays down the details for Ayla’s next public appearance like a fragile jenga tower, where any wrong move could have it toppling down, Tawan has a difficult time assessing Ayla’s reaction. Ayla has to take out an earphone from her ear, a steely edge to her that Tawan sees for the first time.

And why Nam chooses to do this while they’re in the recording studio, Tawan also doesn’t completely understand. 

“So, you see…” Nam looks around the room, as though informing everyone else to brace for the impact, “They’ve allowed you to make an appearance at the Diamond Music Awards…”

“I’m sensing a but.”

“Only an appearance. Your performance is written out of the show.”

There’s a moment of silence, and Tawan imagines the metaphorical jenga tower tumbling over, and no one has the ability to stop it from falling, so they just watch all the small pieces topple over on the floor. And maybe the metaphorical floor is ice, that would certainly explain why no one is moving.

“Okay,” Ayla says cheerfully, smiling before popping the earphone back in her ear. 

Nam’s eyebrows shoot up, bringing her hands together, a repeating “Okay,” falling from her lips as she exits the room.

It feels far from okay. 

The recording studio would be blanketed by that atmosphere even days after that announcement.

*

The night before the Diamond Music Awards, Nana sends a photo of the event attendees in their group chat. 

All the big names in the industry will be present tomorrow. Nana supplements, in case Tawan wouldn’t be familiar with the names and faces.

She recognizes Pete at least. His photo next to Ayla’s. His music label is a subsidiary to Ayla’s music label, so they see him from time to time at the recording studios, since he’s also apparently working on his next album. When they coincidentally found themselves riding the same elevator to the same floor, he introduced himself as Ayla’s lesser known fraternal twin, which Ayla only scoffed at before they separated into their own reserved booths for the day.

“You have a twin?” Tawan asked, just to be sure.

“He’s joking.” Ayla answered, “It’s a thing people say online. Because we have the same parent company, and we debuted the same year. Don’t take anything he says seriously.”

Still, when he makes his way towards Ayla during the awards show, whispering something in her ear that has Ayla reacting less pleasantly, Tawan feels the need to intervene.

But of course, Pete has his own bodyguard with him, stepping into the space quickly as well. Anyone who is anybody has a bodyguard or two or three on standby. The event is on high security every step of the way. It’s actually amazing how many people Tawan knows present in the event. Not the celebrities, but their security personnel. 

She spots Mek from a good distance away, and he looks the same as he did many years ago, greeting her enthusiastically with a wave of his hand. Tawan acknowledges him with a nod. The two of them worked together once upon a time, and they both have a deaf ear as a souvenir for a rookie mistake years ago. He is perhaps her own Pete, her version of a fraternal twin.

“Everything okay?” Tawan asks Ayla when Pete steps away, proceeding to his assigned table.

“Everything’s perfect,” Ayla replies, flashing a perfect smile her way.

And everything is perfect, considering how much work goes into Ayla’s mere attendance at this thing, where a slight misstep could have them off schedule. Tawan cannot imagine how much more grueling it would have been if Ayla’s performance were retained in the show. Still, when she heard Nam grumble about how much effort and budget had been laid out for it, and how it would have served as both a teaser and announcement for Ayla’s next single and album, Tawan also can’t help but feel regretful that their plan couldn’t be executed. In a way, it can never truly be perfect, can it?

Is there a perfect rookie? Anyone’s first year at a job should be for making mistakes. Tawan has had her fair share, and she arguably had a more important role even when she was starting out. 

In a perfect world, Ayla wins the Rookie of the Year award. 

When the recipient of the thunderous cheers and applause is Pete as he climbs up the stage after his name is read, Tawan keeps her eyes on Ayla (she always has her eyes on Ayla). Ayla brings her hands together to applaud Pete as he receives his trophy, and again when he ends his speech.

Tawan doesn’t hear any of it, focused on Ayla instead. 

Ayla goes home empty handed, so it only makes sense that as Tawan guides her to the direction of their car in the parking lot, it is Ayla’s hands that have her attention. The entire evening, heck, the entire day, Ayla’s bare shoulders are in full display… and it’s not that Tawan doesn’t care for fashion, she understands the need for it especially in show business, but even in her suit, she felt the chill provided by the air conditioning of the venue and so in transferring her coat over Ayla’s shoulders, Tawan finds herself relieved and then…. eventually looking at her hands. That’s it. 

Ayla had gone home empty handed. But that’s how it’s meant to be since Ayla already has the imperfect world in the palm of her hands. 

*

It seems like people have quickly forgotten about the bomb threat entirely, when suddenly at the forefront of celebrity gossip is that Ayla has attitude problems. 

She doesn’t. Well… maybe only a little.

But Tawan has seen the video pass through her Instagram timeline enough to know what people are talking about. There are several iterations and several accounts uploading the same thing. 

A slip of a sullen expression on her face when Pete won the award.

Tawan has seen Ayla enough to know that she just looks like that. It’s not Ayla’s fault she can’t always be cheerful and smiling.

There are even times when Ayla is focused on something where she takes on a calm demeanor that’s firm and alluring. And sure, maybe a little bit scary and intimidating. Tawan will never admit that to Ayla’s face though. 

Ayla just had a huge threat to her life at a public event, and it might be enough of an excuse to have her scatterbrained at another public event but netizens don’t have enough brainpower to hold both complex thought and empathy in their pea-sized hateful brains.

Each person on the security team has a burner Instagram account that follows and monitors through everything Ayla posts, to keep her from divulging valuable information, such as real-time location, or possible future endeavors that crazed fans can piece through by a random shot of a window, or a lamp, or a painting. 

Each person on the security team is even subscribed to Ayla’s broadcast channel. Her broadcast channel has become the team’s source of weather updates. Ayla’s trademark topic of conversation is that of the weather (which delights Typhoon). Tawan understands the scope of an idol’s work description then, whenever she sees how Ayla can make even the weather sound interesting.

Chanya has found herself making an account to follow what the famous idol is up to with the amount of times the rest of the group chat talk about Ayla’s brilliance (mostly how Ayla’s weather forecast is always accurate), which is how the very same work group chat ends up blowing up over the unjust criticism of Ayla’s actions. 

Four people in one text thread where message after message exudes a protectiveness that Tawan strangely feels proud of. 

Ayla sends a message to her hundred thousand supporters, in the same application running a smear campaign to ruin her reputation.

it’s going to rain this evening ⛈️ be careful in going home, and if ur already home, staying safe indoors is a must. thankfully, tmrw will be a sunnier day ! 💕

Their own group chat quiets down suddenly. Tawan imagines everyone having scrambled to read what Ayla has sent.

Chanya breaks the silence in the group chat with a single message that Tawan fools herself into believing in, if only to meet Ayla the next day like normal, like there aren't thousands more people willfully misunderstanding Ayla. 

See? That’s our strong girl. Chanya wrote, and Tawan read it wishing it were true.

The following morning, Ayla, for her part, acts the same as any other day, buried into learning songs for the next album release. 

Just like what she wrote, it is a sunny day. 

Ayla diligently accomplishes one song recording, and a choreography lesson, which already took a huge chunk of her day, wrapping up her schedules at night time. And Tawan sees through everything with a watchful eye.

Something must have shifted in her perspective, because for the first time, Tawan sees through the act. With Ayla, everything is a performance. Ayla is a brand, not an identity. It’s not something she can put on and remove as she pleases. So, even after a huge storm of hateful words thrown her way, Ayla is smiling, all grace under scrutiny.

Tawan accompanies Ayla on her way home for the first time. Nana and Typhoon are assigned to the task every other day interchangeably, and the two always make no further reports to the team after every completion of their task. Tawan simply wants to confirm if they are right.

There are no vehicles tailing after theirs as they maneuver through Bangkok traffic, and there are no strange presence around the vicinity of Ayla’s condo, and the most surprising bit of it all, not a single word from Ayla the entire way through. 

It’s strange.

Not that they always have to be speaking. But the quiet that hangs between them is heavy.

Still, Tawan doesn’t know what to say exactly.

“See you tomorrow,” Ayla speaks up first, as she unlocks the door to her unit.

Tawan nods, waiting for her to enter. As soon as Ayla disappears behind the closed door, Tawan wonders if the performance is over. How tiring must it be to put on an act all the time.

Tawan idles in the condo lobby, sending a message to the group chat. Is she always that quiet on the way home?

Nana’s reply comes quickly. Yeah. That took a while getting used to. 

Typhoon adding in, Oh, I thought she might b different with u, boss.

Another message from Typhoon comes in after. Our weatherwoman failed to report on the rain tonight :( 

And true enough, there is thunder heard in the distance. Tawan looks outside and rain is pouring hard.

Weatherwoman’s off duty. So are we. Good job today. She sends as final word before opening Instagram, checking if their weather woman is just a bit late in relaying her weather report. But no new messages come in, even after Tawan has settled comfortably in the lobby as she waits for the rain to let up a little.

A figure is in a hurry to catch a quickly closing elevator, the doors almost closing on them fully, only to be opened again as the end of their dripping umbrella halts its complete closure. They quickly get on, jamming the button to their floor, as if it would hasten their journey.

It is not at all unusual, given the time and the weather, that people would be scrambling to get home more quickly than usual, but if Tawan were a little less distracted, it would have caught her notice. 

*

The next day, they’re asked to stay on guard outside a conference room. Inside, Ayla and Pete are speaking. The frosted middle section of the glass wall obstructs their full view of the inside. But Pete came strolling in proudly holding his ‘Rookie of the Year’ trophy, so Tawan and Nana can imagine what the conversation might be about.

Ayla remains seated even with Pete circling around her as if luring her to attack. Tawan and Nana are watching their silhouettes like the two are wild animals in a wildlife documentary featuring predator and prey. Who is which remains unanswered.

When Pete exits the room, Tawan asks Nana to hold her position, entering the conference room alone.

“Everything okay?” She asks.

Ayla looks up from her phone, a practiced smile on her face. “Everything’s perfect.”

True enough, everything seems perfect.

So, all the more, Tawan feels compelled to worry.

*

Ayla has been discouraged from holding her visit to the home for the elderly. It had previously been a quiet affair, with no more than twenty people from Ayla’s fanclub involved. They distribute gifts and hold a small gathering, an activity or a game to provide a small means of entertainment to repetitive days in the elderly home. 

But because the bomb scare looms in the background of everything Ayla does now, and no matter how much reassurance Tawan’s security team lends to their operations, Ayla’s management and the general public seem to have attached the incident to the popular idol, so it abruptly gets written out of her schedule without discussion.

Which is how for the first time since being assigned to the idol, Tawan finds herself inside Ayla’s condo unit, without the rest of the team and without any formal schedules to attend to. The album recording is finished, all the choreographies already spotless and the music video shoot and magazine photoshoots and interviews already completed.

Ayla takes a deep breath, as Tawan follows her to the kitchen, “I don’t know why there’s a need for you to be here.”

There isn’t a single photograph of anybody anywhere. And Tawan doesn’t really think Ayla is a narcissist, and not that you need to be a narcissist in order to display pictures of yourself in your own home, but the complete lack of photos is strange.

“Where do you keep your fan gifts?” Tawan asks.

“Not here obviously,” Ayla fills a cup with water, taking a sip.

Tawan stares at her, unsatisfied with her answer.

“You should take the day off,” Ayla says as she empties her cup, “I have the day off, don’t I?”

“This insistence on sending me away feels like enough reason for me to stay.”

“Alright, you can stay if that’s what you want.” Ayla says, before sauntering back to her room, closing the door behind her quietly.

Tawan inspects every single nook and cranny of the unit. Just standard procedure. There’s absolutely nothing of note though. It’s like Ayla’s living in a fully furnished model unit, with not a single possession that feels personal, which is why the gift that sits perfectly in the middle of the living room center table so easily catches her attention, so out of place in a lifeless and dull space.

When Ayla emerges from her room dressed unlike her usual ensemble, in a baggy jeans, and loose jacket and with a cap, and mask as a lousy disguise, Tawan doesn’t manage to hold in her laughter. 

“I commend the effort,” Tawan stomps over the doorway where Ayla is tying her sneakers.

“You’re staying, right? The cleaning lady should arrive at around 2pm. Confirm if the payment transaction reflected on her account. The gift in the living room is for her daughter, please pass it along.” Ayla bunny ears both laces, double knotting it before standing up. “If you plan to stay until dinner, the lobby personnel can receive your food if you plan to order online.”

“And where are you going?” Tawan hasn’t bothered to take note of her instructions at length. Although it’s nice that the mystery of the gift gets an immediate answer.

“Outside.”

“And what will you be doing?”

“Spending my day off.”

Vague answers. Ayla’s learning. Tawan will give her that.

“I’ll come with you.”

“I’m afraid we don’t have space for one more person.”

“We?”

Which is how Tawan finds herself squished at the back of a van with Ayla and her high school friends. Their nostalgic chatter drowns out the music, and their assigned driver does a terrible parking job that has Tawan pushing the boxes to keep it upright as they pull in and out of the same parking slot multiple times before just giving up altogether.

Their chaotic arrival at the retirement home is welcomed by a staff member pushing a trolley to the direction of their vehicle, with an instant recognition of their intention at the facility.

Tawan helps unload the boxes from their van and then from the other van that was tailing after them, with more of Ayla’s high school friends.

A bright smile from one of Ayla’s friends comes into view, “So, this is the famous Khun Bodyguard.”

Ayla bulldozes into their interaction in an instant, hugging the other girl and jumping around like they haven’t seen each other in a long time. They probably haven’t, just with how busy Ayla is.

“I missed you!” Ayla essentially squeals into the girl’s ear, not bothering to let go of her.

“Meanwhile I can’t escape you. With the way your face is plastered all over Thailand.” The girl embraces her back more tightly.

As soon as they separate, Ayla introduces them. “Khaotu, this is P’Tawan. P’Tawan, and this is Khaotu.”

This might be the first time Ayla says Tawan’s name.

Khaotu brings a hand out, her other arm still looping around Ayla’s shoulders. “How could I not know the famous Khun Bodyguard? It’s a pleasure to be introduced.”

What a strange nickname. She shakes Khaotu’s hand nonetheless. She is a bodyguard. And famous? Is she famous? All she knows about fame is from secondhand knowledge and association with Ayla.

“Don’t mind her. Khaotu’s just full of shit.” Ayla says to Tawan, then looking at Khaotu, and in an evidently lower voice, “Don’t even start. P’Tawan isn’t online at all.”

“P’Tawan, I’ll get you on TikTok, don’t worry!” Khaotu says before she and Ayla are getting whisked away by the rest of the girls.

The group expertly navigate their way inside the facility, greeting some of the staff members they encounter before reaching a big empty room where they also quickly assemble tables and chairs, and decorate with practiced hands like they’ve been doing this for a long time.

One of the girls blowing air into the balloons, hands Tawan one that is already neatly arranged into three, along with a roll of tape and scissors. “Could you help put this up please?”

“You can use this.” Khaotu lightly kicks the step stool towards her after having her turn with it, having completely set up a banner of some sort that Tawan can’t see completely from where she’s standing.

Tawan helps with putting the balloons until the end, seeing remnants of tape still stuck on the wall at intervals where she guesses the balloons or another decorative piece used to be placed the previous year.

The girl blowing into the balloon is methodical and precise, and it’s also helpful that she’s not one to make mindless conversation. Tawan wouldn’t know what to talk about. Ayla went on her separate way to the administrative office and hasn’t returned, so Tawan is stuck in a room full of strangers. In a way, that has become an exceedingly common occurrence while working for Ayla.

Once the entire room has been decorated with a line of balloons, Tawan returns the step stool to Khaotu, finally at a spot where she can read the banner on display in front of the room. 

‘H A P P Y  B I R T H D A Y  F O N’, it says.

“Who’s Fon?” Tawan asks.

But Khaotu doesn’t have the time to answer because Ayla arrives with a line of people trodding behind her, filing into the room quickly and occupying the seats. Khaotu gives Tawan a pat on the shoulder and a nod, maybe to mean something like ‘Later,’ or ‘Let’s do this first,’ or maybe neither of those two things, maybe Khaotu hadn’t heard her question at all.

They distribute the packed lunch to each person. Someone set up a speaker, playing songs that get the atmosphere to be a bit livelier than it was when they were all hard at work at decorating. Tawan overhears one woman's request to play Ayla’s song ‘butterflies’ and once it begins blaring on the speakers, Ayla has her face in her hands upon recognition.

They played her entire debut album as lunch went on.

Tawan has never seen Ayla shy away from attention as much as she does now. It’s admittedly a peculiar setting. After she just lost a prestigious award Tawan felt Ayla was sure to win, with Ayla at her most dressed down state, too. She doesn’t even have makeup on. But she’s sitting at a table having lunch with her closest friends (and her bodyguard) in a room full of elderly people humming and clapping along to her songs and Ayla looks to be at her happiest. A genuine twinkle in her eyes Tawan has never seen before.

One of the more energetic ones in the friend group—Sprite, if Tawan remembers correctly, is her name—takes charge of the program after everyone’s finished with their meals. The mention of a game and a variety of prizes has peoples’ competitive spirits up in no time.

“Do you know where the toilet is?” Tawan turns to Ayla, leaning a little into her space, in case the volume of the speakers drowns out her voice.

Tawan doesn’t need to worry after all when it is the other person next to Ayla, Khaotu, who answers, “Oh! I’m going, too. I’ll show you.”

Khaotu stands up, and Tawan follows.

“We’re going for dinner later as well. You’re joining us, right?” Khaotu asks as they walk up the stairs.

The toilet is on the second floor.

“Of course,” is her quick reply. That’s as good as an invitation, isn’t it? But even if she isn’t invited, Tawan will need to be there to accompany Ayla. Even if there’s nothing about today that gives any indication that Ayla needs any sort of protection.

Khaotu is idling by the sink and already drying her hands by the time Tawan is finished.

Tawan is washing her hands when the two of them speak at the same time.

“So, who’s—”

“Later when—”

Khaotu smiles at her. “You first.”

“Who’s Fon?”

“No way. Really?” Khaotu looks at her curiously, and when Tawan appears to be genuinely clueless, Khaotu exclaims in disbelief, “Khun Bodyguard.”

“What?” Tawan tilts her head, waiting for the answer.

“Lucky for you, she’s here today, I’ll introduce you.” Khaotu gives her a pat on the back, urging them to head back.

“And what were you trying to say earlier?”

“Ah, yes. We… We have the tendency to make jokes about dead fathers, just think of it as a running gag between close friends. No harm done. Just in case you have a bout of protectiveness kick in.”

“What?”

“Later during dinner. That’s a common talking point. Childhood trauma. Teenage crushes. Dead fathers. The bomb scare is still too recent so I don’t know if it’ll make the cut this year, but if Sprite can still insert it into a conversation, it wouldn’t surprise me.”

“I understand.”

Maybe. Or Tawan can try to understand. These are Ayla’s long time friends after all, people she has more history with, people who know her better.

“So, you do this every year?” Tawan asks, her curiosity kicking in after seeing the groups’ familiar interactions with the people here, and their skilled and effortless tasks completed as though honed through time. “I’ve been told Ayla’s fanbase is the one that helps her.”

“We’ve been doing it since senior year of high school. Our homeroom teacher back then was the one that started it. Then somehow it evolved into this… tradition. And it’s good work, don’t you think?” Khaotu shrugs. “And I mean, you could also say… we’re fans of Ayla. Maybe her very first fans, if anything.”

Tawan nods, understanding the importance of upholding tradition. “Right.”

“You’re not a fan?”

“I admire her work and her dedication.”

Khaotu gives her nod, seemingly unconvinced, but says nothing. 

By their appearance at the door, Khaotu gets roped into joining the next game, but she manages to slither away for a bit in order to introduce Tawan to Fon, making up an excuse that she has to put her phone away for the game. She does eventually hand her phone to Ayla, already half-immersed into the rules of the next game that Sprite is announcing.

Khaotu looks at Tawan then, “P’Tawan, this is Fon.”

Fon is Ayla.

“Oh,” is all Tawan could say, dumbfounded at the situation.

“Any fan would know Ayla is a stage name, P’Tawan.” Khaotu says jokingly, finally introducing them. “Fon, this is P’Tawan who claims she’s a fan of Ayla.”

“Ayla’s off duty today sadly.” Ayla, or maybe more appropriately Fon, says cheekily. “I’m sure she’d be delighted to have caught the eye of such a beautiful fan.”

Khaotu breaks away from the pair, already satisfied with having introduced the two, immediately joining the game led by Sprite.

Tawan sits down next to Ayla, sinking into the feeling of incompetence by not knowing that fact. “I feel like this speaks a lot about my inadequacies in performing my duty.”

“To Ayla, right? She’s not even here today.” Fon, who is apparently not Ayla today, says, “You’ve done a good job regardless if you know my name or not.”

“But if the basic information—”

“You didn’t overlook anything. I changed my name. Legally, I am Ayla. So, that’s that. Should I expect anything to change?” Ayla (at least, it sounds like what Ayla would say) interrupts.

“No.”

“So, why are we having this conversation?”

Tawan swallows. She can’t fight that any more than she can fight herself at not knowing. Ayla is right, nothing would change, so why does it bother her so much?

“Would you like to join us for dinner? They’ll be loud and absolutely uncontrollable so I get it if you don’t want to go.” Ayla offers, both an invitation and an out.

“I’ll go.”

“Even if Ayla’s not there?”

So, so, so cheeky, that Tawan can only roll her eyes.

“I’ll go.”

And Tawan wants to regret her decision of tagging along, because not only are they loud and absolutely uncontrollable just as Ayla had warned her, it is also evident that they were all kids together. 

They’re not being childish or immature by any means, but stripped away of the responsibility of the charity event in the elderly home, and simply being at a friend’s birthday dinner at a nearby restaurant (their presence here, too, completely expected), exchanging stories about strict and scary teachers like it was only from yesterday, weaving inside jokes effortlessly into almost every point, and of course, just as Tawan had also been warned about, specifically a joke about dead fathers—well, a dead father, only Ayla’s, no, Fon’s—that has everyone absolutely guffawing, it becomes even abundantly clearer how many good friends Ayla, no, Fon has.

And Tawan really wants to regret her decision of tagging along, more so when she gets asked to drive the group back, left with no choice but to comply, seeing no better alternative as each person stumbles drunkenly to get inside their van. Sprite, who claims she’s the most sober (least drunk, Tawan corrects in her mind), settles into the passenger seat, after saying goodbye to the other van with Khaotu as the assigned driver.

Khaotu’s van departs first, honking as they exit the parking lot. Tawan looks at the rear-view mirror to check on Ayla. She has her head on the shoulder of the girl beside her, eyes already resting closed.

Sprite turns in her seat to get a good look at their passengers, possibly doing a mental headcount, “Everyone else is getting dropped off along the way to Fon’s condo. What about you? Where do you live?”

“I’ll see to it that Ayla reaches home safely.” Tawan starts the engine.

“How thorough,” Sprite comments as she finally buckles her seatbelt, “So, you’re familiar with this road, right?”

“I am?”

“Didn’t you used to work at St. Kings?”

“For a really short time.” Tawan nods slowly, “How do you know about that?”

St. Kings couldn’t not leave a lasting impression. Any first of anything does, Tawan supposes. It was a short, almost temporary post. It shouldn’t even really count, except it was the direct stepping stone to her first real assignment.

“P’Tawan, you’re with some of St. Kings Academy’s graduating class of 2020. You think girls from an all-girls school would forget a pretty face?”

Tawan wants to find the logic in that argument, but Sprite already laid it out cleanly. Tawan was a teenage girl too once upon a time, and even if that time of her life was long ago, she knows how logic doesn’t really define many things in a teenage girl's life.

Indeed, they pass by St. King’s Academy. Sprite reaches over the steering wheel to honk as they drive by the main building.

“Terrible, terrible place,” Sprite then puts her middle finger up towards the direction of the school, “It’s a miracle we turned out fine, really.”

Tawan begins to question her level of sobriety, but Sprite gives clear directions to each passenger’s drop off place (several condo buildings along the way, and uniquely a fast food restaurant where two people are getting picked up at because they live and work outside Bangkok apparently) that when they finally reach Ayla’s building, and Sprite has to take over driving the van to her own destination, Tawan feels less worried.

“You’re going to be okay, right?” Tawan asks, to be certain.

Sprite gives a thumbs up, as she climbs into the driver’s seat. “She’s going to be okay, right?” She asks as she rolls the window down, because Ayla is still leaning on the van after alighting.

Tawan peels Ayla away from the vehicle, “She’s in good hands.”

Ayla is awake enough to properly send off Sprite with a wave of goodbye, and she is awake enough to walk to the elevator properly, with Tawan keeping an eye on her the entire time.

When they reach Ayla’s floor, Tawan unlocks her door, also familiar with the pass code, afraid Ayla would make a mistake at the state she’s in. Ayla is upright at least, leaning on the wall, with her eyes closed. When the door swings open just barely, there is a small popping sound from the inside that has Tawan closing the door shut again.

Tawan’s deaf ear is a problem at such occasions, because the sound that registers to her is non-threatening, only like a gentle pop of a champagne bottle. Still, it means there is an unknown presence behind the door. 

Which is a wonder that Tawan doesn’t launch into offensive or defensive protocol as Ayla’s bodyguard.

Somehow, the day eventually did feel like a day off. Her professional self shed away simply by the ease of everything.

The door swings open again after a very brief moment. A small woman emerges from inside with a worried expression on her face, her eyes going from Tawan to Ayla. Actually, completely non-threatening. 

Ayla opens her eyes, rubbing at it sleepily without a care in the world.

“Sorry to spoil your surprise, Mama.” Ayla says, approaching the woman—her mother with a hug.

“Happy birthday, my dear.” Her mother pats her head in response, eventually pulling away and turning to Tawan with a soft request, “Would you be so kind to open the door for us?”

Tawan complies. Hard not to, when mothers are involved.

Ayla’s mother brings Ayla to her room, maybe to help her get ready for bed. 

Tawan looks at the confetti littered by the doorway, the culprit to the popping sound, and elects herself to tidy that area, remembering where the broom and other cleaning utilities are kept when she was snooping around the place earlier.

She is throwing the trash in the bin when Ayla’s mother reappears in the living area.

“I… just wanted to make sure Ayla reached home safely.” Tawan doesn’t know why she’s explaining herself either. Maybe she should instead apologize for ruining the surprise. “I’ll be leaving now.”

“Tawan, yes?” She asks, with a smile. “It’s raining. You can wait here until it lets up.”

Tawan looks at the window, but the curtains are drawn shut. “Lately, the rain hasn’t been….”

“I know.” She interjects, and then offers. “So, why don’t you stay the night?”

“I can’t. I—”

“You like your own space?” Ayla’s mother very kindly offers her an excuse.

“Yes. And I’ve caused enough trouble for you as it is.”

“To me?” Her eyes take a glint of playfulness so reminiscent of Ayla’s only earlier, “So, don’t you feel like you owe me a little? I made a cake. If you have a slice before leaving, I’ll forgive you.”

Tawan follows her wordlessly to the kitchen, succumbing to her fate. Somehow, from her experience with dealing with Ayla, she could tell that arguing with Ayla’s mother would be fruitless. 

Ayla takes after her mother, in every way. 

Tawan casts quick glances at her while they eat cake, as the two of them find themselves seated around the kitchen island, and it almost feels like a peek into who Ayla can and will become, if Ayla is a person that’s allowed to be anything.

“Ayla used to bake a lot when she was younger,” Ayla’s mother says to fill the silence, “I learned this recipe from her actually.”

Ayla’s mother tells a story.

“She used to make one cake per week. That would have been around 50 cakes at the end of the year if she was committed—and oh boy, was she committed! Absolutely focused and gaining momentum. But, I think she did eventually stop at 25 cakes.”

It’s a little endearing that it brings a smile to Tawan’s face. “That’s still a lot of cakes.”

“I had to teach her how to like things in moderation. For the sake of our blood sugar.”

“I don’t think she learned that lesson very well.”

“Why do you think so?” Ayla’s mother seems genuinely asking.

“She clearly likes her job. She’s very passionate about what she does.”

That prompts Ayla’s mother to tell another story.

“When she was little, she always volunteered to perform at her grandparents’ birthday parties. They doted on her and adored her a lot. Handed her a bunch of cash for one song-and-dance number. She always spent it on baking ingredients, hence the 25 cakes.”

A beat, and a dejected shake of her head, before continuing.

“Sometime in her teens, she stopped. I figured it was just teens being teens, you know. Which is probably why it was a bigger shock to me when she said she got casted. I thought it was a scam. But the label wanted to see her, then they wanted to sign her. It was all very quick. But there was never a single doubt in her mind about it.”

Ayla’s mother brings her hands together, looking at Tawan fondly. “So, I guess, you’re right. She never did learn to like things in moderation.”

“In its own way, that helped your blood sugar levels, too.”

Ayla’s mother bursts into laughter, “I like you.” Then she pauses, taking something in, then, “Will you excuse me for a moment?” before proceeding to Ayla’s room.

When she returns to the kitchen, she has a relieved smile. “Ayla’s scared of thunder. I mean, she always has earplugs at the ready. I just went to check, and she’s out cold anyway so there’s no need for it. They’ve made really good earplugs in recent years, the technology has gotten pretty amazing. You should get one. It’s a good investment.”

Tawan finds no real purpose in saying she doesn’t need one, instead conceding with, “I’ll ask Ayla which one I should get.”

“Definitely.”

Tawan has learned a lot about Ayla today.

Thankfully, the rain has stopped. Nana is surprisingly still awake and available at her request, ready to chauffeur Tawan home from Ayla’s place without question. And when she appears to be nearing the building as per their direct correspondence, Ayla’s mother accompanies Tawan as she waits for Nana.

They are standing side by side at the building’s entrance when Ayla’s mother asks, “Did you have fun today, at least?”

“Very much so. Thank you.”

“No. I should be thanking you. I’ve been worrying a lot these past few days, even going as far as visiting daily, but meeting you definitely reassured me.”

Tawan asks, “You’ve been visiting daily?”

“Since the awards show.”

“I didn’t even notice.” No one has noticed, or no one wants to talk about it. The awards show has been an eye-opener, but maybe they’ve been noticing all the wrong things.

“You underestimate this old woman’s stealth.” She jokes.

Tawan decides to play along. “I’ll definitely have to work harder.”

There’s a quiet moment, before Tawan gets the urge to ask.

“Is the situation really that worrying?”

Ayla’s mother waves a dismissive hand, “No. There are just little things here and there. The rainy days are no help, and lately she’s been grumbling about missing her mama. So, a mother’s instinct just kicks in sometimes, even if it might seem irrational.”

“You should stay with her. I’ll double the security measures.”

With a shake of her head, she declares, more definitively, and more headstrong than ever. “It’s fine. She just gets like this around this time of the year. This mama goose is raising her little duckling to be strong and independent.”

Tawan nods, “She is.”

“Tomorrow, insist on coming in, and have cake with Ayla. She can’t finish the cake all on her own.”

And Tawan really wants to regret… but the company car arrives, and Ayla’s mother remains rooted in her spot, seeing her off until the car is completely out of view.

“I’m sorry to spring this responsibility to you suddenly.” Tawan turns to Nana.

“It’s late. Did something happen to Ayla?”

Concern is so evident in Nana’s voice that Tawan feels the need to conceal the events of today. Nothing truly happened. Not to Ayla, at least.

“Nothing happened,” She tries to ease Nana’s worries away.

“Did something happen to you?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

“Affirmative.”

It’s a near quiet drive after that. Nana doesn’t turn on the radio, or play any music. The car is relatively new so the air conditioning doesn’t whirr noisily as if protesting its old age. The roads leading to her apartment are basically empty. 

It is a silence that reminds her of when they pulled her out of the rubble after the explosion that cost her her hearing. Cost her and Mek their full hearing. Cost them the life of a man they failed to protect. 

The pressure of the bomb exploding damaged her eardrum to the point of deafness. If they were any closer to the bomb when it exploded, they could’ve been a casualty. Just dead mangled bodies. So, deafness feels like a blessing all things considered. Blast-induced, the doctors explained, while Tawan’s other ear suffered from tinnitus that it dulled everything.

The dullness helped while she was in recovery. No words were too hurtful if it never reached her. Then, what ended up hurting the most weren’t words said. Shame was a knife her father twisted in her gut with every pitiful look and exasperated breath. The shame she brought to her family, to her father’s company, that she would end up working her whole life to get past.

She and Mek were demoted, but it felt on par with the course. She expected more. Maybe never to work in the field again. 

They weren’t allowed to visit the funeral, not allowed to grieve or say their apologies. Not that it mattered. But still sometimes, whenever Tawan remembers…. she wishes she was allowed to face the family he left behind. Maybe it would have helped remove the dullness earlier, helped her face regret head on.

Then the tinnitus wore off eventually, and she could hear perfectly fine in one ear and she had been allowed the mercy of redemption.

Since then, Tawan has been working to prove her worth again. 

The dull silence is a good reminder. Not to be sidetracked, not to be swayed by unimportant things. 

Nana breaks the silence as the car comes to a halt in front of Tawan’s building. “Ayla… she’s…”

“She’s in good hands,” Tawan reassures her, tapping Nana’s hand resting on the gear shift as goodbye. She alights the car, and waits for Nana to finally drive away.

*

The message informing a change in schedule came in at 5AM. And usually, it would not be a bothersome change in the slightest. Tawan would be up and running by 5AM on a regular day. 

They’re asked to come in several hours earlier than usual. Ayla’s team has scheduled to film a performance video, or some sort of concept film as replacement for the written out performance at Diamond Music Awards. 

Anyway, that they're going to be in a studio is all the pertinent information Tawan’s mind could digest at 5AM, after having gone to bed only several hours prior.

So, Tawan finds herself rubbing her eyes sleepily as she takes a seat in a quiet corner of the studio, not minding the constant stream of people adjusting the lights, and the set pieces. There’s an entire vintage car at the side. 

Typhoon appears to be in the same state, as he hands her a cup of coffee.

Nana seems much more chipper than either of them, at least, watching Ayla get made up.

The make up and the outfit helps, Tawan assumes, when she sees Ayla already picture perfect standing in front of the camera and she finds no shadow of the person that Ayla was yesterday. Tawan thinks of her own uniform as an armor, once shed off, with it peeling away her responsibilities. Ayla appears to be no different. The two of them work round the same clock, too, so Tawan admires how much more quickly and effortlessly Ayla can put on her professional mask.

She and Typhoon certainly have a harder time. To think neither of them are hungover.

“She gets one full day of rest and immediately they think of putting her to work.” Typhoon states with a sigh, “I can never be an idol.”

“Typhoon, do you have a TikTok?” Tawan asks, suddenly reminded of Khaotu’s antics yesterday.

“Nana is in charge of TikTok. I’m in charge of Twitter.”

“Who gave these assignments?”

“P’Chanya. She said it’s good to cover all areas. She’s in charge of Facebook, since apparently that’s the worst one.” Typhoon shrugs, unfamiliar with Facebook as a fandom space altogether.

“So, what is Twitter saying?” 

“Hmm,” He hums, deep in thought for a while, “About Ayla? Plenty of things. Twitter talks about everything under the sun.” Typhoon brings his phone out, scrolling a bit before showing Tawan his screen. “Ayla’s fans uploaded these for her birthday. Pretty sweet, huh?” 

There’s an entire collection of pictures of the sky that seems to reach no end. 

“I thought there would be more to the celebration but I read from Twitter that it was Ayla’s dad’s death anniversary yesterday, as well. So, I guess they can’t be too celebratory either.” Typhoon’s mouth is jutting out in a pout, as he collects his phone back from Tawan. “Apparently it’s also one of the reasons why she does her charity work at the elderly home. If you’ve got a father who died young, seeing people get old is nice, maybe? Something like that.”

Tawan takes that in. 

That’s not what Khaotu said at all. But then again, yesterday Tawan didn’t even know that Ayla is a stage name, so maybe Khaotu feels very little need to explain. Tawan really should have focused on Ayla’s files.

“Nana’s here,” Typhoon announces.

Nana settles next to them, as the cameras begin rolling for Ayla. “What’s up?”

“P’Tawan’s asking about TikTok.”

Nana’s pupils shake nervously as she meets Tawan’s eyes. “Please don’t make a Tiktok.”

“I won’t.” Tawan whispers as the production crew turn to the three of them. One of the staff members shushes them so strongly that they feel the need to huddle closer together, feeling smaller in an environment where they don’t feel needed as much.

“Why?” Typhoon turns to Nana, fully intrigued.

“What do you mean why? Aren’t you on Twitter? They upload the edits there, for sure.”

“Ahh.” Typhoon nods, fully understanding Nana’s point.

“What edits?”

“Khun Bodyguard.” Typhoon nudges her shoulder playfully.

“Are you familiar with the concept of thirst trap?” Nana asks, face already crumpling.

At the first video being shown to her, Tawan already wants to cleanse her eyes. A montage of clips and pictures of Tawan during the awards night when she was accompanying Ayla during her only public appearance in recent days. She remembers thinking it must be a widely photographed event, with plenty of camera lenses swinging from one important celebrity to another.

Tawan doesn’t understand how she became the object of anyone’s attention, more so that it earned her a nickname. Khun Bodyguard. Khaotu did call her that.

“I mean technically it’s not a thirst trap, because that requires—”

“That should be good enough.” Tawan interrupts as she pushes Nana’s phone away gently.

Nana puts her phone away. “Chanya has the Facebook reports.”

“That’s enough for me, I think.” Tawan says, and so the three of them scatter around the studio doing their own things after that (painful) revelation.

When Chanya calls Tawan a few minutes after that exchange, she shoots Typhoon a warning glare. He quickly turns away from her. But Chanya never calls unless it’s important so she accepts the call.

“Training Typhoon to be your audio recorder will amuse and scare me for life,” Tawan says immediately as she answers the call, cutting to the chase.

Chanya lets out an enormous laugh at that. “I mean I could plant an actual audio recorder in your phone, do you want that?”

“You’re scary.”

“I’ve been told,” Chanya agrees, then disagrees, “But Typhoon is also my friend, so of course, he tells me things.”

“Things that urge you to call me in the middle of work.”

“You answered. So, I’m assuming the famous Khun Bodyguard isn’t busy.”

Tawan closes her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose at another mention of the nickname. “If we just never mention it again… ever, I would really appreciate that.”

“Aww, but that’s no fun.”

“If this is the only reason you're calling then I’m hanging up.”

It works, prompting Chanya to get down to business. Chanya never calls unless it’s important.

“There’s a suspicious account that popped up just yesterday actually. I was thinking boomer central Facebook dot com was boring—like sure, they’re a hateful bunch but ....” Chanya breathes out. “Anyway, I’ll stop by at your place so we can discuss it.”

“You never leave your hide out.” Tawan begins seeking out Ayla’s presence, quickly worried at the serious implication of Chanya going out of her way to meet her. The moment their eyes meet, Ayla is already looking at her.

There’s a bit of a pause on the other line. And Ayla holds Tawan’s gaze well before she gets bombarded by the hair and make-up staff as they receive a go signal to tidy Ayla’s appearance after having completed the first take for the shoot.

“That does make it seem really crucial, doesn’t it?” Chanya tries to inject a playfulness to her tone. “Well, I might not have your audio bugged, but I do track your location, so don’t be too surprised when I arrive after you.”

“You what?”

“Don’t stay too long at Ayla’s please,” Chanya snickers, “Or stay for as long as you want, actually.”

“Chanya.” A stern warning.

Which is completely ineffective.

“Khun Bodyguaaarrrddd,” She sing-songs. “You know, you should learn to accept the nickname, unless you want them to create a terrible one instead.”

“It’s already terrible enough as it is,” Tawan replies, a furrow in her brows that smoothens when she catches Ayla glancing at her worriedly.

“I can honestly think of more chivalrous ones as an alternative, just with the way you were looking at Ayla during the awards show.”

“I wasn’t looking. I was guarding her.”

Presently, she’s even evading her eyes, completely turned away from her.

“Are you saying that to convince me or to convince yourself?”

Tawan evades the question too, “I’m just doing my job.”

“And your job is guarding a pretty girl. Congratulations. Not many people are that lucky.”

“You’re part of this operation.” Tawan reminds her.

“I don’t look at Ayla that way. Matter of fact, Nana and Typhoon don’t either. You should see for yourself. Should I send the photos in the group chat?” Chanya offers, hopefully this time only jokingly.

“There’s no need.” Tawan flat out rejects her offer this time, taking a seat, already seeing an end to their conversation. “I’ll see you later.”

“Alright, see ya later,” Chanya ends the call, thankfully without mentioning the nickname again.

Ayla materializes beside Tawan. Tawan only notices when Nam passes Ayla a bottle of water. Ayla idles, waiting for the completion of the set modification. The vintage car is being stowed away. Tawan clutches her chest in surprise. Ayla takes the spot next to her, scooting as close as possible.

“Who was that?” Ayla asks.

“No one.”

“No one,” Ayla starts, “who you will be seeing later…”

She has overheard their dying conversation. It doesn’t concern you, almost comes out of her. Except, that would be a lie. Tawan doesn’t want to lie. “No one important.” She says, but even that still leaves a bitter taste in her mouth.

Whether Ayla believes her or not fades into the background, as the rest of the room carry on with their respective tasks and Ayla waits wordlessly next to her. It had been a recent discovery. The silence she brings, the kind with intention and heaviness and stillness that doesn’t suit Ayla at all. 

Tawan would much rather prefer to be talking. But there’s nothing to discuss. No matter how many questions started forming in the back of her mind from yesterday (or maybe even before that), Tawan couldn't gather the courage to ask. She’s not entitled to the answers. She should be satisfied with what she knows.

Ayla gets called to complete the rest of the remaining shots they need for the day.

*

It is well into the evening when the director calls the production to a close. Ayla changes into more comfortable clothes for the ride home, conversing with Nana who is assigned to the task today.

Tawan eases the bag off Ayla’s shoulder. “Shall we go?”

Nana and Ayla exchange looks, as if dumbfounded by the present situation.

“I thought—” Nana tries to argue.

“Ayla and I have things to discuss.” Tawan leaves it at that, pulling at Ayla’s arm to guide her to her parked car.

Privately, Nana and Typhoon would go on to talk about the strangeness of that encounter, and even more privately how maybe it actually isn’t strange at all.

“Your mother said I should help you get rid of the cake.” Tawan announces when they’re both settled in the car, handing Ayla her bag back. 

Ayla buckles her seatbelt. “Get rid of the cake? That doesn’t sound like her.”

“That wasn’t what she said exactly. She’s nice… your mother.” Tawan starts the car.

“Ploy.” Ayla’s mother’s name. Why hadn’t Tawan thought to ask that? How disrespectful to not have cared enough to know. But before Tawan could further spiral, Ayla ends her suffering by adding, “And she is nice but she’s also definitely using you.”

Tawan turns to Ayla. “How so?”

“She can’t visit so she tricked you to keep watch.”

Ploy is full of tricks indeed, Tawan agrees but ends up saying: “That is part of my duty.” 

They exit the parking lot without another word from Ayla. Tawan understands her need for a quiet moment, especially after a hectic day, of people talking to her, talking at her, instructions and modifications being yelled out after each take. Tawan isn’t a direct participant to the commotion and she’s tired. 

Still, maybe because of the timing, it feels like Tawan said the wrong thing, and is being punished for it.

Tawan peeks at Ayla briefly, and seeing that she’s only looking outside, decides to ask, “What’s keeping Ploy from visiting?”

“Aside from being a mother, Ploy is an event designer.” Ayla clicks her tongue, turning the radio volume down, “The daughter of the owner of Foodsphere is turning 16 in a week and she has this huge birthday party that my mother is in charge of. I think it might make it on the news with how excessively extravagant it is.”

Tawan can only relate to being the daughter of the owner. Everything else is new territory to her. 

“It would be a good advertisement for your mother.” She ends up saying.

Ayla laughs, “That’s good. You’ve caught up with how the industry works.”

The sparkling sound of her laughter plucks at the weight off her chest. And because it also feels like being rewarded, Tawan thinks long and hard on what she could say that could get Ayla to laugh again, or at very least, to just have her speak. To say…. anything. 

Tawan doesn’t want to interrogate her. She could put the pieces together little by little, from what Ayla’s friends have told her (without using force or coercion), from what her mother had said (willingly, as well), from what the people on Twitter, or TikTok, or Facebook are apparently seeing and saying.

And yet, still there’s a growing desire in Tawan to know Ayla beyond what other people think of her, or say about her, or assume about her feelings. 

It probably won’t go over well, if she said that though. How can Tawan go and say something along the lines of ‘Hey, actually, I think your fans and your friends and your mother don’t know you at all. And I’m making these claims but see, I don’t know you either, so is there a chance I can get to know you? The real you?’

It won’t go over well at all, so Tawan even after a lengthy deliberation chooses pathetically to say: “You should’ve won that award,” just as the two of them cross the door, arriving at Ayla’s condo.

“You really are my fan,” Ayla says casually, definitely remembering that particular talking point at the elderly home. “That’s what my fans and everyone around me keeps saying. And while I appreciate it, unfortunately I’m a sore loser so I’m pretty hard to console.”

Ayla immediately proceeds to the kitchen, one track mind already taking the cake from its place in the refrigerator. She appears set into doing everything, also swiftly taking out plates and cutlery, so Tawan simply takes a seat.

“You’re not a sore loser. You’ve been gracious and respectful even when people didn’t deserve it,” Tawan says, and she swears she sees Ayla slow at her movements, listening to her intently.

“Pete, you mean?” Ayla cuts into the cake as she says his name. “That’s just how we are. If I had won, I’d parade the trophy around his face, too. I don’t have anything against him.”

She pushes the first plate of cake to Tawan, and takes another slice for herself, carrying on with another story. 

“We got casted into the company around the same time. We looked at the other artists’ hard won trophies and simply thought them to be glorified paperweights or terrible decorative pieces.” A bite. “Then I guess… you spend enough time trying to be good, that the only real validation could come from an ugly trophy with your name on it.”

“You’re right,” Tawan replies, and in the light of being honest, tacks on, “That thing’s horrendous.”

Ayla barrels on.

“There’s been discussion that they didn’t give me the distinction because of the bomb threat. That if they give me a trophy and put a spotlight on me, it’s essentially putting myself in the line of danger. That there might be a hired gun man in the audience suddenly.”

“I won’t let that happen.” Tawan itches to reach over, and grab her hand to provide more evidence to that promise.

Ayla shakes her head dismissively, as if in an internal conflict of her own. “I’ve never really given it much thought. But then I guess people talked about it enough that I also began to think that maybe if the bomb scare didn’t happen, then I’d have won that award.”

She retrieves a plastic container, placing the remaining cake in and closing it securely with a pop of the lid.

“Then again if my life wasn't in danger, maybe you wouldn’t be here.” Ayla slides the container over, already pivoting with: “Here, bring cake to whoever it is you’re meeting.” 

It’s due to a terrible circumstance. But Tawan is here, isn’t she? What use is it contemplating the opposite?

“I’ll wash the dishes.” Tawan offers. It’s the least she can do.

Well… they barely touched the cakes. That wasn’t the best conversation topic choice while having dessert.

“No, it’s fine.” Ayla takes the plates, and places them in the sink. With her back turned to Tawan, she adds, “I wouldn’t want to keep you for too long.”

On her drive back to her apartment, Chanya sends a message while Tawan’s stuck at a red light.

The princess didn’t let the knight stay on guard? Her message reads.

She’s definitely not talking about the actual princess of Thailand. That’s for certain.

Tawan supposes the message doesn’t merit a reply. Chanya is probably trailing after her on this very highway. The light turns green, and Tawan drives.

*

It takes only 20 minutes after Tawan has stepped foot inside her apartment for Chanya to knock on her door.

She waltzes in with a grin, like she hasn’t just raised the stakes of their job by making an appearance. Chanya cut her hair, framing her face better compared to the last time they saw each other, her previously long flowy hair only barely reaching her shoulders now.

“You look good,” Tawan greets.

“Now that feels like a proper compliment from someone who sees Ayla all the time,” Chanya takes a seat on the couch, peering at her, as she unfolds her laptop, already getting down to business.

“Not all the time,” Tawan grumbles, crossing her arms.

“Well, I apologize for eating away at your precious time together,” Chanya doesn’t look apologetic at all, intently looking at something on her screen. “I promise this will be worth your while.”

Tawan hands her the cake. “From Ayla.”

Chanya swoons, “Ayla knows me?”

“She knows I’m seeing someone tonight.”

That makes Chanya grimace. “You didn’t say it like that, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re not seeing anyone. Seeing someone implies a relationship.”

“We have a relationship.” Tawan says matter of factly. 

“Ew, don’t say it like that.” Chanya makes a disgusted face.

“I didn’t say we’re in a relationship.”

“What have you been saying to Ayla?” Chanya levels her with a serious stare, “Because I’m beginning to think you’re just blurting out all the wrong things.”

Tawan has long since suspected that to be occurring. Ayla can have an entire room holding their breath for her reaction, and Tawan is quickly learning she isn’t exempt from the kind of power Ayla holds over other people.

Chanya holds her laptop to have the screen facing Tawan. It’s on a Facebook page with a singular post. A dot.

The account name is long and holds her notice far better. It reads: Happy birthday & happy death anniversary. Shall we make it two for two?

Chanya turns the laptop back around. Tawan stands up to settle behind her on the couch, peering and reading over Chanya’s shoulder.

“It’s vague, but with the timing and everything… I ran standard protocol and it can’t be cracked. The account is highly secure, making it all the more suspicious. And the day has passed so it’s just an empty threat now… but you were with her yesterday, weren’t you? Was there anything….”

“There wasn’t.” But Tawan backtracks, “But I mean, her mother has been visiting her. And no one knew. So maybe, maybe….”

We’re just the wrong people for the job. Tawan can’t bring herself to even say it.

“Nana knows.”

Tawan lets out a dumbfounded laugh, “Huh, so Nana reports to you, I see.”

“Ploy isn’t a threat.” It’s as straightforward and truthful as it can be. “If Nana told you, you would dismiss it by mere principle.” Chanya knows not to keep Tawan thinking too deeply for too long, turning in place to flash her a grin as she finally folds her laptop close. “Anyway, I know you don’t like it but given the present situation, it might be best to have a loaded gun on your person at the ready.”

Like Tawan hasn’t already been doing exactly that.

Chanya stands up, already packing her things. When she picks up the plastic container holding the cake, she turns to Tawan in question, “Can I bring this home? You think Ayla would mind?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Tawan will just have to get Ayla a replacement. 

“I know I can count on you,” Chanya puts a firm hand on Tawan’s shoulder, a steady reassurance that Tawan hasn’t realized she’s been needing. 

The next morning, Tawan wakes up to a bunch of pictures sent by Chanya to their group chat. 

It’s not just pictures of Tawan at least. Typhoon and Nana have their share of photos in the mix. 

Looking good, team, Chanya writes to the group and not a second later, she sends another message only to Tawan directly, Especially you. Fangirls are swooning, Khun Bodyguard. 

But Chanya only sends the pictures to announce that they’ve gotten permission to forgo the suits. It has been exceedingly humid during the day. The suits also end up being too attention grabbing, seeing how the three of them also happen to have fansite and media pictures from the event. What the hell is that about?

Tawan buries it at the back of her mind. The way the photos reveal how exactly she’s been looking at Ayla during the awards night. Chanya isn’t exactly wrong. 

Of course, it is in Ayla’s management team’s good opinion that Ayla’s security remain dressed well, and mostly similarly, so Chanya also elects them to wear black or denim, or black and denim. Occasionally allowed are white, gray, navy, khakis, and dark greens. Anything too colorful is a no, of course.

The change in clothing definitely allows them more convenience in bringing firearms. Tawan has never fought anyone in hand-to-hand combat while wearing a suit either.

When Tawan arrives in full denim ahead of everyone else to yet another filming day, Ayla’s eyes seem to follow her appreciatively, and only until Nam has left the two of them in the dressing room that Ayla says, “You look good.”

She finally understands what Chanya had said last night as well. That’s a proper compliment from someone who sees her beautiful face all the time. Although now that Tawan thinks about it, there isn’t a mirror in Ayla’s condo. She should have one in her room, right?

Ayla is dressed in a satin pink mini dress. She always looks good.

Tawan clears her throat, not knowing what to say. “You, as well.”

Nana barges into the dressing room, wearing a black long sleeve tucked into dark denim jeans, head held high and posing with her hands on her waist.

Ayla chuckles, “You look good, Nana.”

“Thank you.” Nana full-on curtsies, “You look stunning as ever.”

When Typhoon also receives a compliment from Ayla on how his navy polo shirt suits him, Tawan doesn’t want to investigate why it bothers her so much. There are far more important matters at hand. 

*

Yet somehow, they are immediately back to wearing suits when Pete’s celebratory party rolls in. It’s exclusive. Strictly per invite. That they’ve allowed Ayla to have her three bodyguards and a manager in attendance despite a seemingly excessive four extra invites probably meant they really wanted her presence at the party.

Ayla and Pete are technically under the same mother company, so it’s also probably not an entirely big ask. Tawan sees the reminder of that fact when both Ayla and Pete cozy up to the same label executives, sharing drinks and stories under the dim lights of the rented roof deck nightclub.

It’s easy to forget there was ever brewing competition between the two. That it’s the very same executives in attendance that made it out to be that way in the eyes of the public.

Tawan loosens her tie when it becomes evident it isn’t a strictly formal event, seeing the state of the party goers past 11PM. Perhaps earlier than that, already completely partied out.

Nana nods to the direction of the bar, where Ayla is perched.

Tawan plucks the drink being handed to her by the bartender, pushing it away from Ayla. “You’ve already had plenty to drink.”

Ayla swivels to face her, the rotation of the bar stool causing her to fall into Tawan’s arms. She laughs, as Tawan catches her fully. “Loosen up a little. It’s a celebratory party. I’m celebrating.” She says, nudging a pointing finger to the tip of Tawan’s nose.

Tawan searches Ayla’s eyes, too, taking on a drunken haziness that clears a little as Ayla studies her more closely.

“Okay, time for you to go home.”

Tawan helps Ayla down the chair, then drapes her jacket over her. She nods to Nana and Typhoon, vacating the premises after informing Nam of their exit.

With recent developments, it’s a new arrangement they thought to discuss with Ayla. That it would be a complete team effort pushing forward. Three bodyguards all the time, from start to end. They will be taking over Nam’s responsibility in getting Ayla to places, be it the company building, or a recording studio, or a studio for a photoshoot or filming. They’re good at it individually when they send Ayla home, so a team effort would mean being three times more excellent at the task.

Typhoon is driving, and Nana is beside him, with Tawan and Ayla at the back. 

And it feels correct.

Ayla rests her head on Tawan’s lap, and it feels right.

Tawan feels like they can make it work. They have to make it work.

Ayla carries herself well. Maybe she’s not too drunk, since her gait is sturdy even without Tawan supporting her as the two of them go up her building. Typhoon and Nana drive away at Tawan’s urging. They have an early day tomorrow.

Tawan is unlocking the door when Ayla mumbles, “I left my bag in the car.”

“I’ll message Nana. I’m sure they’re still close by.”

Tawan’s jacket is still draped around her shoulders. Ayla enters her unit. “It’s fine.”

Tawan remains rooted in her spot, doesn’t think to ask for her jacket back either. “Don’t you have your phone in there?”

“It’s fine. See you tomorrow.” Ayla closes the door with a thud.

It’s quick and dismissive. Tawan could imagine that same outcome when she accompanied Ayla home during her birthday had Ayla’s mother not been behind the door. In her drunken state, Ayla wants to be left alone. Her mother left her alone, didn’t she?

Tawan trudges back to the elevator, composing a message to the group chat in order to secure Ayla’s forgotten bag from the car as she waits for an elevator door to open on Ayla’s floor.

That’s when it happens. A loud thunder followed by a shrill scream is heard one after the other. Almost like…. the shrill scream when Typhoon spilled coffee. Pretty identical actually. It can’t possibly be Ayla, right? She’s probably already passed out drunk, like she did when she was drunk days ago. 

But Tawan is already running even as logic tries to catch up to her.

And Ayla’s mother… Ploy…. she said…

Tawan hastily punches in the code to unlock Ayla’s door. When it swings open, another thunderclap is heard, confirming the source of the scream to come from Ayla’s bedroom. The door to her bedroom is open, and littered on the floor is Tawan’s suit jacket.

Tawan picks it up, looking around, trying to find Ayla.

Ayla is inside the bathroom. Her hands covering her ears, and she is folded into herself, and weeping on the tiled floor. It’s not a large bathroom by any means, but Ayla looks absolutely small. Tawan kneels in front of her, once again draping the jacket around Ayla’s now trembling figure, seeing her own hands tremble in fear.

“Where are your earplugs?” Tawan manages to ask, masking all the panic and fear and confusion and worry she feels, keeping her voice steady.

Ayla sniffles, keeping her head down. “Nightstand. First drawer.”

Tawan finds it immediately, returning to Ayla’s side in order to plug her ears shut. She slots one in, “This helps, right?” And at Ayla’s frantic nodding, Tawan puts the other. She is barely upright when Ayla claws at her arms desperately to keep her close.

“Let me take my shoes off. I’ll get back to you quickly, I promise.”

Ayla lets her go after that explanation.

As Tawan kicks her shoes off by the doorway, she feels her heart flood with relief. It could have gone terribly. The elevator was nearing her floor. She could have gotten on and never heard Ayla scream. Ayla doesn’t even have her phone with her. 

But would Ayla call for help, even if she did? Ayla was also promptly sending her away.

Well, Tawan’s here and that’s what matters.

The curtains are drawn close. There’s a reason why the curtains are always drawn close.

When she returns to the bathroom, Ayla is seated on the propped down toilet seat lid, holding her middle as her eyes stay on the floor. Tawan approaches her cautiously, again kneeling in front of her so that she can take a look at Ayla’s face. She looks so helpless and scared.

“What do you need?” Tawan has found herself unconsciously matching Ayla’s breathing. 

Ayla stands up, pulling Tawan with her. 

Tawan is surprised that Ayla still has strength in her, and then Tawan is surprised that Ayla is taller than she is, since for the first time they are both standing on the same level, barefoot, and facing each other. And then Tawan is surprised at the realization that she can’t hold Ayla’s gaze for very long, for all that bullshit about always being in her line of sight, now face-to-face and Tawan can barely look at Ayla. 

And then Tawan is surprised at Ayla’s reply.

“Can you hold me?” Ayla asks, arms already out and wide open.

And then Tawan is surprised at how quickly her body gives in to that simple request. Ayla loops her arms above Tawan’s shoulders, her fingers playing with her ponytail. Tawan rests her hands on the small of her back, just holding Ayla, because she asked. Only because she asked. 

But Ayla could ask to be held, to be comforted—-for any other reason, from hateful comments, to losing an award, to remembering the loss of a parent—and Tawan would happily comply for all her life.

It’s pitiful. To only be needed when someone is lonely, or scared, or alone, or defeated, but Tawan would rather have that than nothing at all.

And maybe the most surprising thing is how it isn’t surprising at all. 

*

When she asked Nana to pack her an extra set of clothes to change into and Nana did so without a single inquiry, Tawan found it strange and suspicious. She gave her the benefit of the doubt, as her trusted subordinate. Mostly, too, because it saved Tawan from answering questions about why she spent the night at Ayla’s place.

Tawan didn’t speak a word about her aching back (from sleeping on the living room couch) if it saved her from being interrogated by Typhoon or Nana. Except the two of them did pick up both Ayla and Tawan at Ayla’s building this morning, and seemed to have sworn into a pact of silence, so that all the more raises suspicion.

Tawan decides to clear the air.

“Out with it.” Tawan levels the two of them, “Go ask your silly questions.”

“Are you sleeping with Ayla?” Typhoon whispers accusatively, narrowing his eyes at her.

“No.” Tawan whispers-shouts back.

They’re in the room connected to the dance practice studios, where the dancers store their bags and idle in between dancing. It’s only the three of them inside. Ayla, the choreographer, and dancers are all warming up for their training day. 

Tawan, Typhoon and Nana haven’t had their own training day since being hired by Ayla, but Ayla does keep them on their toes constantly.

Last night was… 

“Well, don’t tell me you two were braiding each other’s hair.” Typhoon barks back, voice suddenly loud.

“Also no.” Tawan puts her pointing finger to her lips to shush him down. They are, after all, still in a room connected to the practice room. “It was raining hard, wasn’t it? It was just more practical to stay over.”

Nana nods slowly.

Typhoon looks at Nana in disbelief, the two of them are supposed to be partners in crime.

“It’s just more practical.” Nana repeats.

Which is how they’ve come to the agreement that it would also be more practical that Tawan brings Ayla home all the time. Or rather than an agreement, it is something Tawan pushed forward, disregarding protests from Typhoon who mumbles “That makes no sense,” as Nana slaps his arm.

It would prevent another incident of a forgotten bag left in an already departing vehicle. 

Mostly, (selfishly) it would help Tawan sleep better at night, seeing to it personally that Ayla is safe and sound.

Tawan couldn’t sleep well last night, and it’s not only because she was sleeping on the couch. She kept waking up to check on Ayla’s sleeping figure. Her brain requires the constant reminder that Ayla is fine, and so even when Tawan tried to sleep, her own body betrayed her, waking up because she needed the physical evidence to confirm it is true.

Because of the lack of proper sleep, Tawan is dozing off in a corner of the room, resting her head on the wall. When she opens her eyes, Ayla is immediately in her line of sight. True to their agreement.

“So, will this be the new arrangement?” Ayla asks, a softness to her tone that feels like a new addition to their dynamic.

Tawan blinks before standing up, taking stock of the situation. Nana and Typhoon are waving goodbye to their direction, following the dancers that are filtering out of the room. 

Ayla herself is already walking towards the direction of the door.

The sun is still out and dance training is already done for the day. 

“Yes, for the meantime, I’ll be in charge of sending you home.”

Ayla then says, “If this is about last night, I assure you it’s nothing.”

“Do you hear yourself?” Tawans begins incredulously, “If that’s nothing, I’m beginning to question what would count as something to you.”

Tawan has been pondering that since the beginning.

“Nana and Typhoon don’t nag.” Ayla states, as if it would help her case.

“They haven’t seen you like that. If they see you in that state, they’ll surely worry as well.”

Ayla visibly flinches.

“Don’t tell me…” Tawan closes her eyes in frustration. She can practically hear an echo of Chanya’s voice. “Nana already knows.”

It had been beneficial for Tawan that Nana neither questioned nor protested anything about Tawan’s current decision-making in many such incidents that would commonly have her raising a brow.  

Ayla breathes out a genuine request on her part. “Don’t be mad at her. I asked her not to tell anyone.”

But of course, it has been beneficial for Ayla, too, that Nana is sworn to a pact of secrecy. 

“Well, good for you, she listened.” Tawan huffs in frustration, easing the bag off Ayla’s shoulders, just about ready to head home.

“I really don’t understand why this has you so upset.”

And Tawan shoots her a look of disapproval.

The silence that hangs between them on the drive over to Ayla’s condo isn’t new, but for the first time, Tawan welcomes it. Not bothering to give Ayla a piece of her mind. Tawan might end up reprimanding her when in fact, she can also see the validity of Ayla’s own reasons for keeping quiet.

When they reach her building, Tawan unlocks Ayla’s door for her since Ayla is surprisingly lagging behind her as they walk the distance between the elevator and Ayla’s unit. Tawan is about to remove her shoes when Ayla storms past her by the doorway, plopping down on the couch with a request. 

“Can you help me with these boots please?”

Tawan takes her shoes off before entering. Surely, Ayla can wait.

Ayla pulls the bottom of sweatpants up to reveal knee-high boots underneath. Tawan sighs as she kneels down, trying to find a mechanism on how it could be removed. It looks new. It might be the reason Ayla’s long legs were slower than usual. 

“I have to break them in.” Ayla offers an explanation.

Tawan nods, unable to find a zipper or laces, or velcro? They don’t velcro boots, do they? 

“If you pull at it, it’ll come off.” Ayla instructs.

So, Tawan does as she is told. And when the boots are completely off, Tawan gathers the medicine kit from a cabinet where she remembers it being stowed away, in order to replace the bloodied gauze on Ayla’s heels.

“So, they plan to make you dance wearing that thing?” Tawan looks up at Ayla. She keeps finding herself kneeling in front of her lately. (Tawan’s mind betrays her by reminding her of Chanya’s last text message.)

“It will be beautiful.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard all that beauty is pain bullshit.” 

“I’m not…”

In pain, Tawan hears those words before Ayla can even complete that sentence. She pushes the cotton on the open wound on Ayla’s heel to make a point. 

Ayla winces in pain.

“You were saying?”

“I’m not beautiful.”

That gives Tawan pause. But she goes around completing her task like usual. She finishes securing the gauze with adhesives. And when she looks up again, Ayla is bathed in the colors of the sunset. Orange and pink filtering in through the window. It’s beautiful. Ayla is beautiful.

“If you think you’re not beautiful…” Then you should see yourself through my eyes, Tawan thinks but doesn’t say, instead going with, “I’m sincerely concerned with how you see everyone else.”

Ayla opens her mouth to speak, but ultimately doesn’t say anything.

Tawan stands up. “Can I stay for dinner? I feel weird going home this early.”

“I’m sincerely concerned with how you view regular working hours if you consider this early.” Ayla places her boots away.

“There’s no such thing as regular working hours working for you.” Tawan fires back.

“Order whatever you like.” Ayla says before promptly disappearing into her room for a change of clothes.

Tawan orders pizza. Nothing can go wrong with pizza. Hawaiian. Pineapples on pizza is a good conversation starter or … ender. Tawan doesn’t mind either way. An order of salad. Caesar is always a safe choice, in case Ayla can’t do carbs. A side of fries. And a bottle of soda, sure. If it isn’t a cheat day then now it is.

“40 minutes for the pizza.” Tawan announces, lounging on the couch, contemplating if she can turn the television on. Ayla didn’t exactly say ‘make yourself at home,’ but this was her bed last night so she’s already made herself comfortable even without outright permission.

Ayla comes out of her room holding a towel and a fresh set of clothes. “You should take a shower.”

Tawan’s eyes widen in surprise. “Do I smell?”

Ayla laughs, “No. But you haven’t showered in what … two days? You have to feel a little disgusting, I could only imagine. The pizza will take some time anyway.”

“I can just watch TV while waiting.” Tawan is already holding the remote control.

“Actually, you do smell.” Ayla pinches her nose shut dramatically. “Please do me a favor and shower.”

Tawan rolls her eyes. “Nana packed me a bag actually.”

“A bag? Are you going on a trip or something?”

“No. Nana thinks we’re doing sleepovers.” Tawan finally stands up, catching Ayla flush at the statement.

“We’re not,” Ayla somehow feels the need to clarify.

“I left the bag in the car.” Then, Tawan is already slipping her shoes on, and feeling over her pockets for the car keys. “I’ll go get it then shower and hopefully the pizza is here by the time I’m done.” 

Ayla pinches her nose again, her other hand shooing Tawan away, “Okay, hurry up, stinky poo.”

When Nana handed her an entire bag this morning, Tawan’s first thought was that Nana haphazardly transferred the contents of her work locker into a bag and called it a day. Nana didn’t want to waste brain power choosing so she just packed everything. Tawan wore whatever was topmost in the bag as well, a white shirt and a blazer over it. She didn’t think about changing her pants.

As she carries the packed bag back to Ayla’s condo, Tawan wonders if this is Nana’s way of encouraging her to stay the night. They talked about it in passing earlier, how the weather reports predict that the rainstorms might continue for a few more days. 

Since Tawan’s recent discovery that Nana knows about Ayla’s fear of thunder, Nana’s behavior reads indicative of a protectiveness over Ayla.

Tawan hasn’t seen or heard anything about Ploy. Would Nana know anything about that?

Ayla is seated on the couch going through her phone when Tawan returns.

“I’ll use your bathroom, okay?” Tawan asks permission.

“Go ahead, stinky poo.” Ayla doesn’t even look up.

Tawan tries her hardest to bury down the memory of the last time she was in Ayla’s bathroom. But when she finishes showering and sees the toothbrush she used last night, the bristles facing Ayla’s toothbrush as the two sit in the same cup, it reminds her of the two of them and then the memory isn’t exactly entirely a bad memory if two toothbrushes facing each other has her feeling a warmth in her chest.

She checks her phone and figures she has the time to dry her hair.

Tawan feels like a new person emerging to the living room, all squeaky clean, with hair brushed down.

“Ayla?” She calls out since Ayla is no longer on the couch.

Then a more frantic repetition when Ayla isn’t in the dining area or the kitchen, or any of the other rooms either.

Tawan hears a door opening and slamming shut, hurrying towards it.

“Food’s here!” Ayla has the gall to offer a smile, as she brings her arms up, indeed holding the food delivery.

“Why didn’t you think to tell me where you were going?” Tawan sighs, taking the food from Ayla’s hands.

“The lobby called me, it’s rude to keep them waiting.” Ayla points to the bedroom door. “I left a note on the door.”

Tawan glances at it briefly before proceeding to the dining area, placing the food on the table to double check if their order is complete. “Are we stuck in the stone age?”

“Sorry for not having your number,” Ayla shrugs, taking plates and cups from the cupboard.

“You don’t have my number?”

“Do you have mine?”

Tawan breathes out. She only has Nam’s number. “Does Nana have your number? I’ll get it from her.”

Ayla takes a seat. “I’m right here. Why don’t you get it from me?”

Right. Tawan slides her phone across the table as she takes a seat. 

“I like your hair like that.” Ayla says, happily punches her number in, giving it a ring so that she can store Tawan’s number in her phone as well. Tawan opens the pizza box. Hawaiian, as expected. She takes a slice for herself. 

When Ayla returns Tawan’s phone back, her eyes get stuck on the pizza. “Interesting choice.” 

“I sense judgment.” Tawan replies before taking a bite.

“None from me.” Ayla puts her hands up in mock surrender. “I commend your bravery for sticking with a controversial decision.”

“Hawaiian pizza is not controversial.”

“No. Many can argue it’s the most controversial pizza flavor.” Ayla says as she takes a slice.

“Which you also clearly like.” Tawan watches Ayla as she eats.

“I'll eat it if it’s there. But I don’t think I ever bought one because I wanted to.”

“I bought it so we can have something to talk about.” Tawan admits.

Ayla searches her eyes. “We’re talking.” 

And like a magic spell, Tawan suddenly doesn’t know what to say after.

“What else do you wanna talk about?” Ayla pours them both a drink.

But Tawan is chewing and mostly clueless, so when she reaches for her cup, Ayla takes the opportunity to spring a different suggestion.

“Do you have siblings?” Ayla asks.

“No.”

“An only child.” Ayla’s eyebrows shoot up. “I did think so”

“What does that mean?”

“There’s just something about people without siblings.” She says, as though Tawan might understand. “Maybe you don’t remember. But you’ve met her. Fern, my friend from high school. It’s just so evident…. that she is.”

“So, you have a radar for that kinda thing?”

“Not a radar,” Ayla takes a fry, “More like a know-how.”

“What’s my tell?”

“Closed off-ness. Strange conversation transitions.” Ayla lists it down.

“That’s you.” Tawan points out. “So, are you an only child, as well?”

“I’m an older sibling to a younger sister actually.” Ayla answers.

Tawan takes that in, never having guessed that at all. She pictures what she knows about Ayla’s (Fon’s?) childhood. The stories where she baked cakes and sang at her grandparents’ birthday parties now suddenly with an additional younger sister in it. 

Except she was always there. Tawan just didn’t know. 

“How much younger?” Tawan asks.

“A year younger.”

“Maybe that’s why you don’t really feel like an older sister.” Tawan quips playfully, thinking it would somehow give her an upperhand in the situation.

Ayla’s faraway look lands on Tawan’s face, and she says dejectedly, “I get that a lot.”

Tawan very quickly tries to remedy the situation, listing down the facts. “So, your real name is Fon. You’re an older sister. You like pineapples on pizza.”

“I never said I like pineapples on pizza.”

Tawan gestures to the almost empty pizza box with only the crusts that Ayla didn’t eat. Dance training tends to bring out insatiable hunger.

“I don’t like it and I don’t dislike it.”

“Very idol-like answer.”

Ayla rolls her eyes, fighting a smile on her lips. “No more questions?”

Tawan plays along, her hand holding an imaginary microphone held up to Ayla’s direction. “A comment on climate change?”

“Hate it.” Ayla says, scrunching her face playfully.

Tawan can’t help herself, bursting into laughter. “Thank you. I think we have a headline.”

After that, it seems only natural that they eventually tune in to the evening news. Tawan doesn’t feel like leaving yet. 

The television is showing a preview for the upcoming news feature after the commercial break.

“I was just wondering where your mother is.”

“Didn’t I say?” Ayla plops down beside her on the couch. “On the news.”

“I thought she’d be on the news because the party is a big deal.” Tawan turns to Ayla, “I didn’t realize your mother is the big deal.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s both those things,” Ayla says, “It definitely helps her vision when the budget is limitless.”

“Didn’t you say it was a 16th birthday party?” Tawan sounds in complete disbelief.

“Is a 16th birthday party. They have a live feed for an interview.” Ayla urges Tawan to turn to the television, turning the volume up.

True enough, Ploy is on the screen, beside the news anchor segueing to the report. Their backdrop looks like a path made up of an entire wall of what looks like fresh pink roses. There are suspended mirrors and fluorescent lights from the ceiling. Ploy is giving simple and sure answers to the questions thrown her way, an undeniable confidence on full display. 

“An advertisement.” Ayla says when the program transitions to a different news report, “Once you recognize it for what it is, you’ll begin to see it everywhere.”

“So, the boots?” Tawan guesses.

“Very good,” Ayla gives her an approving glance. “The boots, the clothes, the make up, everything. I’m a walking advertisement.”

“That’s not a bad thing.”

“I never said it was.”

They haven’t been paying attention to the television as it flashes the weather report, but the actual pouring of the rain gives a good indication of what the night might bring. When will the rain stop?

“Your mother already told me. That thunders scare you. I should have paid closer attention.”

It is another thing, Tawan supposes, that the situation from yesterday again exposes her inadequacies.

“If you paid closer attention, you might find something else entirely.” 

It’s decidedly very flirty, an insinuation of something beneath the surface. It would be so believable but Ayla’s hand suddenly jerks to grab at Tawan’s arm, clutching when a faint very distant sound of thunder is overheard, so Tawan inches closer to observe her carefully curated mask slip little by little.

Lightning streaks the night sky, and not even a second later, a vicious thunder clap is heard for a long while, that ultimately has Ayla yelping and bringing Tawan into an embrace.

Tawan rubs her back gently. “You’ll let me borrow pajamas if I stay the night, right?”

She feels Ayla nod, and Tawan steps away, retrieving Ayla’s earplugs from her nightstand drawer and carefully placing it in Ayla’s ears.

There isn’t a particularly loud and long sound of thunder after that. But the rain continues to pour heavily, so Ayla moves around cautiously still, as though stepping into a landmine. 

When Tawan feels electricity when their fingers brush as Ayla hands her a set of pajamas, she chucks it up to the anxious energy Ayla carries as she braces herself for the impact of possibly another loud thunder.

Tawan spends most of her days guarding Ayla. Not really protecting her. Ayla hasn’t been in harm’s way at all since that eventful day. But even more simply, she watches her, has been watching her for a long time, feels compelled to watch her all the more now. 

When Tawan is done brushing her teeth, she places the toothbrush in the cup slowly, carefully arranging it so it faces Ayla’s own. They fall asleep like that, too, side by side, facing each other, without discussing.

In the back of her mind, Ayla’s words earlier become a nagging echo. 

If you paid closer attention, you might find something else entirely. 

Can they be closer than this? 

Tawan pictures their toothbrushes’ bristles touching, as she scoots just an inch closer.

She tucks the stray hair falling over Ayla’s face behind her ears. Ayla’s little ears plugged shut from the outside world. Her serene sleeping face. Her adorable nose. Her soft looking mouth.

It has been the major scope of her job, to keep watch. Tawan’s eyes sweep at Ayla’s sleeping face. She’s always been paying attention. It’s only that as much as Tawan is good at guarding Ayla, she is even better at guarding her own heart.

*

When Tawan opens her eyes to an unfamiliar room and an empty space beside her, it reminds her of her brief and unsuccessful attempt at dating. That dating and seeing people were synonymous made enough sense when they disappeared, not to be seen, from her life the moment they found they weren’t compatible at all.

Or maybe it’s more appropriate to say Tawan tried to go on dates, a few of them divine and magical. 

A thing to keep in mind is that the disappearing act is always a part of the magic trick. 

Ayla opens the nightstand drawer to store her earplugs away. 

Tawan turns to her. 

Ayla’s hair is wet, a small towel wrapped around her neck. And she’s wearing eyeglasses. Prescription ones, with thick lenses that make her eyes look more bug-eyed than usual.

“Why didn’t you dry your hair?” Tawan asks.

“I thought the hair dryer might wake you.” Ayla pushes the drawer close, “Bathroom’s free. Do you want coffee?”

“Sure. Thank you.” Tawan says, watching Ayla leave the room.

Later, when Tawan stumbles into the kitchen, with a fresh cup of coffee and toast prepared for her, it reminds her of those few divine and magical dates she had gone on that could never seem to be replicated.

As she peers at Ayla while drinking coffee, Tawan thinks this time she can’t afford a disappearing act. It’s her duty to see through it that Ayla is safe and well. 

Ayla sighs, “I know the glasses are ugly, but they help me see.”

Tawan can’t even be subtle anymore. She clears her throat. “It’s not that.”

“Then, what is it?”

“You look like a bee.” Tawan sputters out, saying the first thing that came to mind.

Ayla chokes a little on the bread she’s munching on. “This is the first time I’m hearing this.”

“But you’ve read it previously?” Tawan taunts.

Ayla carries a piece of toast in her mouth, her cup of coffee in one hand and her phone in the other. “I hate you.” She mumbles around the bread dangling from her teeth.

“Okay, buzz away little honey bee.” Tawan gives a playful wave of her hand as Ayla walks away.

Minutes later, a notification for a message from Ayla’s instagram broadcast channel pops in.

good morning ☀️ sorry for being mia. i’ve been a busy 🐝 these past few days, preparing lots of exciting things. isn’t it so exciting to anticipate? i really like countdowns because it almost feels like time goes slower. don’t be in too much of a hurry, okay? u know what they say slow & steady wins the race 🐢

Tawan, in spite of herself, is pathetically endeared.

*

Because the message from Ayla is still fresh in her mind (Ayla is at the forefront of her mind most days), and mostly, because it feels like the natural outcome of their recent exchange of personal phone numbers, when Tawan’s phone rings, she expects Ayla to be the one calling.

So, when it is her father’s name on her screen, Tawan feels disappointed for the first time. Usually when he calls her, she only really feels annoyed and irritated.

“Hello,” Tawan greets, still respectful as ever.

“I’ll cut to the chase.” He starts, as if cutting to the chase isn’t his usual approach to things. “The dinner later with Ayla’s sponsor brands. Introduce the security company to some of the guys there. All of them are reputable. I know Ayla pays well, but there is no fault in looking to catch a bigger fish in the sea.”

Predictably, annoyance does spike up in her chest at his words. It is always about money with him. 

“I’ll try.” She replies, totally noncommittal.

“Don’t try. Just do it.” He ends the call.

Tawan laughs. That could be an aggressive Nike ad campaign.

Typhoon catches her in that state, being work locker neighbors and all. He’s already suited up for the sponsorship dinner this evening.

“Who’s got you laughing like that?” He’s looking at her like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

“My dad.”

“Oh. Your dad, a comedian. And you laughing at his silly jokes.” Typhoon opens his locker to store a small work bag. “It must be the end of the world.”

No. Not quite. What’s the hurry?

“Hey, does Twitter say Ayla looks like a bee?” Tawan asks, hoping it doesn’t sound like a completely strange change of topic. Darn Ayla for telling her about only child behaviors.

“I’m not too sure. But she’s been compared to all kinds of animals actually. Puppies and cats often. Our little meow meow. Bunny sometimes. Turtles rarely.”

“Huh,” Tawan pauses. So, she could have said any animal and their banter still would have been playful and spotless. “That’s a lot.”

“I’ll get back to you on the bee thing.”

Tawan gives him a pat on the back, “Thank you for your dedication, Typhoon.”

He rides the high of that compliment well into the evening. Tawan overhears him giddily retelling the story to Nana in a hushed voice while they’re seated at dinner. In the back of her mind, Tawan thinks she should definitely give Nana and Typhoon more words of encouragement and praise for being hard at work.

The dinner is a very formal affair. The three of them are sitting at a different table, away from Ayla and Nam, who are busy socializing with the owners and representatives of the brands that Ayla endorses. 

Ayla’s executive producers are talking to a brand representative that could land them a car endorsement.

And Ayla is in a lipstick shade darker than usual, her hair tied neatly in a bun. Tawan can’t keep her eyes off her.

Ayla catches her looking, her attention now split into listening to the conversation she’s engaging in, and trying not to break eye contact.

And Tawan, of course, ends up looking away first, eventually reaching for the flute of champagne. She has always abided by her own personal rule of no drinking while on the job, but they’re in a fancy restaurant with its own airtight security, so Tawan figures if there could be an exception, tonight provides perfect timing for it.

Inevitably her eyes land back on Ayla and Ayla is already (or still?) looking at her. 

Ayla tilts her flute of champagne towards Tawan’s direction, an imaginary clink of their glasses together. Ayla holds eye contact well, as she drinks, as she puts the glass down, as she shoots Tawan a smile.

Tawan reasons the combination of the champagne and that she coincidentally put her hair down tonight to the warmth that she feels rise up to her cheeks.

*

Out of habit, Tawan follows Ayla to the threshold of her condo. 

Ayla pauses, sighing mostly to herself, before bending a little to take off her heels.

Tawan gets to it before anything, kneeling in front of Ayla to unclasp her heels. It’s a more recognizable and obvious mechanism compared to her boots. “Aren’t your feet hurting?”

“It’s fine.” Ayla says then as Tawan straightens back up, follows it with: “Hey, I like your hair like this.”

“You already said that yesterday.” Tawan has to look up at her since she hasn’t removed her heels even after Tawan helped her with the clasps.

“I didn’t think you were paying attention.” Ayla sweeps Tawan’s hair to have it fall behind her shoulder.

“I’m always paying attention.”

Ayla tilts her head at her, a soft smile forming on her lips at the admission. She slowly bridges the gap between them, reaching for Tawan’s face. “Are you really?” Ayla searches her face, both palms resting on Tawan’s jaw and the back of her neck. “So, this wouldn’t be surprising, would it?” 

Ayla is in a lipstick shade darker than usual. That’s the only reason Tawan is staring at her mouth. 

That and that it’s Ayla’s mouth that’s level with her line of sight. 

Okay, so maybe it isn’t the only reason.

Those things and that the charged moment between them is undeniable and inescapable.

But Tawan tries anyway. 

Escape, that is.

“No rain tonight…” Tawan pulls at Ayla’s arms to remove herself from her grasp. “So I’ll be leaving.”

Tawan does not look back.

When Tawan dreams of seeing a reflection of her face and neck covered by lipstick marks in a shade similar to what Ayla was wearing, it’s neither her nor there. At least she managed to sleep at all. That it really didn’t rain at all that night probably also helped get her to sleep without worry.

*

Tawan asks Nana to bring Ayla to their company building. 

It’s supposed to be Ayla’s work-free day. A rarity. But Chanya kicked the operations into high gear, called the shots and asked direct permission from Nam, without consulting Tawan, to have Ayla do self-defense training, which Nam permitted. 

So, now Tawan is the first one at the security office training room waiting for everyone else.

Typhoon walks in with everyone’s usual coffee orders. A consequence of spending too much time together is knowing everyone’s usual coffee orders. Typhoon hands Tawan her coffee. “Finally some real butt kicking. I thought we were going to be glorified chauffeurs forever.”

Forever? They’re not going to be working for Ayla forever.

“No real butts are getting kicked.” Tawan murmurs around her cup, “Unless you’re volunteering yours.”

“No. Thank you.” Typhoon shakes his head. “Anyway, do you know why P’Chanya has us doing this? Should I be worried?”

Tawan puts a hand on his shoulder, “Your job is to worry.”

“No. My job is to guard and protect.”

Right. Right. That’s a good reminder. 

Still, when Nana arrives with Ayla in tow, the idol’s eyes puffy like she cried herself to sleep, Tawan worries both like it’s her job and stupidly like she isn’t the reason for those tears.

Tawan has no choice but to face the day, all business as usual, and avoiding Ayla as much as she can.

Ayla seems to get the message by lunch time, choosing to sit with Nana. Nana sends questioning glances towards Tawan, obviously picking up on the strange atmosphere between them. 

Typhoon joins Tawan at her table, oblivious to the matter. His obliviousness indicates, to Tawan at least, that all is right in the world once again.

Their security office has a cafeteria that mostly has a table for only two because of their buddy system, to establish a partnership that trusts and looks after one another. Tawan had Mek when she started out. Typhoon and Nana have each other. A bodyguard also needs someone to look after them. It’s simple, not entirely foolproof, but it works. It gives them more sense of security, no pun intended.

The other guards in the cafeteria are shocked when they register that Ayla is in their humble building, eating their same mostly passable cafeteria food.

The whispering gets louder and louder as more people filter in, and Tawan takes that as their indication to return to training.

Tawan’s area of expertise is firearms. 

But because she’s been avoiding Ayla, she let Nana take over that part of training this morning in the shooting range. Ayla is a good shot, has good aim in a controlled environment. Technically, they’re only teaching her how to use a gun. In case, a situation arises. 

Realistically, the three of them are there to prevent it from occurring.

It is because she’s been avoiding Ayla that now she has to teach her actual self-defense training. Not with tools, or weapons. Actual hand-to-hand. Nana and Typhoon have been called to her father’s office, buddy system in full force. Tawan doesn’t even realize the man still makes his way to this building.

Ayla seems to take mercy on her, having accepted Tawan’s avoidance without resistance. The shift in their dynamic is evident, all professional, without room for personal questions or silly exchanges.

Tawan is a serious teacher. It’s an opportunity to present herself as such.

She explains the self-defense strategies one by one. First, the purely theoretical ones. Trust one’s instincts. Exude confidence. But at the same time, be relaxed. Don’t fall into panic. Have an awareness of the surroundings. Don’t give an indication of fighting back or defending oneself. The element of surprise is also a weapon.

When Ayla is being taught the heel-palm strike, with Tawan as her stand-in assailant, Ayla chooses to perform an eye strike instead utilizing the element of surprise. Ayla ends up scratching Tawan’s cheek in the process.

Ayla gasps out, cradling Tawan’s face in her hands. “I’m sorry.”

Tawan feels it sting. Still, it can’t be nothing more than a small cut.

“You’re learning.” 

Tawan is proud.

The concern doesn’t leave Ayla’s face though, so Tawan pulls away, removing herself from her grasp, and ultimately from that moment. The one where Ayla cares and worries.

Later, Tawan shakes her head as she puts an antiseptic cream on her wound. Only a small cut. Ayla shouldn’t care or worry. Tawan is nobody, nothing more than her bodyguard.

*

Typhoon accompanies Ayla home. With a prompt and concise message sent to their group chat using only emojis. 📍🏡

Nothing else to report? Nana sends almost instantly.

Tawan waits in bated breath.

Don’t  🐝  jealous. We  🛑 by a shop and got 🍦 and 🍪, Typhoon replies.

That’s annoying. Tawan types. Both the way he’s typing and that he got ice cream and cookies. Tawan never got ice cream and cookies.

Sorry… she always gets real quiet right? IDK. She just seemed sad. Something must have been weighing down on her lately… esp w the upcoming album release. Let’s go easy on Ayla pls 🙏

Tawan stares at the message for a while. She knew every single point from Typhoon’s message, some things even more deeply than his vague understanding.

He sends another message, but Tawan’s screen dies just as she is about to read it. She unlocks her phone.

P’Tawan. Ayla says she’s sorry, by the way 🩹

I never knew there’s a bandaid emoji, Chanya replies to the group chat for the first time in a while.

Nana and Typhoon both ask her how she is, and they flood the chat with stories and pictures of Chanya’s pet cat. Bilko. A male calico.

Tawan scrolls back up, their new messages automatically pushing Typhoon’s message away. She looks at it for so long, resting a finger on her phone screen to prevent it from dying. Tawan feels like crying.

*

Ayla arrives in the recording studio, phone in hand looking to be typing a long message. She’s dressed well for a recording session, clad in designer clothes that look straight out of a display mannequin. She’s going to be re-recording vocals for a song she recorded a year ago that is now hastily being put in the tracklist for her next album as a final track.

Her next album which has now been moved up the release schedule of the music label. Only a full week earlier than Pete’s. Tawan has heard all the tracks for the album, and it’s good. Ayla is good, but there’s a narrative within that release schedule, Ayla first then Pete, that has Tawan feeling some type of way. 

In a competition, the first contestant is always at a disadvantage.

“Why is she dressed like that?” Tawan asks Nana when Ayla has entered the recording booth.

“Interview with Sky Magazine this afternoon. They’re going to take a few photos alongside it.” Nana answers.

With Nam supplementing, “The release of the interview will parallel the album announcement.”

Tawan nods, wondering if the upcoming album release is the reason Nam has been giving permission to all of Chanya’s demands. Ayla will soon have to do a lot of public events for the album promotion.

Nam leaves the recording studio as soon as she sees Ayla properly settle into the booth, saying she needs to coordinate with the magazine team for the shoot later. Typhoon waves her away half respectfully and half dismissively, as she whispers a request to: “Take care of Ayla,” like they haven’t been expert care takers.

Glorified drivers. Expert care takers. Headstrong internet defenders.

Tawan eventually had read through updates of Bilko in their group chat (he’s healthy and well) when suddenly the conversation shifted to Nana’s admission of fighting online trolls to defend Ayla’s honor. The only thread to those two topics being that one hater has a cat as its display photo. Anonymous hateful accounts hiding behind cute cat photos are the worst apparently.

It’s all good. It’s good that they haven’t needed to do any real bodyguard duties. And Tawan doesn’t mean barricading a huge crowd of fans, although they haven’t done that either. 

It’s good if they never have to.

Typhoon focuses intently on the recording session. When the producers and the engineer play the previous year’s recording of the song from start to end, Typhoon begins tearing up.

Usually they hear the full song at the end of the day, some unrefined version of it. For the first time, they’re hearing an already completed song that can apparently be made better. 

When Ayla re-records the chorus, line by line, and the producer plays it back through the expensive speakers in the room, Tawan falls into an understanding of why they’re doing the things they’re doing. 

A year is a long time. Ayla has managed to become an even more skilled singer since then. 

Why are they adding a song about goodbyes in the next album? Actually, why were they recording a song about goodbyes for Ayla’s debut album? No wonder it got scrapped.

They finish two verses by lunchtime. Ayla gets pulled from recording to retouch her makeup for the photoshoot and interview. Tawan lets Nana and Typhoon hover around that schedule. She decides not to actively avoid Ayla anymore. But the lesser time they spend in each other’s presence, the better.

Ayla returns to the booth after several hours.

When the song takes on a melancholy that turns even the producers into a tearful mess, Tawan turns to Typhoon. “Did something happen?”

“She ate very little.” Typhoon answers. “But other than that, nothing happened at all.”

Tawan whips her head towards Nana for a confirmation.

“The shoot was uneventful.” Nana confirms.

Tawan can’t even listen to the song as they play it back one last time for Ayla as she completes the recording.

Nam arrives just in time to whisk Ayla away for another quick shoot. Every schedule today feels like a last minute addition. 

Nana and Typhoon bookend Ayla’s path towards the next location. Nana in front of her, and Typhoon behind her. Buddy system in full swing. It can work well with the two of them alone. Nana and Typhoon as the muscle, the arms, the legs. With Chanya as their hidden weapon. The brain, the eyes, the ears. 

The operation can work well without Tawan.

But Nam asks Tawan to discuss the possible change in protocol once Ayla steps foot on an actual public stage once again, reminding Tawan that she is the head, the mouth, the torso.

*

Typhoon stumbles upon Tawan in the hallway on his way to the toilet, and her on her way back from the music label’s head offices after a meeting with Nam, when he defensively tells her that he isn’t abandoning his post and that there’s no need to worry because Ayla is with Nana. 

So, when Tawan sees Nana in a conference room by herself, with a casual mention of: “I thought Ayla’s with you,” as she peeks inside, that has Nana absolutely stunned, her reaction in turn has Tawan absolutely worried.

Nana swallows, “She said she wants to be alone for a bit.”

Tawan rolls her eyes. “You yield into her demands too much.”

“No, I think—”

“I think you don’t report everything to the team.” Tawan interjects strongly.

It’s several unreported things. Ploy. Ploy’s daily visits. Ayla’s fear of thunder. 

A glint of recognition passes Nana’s expression very briefly, before looking down, apologetic. “That was….”

“I don’t wanna hear it.” Tawan tries to say it as kindly as she can. “Please just tell me that you know where Ayla is.”

“Rooftop.”

Tawan heads straight to the elevators at her answer.

Upon reaching the rooftop landing, Tawan receives a message from Nana.

Sorry P’Tawan, she begged me not to tell you. I couldn’t say no. It’s alright if you can’t forgive me. Just don’t lash out on Ayla. She didn’t do anything wrong.

She breathes out. What is it with people telling her they’re sorry lately? Of course, she knows Ayla didn’t do anything wrong.

Arriving at the rooftop, her first thought is that the material of the floor makes her footsteps echo loudly. And that even at the sound of her approaching footsteps, alerting Ayla of another person’s presence on the rooftop, the singer remains unmoving, arms crossed, eyes fixed at the Bangkok skyline.

“Ayla,” Tawan calls out.

“You can leave. I want to be alone.” Ayla doesn’t spare a glance in her direction.

Nana did say that.

“I’m worried about you.”

That gets Ayla to turn to her. In tears. 

“Do you really have no idea how I feel about you? Or do you simply refuse to acknowledge it? If you ignore everything, do you think it’ll go away? You want it to go away, right? But from the first day that we met…. I’ve loved you… for a long time now. Even though you’re choosing to avoid my feelings and run away from yours. And it’s… it’s that choice that hurts me. Because I feel it too. That you feel something for me, but if you plan to act one way then retreat when it becomes too much, too big, too real then yeah, maybe it’s better that you don’t feel anything for me at all. It might be less hurtful if you can make that choice instead. If that even is a choice you can make.”

Tawan doesn’t know exactly what to say to that. Ayla isn’t wrong by any means. She’s mostly correct, if anything. Astute observations all around. Tawan is proud. It’s precisely that kind of observational skills that they wanted her to develop. Tawan didn’t realize Ayla would be zeroing it on her own bodyguard.

Tawan wants to make excuses. That running isn’t a choice. It’s a reflex. The way a hand retracts from flame. Not needing brain processing, just sensing a flash of danger or pain, and retreating for safety. 

Ayla feels like danger, sometimes. Ayla is everything that scares Tawan.

The curve of her body when she dances. Her ragged breaths after a particularly tiring dance practice. Her eyes flickering intensely with passion as she watches a playback of a performance. Her vanilla scented perfume that leaves a trail even after she’s left a room. A soft smile, reserved only for private moments as few and far and in between as they are, when a barely visible but present singular dimple makes a dent on her soft cheek. Or an even softer hum of her unreleased songs under her breath when she’s entirely too focused at a task at hand, uncaring about the rest of the world. 

It all signals danger. At the same time, it signals safety, too. That Ayla is unharmed. She’s safe. But safety is also just another signal for danger that’s yet to come.

And Tawan wants to run.

But Ayla beats her to it.

She turns away, a resignation in her voice. “Please leave. I want to be alone.”

Tawan catches her arm, twisting Ayla back to face her. 

“Please.” Ayla begs, trying to untangle herself from Tawan’s grasp. “Typhoon will take me home, and Nana will bring me back to the company building tomorrow, and you don’t have to be involved in any other capacity than what is strictly professional.”

Her heart aches at that request. It feels so final. 

Ayla finally draws the line between them. One Tawan can’t cross. Not especially if she flees.

And Tawan can escape. Everything, her responsibilities, her… no, not hers, Ayla isn’t hers. It would be easy to leave. Ayla’s already mercifully giving her the chance to. Abandon everything. Abort mission. But does running mean leaving? Running implies direction. Ayla said it. Tawan is choosing to run away from her own feelings. Away. Not closer, but further away. Far far away. Still, would there be a stretch of land on this godforsaken planet where Ayla wouldn’t be present, not especially since she already seems to take residence in Tawan’s heart.

Where Tawan is, Ayla would be there. 

Can she truly run away from her? She ran that night, and still Ayla chased her in her dreams.

And isn’t it Tawan that ensured they remain close? Closer, surely. Always in the bodyguard’s line of sight. It’s her selfish addition to the contract.

And in the end, she’s been the one still trying to wedge a distance between them, not just physically, in a desperate attempt to conceal and deny everything that’s transpiring between them.

“Please, P’Tawan.” Ayla finally manages to remove Tawan’s grip on her arm.

Tawan remains rooted in her spot. If she lets the moment pass, without saying or doing anything, she’ll lose her forever.

Tawan makes the choice of kissing her instead, fully knowing it isn’t enough of a response to such a vulnerable confession of Ayla’s feelings. Tawan doesn’t know what she can say that would soothe at the ache she caused. She surges forward, instead of retreating back. 

Tawan chooses Ayla. And in choosing Ayla, Tawan is also choosing herself. 

It is Ayla that pulls away this time, at the tentative brush of their lips together. An initial shock taking over her face, and a flicker of hope shining in her eyes at this outcome that seems to have blindsided her.

Tawan has been pondering what this is. Wanting a definite name for it.

Ayla has had the answer for a while, it seems. She said it earlier. It’s love. How is this such a surprising turn of events for her?

“I hope I’m not too late in choosing you.”

Ayla leans in for another kiss as a reply. Tawan glimpses a flash of her smile—the soft one with the cute dimple, reserved for private moments—before their lips touch again. It’s a slow thing. No hurrying. Like it’s Ayla’s way of telling Tawan that it’s not too late. They’re not too late. It’s slow, and warm, and soft. 

Like she’s memorizing every sensation, every sound, every feeling. 

She cups Tawan’s face with both hands, steadying herself and Tawan pulls her closer by the waist.

Eventually when Tawan pulls away, not because she wants to but because she has to, inhaling sharply for air, as she brings Ayla into her arms, Ayla is as good as sagging into their embrace, laughing, overjoyed and relieved at the same time.

“I’m sorry I took so long.” Tawan whispers into her hair, knowing it bears repeating.

*

True enough, Typhoon accompanies Ayla home. Tawan doesn’t intervene, lest he becomes suspicious. And that probably says a lot, that Tawan would not allow even the densest person she knows to have any sort of clue on what just occurred. 

It’s been revelatory.

And like all precious moments, lingering long after it has passed.

Tawan can’t remove the smile from her face, won’t even try to. 

When Typhoon sends a simple 📍🏡 to report their arrival, Tawan messages Ayla instead of asking the team for further updates. 

I miss you, she sends. 

Soon enough, Tawan will have to make another excuse to be the only person assigned to bring Ayla home if this is how she becomes when they are separated even for a brief moment.

Ayla saved her own contact details in Tawan’s phone as simply ‘Ayla,’ unlike the way Tawan has everyone else saved. Full names, or if not full names, sometimes with their company and occupation. Tawan has Nam saved as ‘Nam (Ayla’s manager)’. 

Ayla doesn’t reply. Tawan’s message sitting lonesome on her screen.

Maybe she’s having dinner. Tawan should get something to eat as well. 

Tawan buys padkra pao from the small stall near her apartment. The auntie remarking how she hasn’t seen her in a while, and Tawan thinks to indulge her with stories about her work because she’s in a good mood. 

“Do you know Ayla? The idol?” Tawan asks, as the auntie is wrapping her order.

“Of course, I know her. Just because I’m old doesn’t mean I don’t keep up with the times.” The auntie hands her her food and her change. “You work for her?”

“I’m doing my best.”

A smile rips at her face her entire way home at that interaction. 

Her phone rings right as she steps inside.

Ayla’s name might as well sparkle as it appears on her screen.

Tawan answers it instantly. “You’re calling,” She says as a greeting, not bothering to hide how happy this makes her.

“I can’t call?” There’s a smile to Ayla’s question too. Her voice sounds sweeter on the phone.

“Of course you can.” Tawan quickly removes her shoes, zooming through her apartment to put her food on the dining table, needing her hands to be free for this call somehow. “But you’ve had my number for a while and you never called. This is our first phone call.”

“You could have called me.”

That’s true.

“I didn’t have anything to say.”

“You just sent me a text message.” Ayla points out.

“I didn’t have anything more to say.” Tawan admits. Any sentiment that is more than missing her feels like an enormous leap. 

“I wanna hear you say it.” She says it so softly, it almost feels like begging, except it isn’t even really a request. Just another confession of want.

“Say what?”

Ayla exhales, “That you miss me.”

“I miss you.”

“We were just together.” Ayla must be smirking, a cocky cadence that’s hard to miss.

“So? I miss you.” Tawan repeats.

“Not enough to call me.” Ayla counters.

“Hearing your voice makes me miss you more.” 

“That’s a lousy excuse.”

Tawan did mostly say it as an excuse, but after having said it, the words feel correct. Like if Ayla’s song was the one playing in the auntie’s stall’s radio earlier, Tawan would burst with pride and at the same time, maybe she would have ended up the one initiating this phone call.

“Can I stay over tomorrow?” Tawan asks. 

“You never asked permission before.”

That’s true too.

“It’s different now.” Tawan looks out her window. Everything is the same. Like on the rooftop earlier. The world beneath them is absolutely unchanged. Only the thing between them, running at full speed, becoming something else entirely.

“How?” Ayla keeps trying to bait her.

“You know how.”

It’s a shared experience, isn’t it? Doesn’t Ayla feel the same?

“I called so I can hear you say the things I wanna hear, you know.” Ayla says, like an impatient child that hasn’t yet been given what she wants.

“What else do you want to hear from me?” Tawan asks, as directly as it can be.

“Nevermind,” Ayla gives up, going with her usual send off. “See you tomorrow.”

The call ends even before Tawan can say goodbye.

Chanya’s call comes in not a second later. 

Tawan answers immediately, pushing down the bad feeling rising from her chest. Chanya never calls unless it’s absolutely important.

“Hey, is everything alr—”

“Ayla’s in trouble.”

Not even a bomb with 10 seconds left on its clock gets Chanya rattled, but panic streaks Chanya’s voice for what Tawan recognizes is the first time. 

Tawan can only feel her heart sink to the floor.

Chapter Text

Death, of course, has been a quiet friend. Knocking on her door for quite a while now. It is a friendship she has come to accept. Death would come inevitably anyway. What good would come out of resisting? 

It introduced itself to her as a child, eventually lurking in the shadows of her teenage life, so it should be good enough that death has allowed her to, at least, reach adulthood, and experience adulthood for a short while. 

Death is a considerate friend all along.

The first funeral she attended had been for her grandmother. Her father’s mother. It had probably not been as eye opening as it was supposed to be. Murmurs of ‘How unfortunate, when she is still so young,’ had echoed in her young brain and she just couldn’t reconcile that old lady — slow, weak, and sickly as she knew her — was being described as young in that moment.

Little does she know, everyone is young at the face of death. 65, and still too young to be dying. What more is 45? Ayla could have one more year just to complete the pattern.

In a funeral, not only are the dead young. A lot of who they leave behind, of course, are younger. Her father, for example, standing in front of the casket, looked like a boy again somehow.

Even as a child Ayla knew how rarely tears came to him, knew how that would be the only occasion he permitted himself to be weak. To be a child again. He was a son that lost his mother after all.

It had been a curse inflicted on their family perhaps. That they can’t grow old. For her father eventually never had another chance at showing another point of weakness. 

Death is not a weakness. 

Death is acceptance. 

A final resting place. 

A friend.

It was her senior year of high school when it happened. It was raining. Ayla can hardly remember their faces anymore, but she remembers the sound of their booming voice, their mocking laughter, and the thunder that drowned both. 

She remembers falling, and mostly she remembers being saved.

A hand held out, holding an umbrella over her despite already being absolutely drenched. Still, it felt like being saved. But her savior had been unable to save her father. Had Ayla herself not needed saving would he be alive today? 

Ayla doomed Tawan to fail and it cost her her father’s life.

A week after his funeral, she had been asked to return to school. Go back like her world had not been turned upside down. A week was the longest the school could give. A week to mourn her father. 

It had been imperative she finish her final year of high school, so she did. 

The world carries on like usual, so she does, as well.

Then, the bomb threat is a reminder. Only supposed to be a threat, she made sure of it. But strangely it felt close to reality. A knock on her door. The scary part was that Ayla almost welcomed it. And in that acceptance came the real threat to her life.

Death is an ever persistent friend.

And if she was going to die, she might as well have Tawan by her side before it happens. 

And Tawan was… by her side, and Ayla had failed to consider how that could hurt both of them in the end. 

For Tawan, Ayla would be another failed mission after all.

There’s probably always an innate greed in people. 

In the actual face of death, Ayla wants more time. 

Lately, it seems that’s all she keeps asking for. One last birthday. The last chance to see all her friends, the chance to have her mother’s work finally be recognized. One last album. One last kiss. A final goodbye.

It was fun. Her last days that only Ayla knew about. 

When she dies, she imagines the regret that would follow. 

How Sprite, or Khaotu, or Khongkwan, or Jane, or May or Fern or Noey might have thought to prepare a more extravagant birthday party. That had been the last one after all. 

Ayla wonders if she ever relayed it to them properly. How fun it was being kids together, how much she loved being their friend, how much she loved all of them, how she wished her leaving wouldn’t hurt them so much.

It was Sprite who told her when her father died to simply think of it like he left for a really long vacation. Ayla hopes Sprite remembers and puts that into practice.

But Fon had already died when Ayla came into the picture, and still the banner bears Fon’s name every year. Her friends had plenty of practice for the following years. And one day sure enough they can laugh about their dead friend over dinner, too.

And her mother… who stayed strong and pulled herself together for her daughters during her husband’s death, and even more so after it. That event that became a landmark for her life. Ploy, whose life became divided into before and after the death of her beloved husband.

How Ayla wishes there was a way for it not to hurt her mother, but it has to hurt, the way it did when Ploy lost the father of her children, the way it will eventually come to pass as well. Only an after. Ploy is strong. Ayla has evidence to believe that she is. Yam will be there, standing by her side through it all. Her family, full of headstrong and brilliant girls that they are.

The album is a goodbye to her fans. A final gift. But also maybe selfishly a way to crystallize herself forever at her most beautiful. Ayla will be frozen forever at 24 years old. Both young and the oldest Ayla can ever be.

Not even old enough for a quarter life crisis, she thinks bitterly.

(And just a year short to complete the cool 20-year age pattern of deaths in their family. Could’ve been an interesting conspiracy theory. Sorry Amma, and Papa.)

Her label will release the album posthumously, right? They have to. Not even to honor Ayla’s passing. They know how much people will want to hear it and they’ll want to capitalize on it fully. The dead can’t demand a higher cut of the profit.

And the album had also been for Tawan.

Ayla can’t say everything she wants to say to her. Not to her face, not without arousing suspicion. More importantly, Ayla just couldn’t bear to imagine any particular response. Rejection and acceptance sitting at the same table of terrible outcomes.

But there was a rushed confession, the boiling point of her frustration with everything, with things not going her way, with the way Tawan refuses to acknowledge the feelings simmering between them. But there was also a kiss. Their first. The eventual surrender. The first also being the last.

Typhoon had sent her home for the last time. Ayla didn’t really want anyone to bear that regret. Typhoon will blame himself. But it isn’t his fault at all. 

Ayla herself lived through the cycle of what-ifs. What if she had just gone home and waited for her dad there? What if she hadn’t helped her teacher that day? Or, what if she just ran faster? Screamed louder? What if she had died instead? What if she wasn’t born at all on that day? Then, would any of it have made a difference? How about if she wasn’t born at all?

But all the questions are pointless.

Sometimes, people just die. 

For no real purpose, or reason. 

Sometimes, people just die.

Ayla had told herself she wouldn't cry. There’s no real use crying. She had already cried confessing her supposedly locked away feelings, and had already tried to reason with herself that saying it once is good enough. 

What can she bring to the grave with her? Secrets? Good. Ayla will be buried together with her secrets. 

Nam shows her her phone screen. With a notification of a message from Tawan.

I miss you, it reads.

“Your girlfriend will be missing you for a long time.” It’s not taunting. Nam sounds almost sad.

Ayla scoffs, helpless to stop the tears from streaming down her face. Tawan isn’t even her girlfriend. They haven’t and won’t reach a point where they can discuss specifics.

Still, there’s probably always an innate greed in people. Finally in the face of death, Ayla really wants more time. 

Nam crouches down in front of her to wipe her tears, eventually putting her phone to her ear. 

Ayla is held captive somewhere, seated on the ground, her hands tied behind her back, but Nam allows her a proper final farewell. Ayla knew she liked her for a reason. Ayla could have continued to turn a blind eye to Nam stealing a good portion of her money behind her back had she also not been actively trying to kill her.

Why is she even killing her moneymaker? It’s so fucking dumb. This kidnapping situation could be a contract negotiation honestly.

“You’re calling,” Tawan answers the call almost immediately.

Well, technically Nam was the one that dialed.

“I can’t call?” Ayla replies, Nam’s ears perking up at that.

“Of course you can. But you’ve had my number for a while and you never called. This is our first phone call.”

Regrettably, also our last, Ayla thinks. But instead says, “You could have called me.”

“I didn’t have anything to say.” Tawan replies.

“You just sent me a text message.” Ayla points out. 

It’s what led to being in this call in the first place. Like this is a game show, and she can phone a friend to be able to answer the question worth the grand prize. With Nam being generous enough to give her a lifeline. Is that why they called it that?

Except nothing’s really on the line. No prizes nor losses. Her life already gambled away long before this call.

“I didn’t have anything more to say.” 

Ayla chews at her lip. Tawan will regret saying that. There’s always something more to say.

“I wanna hear you say it.” Ayla urges.

“Say what?”

Ayla exhales, “That you miss me.”

Nam purposely looks away, the most she can offer to remove herself from this situation. To allow Ayla a bit of a private moment. Nam is kind, always has been, and it’s such a nice gesture that Ayla wishes the situation isn’t like this. That Nam isn’t lying and stealing from her. 

“I miss you.” Tawan says it with a reverence that squeezes at Ayla’s heart. Nam is right. Tawan will be missing her for a long time. That’s all Tawan can do after.

“We were just together,” is the only consolation Ayla can offer. My last precious moment is spent with you, she means.

“So? I miss you.”

“Not enough to call me.” Please call out to me after I’m gone, Ayla wishes to say.

“Hearing your voice makes me miss you more.” 

“That’s a lousy excuse.” Ayla ends up saying, because it’s the truth. And if so, what would happen when Tawan can no longer hear Ayla’s voice? 

“Can I stay over tomorrow?” Tawan asks. 

The existence of tomorrow is such a nice thought. 

“You never asked permission before.” 

Don’t stay. Don’t linger. Live well after I’m gone.

“It’s different now.” Tawan says. 

It will be different.

“How?” Ayla asks, thinking of the small chance Tawan will say she loves her. Would Ayla be so lucky? 

“You know how.” Tawan answers.

A smile blooms at Ayla’s face. Of course, she knows. But it would be nice to hear. Ayla should have known she isn’t very lucky in this lifetime.

“I called so I can hear you say the things I wanna hear, you know.” Ayla says impatiently as Nam taps at her knees repeatedly, impatiently. Hurry up, it means.

“What else do you want to hear from me?” Tawan asks directly now.

“Nevermind,” Ayla gives up, going with her usual send off out of habit. “See you tomorrow.” 

The existence of tomorrow is such a nice thought. 

Nam abruptly ends the call but she sees to it that Ayla manages to completely say everything until the end. That Tawan gets to hear everything.

“Thank you.” Ayla whispers to Nam, just as death enters the door.

*

Ayla’s father always used to be the most important person of any room he was in. 

Ayla is familiar with the kind of power that makes everyone else feel small and unimportant, mostly through him, and then in her own professional career through snobby know-it-all executives that run the business like they always did, allowing no room for change.

The music label apparently needs a new face, a new voice, a new big name. 

Pete had always been their front runner for the race. He is, first and foremost, a man. That’s the only advantage he has going for him. Ayla is more skilled and better in every way. And Pete knows it, too. 

But no matter how new, and modern and progressive they say they are becoming, what the music label really needs is a new boy. DEM’s Golden Boy has always been the tagline. Generation after generation. Always has been and always will be.

Ayla had been foolish enough to think she’s part of the race, thinking the two of them are the winning horses to bet on. She learned the hard way that the race is only a formality. The winner has already been decided long before the whistle is blown.

Is it not enough that Pete wins? Pete has already won.

Someone should have warned her that being held hostage can inflate someone’s ego. She’s powerless, without any means of escape, and maybe with only a few hours left in this godforsaken world. 

But why does Ayla feel like the most important person in this room?

Given, there are presently, not including Ayla, only two other people in the room.

Nam and a new music executive from DEM whose name escapes her. He’s not even important enough for her to remember.

That makes her laugh. Loudly. Genuinely. What does she have to be scared of now?

“Will you shut the fuck up?” He shouts.

Nam stills at his booming voice.

“Sorry, it’s just…. What's your name again?” Ayla asks candidly like they aren’t in some abandoned warehouse kidnapping situation that would ultimately have her murdered at the end.

She continues rambling, since it looks to be grating at his ears.

“You were at Pete’s party, right? Gosh, I really wish I could remember your name but I was so wasted that night. Do old losers like you have fun or was the party just an excuse for you to ogle and pounce at the next female idol in the roster? Do you like them young and underage? Everyone knows the story about Khun Mark. How he’s been preying on teenage girls that—”

A gun is fired.

To the sky.

“Shut the fuck up.” 

It is no longer a question. It has never been a question. Ayla wishes it were a question. One she can give an answer to. One that demands her answer.

It only works for a short while before Ayla runs her mouth again. What use is it to keep her here anyway?

“So, what’s the plan? Did neither of you prepare an evil monologue? I kinda wanna hear what you guys have prepared after this whole hostage situation.”

The old man looks at her angrily.

“I think killing me would make me more likable actually. Dying young really sways public perception, you know. And we all know the music label heads would release my album after I’m gone. That would seal the deal. They might even give me a posthumous award. Nothing like a pity party for a dead girl.”

“You really are a self-centered brat.” He says, as he cocks his gun. “But I assure you the world doesn’t revolve around you.”

“No way! I’m pretty sure the world revolves around me actually. Isn’t there already an ongoing search and rescue?”

There has to be. But it’s fine if they can’t make it to her in time.

But then he says, “And have you paused to consider that that’s the whole point?”

He circles around her. Ayla has her eyes on the floor. 

It can’t be. It can’t possibly be.

“Not everything is about you.” He barks out.

“What do you mean?” 

“Come on, Ayla. Who would drop everything and come to your rescue?”

Ayla swallows, eventually smirking. See, but that still makes her the most important person in this room. Using her as bait to get Tawan. Ayla prays that Tawan doesn’t make it in time.

“I have unfinished business with your beloved personal bodyguard.” 

I have unfinished business with her, too, Ayla thinks.

In the end, she’s the one putting her again in the crosshairs of danger.

Ayla wishes there is a way for her to save Tawan. If it could be the only way she could repay Tawan for doing exactly that for her many years ago. And now that she knows that the gun would be pointed at Tawan, Ayla would be willing to catch a bullet for her.

Only a small sacrifice. 

It would be for the good of mankind.

And the thing is, Tawan wouldn’t even let that happen if she knew.

“She’s a bit too good at her job, isn’t she? So, I’m sure she’ll be here soon enough.” He makes sure to add, when Ayla is left speechless at the revelation.

Chapter Text

The psychiatrist told her the same thing before. It definitely requires reiteration now. That her traumatic experiences have a way of leaving the brain, wiping it clean from her memory as a mechanism of self-protection. 

But the body and its senses have a way of remembering. It catches up to her in the most unexpected moments.

Ayla recognizes being in a hospital bed when she wakes. The ceiling greets her as she peels her eyes open. Ayla is usually not one to sleep on her back. She’s a side sleeper, a bolster pillow her childhood prized possession that only recently found scarcity of use.

The hospital smells too sterile, but when she stirs in bed, the door also bursts open carrying with it the aroma of coffee. Typhoon always bring them coffee. When Ayla sits up, it is her mother’s presence that greets her instead.

Ploy glances at her wrist watch, “You were asleep for 16 hours.”

Asleep. She was just… sleeping.

Only when her mother places the coffee on the sliding table that Ayla notices that they’re not alone.

Tawan is in another hospital bed beside hers. Also sleeping soundly. Sleeping. The steady rise and fall of her chest, an indication. 

“She woke up earlier than you.” Ploys says when she notices where Ayla is staring. “She was immediately looking for you. They couldn’t get her to calm down even after they said you were fine. So I told them to transfer her bed next to yours.”

Her mother adjusts her bed to have it incline a little, opening her arms out for a hug soon after.

“Thank you, Mama.” Ayla says as she leans into her mother’s warmth, her voice hoarse without recent use.

Ploy combs her hair down, not letting her out of her embrace. “She woke up a few more times then she would look over and when she sees you breathing, she returns to sleep.”

Ayla knows what her mother means. She’s saying ‘I’ve been the same,’ so Ayla holds her tighter. “I’m so sorry, Mama.”

“You should apologize to Tawan, too.” Ploy pulls away, looking at Ayla straight in the eyes now. “You don’t do that to the people that love you.”

Tawan loves her. She knows that. She also hears the implied, ‘You don’t do that to the people you claim to love.’ 

At that, the dam finally breaks.

*

Then, inevitably the memories from that night return to her little by little. 

When Ayla hovers over Tawan’s sleeping figure, finally seeing her bandaged arm, Ayla remembers the sound of the gun shots. Multiple. How it narrowly missed Tawan’s torso, hitting her arm instead. How she yelped in pain. 

How Ayla wishes Tawan didn’t love her enough to save her. 

It’s amazing how quickly desires transform into regrets. 

Had Ayla not loved Tawan at all, maybe Ayla could have saved her. Then they both didn’t have to be here. At the same time, Ayla cannot imagine a world where she doesn’t fall in love with Tawan.

She remembers their first meeting.

It was her birthday.

Technically, their first meeting where they actually interact.

It was mere coincidence that their homeroom teacher decided to spend the lunch break at the home for the elderly, calling for volunteers and their entire class happily complied, thinking it would be best not to miss out on anything, so they all joined.

The elderly home was near, only a walking distance away, and it had been a fun activity. So fun, that Ayla found herself volunteering again after school hours to bring the remaining boxes of food, and other supplies to the facility. Their homeroom teacher elected to use her car that time, since they were truly only dropping the boxes off.

Tawan helped them load the boxes. It was so trivial, a small smile as she plucked a box from Ayla’s arms and placed it into the trunk of the car.

Ayla had heard some girls in her class fawn over the model-esque bodyguard seen around campus. She had been spotted for a week, but that had been the first time Ayla saw her up close. It wasn’t really love at first sight. She can simply acknowledge an attractive woman’s attractiveness. A crush. That was all it was. A juvenile crush. That had her heart hammering in her chest when Tawan breezed down the hallways. That had her daydreaming about a future that would never come to be.

She had been driven back to campus after having accomplished their task. Ayla remembers telling her teacher that her dad would pick her up that day, which was probably why her teacher hadn’t worried about her at all. 

It was her birthday after all.

But he never arrived.

Her instincts then told her to run. 

So she did. 

Sometimes, Ayla feels like she’s still running.

In-between is a fog. Nothing at all she could go back to. Her mind erased everything. Maybe Tawan remembers. But Ayla won’t take it against her if she doesn’t. It’s not exactly a memory to hold onto and reminisce. 

In that fog emerged her hero, Tawan, who would eventually become her everything. 

Her birthday can no longer be the same since. 

A nightmare that she lives in constant reminder of.

In her waking moment, Ayla looks over at Tawan’s bed instantly, finding it empty. 

With careful steps, she exits out of her room, careful not to wake her mother who is sleeping at the side. At the nurses’ station, they tell her they spotted her bodyguard going in the direction of the nursery. The room at the end of this floor’s long hallway. 

Ayla walks towards where Tawan is, wondering what she should say. 

But ultimately when they stand face-to-face, emerging once again from another fog, this time together, it is Tawan that speaks up first.

“I love you,” It starts as barely as a whisper. Weak. Without force, or conviction.

Tawan looks so small and vulnerable, in a hospital gown, dragging along her IV stand. Ayla hates those things so she insists on having them removed immediately as she arrives at wakefulness.

“I’m sorry for not telling you sooner,” Tawan says, tears falling down her face in surrender. The same way the rain can’t stop itself from pouring. “If this was a test, I know I failed miserably. But I’m willing to prove it to you for the rest of my life if I have to.”

“What are you even saying?” Ayla reaches over to wipe her tears.

“I can’t protect you if you’re on some suicide mission.” Tawan sounds like she’s begging. “I won’t know how to save you if you don’t want to be saved. So many people love you, and need you, and I’m just one among plenty but… but…”

“Look at me,” Ayla stops that train of thought, flashing her a smile, “I’m fine, aren’t I?”

Ayla doesn’t say I only ever wanted to spend my last days with you, or the more painful I think I’m already beyond saving.

“You weren’t waking up,” Tawan points out, tears continuously streaming down her face.

Ayla chuckles. “It’s my mind’s process. I’m sure you were heroic, with your battle scars and everything,” She pokes lightly at the gauze wrapped around Tawan’s arm. “Unfortunately, that just happens so I can come out of traumatic events hardly remembering anything.”

Ploy must have already informed Tawan. This isn’t a first occurrence after all. It makes enough sense when Tawan pivots with, “You’re not denying your suicide mission.” 

“Would you feel better with a lie?” Ayla offers, despite knowing the answer.

“You say you love me then the next hour willingly choose to die. What’s that about?” Tawan sniffles, clearly offended, but also misunderstanding the bigger picture. But when Tawan puts it in that simple sequence, Ayla thinks it does feel awfully unfair.

“I thought if the opportunity came, I won’t resist it.” Ayla feels that can be a succinct explanation to her life. No resistance to anything, swimming where the tides lead her. That’s why she didn’t fight the manipulation even though it was right in front of her face. “Is Nam okay? I thought I’d do her one last favor before I go.”

“She’s been stealing from you.”

Ayla waits but that seems to be all that Tawan knows. Nothing about the music executive.

“Her dad fell into a pretty bad gambling addiction. Nam didn’t have anybody else, and that was… that was the only way I could help her. I thought—” Ayla explains, shaking her head. “I didn’t know why I thought I was helping her.”

And Ayla allowed it all, instead of… 

“Nam saved you, took a bullet for you and everything. She’s admitted here, too. She should be out of the recovery room by now. You can visit her in the morning.” Tawan wipes her cheeks dry, already done crying.

And Ayla allowed the stealing and the lying, instead of saving her. And Nam actually saved her. That’s the bottomline. Isn’t it common courtesy to do the same?

Tawan grabs her hands. Ayla has them closed tightly into fists. She has been wound tightly all her life, and in a swift movement, Tawan slides her hands into hers, lacing their fingers together, unspooling her from the complicated chaos that is her existence.

“This was a test,” Tawan puts on a smile, one that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “And seeing as you failed as well, I suppose you should forgive me for not telling you that I love you sooner.”

“The phone call wasn’t a test for you.” Ayla clarifies. “I was testing my own luck.” For what I thought was the last time, she doesn’t add. 

“And you still haven’t told me that you love me.” Tawan juts her chin out in a challenge.

“I love you.” 

Unlike the first time, desperate and tumbling out of her like an animal running in the wild, Ayla finds no need to chase after a deadline. The countdown will just have to start all over. Like a stopwatch counting the laps. 

Ayla still feels like she’s running. 

One day, she can rest for sure.

“Shall we love each other for a long time?” Tawan offers a compromise.

This isn’t a competition. It’s an occupational disease on Ayla’s part to constantly think of anything as such. Pete is always ahead of her in the race. But if this is a competition, she’s sure to win this time. Ayla has loved Tawan for longer. It isn’t worth saying though, maybe not this particular time. 

So, Ayla nods, conceding. We shall. We shall love each other for a long time. Ayla has no doubts about it. Ayla already has been. Loving her for a long time, that is. It’s Tawan that has to keep up. 

*

Ayla asks to visit Nam alone. It seems only proper that they talk one-on-one.

Tawan detests the idea but she agrees begrudgingly. The hospital is in high security protocol around these parts anyway. Their hospital admission is confidential, under strict non-disclosure agreements. Eventually, she can even see the outcome of being sent home and having an in-house nurse and a doctor on call for a few days. That’s what they did the first time around. 

Twice, in one lifetime. Fuck.

Nam is sitting up, watching the television when Ayla enters her room. Nam immediately reaches for the remote control to turn the volume down as Ayla takes a seat. She’s alone, with no one to take care of her. Nam always takes care of everyone else, but who takes care of her?

“We’ve always wanted a break, didn’t we?” Ayla decides to start light and easy. 

The two of them always wanted a few vacation days, real ones, where their phones aren’t buzzing endlessly. It isn’t the most ideal but they now truly don’t have their phones, collected as evidence for the investigation. It could still count as a win, regardless. 

“I wish it didn’t turn out this way.” Nam is looking at her hands, folded across her lap. “I’m sorry that it did.” 

It isn’t Nam’s fault. Any of this. It’s all purely a matter of circumstances. It’s not her fault she was born into a family that wouldn’t know about their father’s gambling addiction until it’s too late.

“They told me I slept for 16 hours.” Ayla says, “Straight.”

Nam chokes out a laugh, “That’s great. You’ll need it. Remember the last album promos? You’ll be lucky if you get 16 cumulative hours of sleep during launch week.”

Ayla felt the weight of the entire world on her shoulders back then. Her debut album was years in the making. It was everything they ever worked for. Her debut song that she could perform in her sleep for the amount of times she’s had to practice it over and over and over, it felt purely like muscle memory at times. 

Except, Ayla rarely slept at all during the process. One rarely does when they’re chasing after perfection.

“We had fun, though, didn’t we?” Ayla asks, wondering if she was alone in that feeling.

It was such a rush. That newness. Ayla thinks she’s still chasing the high of that first album. 

The novelty of that experience, their strange stroke of luck that got people to anticipate an album release with a singular photograph. Her debut concept photo that broke the internet.

It was lightning in a bottle, she heard people say. 

She might never feel that way ever again.

“We did,” Nam nods slowly, “Then I fucked it all up.”

Ayla can’t refute her words. They’re exactly where they are as a result of the accumulation of their choices. Free will, right? She lets out a bitter laugh, “I contributed, didn’t I?”

“Only because you earned an enormous amount of money that I thought you wouldn’t notice.”

“My accountant noticed. But I didn’t care. I should’ve just told you. Then, we wouldn’t be here.”

Nam doesn’t say anything, fiddling with her hands as the evening news starts on the television.

“We’re on vacation now apparently. They delayed the release of the interview with Sky Magazine, so the album’s pretty much on hold.”

Nam glances over at her for the first time, “Pete still going ahead with his?”

Ayla returns Nam’s conspiratorial smile. They don’t hate Pete’s guts. They dislike that his team uses Ayla for his advantage. Like a leech that sucks them dry. 

“That’s good. Your little stars would have good motivation to one up him.” Nam brings her eyes back to her lap.

Ayla’s little stars. Her fanbase’s nickname. The moon and her stars. They must always go together.

“Do you like the second album?” Ayla asks.

Nam is always present during the listening sessions. She probably isn’t the most objective person to ask, but Ayla wants to know this particular time. 

“I do. It’s good. It’s different. While the first album was flashy and extravagant, this is emotional and vulnerable. The critics might take you more seriously now that you’re singing more straightforward love songs.”

Ayla rolls her eyes, “Who cares what they think.”

“The executives think their validation has merit.”

Speaking of the music label, Ayla asks, “Which manager should I transfer to?”

Nam seems to really consider her answer. “Khun Non. He’s efficient. Nice. Loyal.”

Ayla gives a tight smile. Nam is also plenty loyal herself, she doesn’t say. Ayla asks instead, “And what’s his name? That guy?”

“Khun Golf.” Nam swallows.

“What does he want with P’Tawan?”

“I don’t know the specifics but at the rooftop bar, he kept sneering at her. I think maybe he lost a potential partner because of her or something. He didn’t tell me the specifics. Masked everything as concern so as to not implicate me further.” Nam’s words feel like a gut punch. “But it’s always money with those guys.”

Ayla tears her gaze away from Nam, refusing to admit that they are precisely in this position because of money, too. In the end, they’ve become like those greedy businessmen who lie and cheat and steal. They’ve become precisely like the people they hate.

“Okay. Best to stay out of it. Don’t involve yourself with him anymore.”

Nam glances at her affectionately. Ayla sees a fraction of trust still present between them. Ayla doesn’t know what to do with all of it now.

“But P’Tawan… she doesn’t know anything, right?”

“No. He managed to run away before she could get to him. You passed out, so you were her priority.”

“You won’t tell her, right?”

Nam sneaks a glance at her, “They’ll investigate.”

They’re already investigating. She spent a good part of the day deflecting their questioning for as long as she can. It’s possible she doesn’t remember. It’s completely possible to pass it off as the memory having wiped clean from her mind. Her psychiatrist told the police as much. Nam will just have to be the scapegoat for a bit.

A few label heads and her A&R from DEM already paid her a visit, too. Her psychiatrist told them to give her a few more days of rest.

“I’m not pressing charges against you. The police have no choice but to let it all go. But the company wants you out. Submit a resignation letter. I’ll pull strings on my end so they don’t terminate you, that way your records remain clean.” Ayla lays it all out, before pleading her case. “So, please don’t tell P’Tawan anything.”

Nam gives her a sad smile, “Always trying to delay the inevitable.”

“And you always help me out.”

“Of course,” Nam always does. “I owe you a big one.”

Not just the money bit. The bomb is their first big secret, isn’t it? Nam, a reluctant participant in planting a bomb that would cascade into getting Tawan as her bodyguard. Ayla, the master mind, and Nam, her trusted right hand. Nam, who answered the police questioning nervously, untrained with lying. Except… not really. Not at all. Nam, who could betray her for a larger sum of money. Nam, who protected her still, out of guilt. Out of love, Ayla wants to believe.

The bomb threat that set off a chain of events that had Ayla losing the Rookie of the Year award. The only regretful consequence. But Tawan is worth more than any prize. More than life itself.

“So we’re even.” Ayla stands up to leave.

“Thank you for everything, Fon.” Nam says, and it feels like a goodbye.

“I’m counting on you.” Ayla reminds her, before exiting her room. 

That Fon that Nam knew, that she plucked out of a sea of people, that she scouted right after her high school graduation ceremony. That Fon, grief stricken and crest fallen, and pushing forward without any direction or meaning. That Fon who died when Ayla took form, after shedding the unnecessary pounds off every time she stood on the weighing scale, after practicing a picture perfect smile every day in front of the mirror, after years of training to sing and dance well and confidently on a stage in front of thousands of people.

All the painstaking work of transforming into Ayla, and in one moment, the person who told her to conceal Fon, suddenly brings her to the present day to thank her. 

She should’ve reminded Nam. That Ayla did all the heavy lifting. 

Fon is merely the shell. 

Fon is dead.

When Ayla returns to her room, Tawan is dressed in a light blue button down, and dark denim jeans, no longer hooked to an IV line.

“How did it go?” Tawan asks, when their eyes meet.

Ayla’s unsteady feet bring her to Tawan’s arms, their bodies colliding with such a force that Tawan has her hands on Ayla’s elbows to keep them upright and firmly in place. 

Ayla ends up sobbing on Tawan’s shoulders, as an answer to her question.

Tawan runs her hand on the back of Ayla’s head, down to the length of her hair, resting on the small of her back to soothe her from crying. She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t offer any words to console her, only a silent moment to let everything sink in.

After their long quiet moment, when Ayla finally stands upright, Tawan’s concerned gaze greets Ayla.

“I suppose it’s time to go home?” Ayla asks, to be sure. “Me, as well?”

“Your clothes are in the bathroom. Your mother is already arranging for the driver to pick us up discreetly.”

“All of us?”

“If that’s okay…”

“More than.” Ayla plants a kiss on Tawan’s cheek before proceeding to go for a change of clothes.

Maybe it’ll help her feel more like Ayla again.

*

Sprite, Khaotu and Khongkwan are seated around the kitchen island, munching on snacks when Ayla arrives. Sprite and Khaotu greet her with a crushing hug, the three of them in a close huddle while Khongkwan waits patiently in order for her turn to playfully swat at Ayla’s forehead.

“Where’s Khun Bodyguard?” Khaotu looks around.

“She’s at her apartment to get a few things.”

“So, you bringing a girl home doesn’t mean anything?” Khaotu has a cheeky grin plastered on her face in insinuation.

“A girl,” Ayla laughs in disbelief, “C’mon, she’s my bodyguard. She’s allowed to be anywhere near me.”

“How near? Like living inside your skin?”

Ayla rolls her eyes at that, sensing that the light atmosphere of their conversation to mean that her friends are kept in the dark with regards to the reality of the situation. 

It isn’t an official press release, but publicly the crisis management team has alluded to her having a vacation. Set up a few instagram stories and tweets with the view of the beach or something. She could see how people would assume quickly about such a thing.

Khongkwan confirms her hunch with, “So, why spend your vacation here?”

“Here? With my closest friends? Why wouldn’t I?”

“I heard Mama Ploy’s driving to get Yam from Chiang Mai to come see you.” Sprite adds.

Ayla catches Khongkwan’s jaw clenching a little. “Yeah, back with the whole gang.”

“Your company finally gives you vacation days, and everyone’s coming to see you. Do they plan to work you like a dog after this?” Khongkwan inquires, all serious.

“Gosh. I hope not. I guess they just want me well rested before we kick off album promos.” Ayla purses her lips in thought, pretending along. She can’t ruin these next few days by revealing the actual severity of the situation. “And hey, can’t I want to be with my dearest friends during such a rare opportunity?”

“With your dearest bodyguard, too. Let’s not forget.” Khaotu decides to push further, and when Ayla sees a flash of sullen expression fall on Sprite’s face, Ayla decides to change the topic altogether.

“You guys will stay the entire weekend, right?” Ayla bats her eyelashes at them, “Pretty please?” 

Khongkwan sighs, “There are plenty of unused rooms here.”

Ayla beams into a smile. She brings her friends into an embrace once again, Khongkwan, Sprite and Khaotu and her in a small circle. She squeals and jumps in place. Sprite and Khaotu join in step soon after, with Khongkwan pulling away from their huddle.

“Please leave me out of your tomfoolery,” Khongkwan protests, looking at them one by one, their names spoken like a stern warning. “Khaotu. Sprite. Fon.”

Ayla pouts at her.

“Don’t.” Khongkwan brings a finger up, “You know I can’t resist that face.”

Khaotu’s gaze passes at Sprite briefly before landing on Ayla, clutching at her chest dramatically. “If you could just go a little bit easy on us, please. I’d like to remind you that we were the first people to fall at your feet.”

“That nerd from high school? People weren’t falling at her feet. Least of all, not any of you.” Ayla narrows her eyes at her friends, then wincing internally when her eyes land on Sprite. “Flattery will not get you anywhere.” She continues, so that they’re no longer on the topic.

“Says the girl letting us sleep and eat at her house for the weekend,” Khongkwan replies flatly as she takes a seat, popping a marshmallow from the snack pile in the middle of the kitchen island into her mouth.

Ayla squeals again, circling around the kitchen to hug her mostly unwilling friend in her arms. “You know I love you, right?”

“I know, Fon.” Khongkwan gives Ayla’s hand a squeeze, her touch lingering at the back of Ayla’s hand where a small and inconspicuous mark left from where she was hooked to an IV line remains.

*

Tawan arrives while the group is preparing for dinner.

Khaotu spots her first.

“Your bodyguard’s finally here.” 

Ayla has to turn to see her. Tawan is looking around meticulously.

Sprite asks, “Should we have packed more?”

Tawan drops her bags on the floor, “No. This is for my job.”

She has two huge bags packed.

“Ayla’s your job,” Khaotu points out.

Khongkwan intervenes soon enough, “Fon, be a good host and bring your bodyguard to her room. We’ll wait for you two so we can all start dinner together.”

Ayla guides Tawan to their room. Tawan would want to share a bedroom, wouldn’t she? They shared a hospital bedroom even though Tawan had her own. 

When a framed photograph of Ayla takes Tawan’s attention as soon as she enters, Ayla wonders why she is worried in the first place.

“This is cute.” Tawan holds it up immediately after putting her bags down at a corner.

It’s a photo of her as a baby.

“All babies are cute.”

“That’s debatable.”

Tawan’s eyes begin roaming around the room, placing the picture frame back on its place on the shelf. “So, this is where all the fan gifts end up.”

“Is there a standard procedure that needs to be done or something? This house is on high security protocol all the time.”

“How could I forget?” Tawan turns to Ayla then, taking both of her hands, and tiptoeing to plant a kiss on her forehead.

Ayla cannot fight the smile that tugs at her mouth.

“Anything you wanna add to standard procedure?” Tawan brings their hands up, kissing Ayla’s knuckles.

A thought trickles sneakily into her brain. How could Ayla ever think to give this up so quickly without a fight?

“Nothing?” Tawan flashes a playful smile at her, and Ayla now notices a small bruise on her right cheek. She looks at their hands together and sees the cuts that graze Tawan’s hands.

Ayla’s lips jut out in a pout.

Tawan kisses it away.

“Dinner? Your friends are waiting.”

*

They’re having mookata at the outside table, situated next to the residence’s swimming pool.

They each re-introduce themselves as they find their place around the table.

Tawan looks like she needs to reaffirm in her memory only Khongkwan’s name. That’s fine. Khongkwan is used to such a thing. She’s not as friendly or as conversational as either Sprite or Khaotu. It actually would be in Ayla’s best interest that Khongkwan and Tawan don’t make too many conversations. Khongkwan is probably just as protective as her mother, if not, more. Who knows what she would say.

Khongkwan shows no real interest in Tawan though, in comparison to Tweedle dee and Tweedle dum, who also seem to have left a lasting impression on her bodyguard after only one previous meeting.

Khaotu passes Tawan a tray of meat to place on the grill. Tawan’s gaze connects with Ayla, as she takes it. Ayla simply smiles at her. 

Sprite fills Ayla’s plate with the vegetables they let simmer in the soup, careful not to overcook the cabbage, and then eventually placing the noodles to boil.

“How is it working for Ayla, P’Tawan?” Khaotu asks.

Mookata is indeed a good choice in order to hold proper conversation. The way people have to wait every so often for the food to fully cook in front of them provides a good pause and excuse to make small talk. 

Khaotu is definitely the most knowledgeable in Ayla’s crush on Tawan when they were in high school. It was her way of comforting her after that tragic incident. They all have their different methods. Khaotu with her stories. Sprite with her advice. Khongkwan with space and time.

Khaotu sends a taunting smile towards Ayla’s way during the strangled pause when Tawan is seemingly looking for the correct answer. 

Ayla picks at the vegetables on her plate in order to distract herself from the awkward tension that has arisen because of that one question. It’s not helping that they’re trying to conceal the fact that Ayla was held hostage just a few days ago. Isn’t this close to the feeling of being hostage? It’s definitely an ambush. 

“Uhm,” Tawan looks around the table, “Yeah. We’re good. It’s good.” She croaks.

Ayla separates the vegetables she doesn’t eat, and transfers it over to Sprite’s plate.

That Sprite remains quiet isn’t helpful. Sprite would have cracked a joke by now.

How is that one question turning them into a nervous mess? 

Khongkwan follows her movement, “Do you want some rice? Does anyone want rice?”

She stands even when no one answers. 

Ayla turns to Sprite then, “Do you wanna share?”

Khongkwan nods, and even when Sprite doesn’t say anything, she returns with two small bowls of rice, one for herself and one that she passes along to Ayla, which she places between her and Sprite.

Khongkwan begins eating, picking the already cooked meat slices on the grill that Tawan was dedicated to flipping in order to cook it to perfection, finding something to do with her hands.

Ayla looks at Tawan across her, adding more pork to the grill, her own plate forgotten in front of her. Why does she look so nervous? She’s met Ayla’s friends before.

“Should we go for a night swim? In the spirit of having a sleepover.” Sprite offers a suggestion in between chewing.

The entire group looks at Tawan for her reply.

“You guys go ahead. I can’t. I have a ruptured eardrum. I can’t swim.”

“Oh. Is that right?” Khaotu turns to Khongkwan in question.

Ayla also waits on her response.

“You don’t have a protective ear cover? Or like you actually can’t swim?” Khongkwan asks.

“How do you know about that?” Tawan narrows her eyes at her. Ayla thinks Tawan looks cute.

Khaotu answers for Khongkwan, “She’s our smart friend who went to medical school.”

Khongkwan’s eyes travel from Ayla’s hand to her face. “Still going to school. Medical school is forever. I’m supposed to have the weekend off but I just got a call to report to the hospital tomorrow. They’re understaffed, I guess. They need some lowly interns to write on the charts during rounds.”

Ayla swallows nervously, averting her eyes away from Khongkwan.

Sprite huffs, “You and Fon compete on being the friend we see the least, and the one time we’re together obligation free, you run off.”

“Duty calls.” Khongkwan shifts her gaze to Khaotu then Sprite, “We’ll have a night swim, and P’Tawan can…. hang around, I guess. I’m sure you guys will still have fun even without me here.”

“Are you avoiding Yam?” Khaotu bravely raises her suspicions.

Khongkwan takes the already cooked meat from the grill, appearing unbothered. “Why would I be avoiding Yam?”

Ayla eats her portion on her plate, with Sprite placing a scoop of rice onto Ayla’s plate wordlessly. The two of them bite their tongue even though they have a clue on the probable reason. Khaotu surprisingly lets her off the hook, too.

*

Tawan’s ears turn pink once the robe comes off.

Ayla allows her some measure of mercy by wearing a one-piece swimsuit. And still Tawan’s ears are so obviously pink. Her cheeks are also a little flush. Tawan is seated by the edge of the pool, only her feet dipped into the water, her pants folded above her knees.

Ayla perches on the empty space right next to her, dipping her feet in as well and taking advantage of the rare opportunity that they have the pool only to themselves. 

Thank god her friends are taking their sweet time in getting ready.

“I don’t know why the dinner was weird…” Ayla starts. “I mean, I think I have an idea but it’s not because of you. They like you, I can tell.”

“Am I your girlfriend?” Tawan asks, out of the blue.

“Yes.” Ayla answers quickly. “Or…? Are we not? Do you not want to… be?”

Her heart begins hammering on her chest. Her face must have taken on an expression of panic then, because Tawan is quick to reassure her.

“We are.” Tawan drops a kiss on her shoulder. “In my mind, you’re my girlfriend. That’s why I guess I’m just kind of wondering why you aren’t telling your friends about… us.”

Ayla blinks, taking in the clumsy way the words tumbled out of Tawan. Then she closes her eyes, berating herself for the misstep. 

“Of course, I-I wasn’t thinking. They just… They don’t know about the kidnapping. Maybe they have a slight clue. But if I tell them we’re together, they’re going to ask how and when and why and then I’ll have to talk about that… incident. And it just feels complicated, right now, for me.”

Ayla feels like the best way to go about it is to just tell them individually, instead of announcing it to the group.

Tawan looks down, “You’re not thinking that I returned your feelings just because you were kidnapped, right?”

“No.” Ayla places a hand on Tawan’s knee. “No. You… It was you who kissed me on the rooftop, remember?”

Tawan places her hand on top of Ayla’s. It surprises her that Tawan returns the physical contact, when the only reason they’re having this conversation out in the open and not behind closed doors is because the moment Ayla has changed into her bathing suit, Tawan has set what feels like a minimum of a meter distance between them.

Ayla laughs. “It hastened the process, sure, but wouldn’t you have fallen deeply in love with me sooner or later anyway?”

“Have you ever tried humility?” Tawan laughs, too.

“Do they have that in my size?” 

Ayla can see Tawan’s eyes resist the urge to go below her neckline.

“You are so cute,” She plants a kiss on Tawan’s cheek.

That got Tawan frantically looking around, scanning the pool area. “What if your friends see?”

“You have me convinced. I don’t care anymore. I’ll tell them once they’re here.”

“No. You should… process the incident for however long you need.”

Ayla searches Tawan’s face. Her cute little ears are still pink. Her lips in a slight pout, her eyebrows knit together in worry. Ayla hears footsteps approaching.

Ayla dives into the pool before her friends can sneak up on her and push her in.

“Incoming!” Sprite shouts before hurling a resisting Khaotu into the pool with her. Two bodies hitting the water creating a huge splash that has Khongkwan taking a step back, before settling next to Tawan while handing her a can of beer.

“Thanks.” Tawan says, as she pops it open, chugging the beer immediately if she could use the alcohol as an excuse on why her face is all red.

*

Their time at the pool is foreplay.

Not that Ayla is actively trying to seduce her. She’s just making sure Tawan is comfortable. Whenever Ayla’s eyes land on Tawan, Tawan’s eyes are already on her.

It must be their own version of foreplay. It isn’t the first occurrence of such a thing after all. That would be one of the explanations why there is tension in the air, as Ayla asks Tawan to help her dry her hair once she’s changed into her pajamas. Why Tawan seems to hesitate at first before looking like she’s bracing herself for the slight contact of skin to skin. 

Tawan stands behind her, hair dryer whirring noisily as she dries Ayla’s hair section by section.

Once finished, Tawan sweeps Ayla’s hair to expose the back of her neck, dropping a kiss there, before saying, “All done.”

“All done?” She asks. 

Is this really all it would lead up to?

Tawan puffs her cheeks. “I want to do things properly.”

Ayla nods slowly, looking at Tawan through the mirror as she waits for further clarification.

“Is there an improper way to do lesbian sex?” Ayla blurts out, turning around to face Tawan when the clarification doesn’t seem to exist. “Because I know scissoring is like–”

“I don’t want to hear about it.” Tawan squeaks, promptly stopping that train of thought. 

So, Ayla waits.

Tawan takes a deep breath, then exhales, again looking like she’s bracing for impact. “You’re important to me. This is important to me. And I’ve done this all wrong from the start. So, I want to do things right this time.”

“And, how do you imagine this going properly and correctly?” Ayla emphasizes, because it feels silly. Is there a flowchart to follow?

“Just…” Tawan starts, already surrendering herself to an unsatisfying answer. “Not like this.”

Ayla places her hands on Tawan’s shoulders. “Well, in my opinion, tonight was going into a really sweet and sexy territory. But I won’t take it away from you if you’re aiming for something leaning towards romantic.”

“We haven’t even gone on a date.” Tawan sounds disappointed.

“Pizza night wasn’t a date?”

Tawan pauses to consider her answer. “In hindsight, it… could count as a date.”

“I was flirting with you.”

“I could tell.” 

“So, that was our first date.”

Tawan’s face twists into disappointment.

“Okay, you don’t want that to be our first date.”

“I just want a date where I’m aware we’re on a date as it’s happening.”

“And do you want to be the one planning everything?”

Tawan’s eyes sparkle at the suggestion.

Ayla rolls her eyes at her affectionately, “Okay, I’m obviously saying yes.”

“No.” Tawan whines, “Let me ask you properly then say yes.”

“Fine, fine.” 

Then, Ayla pulls her back to their bedroom, and they take their respective spots in the bed, settling snug under the covers, with Tawan’s front squeezing closely to Ayla’s back, and Tawan draping an arm across Ayla’s figure protectively.

“Thanks for hearing me out,” Tawan murmurs in the smallest voice.

Ayla already has her eyes shut tight. “For you, always.” She whispers back, wrapping Tawan’s arm around her more tightly.

*

Ayla is brushing her teeth in the ensuite when a knock is heard on the door. She spits the toothpaste foam in the sink in a hurry, gargling a bit of water, and wearing her eyeglasses in a haste before facing Khongkwan. 

Ayla chances a brief glance at Tawan’s still sleeping face, the rest of her body covered by the duvet snugly.

Khongkwan tilts her head at her when Ayla emerges from her room, closing the door behind her immediately. 

“You still wear your glasses.”

Ayla looks at Khongkwan’s bag on the floor.

“And you’re leaving.”

“I’m making it a point to say proper goodbyes.”

Khongkwan doesn’t mean anything more with that. Still, a sting latches onto Ayla’s heart. She hooks their arms together. Khongkwan dips a little in place to reach and retrieve her bag from the floor. Ayla guides them to the living room.

“Hey, I hope you know I’m really not avoiding your sister. I would want to stay. For you. For you, I could do anything. It’s just something out of my control this time.”

Ayla understands her fully. “It’s okay if you’re avoiding her though. Why do you think she went all the way to Chiang Mai?”

“To stop being constantly compared to her perfect older sister?” Khongkwan’s lips quirk into a sad smile.

Ayla looks down, seeing the truth in that as well. Not that she’s perfect. But in some ways, Ayla knows she has further incentivized Yam to be away. As far away as possible, comparisons could no longer be made between them. Yam has always been the braver one, the stronger one, to be able to make and commit to that unconventional choice. Ayla wishes more people saw it the way she sees it. 

“I’m sure Yam has her reasons.” Khongkwan ends up saying, when it turns out that Ayla doesn’t have a humorous comeback to undercut the sudden serious turn of their conversation. “The same way you have your reasons for not saying that you were admitted in the hospital.”

Ayla gives her a soft smile, “Nothing really gets past you, huh.”

Khongkwan just stares her down, giving her the chance to explain herself.

“I was kidnapped.”

Her friend’s eyes widen in shock, dropping her bag and giving Ayla a quick appraisal, her mouth hanging open in what Ayla thinks is a hundred different questions running on her mind.

“I… was,” is all Ayla ends up echoing. If she says she's fine, it would upset Khongkwan further.

Khongkwan brings her in a hug.

“What the fuck.” Khongkwan chokes out, in disbelief.

“Yeah. What the fuck.” Ayla laughs weakly. Right. What even is there to say? 

“So that’s why your bodyguard keeps hovering.”

“About that…” Ayla starts, her tone already suggestive of something more.

Khongkwan loosens their hug to look at Ayla’s face. She has a smile returning on her face. Nothing truly gets past her. “Of course.”

“Of course?” Ayla sounds like she’s asking for her blessing, which is ridiculous, but she can’t help it.

“It’s the glasses, I think. I was just reminded that you really liked P’Tawan back in high school. This is what you looked like when you were pining painfully after someone who didn’t even notice you.”

“I was a kid. She wouldn’t have noticed me.”

“So, being older and wiser now, you hire her as your bodyguard to seduce her.”

“I didn’t seduce her.”

“You did. Last night, she couldn’t peel her eyes away from you.”

“Bodyguard duties.”

“She was practically drooling.”

And yet, Tawan proves she has enough self-control for last night’s quote unquote seduction not to lead to anything. Ayla respects her wishes. It’s sweet, if anything. Really. It certainly has her looking forward to what Tawan thinks constitutes a proper date. But when could they find the time to do it?

“It’s good you’re here. I don’t know any better place to stay after a kidnapping.”

“They brought me back here too, the first time.”

Khongkwan ruffles her hair. “Maybe leave out the kidnapping bit when you tell Khaotu and Sprite. Just the knowledge that you finally have a girlfriend will have their heads absolutely spinning.”

Ayla agrees. Both in a good way, and a bad way.

“Speak of the devil.”

Ayla turns to catch Sprite almost retreating in step as she slides into both Ayla’s and Khongkwan’s focus. Ultimately, Sprite approaches Khongkwan with a hug. 

The car has been idling in front of the house.

“Have you said your goodbyes to Khaotu?” Sprite asks, accompanying her outside.

Ayla tries to catch up to walk in step with them.

“Yeah. We had breakfast together.” She answers, hand already on the car door before turning to Ayla. “I have a conference in that hotel near your company building at the end of the month. Let’s grab lunch if you’re available.”

They do have plenty to talk about. Khongkwan always wants the nitty gritty.

“I’ll look into my schedule.”

“Okay. Text me.” Khongkwan drops as a final word, before getting in the car.

She and Sprite watch the car drive away.

“Breakfast?” Sprite turns to her cheerfully. And Ayla wants her to drop the act. But she knows too that sometimes The Act is the only thing that could get them through the storm. 

The two of them just need to talk.

Ayla nods, taking her glasses off, and surrendering to the inevitable.

*

The inevitable ends up having a few extra steps along the way.

The sound of Khaotu and Tawan’s laughter cut through the awkward air between Ayla and Sprite. Tawan expertly flips an omelet in the pan as Sprite and Ayla reach the kitchen, and a toothy grin splits across her face upon seeing Ayla, her eyes turning into crescents in glee.

“Good morning,” She greets happily, a staggering difference between Sprite’s put on cheerfulness earlier.

“Good morning. Khongkwan already left.” Ayla informs the breakfast crew.

“Good. I already fed her, and packed her lunch.” Khaotu becomes the designated mom friend in Khongkwan’s absence, but only mostly because she cooks and feeds them well. The extent of her care and affection shown through the dishes she can serve them. She pours two cups of coffee from the already made pot, sliding it towards Ayla and Sprite. 

Fern would probably be third in line in the mom friend race, but she’s also their friend with the busiest job, working for public office. It would have been good to have her here. Maybe they’d be more diplomatic. Fern would certainly be able to rectify rules, even just for this particularly special weekend. 

A list of don’t’s.

(1) Don’t annoy Tawan

(2) Don’t bring up Yam excessively around Khongkwan

(3) Don’t tease Sprite

But since Fern isn’t here, Khaotu runs around in chaos, doing all the don’t’s.

“What’s with you? Are you not feeling well? You’ve been awfully quiet.” Khaotu eyes Sprite.

Sprite holds Khaotu’s gaze as she takes a long sip from her mug. A sort of telepathic conversation passes between them in that quiet moment, or more like, a challenge, because Khaotu folds her arms across her chest, waiting for Sprite to stop The Act.

Tawan looks at Ayla in another unspoken question, and Ayla shrugs. She doesn’t know what’s happening there either.

It would be nice if they were all telepathic and Ayla can just send brain waves of information from her brain to theirs directly, and they can tell just how terrifying everything is again. 

How terrifying to be the bearer of secrets that would all come spilling out in the end. Ayla is still reckless enough to try. But Khongkwan surely figured one out quickly. 

“I’m good with coffee.” Sprite pours more into her cup in order to fill it again to its fullest. “Thanks. Khaotu. P’Tawan.” She gives them a nod each in acknowledgement. “I think I wanna lounge by the pool actually.”

“I’ll join you,” Ayla brings her own mug.

Tawan raises her brows at that. Khaotu catches the bodyguard’s reaction, and lifts the plates of omelet and toast, elbowing her as she walks past. “It’s you and me then, Khun Bodyguard. Let’s go to the dining area. I have some questions for you.”

Ayla sighs as she overhears that, but lets it go. Khaotu would delight in annoying her, and at most Tawan would be annoyed. 

Sprite is her priority for now.

At least, Sprite seems to welcome the conversation, for when after they’re both settled, seated on the pool chair, and their coffee cups on top of the coaster on the table between them, she asks, “So, how long has that been going on?”

“It’s new.” Ayla avoids using the actual timeline.

Sprite lets out an unconvincing laugh after a while, “Wow, you finally got the girl in the end.”

“Only needed a bomb threat to get her to finally see me.” Ayla settles with a half-truth.

Sprite surprisingly plays along. “Hey, don’t forget what really started it all.”

Ayla considers that. “That’s weird, right? That I fell in love because of that.”

“I mean, there are people who fall in love for less.” 

A beat. Ayla chews her lip. “I’m—”

“You’re sorry. I’ve heard that before. But it’s really not your fault you don’t feel the same for me.”

“I wish—”

Sprite scoffs, cutting her off. “You don’t really mean that.” 

“Don’t read my mind.” Ayla complains a bit too strongly.

“I can’t. I just know what you’re going to say.”

Predictability is a product of their many years of friendship. An easy recognition of tells, of bluffs, and of likes and dislikes after years and years of keeping everything in memory, even the smallest thing sacred. And in remembering, the smallest things could transform into a great big thing.

“It’s always easy with you. That’s why I love you.” Sprite sighs, “Though I suppose it’s because it’s the two of us that’s why…. It has to be like this.”

Ayla doesn’t agree. It hasn’t always been easy. It took work to get to a place where the two of them are comfortable with each other again, no longer walking on eggshells around a love that meant a vastly different thing to the next person.

“What’s with the two of us?” Ayla turns to her then.

Sprite returns her gaze. “We’re firm believers that first love never dies.”

They truly are so predictable.

“So, as my first love, you can’t die.” Sprite faces forward, eyes now on the blue of the water in the pool. “Promise me no more bomb scare or anything like that.”

Ayla looks straight ahead, as well, afraid guilt would show on her face. “Tawan won’t let it happen.”

“Don’t outsmart her too much. You, of all people, should know how foolish people become when they’re in love.” Sprite subtly tries to point towards Tawan, who is making her way towards the shrubs near the other end of the swimming pool, trying as hard as she can to look like she’s interested in the plants instead of the two people lounging by the area. “You might have some explaining to do to your girlfriend.”

“I don’t think it’s necessary.” Ayla lowers her voice. She watches Tawan indeed make a fool of herself, choosing to inspect a leaf randomly.

“Might cause a misunderstanding though. Don’t I look like I can pose as a formidable competitor for your heart?”

Sprite delivers it jokingly so Ayla laughs easily. The sound of her crisp laughter brings Tawan’s attention squarely on the two of them. She doesn’t give any indication of having heard any bit of their conversation, but her eyes never leave them.

“You can’t make her too complacent, just because she’s pretty much locked in from the beginning.” Sprite locks eyes with Tawan. “Does she know? Have you told her yet?” 

Ayla sighs. “She’ll take the blame.”

“She’s not entirely faultless in the matter.”

Ayla shoots her a defiant glance.

“I mean… who’s to say she hasn’t already? How long has it been? 6 years?”

“I don't want to poke at old wounds.”

Ayla has been picking at her old wounds for as long as she can remember. She doesn’t want to inflict that kind of suffering on Tawan, doesn’t want to be the cause of her pain again.

“Loving someone means giving them the power to hurt you.” Sprite swings her feet over, now fully facing Ayla, timing a small sideways glance at Tawan before leaning down to say in a low voice, “There’s just no other way around it.”

Sprite takes her coffee cup, untouched and now cold. “P’Tawan, this seat is available!” She calls her over, before leaving.

Tawan walks carefully around the swimming pool to reach Ayla.

“Khaotu is scary,” Tawan chuckles humorlessly.

“They’re protective.” Ayla defends. Although, Khaotu can’t be all that threatening, she knows.

“Yeah…” Tawan takes the seat Sprite emptied. “I understand them completely.”

“I was really frail when we were teenagers. Got into a lot of accidents and all that.”

“Even now, you have a way of attracting trouble.”

Ayla chews the inside of her cheek, the realization of another quickly snowballing secret she’s hiding from Tawan taking form. She’s Tawan’s most important person, that’s why. That’s why trouble sought her out this time. A clever bait, she’ll give them that.

“Is everything alright with Sprite?” Tawan asks, since Ayla falls into a daze.

“Yeah. Yeah.” Ayla repeats it, mostly to herself.

*

“I take it you already know?” Ayla guesses from Khaotu’s triumphant shit eating grin when they make eye contact as she emerges from the pantry.

“Your girlfriend’s a bad liar.” Khaotu sounds pleased with herself.

“That’s…” Ayla starts, “That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

Tawan is holed up in their room for a virtual team meeting, concerning recent events for sure. They’re trying to keep the number of people aware of the kidnapping the smallest number possible. She made a weak excuse of a stomachache and made a quick run for it. Khaotu would have been offended by that being in charge of cooking, but somehow she let her go without question.

“Of course.” Khaotu sifts through the refrigerator, taking out the tofu. “I’m thinking it’s a bit of a disadvantage to her chosen career though, don’t you agree?”

“You watch too many movies.”

Khaotu shrugs one shoulder. “She’s never had to be undercover or something?”

“I have no clue,” Ayla looks at the ingredients on the countertop. For a crispy tofu basil stir fry. Yam’s favorite. “I can ask her if you’re curious.”

“Not particularly.” Khaotu shifts her focus on her tasks, no longer interested in their topic of conversation.

“Anything I can help you with?”

Khaotu slides the tofu cubes towards her. “Blot this dry, and season it lightly with salt. I’ll start the pan.”

Ayla takes a paper towel, and does as she’s told.

Sprite arrives, carrying several Thai teas in a plastic bag. Yam’s favorite. Definitely from the stall on the sidewalk corner closest to the exit to the main road. In the before time (before their dad died), they used to bike to the food stalls there and eat to their heart’s content. So, that’s where Sprite went.

“Should I transfer this to a cup or does Yam still like it in the plastic bag?” Sprite looks to her for an answer.

What does Ayla know? Does Yam still like anything from when they were younger? Yam doesn’t even like Ayla now.

“Bag, I guess. We can always prepare a cup, in case.”

“Gotcha.” Sprite places it in the refrigerator in the meantime.

“The tofu, please.” Khaotu asks, hand already out.

“Yes, chef!” Ayla hands it over to her diligently.

*

Sprite and Khaotu eventually banish her from the kitchen, as they prepare som tum, finding no real purpose to have Ayla hover around the kitchen when her only contribution is wincing at the added ingredients to the salad. 

Ayla is ascending the stairs when her mother and Yam finally arrive at the door. She looks back, at the sound of a key entering the door knob, and their soft chatter behind the door. Ayla walks down, positioning herself right at the entry way.

“Welcome home,” She greets, and Yam’s smile drops ever so slightly upon seeing her, but her sister is just as quick to recover, approaching her with arms wide open.

Ayla welcomes the hug.

“Welcome home,” Yam gives her a pat on the shoulder, just as they separate.

“I take it mama already told you the details.” Ayla glances over at Ploy, who seems content to just let them have this conversation without intrusion.

“It was a long drive.” Yam flashes her a reassuring smile. “Mama and I were also talking about how we might wanna get a family portrait up in this house again. I mean, there’s probably no better time.”

Ayla glances over at Ploy once again, and at her warm and affectionate gaze, Ayla knows she can’t possibly turn it down. Her work allows her plenty of photo opportunities, one with her family shouldn’t be a problem.

“I know a photographer with a studio near here.” 

“Cool. We can all even get matching outfits.” Yam suggests, looking to Ploy for her approval.

Ploy jumps in with playful banter. “Something your mother wouldn’t be embarrassed by, please.” 

“C’mon, dear mother, when have your daughters ever embarrassed you? It’s a picture that would decorate our lovely home, we wouldn’t plot to do such a thing.” Yam swings an arm around Ploy’s shoulder, winking at Ayla as she ushers their mother to the dining room.

Ayla trails behind them.

Sprite and Khaotu are preparing the table when Yam announces their arrival.

“I hope the food’s enough for everyone.” 

Sprite and Khaotu scramble to their side immediately, greeting Yam and Ploy with a hug or two or three. Khaotu is basically vibrating on her toes, and Sprite urges everyone to take a seat, excited for the stories Yam can offer. They do have some catching up to do.

“I’ll call P’Tawan,” Ayla says over the volume of their excited conversation.

Ploy gives her an approving nod, and only when Ayla is about to reach her room does she realize she doesn’t have her phone in order to ask Frung if her studio can take them in for a rush family pictorial. It isn’t Frung’s scene at all. She takes photos for Vogue, for goodness’ sake. But Ayla doesn’t trust anyone else with private matters. She’s keeping her family out of the public eye for plenty of reasons. 

She and Frung don’t seek each other out, that’s their whole thing. Casual. Except Frung can drop everything in a heartbeat for Ayla, if Ayla asks. That’s how Ayla learned not to. But that was also how she knew Frung is someone she can trust. Someone who can keep secrets well. 

Ayla walks into the bedroom. Tawan is seated at the desk, turning to her at the sound of her entrance.

“Lunch?” She mouths.

“I’ll follow.” Tawan replies, after looking like she muted herself in the call. “We’re just wrapping things up here.”

“Can you ask if I can have my phone back?” Ayla doesn’t know who to ask, so she might as well add that to their meeting’s agenda.

Several voices in the team call emerge from Tawan’s laptop. Nana’s and then a female voice Ayla doesn’t recognize. Post hostage protocol and systems crackdown float among the complicated jargon of security company speak, and those are enough to get Tawan to fold her laptop close.

“Yeah, I’ll ask,” Tawan says in a panic, opening her laptop again in a hurry. She definitely got kicked from the call. 

“I can bring you food if you’re hungry. You’ve been here a while.”

“Go have lunch. Don’t worry about me.”

So, naturally, Ayla worries. 

Because Tawan is a bad liar, and is bad at keeping important information classified. And most of all because Tawan loves her. It’s becoming increasingly clearer now how incompatible those three realities are. 

In order to keep Ayla, one must be good at lying, and keeping secrets. Not love her, just keep her. It’s how Nam did it. The backstabbing hurt them irrevocably, and it is precisely the knowledge of it that ended their professional relationship. All things considered, Ayla would have allowed it, had she not betrayed her.

Everyone around her—her friends, her family, her casual fling—they all know how to conceal the truth well. Sometimes, they dance around it, but they never put it under a spotlight. 

The thing is Tawan would put it under a microscope if she could. 

Ayla already knows how that feels, already lives through that reality.

So, naturally, Ayla already sees the end, or the beginning of the end.

Chapter Text

With Yam around, Ayla can take a back seat.

Ploy misremembers the details a lot. It seems burned in her memory somehow that Fon volunteered to sing and dance. That Fon did it out of her own willingness and happiness to perform during birthday parties, and lunar new year celebrations their grandparents host. When it was only ever an intermission number to the main event of Yam’s expert display of wit and charm. 

Ayla had to learn everything, had to be better at singing and dancing, had to be dressed and made up, and learn what to say and how and when. Clay molded into a shape that fits an acceptable mold. 

It didn’t come naturally for her like how Yam commands a room. 

Yam only speaks when she’s certain, and doesn't do anything more than necessary. It doesn’t feel like a performance with her. She’s certainly not getting anything by charming Sprite and Khaotu. Unlike Ayla who is orchestrating a rescue mission no one knows that she really needs to work in her favor regardless.

“I missed this,” Yam says when she finally sees the Thai tea in a bag after scouring through the kitchen. 

Sprite insists on washing the dishes, and Yam chooses to hang around because no one has ‘accidentally’ let slip that Khongkwan was just here and basically bolted at the knowledge of Yam’s arrival. Khaotu must have been coerced into silence, drying the dishes before placing them on the rack wordlessly.

“Okay. I’ll bite.” Sprite huffs, drying her hands with a kitchen towel as she’s finished. “You still have Khongkwan in the palm of your hands.”

Yam opens her hand, palm up, inspecting it jokingly. “Where is she?”

“Back at the hospital,” Khaotu answers truthfully, hanging the kitchen towel on the handle of the oven to dry. “It’s not an entirely bullshit excuse, like I also previously thought. She’s not running away from you if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Yam takes a long sip from her drink, before finally speaking. “It’s fine. It’s just that Mae seems a bit convinced we could work it out if we just managed to be in the same place at the same time.”

“I agree.” Sprite starts confidently but unevenly croaks out the rest of her sentiment. “I mean, do we really need a miracle just for that to happen?”

Yam shrugs, “Don’t ask me. I’m here, aren’t I?”

They only needed a threat to Ayla’s life for any of this to happen. So, not a miracle at all actually. Had the threat fully materialized itself into reality, this would have been a funeral and then maybe that’s what would get Khongkwan and Yam to finally be at the same place at the same time.

So, not a miracle. Far from it.

“Maybe Mae Ploy didn’t want to lose her ideal daughter-in-law to some long distance bullshit.”

Khaotu bullshit count: 2

“I did my research. There are perfectly respectable hospitals she can work at in Chiang Mai.” Yam reasons.

“You know it’s not just about that.” Khaotu runs a hand down her face in irritation.

Ayla knows what it actually is about. Who is actually running from who.

Before the argument could escalate further, Tawan’s presence diffuses any further spike of frustration that could lead them into a shouting match.

“Mae Ploy’s new daughter-in-law is here.” Sprite announces.

Ayla whips her head around to gauge her reaction to that.

“Wha?” Tawan dumbly blurts out.

“Oh, hey!” Yam greets excitedly. Her and Khaotu’s spat is already forgotten, approaching Tawan immediately. She brings a hand out. “P’Tawan, right? I’ve heard all about you. I’m Yam. Nice to meet you.” 

Tawan shakes Yam’s hand, looking to Ayla for… something. But all Ayla sees is the elation in her eyes at being called daughter-in-law. 

“Likewise.” Tawan can only seem to give a short response.

“Your mother-in-law is taking a nap. It was a long trip.”

“Of… course.”

“There’s food for you on the table.” Ayla says as she hooks their arms together, already ushering her back to the dining area and away from the chaos.

“Talk to you later, P’Tawan.” Yam manages to squeeze out, before Ayla completely lures Tawan away from the intrigue that those three could further insinuate.

“Daughter-in-law?” Tawan shifts to hold her hand, leaning closer to Ayla in the process and nudging their shoulders together. “Should I be scared or…?”

“Does anything scare you?”

Tawan goes rigid, jaw tense, light in her eyes suddenly gone. Bad question.

“Actually, that was about Khongkwan. There’s no competition now. But Khongkwan was a strong contender to be the favorite daughter-in-law. You’re the current winner by default, I guess.”

Realization dawns on her, then. “So, that’s what that was about.”

“They’re not avoiding each other, apparently.”

“Hm.”

“Hm. Indeed.”

“Sounds complicated.” Tawan takes a seat, still not letting go of her hand.

Ayla takes the seat next to her. “Not really.” 

If this is a competition, and even with Khongkwan out of the running, Tawan still wouldn't be the less complicated daughter-in-law. Tawan complicates things just by being herself. Even when all is forgiven. That there ever was a need for forgiveness complicates them more and more.

Ayla feels it looming, a crackle under her ribs. The way a thunderstorm rumbles a little before a great roar of a thunderclap is heard. Lightning already struck. She’s just gearing herself up for the scarier parts. Ayla hates thunderstorms for a reason. The lesser part of the reason is holding her hand loosely right now.

“Do you need to be fed?” Ayla offers teasingly.

But Tawan genuinely seems to consider it, a pensive look on her face.

“I’ll pop it in the microwave real quick.” 

Ayla is halfway into standing up when Tawan pulls her back down.

“Don’t go.”

“The meeting was that bad, huh.” Ayla caresses Tawan’s face with her other free hand lightly, effectively facing her now. There is a tender look on her face, her eyes downcast. Ayla squeezes her cheeks playfully. “I’ll reheat the food. You should eat first then we can talk about it. I can’t have you worrying and trying to save the world on an empty stomach.”

Tawan surprisingly lets her go easily after she offers that compromise. Tawan isn’t even really saving the world.

In the kitchen, Yam is perched on the countertop, typing on her phone.

Ayla places the plate in the microwave, turning it on. 

“Sprite said it’s likely going to rain tonight.”

Ayla turns to Yam. “I didn't bring my earplugs.”

“I can text them to get you one. They went to the mall to buy a bunch of stuff. The house is a little too boring, apparently.” Yam is still typing, a multi-tasker and a problem solver in her core.

When the microwave sounds, Ayla takes the plate out. “Okay. Thanks.” She says before rounding the corner to leave.

Ayla, only 11 months older, has never been an older sister to Yam. Yam always looked after her instead. 

It’s such a benign interaction. A conversation about nothing. They didn’t even exchange one look between them. But it’s the first time in a long while where they feel like them again, like when they were kids unburdened by what people around them were saying. 

“It’s going to rain tonight.” Ayla says.

Worry immediately crosses Tawan’s face.

“Maybe it won’t be that bad. I’ll have to ask Sprite for more information.”

“So, she’s the weather woman’s weather woman.” Tawan brings the plate closer to her, devouring Khaotu’s proud product of accurately remembering Yam’s favorites.

“The one and only.”

“We can have dinner early, and then just stay in your room. In case the rain gets bad.”

“Our room.” Ayla pours her a cup of water. “And you can just say you miss me. It would take fewer words.”

Tawan’s brows rise in question, although the question itself is delayed by her chewing. Once she swallows, it’s out. “Less is more with you?”

“I never said that.” Ayla grabs Tawan’s face again, smoothening the crease on her forehead.

“Then yes, I miss you.” Tawan surrenders to the enormity of that confession, and tries to downplay it in the same breath. “But I know it’s silly. I mean… everyone is here for you. Everyone important. Your friends. Your family. I couldn’t possibly monopolize you for myself.”

“I know you’re a bit of a goody two shoes, but there’s this thing called sneaking around.”

Tawan throws her a look, bordering on accusatory. “What do you know about sneaking around?”

“Enough to know that you’d be terrible at it.”

Tawan is taking a spoonful of rice and no-longer-crisp tofu into her mouth, still eyeing Ayla suspiciously. 

“I’ll be happy to be proven wrong.”

Ayla shouldn’t have posed that as a challenge.

For when dinner ends, and Khaotu hands Ayla the earplugs they got her as Sprite and Yam set up the small karaoke machine and a multicolored disco ball of lights they bought impulsively, and Tawan pockets her earplugs for her swiftly, and then placing a warm hand over Ayla’s thigh that stays there for the entirety of the evening, while Sprite, and Khaotu and even Tawan herself sing a song or two—Ayla takes it as what it is: an attempt to prove Ayla wrong, indeed. 

The rain pattering softly becomes Tawan’s cue to lean even closer. Ayla swears she feels a brush of her lips as she whispers to her ear. “Do you want to go up? I’ll follow in a bit.”

Because leaving at the same time would be suspicious, Ayla rationalizes.

But when Tawan enters their room only a mere 4 minutes after her, with Ayla still sprawling on the bed dissecting what sneaking out entails for Tawan’s great curious and creative mind, and eventually propping up on her elbows, catching Tawan like an apex predator approaching prey, Ayla wonders what real purpose was it to even try to be discreet when Tawan is apparently an insatiable beast in the end.

Tawan is on top of her in no time, lapping at her throat. 

Ayla releases a stuttering breath, and an unsteady hand also grips at Tawan’s shoulder. “Not even a hello?”

“Hi,” Tawan removes her mouth from her newly discovered favorite place, flashing a wicked grin before quickly dipping down for a kiss.

It starts like how most things start for them: slow. It’s actually surprising how much self-control they possess after the quiet build up of their afternoon of only near touching and being painfully aware of the other person. Ayla swears Tawan was purposefully hovering.

Now, with their bodies flush together, and Ayla still wants her impossibly closer. 

Tawan slips her tongue in her mouth, which emboldens Ayla to sit up and bring them upright in order to tug Tawan’s shirt up and over her head. It’s a short moment of separation, because Tawan connects their mouths again which is such a shame because Ayla really wants to take a good look at her.

Her hands do what her eyes can’t do. Roam and try to memorize Tawan’s body. She’s firm and soft in the right places. Tawan suddenly positions herself higher, rising on her knees to pull Ayla’s shirt off. The soft swell of Tawan’s breasts in Ayla’s immediate line of sight.

“The thunder didn’t even faze you.” Tawan says breathlessly.

Ayla’s eyes rake at the display of naked torso, when Tawan unclasps her bra from behind. “You’re plenty distracting,” is all she ends up saying when she lowers herself back on her elbows to bask at the sight of God's gift to humankind right in front of her.

“Is that all I am to you?” Tawan lifts Ayla’s chin up with a finger, urging her to look at her face.

Ayla looks up at her, devastatingly unprepared for the raw desire so clearly written on Tawan’s face. “God, you’re everything.”

“High praises coming from you.” Tawan hops off the bed, taking her pants and underwear off. “Enjoying the view?”

It occurs to her belatedly that she hasn’t voiced an answer to that question, even when her entire world has narrowed down on Tawan alone. Of course, she’s enjoying the view. There’s nothing in the world more beautiful. The laughter that bubbles from Tawan’s lips sound different, a mix of disbelief and want that’s soon to become her favorite sound in the world.

Tawan’s hands make quick work of removing the rest of Ayla’s clothes as well. 

“Come here.” Ayla reaches for the back of her neck, guiding her up before flipping them over with Tawan now seated on the edge of the bed, eventually climbing on top of her and straddling her waist.

“You can be pretty agile when needed, huh.” Tawan smirks, placing her hands on Ayla’s waist and guiding her to move a little, seeking friction between them.

“And you’re surprisingly a talker.” Ayla leans down for a kiss, sucking on Tawan’s lower lip.

At the press of her tongue, Tawan opens her mouth, warmth meeting warmth. Tawan wraps her arms around her shoulders, hands tangling clumsily in her hair, and then traveling down her back to unclasp her bra. Ayla tosses it away fairly quickly, pressing their bodies together, actively grinding now on Tawan’s firm stomach.

“This is a form of torture, you know.” Tawan whimpers when they break away. Her lust addled brain can still form coherent thoughts and whine, after Ayla has pulled a cacophony of moans, and groans and a staccato of breaths out of her with only the work of her mouth. And now, that is actually her favorite sound in the world.

“Which you seem to be enjoying.” Ayla breathes out, failing to inject a bit more of pride into her words when she gets lost in the sensation of Tawan’s wet mouth circling her nipple, while her hand kneads and focuses on her other breast.

Is Ayla still an efficient torture device when Tawan can get her undone with just a swipe of her tongue?

Ayla dips her hand between Tawan’s legs, palming at the heat at her center. At the first tentative and gentle brush of Ayla’s finger against her folds and eventually Tawan’s clit, her hips jerk forward, her mouth falling open as she gazes up at Ayla.

Tawan’s eyes flutter shut, sinking into that feeling. “It’ll be, uh. Quick work.”

And Ayla should be flattered, really. But sadly, she is also someone who knows what she likes. Anything too fast is unsatisfying for her. So, she pushes Tawan to lie on her back. She shifts a little in place, so Ayla can place herself comfortably above her. 

Ayla’s kisses trail downwards, from Tawan’s collarbone, to in between the swell of her breasts, to her stomach, then the dips of her waist, her protruding hipbone and then her thighs, and then where Tawan wants her finally.

“Ayla,” Tawan pants, and the sound zaps right through her. It’s addicting. It all the more encourages her to go slower. 

Her tongue sliding exploratorily over Tawan, and the rain isn’t particularly loud anymore, no more than a quiet drizzle, and the cheap karaoke machine’s speakers don't reach their room enough to dampen the slick sound of her mouth over Tawan’s center, and the increasingly uninhibited way Tawan is swept away into a wave of pleasure moaning as her body shakes apart when Ayla finally focuses on her clit, sucking gently while her tongue swirls around it.

Tawan shudders when she pushes Ayla away, body retracting as an aftermath of a post orgasm sensitive haze.

Ayla comes up, and Tawan pulls her down into a messy kiss.

Then, like a cartoon anvil that comes out of nowhere, Ayla is overwhelmed by everything suddenly. Sex is sensory overload. But it’s different this time. Maybe because she’s only ever had casual sex that she can feel the stark difference.

“I love you,” She murmurs at Tawan’s neck when she settles snugly on her chest.

“So, you’re an I love you during sex kinda girl.” Tawan sounds cocky.

“During?”

Tawan frowns, turning them over so that she’s on top of Ayla this time. “You’re not seriously thinking we’re done here already, are you?”

Tawan is too competitive and Ayla is too stubborn to let her win without a fight. It doesn’t particularly sway in Tawan’s favor that Ayla likes the way she tastes. It doesn’t sway in Ayla’s favor that Tawan immediately learns the angle at which her fingers curl that has Ayla gasping sharply and moaning at each thrust.

When they’re both loose-limbed and spent, Tawan brings Ayla into her embrace, whispering a sleepy “I love you, too,” in lieu of good night, even if it is already technically morning.

*

In her barely awake state, Ayla wonders why people knock when they immediately push the door open after. It’s Yam behind the door, she just knows it. Still, it is Yam’s house, too, so she probably doesn’t feel like she’s barging into anything. Siblings go into each other’s rooms all the time for no reason other than wanting to bother the other person.

The locked door knob rattles as Yam tries as she might to shake it open. Ayla knows too, that Yam wouldn’t leave it alone.

She takes a bathrobe from the ensuite and hurriedly puts it on before only cracking the door slightly open. Her head peeking out while Yam looks like she’s taking a step forward. She manages to stop herself.

“Your bodyguard team is here,” Yam announces, knowing not to push.

Ayla looks back. Tawan didn’t say anything about that. Given they were very preoccupied last night.

“Don’t ask me to send them away. Typhoon looks like he’s going to cry any second.”

“Tell them I’ll be down in a sec.”

“They can wait. You might wanna…” Yam points at her neck.

Ayla wraps her robe around her higher, tighter. Futile, now, obviously.

Yam laughs. “It’s fine. You’ve seen me in a worse state before.”

With Khongkwan. Right. How could she forget? Her friend basically flashed her a boob. Yes, only one because her sister is fondling the other. So, the recollection basically answers why she pushed it at the very back of her mind.

“So we’re even, yeah? I’ll do my best to keep your bodyguard's tears from falling.” 

Yam turns on her heels, and Ayla closes the door, approaching Tawan’s sleeping figure. She snickers a little when she finally sees the aftermath of last night marked on Tawan’s skin, too. Ayla gave as good as she got. 

“Typhoon and Nana are here.” She drops a kiss on her cheek.

Tawan stirs a little, stretching her arms out before rubbing at her eyes sleepily. Once she opens her eyes fully, a dopey smile rips at her face as she sits up and grabs at Ayla’s head, bringing her back down on the bed with her.

“I love you,” Tawan says before attacking the crook of her neck.

Ayla laughs, “You didn’t hear what I said at all, did you?”

“If it’s not I love you, too, it doesn’t register to me.”

“Typhoon and Nana are here.” Ayla repeats.

Tawan grumbles. “All of them really came to bring your phone.”

“It holds important classified information, you know.”

“I think they mostly want to see your family’s mansion.”

“Or they love me.”

“Of course, they love you.” Tawan huffs, “But not as much as I do.”

“Obviously.” Ayla frowns, “Unless you think Nana harbors some secret romantic feelings for me.”

Tawan narrows her eyes in genuine contemplation. “I don’t think so. But I know a quick method of coercion so I can get her to fess up directly.”

“There’s no need for that,” Ayla stands, bringing a hand out to help Tawan up, too.

There’s really no need for any of that. 

When Tawan and Ayla come into the living room, with Typhoon and Nana bringing Ayla into a hug as soon as they spot her, and Tawan breaking away from their trio to bring an open hand out to another person that Ayla hasn’t met before, and they exchange easy banter that Ayla doesn’t manage to hear because she has Typhoon as good as crying into her ear, and Nana complaining into the other – Ayla thinks she’s perfectly capable of sensing when someone harbors secret romantic feelings all on her own.

“Ayla, this is Chanya. She’s our secret team member. She’s in charge of all the tech stuff.” Tawan finally introduces her.

“Nice to meet you.” Ayla shakes her hand, “So I’m guessing my phone is all hacked now?”

No one laughs. Tough crowd.

“I’m joking. I’m joking,” She looks around, as Typhoon and Nana avoid her eyes. Her phone is definitely bugged. They’ve probably read all her emails, and have her location tracked at all times. If they haven’t already done that.

Chanya hands her her phone back. “Suffered a bit of scratches here and there but it should still work fine.”

“Just like its owner.”

Again, no one laughs. Well, Ayla’s not a comedian after all.

“Well, it’s not really a formal part of our operations but it feels part of our due diligence that your new manager is squeaky clean. As per background check of your company’s available staff for managerial positions, our team suggests Khun Non Boonthanakit for the role.”

Something about the way Chanya says his name feels loaded. It gives Ayla pause. Non is also Nam’s suggestion. It could only be mere coincidence. He’s good, apparently. Nice, efficient, loyal and squeaky clean. What else could she want in a new manager? But fewer and fewer things are coincidental in her life lately.

Tawan looks to her for her answer.

“A suggestion?” Ayla confirms.

Chanya clears her throat. “We have asked DEM to draft a contract for Khun Non. We’ve asked your legal counsel and accountant to review it, as well.”

Ayla feels spurred into asking for Chanya’s number, in order to ask more information privately, but Khaotu emerges from the direction of where the dining area is, calling everyone for breakfast.

*

Her friends and the security team make quick friendships. 

Ayla sees Tawan and Sprite exchange contact information for weather updates after a discussion on the difference between a thunderstorm, a typhoon, and a cyclone. Sprite explains with a graph on the whiteboard in the kitchen. Sprite even explains what a monsoon is. 

They all end up leaving together after lunch, after learning they’re all headed the same direction anyway. The weekend will soon be over, and on Monday, everyone will be back to spending their days like usual. 

Mostly everyone.

Ayla doesn’t mention anything about Khaotu and Nana’s differently budding friendship, but she does end up sending Khaotu a knowing look after Khaotu gets in the security company’s van. Khaotu rolls her eyes at her, sinking in her seat as the automatic door closes slowly.

Chanya rolls her window down at the passenger seat, nodding at Tawan and then at Ayla more meaningfully.

“Drive safely!” Yam yells, and Typhoon honks once before they’re all off.

“I guess we’re getting food delivery moving forward.” Yam sighs.

Ploy whacks her at the back of her head.

Ayla laughs.

Yam is allowed to stay a day longer. She hasn’t used any of her vacation days since beginning her hotel job, which could say a lot about her dedication or her avoidance.

“Or we can have our family photo taken then have dinner outside.” Yam steals a glance at Tawan. Ayla doesn’t know what to take that as.

Ayla considers her offer. “I’ll give Frung a call.”

They both know how the house’s silence would swallow them whole. Ayla doesn’t know how Ploy does it. 

One hopefully not that desperate text message to Frung requesting she squeeze her in for a quick pictorial later, Ayla sees a different message sitting in her inbox. From an unknown number. Already unread. But apparently only from a few seconds ago, even if Ayla hasn’t opened any new text threads.

She opens it, but it’s empty. Huh.

Three dots dance on her screen. Ayla waits.

This is a confidential message for AYLA SASINA. Are you without external interference? Reply 1 if YES.

Ayla pads closer to the bathroom, and upon hearing that the shower is still on, she types out 1.

I’m pulling your leg. Hehe. Hey, this is Chanya. This chat is encrypted, but never automated. We have a lot to discuss about Nam and Golf. Preferably over call, so that we don’t arrive at any misunderstandings.

As long as you don’t record our call, Ayla replies. Chanya knowing about Nam and Golf doesn’t immediately mean she is to be trusted.

You’re thorough. I like that. Of course, it won’t be recorded. I work for you, remember?

That’s not really spotless logic. Nam used to work for me, she types. If Chanya knows everything, then Ayla knows Chanya already knows how that panned out.

That’s fair. Okay, how about this? I work with Tawan, who you’re protecting. We’re ensuring Tawan is protected without her knowing anything. Because I agree with your methods. It’s a little questionable, but given the situation, it does make sense. Tawan not knowing she’s the primary target increases the likelihood of her safety and survival.

Ayla swallows. Chanya knows everything.

Even with that long message, three dots still roll on her screen. Chanya has more to say.

I know if I say, you can trust me, it sounds even weirder. But I need you to. I don’t want there to be another amateur bomb scheme coming from you. That was completely irresponsible and dangerous. But I will say, it did save Tawan from getting hired by Golf. He was a backer of an investment fund scam we helped uncover. I’m guessing his sole motivation is petty vengeance. He pulled out all his shares in DEM. Who knows what his next move would be.

Chanya knows everything. Chanya even has the answers to questions Ayla hasn’t even asked.

You can trust me. I’d want nothing more than to keep Tawan safe and sound.

It’s not really a hard sell after seeing Chanya around Tawan earlier. Ayla herself has enough experience with pining after someone to know what that looks like, even in its most restrained form. 

Chanya’s already looking to be better at keeping secrets.

I trust you, she types. The admission comes easily to her. Maybe because it feels like there’s a weight lifted off her chest that Ayla didn’t even know existed.

Good. Full disclosure, I have a tupperware of yours with me. Belated happy birthday. I really liked the cake, by the way. Call me when you’re available to talk. If you need to distract Tawan, tell me, I can find a way.

So, it wasn’t completely unreasonable jealousy then. Ayla exits their text thread and finds that Frung has already replied to her message.

Anything for you. Pop in at around 5pm. Dinner after? I know a place.

The fact that they talk strictly in booty call language should’ve signalled her not to proceed with it. But Yam knocks on her door, pushing it open without any consideration for the people inside. And Yam enters holding up two hangers with identical looking white button downs. They’ve decided to go with the standard white button downs for the portrait.

“Which one?” She asks.

“This one.” Ayla points at the one that shows a bit of shape in the middle. “Then have your hair up.”

Yam beams at her, “Right. It’s like you read my mind.”

“I’m happy to validate your choices.”

Then, yeah, maybe she still does know her a little. Some remaining parts of Yam that remain unchanged sparking a fire of hope in her chest. So, Ayla can’t suddenly cancel the family pictorial now, can she?

“You and P’Tawan should get your photos taken, too.” Yam suggests. “It’ll be cute, I think.”

Tawan exits the bathroom with perfect timing. She’s in a white ribbed tank top that Ayla really likes. And there’s still some moisture left in her brushed down hair.

“Right?” Yam turns to Tawan, like she would somehow know what they were talking about.

“Yes…?” Tawan looks to Ayla for some sort of approval.

“Correct answer.” Yam transfers both shirts into one hand, with her other hand reaching for the door knob. “You trained her well.” She winks at Ayla before leaving.

“What did I just agree to?” Tawan’s eyes nervously seek out Ayla’s.

“To have our photos taken.” Ayla searches her face for any indication of a disapproval. “The two of us.”

Tawan swallows, “Is that okay?”

Ayla is powerless to stop the smile that blooms on her face. “Here I was thinking you need convincing.”

“We don’t have photos together.”

“We do.” Ayla argues. They have one that went semi-viral. From the awards show. Just standing next to each other. Tawan’s hand hovering over her waist. Hovering. The internet loves it so much, it gets reposted from time to time, and still gets discussed plenty.

They’re not touching right now either. Although Ayla wants them to be.

“You know what I mean.” Tawan says, and it still amuses Ayla how little she looks sometimes. Tawan’s not even that much shorter than Ayla is. She’s pretty tall herself. She’s strong, with the muscles to prove it. And still, sometimes she shrinks so much in front of her own desires, like she’s not been allowed to want.

Like she’s been taught not to.

“Will you keep our photo in your wallet?” Ayla suggests.

“In my wallet, I want one of yours alone. One of ours, I’ll place it in my bedroom.”

“Good.” Ayla makes her beeline to the ensuite. “I have a reason to visit.”

“I’ll give you your key.”

Ayla turns back to face Tawan, “Really?”

“I mean… if you want it.” Hesitance suddenly coats her words.

“If it still isn’t clear to you yet, which… I mean, how come? After the events of last night.” Ayla takes a step closer to her, but still not quite within Tawan’s reach, and definitely not reaching out to touch her either. “I want you. I want what you want.”

“Am I crazy for needing more proof?” Tawan asks half-jokingly.

Ayla rolls her eyes affectionately, “Come here.”

The collision of their bodies has Ayla almost thrown off balance, her body tripping backwards that Tawan quickly remedies, holding her steadily. Burying her hands into Tawan’s hair, she feels the moisture still sitting close to her scalp. There is also the wetness of their tongues sliding past each other, and a third quickly building wetness if Ayla doesn’t push Tawan away. 

They have a studio waiting for them at 5PM.

“Why didn’t you dry your hair properly?” Ayla asks as she pulls away.

Tawan surges forward to try to capture her lips back into a kiss. Ayla shoves her lightly.

“I heard you talking and I was curious,” Tawan replies just to end the conversation, connecting their mouths again.

Now Ayla quickly realizes how difficult it would be to get Tawan out of her hair for her and Chanya to be able to talk privately. She might have to take Chanya up on her offer of distracting Tawan.

“I offered that we take a shower together earlier,” Ayla says, exerting some level of self control.

Tawan whines, her eyes remain on her lips. “An offer I obviously regret declining now.”

Ayla regrets it less. She wouldn’t have seen Chanya’s message had Tawan agreed.

Ayla peels away from her grasp. “Do you have a yellow shirt? Our picture would be so cute with you as the sun.”

“That’s innovative. I haven’t heard that one before.” Tawan remarks sarcastically.

“So, you do have a yellow shirt.”

“Of course not.”

Ayla pouts before shutting the door, showering quickly and giddily at the thought of Tawan scrambling to find a yellow shirt for their photo.

*

Frung’s studio doesn’t have a yellow shirt either. On any other day, they might have. A stylist from another shoot would have a yellow button down, or shirt just in case. Frung only specifically opened her doors at Ayla’s sudden request – Frung even looks a bit like she’s coming down from a hangover, and having only woken up from a nap when she welcomes them, so yeah, at that alone, Ayla has low expectations.

Tawan looks cute in her white tank top layered with a dark denim jacket, so it’s fine. Tawan would look good wearing anything. 

Frung’s assistant, Net, delights at seeing Ayla, which helps her feel not as terrible for putting them to work on a supposed rest day.

“Sorry, we can only take you this afternoon. We just got back from a wedding.” Net explains, as he leads them to the modest sized studio where they can have their photos taken. Frung is putting her setup in place.

“Oh, you do weddings, too?” Yam asks, after exchanging names and pleasantries.

A scaffolding has taken Ploy’s attention. Maybe a possible set piece for a next event assignment. And Tawan is focused on everything.

“Oh. No. No. No. We were just guests. We took photos, too. But for our eyes only. We don’t really cover weddings. Mostly magazine covers and advertisements. Stuff like that.”

“So, we’re an exception, too?” Yam glances at Ayla.

“Ayla is a dear friend,” Frung appears beside her, reaching for Ayla’s arm and giving it a slight squeeze, “Anything she asks, if I can provide then there’s simply no question about it.”

Tawan’s eyes rest suspiciously long on Frung’s hand that reached for Ayla.

“Even at a moment’s notice?” Ayla rises the stakes a little.

“You were generous enough to give us a few hours.” Frung smiles, all sleepy and sad. And Ayla thinks she knows whose wedding it was. “Plus, I finally have the chance to meet Khun Ploy. I’ve heard many, many great things.” Frung approaches her mother with a handshake, but Ploy gives Frung a hug.

“What are people saying behind my back?” Ploy asks lightheartedly.

“That you are more beautiful in person. I’m afraid we’re given a very difficult task to capture even half of your beauty in a photograph.” 

Frung is an expert sweet talker that even her mother blushes at the compliment.

Net turns on the lights appropriate for a simple family portrait, and once the backdrop of brown has been pulled down, Frung asks, “Should I try anyway?” as she hooks her arms with Ploy’s and they make their way in front of the camera.

“Relax a little.” Ayla turns to Tawan, when her rigid stance doesn’t quite ease up. “If you look like a mannequin for our pictures, I’ll ask Frung to retake it endlessly until you look like you.”

Tawan exhales, urging her to join them. “They’re waiting for you.”

Net is positioning her mother properly in a tall stool, and Frung is looking at her test shot on the monitor. Yam stands on one side, so Ayla knows she’s on the other. Frung is as focused as she always is, dedicated to producing the best family picture like it isn’t a simple request by a friend. 

They do two more layouts, of everyone standing, and then sitting on the floor. They change the backdrop to a lighter beige at some point. And as Ploy and Yam peer over the monitor to look at their photos, Ayla approaches Frung for one more request, pulling her away from within her mother and sister’s earshot.

“Can you take photos of me and P’Tawan, too?”

“I was waiting when you were going to introduce her. I didn’t realize that’s the Tawan.” Frung, of course, glances directly at Tawan’s direction. Not subtle at all.

“If you were on your phone more often, you’d know she’s been my bodyguard for a while now.”

“You want a photo with your bodyguard?” Frung cocks a brow.

“She’s my girlfriend.”

“That worked out well for you.” Frung gives her a proud look. An ‘I knew you had it in you.’ “Your successful relationship with your high school crush isn't enough reason for me to be online though. Sorry about that.”

“Your fangirls are barely surviving with crumbs of you at the few events you attend.”

“I’m a photographer. I don’t have fangirls.”

“You really believe that? Women really dig the lanky and willowy tattooed artist vibe you give off, you know.”

Frung flashes a smug smile. “Well, that’s just who I am.”

Silly Ayla. Of course, not everyone is curated from a pinterest board and several creative director meetings to sell records. But she knows, too, how Frung is protective of how the public perceives her. 

“So, being as offline as you are, did the wedding throw you for a surprise, too?” Ayla decides to change the topic, equally curious about the wedding ordeal.

Frung scoffs. “Only a little. They’ve only been engaged for half a year after all.” 

That confirms her hunch. Ayla asks, “Why did you even go?” Instead of voicing out concerns about why Frung is focusing on the short duration of their engagement. What? Does she think she has more time to stop the wedding from occurring?

“I was invited. Net encouraged me to go. Saying shit like it’ll be one of the happiest days of her life. And I don’t know, fuck me for wanting to see her all happy, I guess.”

“No offense but it’s a bit of a dick move to invite you.”

“It’s not her fault.” Frung already has a defensive expression on her face even before Ayla can throw her an indignant look. “The scorned ex-girlfriend isn’t a good look on me, you know. After we broke up, I might have told her I’ve been seeing someone since she was seeing someone.”

“Were you?” Ayla asks, even if she knows they started sleeping together precisely as a consequence of that break up. 

“Well, we were sleeping around a lot previously.” Frung has the gall to wink. Not bothering to lower her voice at all.

Ayla looks around. Tawan is still standing at a corner. She whispers, “We weren’t seeing each other.”

They weren’t. That’s why it worked for them. There were no feelings involved. None of the messy emotional haywire to wrangle out of. There was electricity, sure. They were electric together. But a spark is only that, a spark.

Frung huffs. “I know. It’s just easier to tell her that I was. That maybe it could lessen her guilt for moving on too quickly from me.”

Ayla sighs, left without any comforting words to offer. It was easier before where they could talk even with only their bodies. Just an exchange of heat. That Ayla can have Frung’s brain melting, and forgetting everything, as she has her writhing under her.

“Your girlfriend’s throwing daggers at me with her eyes.” Frung says, “Does she know anything?”

Does she? Does Tawan know anything? Ayla will ensure Tawan remains clueless. Not just about this.

“No.” Ayla doesn’t turn to look.

“Cool. Sex with you is good. Great. Fantastic. Maybe life-changing even, but it’s not worth losing my one precious life for.”

Ayla laughs. “Well, don’t let her hear you say that.”

Frung calls Net over. “We need to bust out a couple of lovey dovey poses for Ayla’s beloved to copy.”

“Your beloved is so cute.” Net gives his stamp of approval, “I asked her what she likes about you. Guess what she said.” 

“What?” Ayla asks, not bothering to guess. 

“Everything.” Net swoons, a hand on his chest. “She likes everything about you.”

Frung casts a doubtful look towards Ayla. Ever the realist. “There’ll be something to dislike eventually.”

“Let’s take our pictures before that happens.” Ayla approaches the circle (triangle?) formed by her mother, sister and girlfriend. “P’Tawan and I will snap a few photos, too.” She announces as she pops in briefly to pull Tawan away from another possible interrogation, this time from her bloodline. 

Net swoops in to usher Yam and Ploy to the pantry connected to the studio. Yam still manages to send Ayla a teasing smile even as she allows herself to be pulled into Net’s infectious small talk. 

“Did I manage to save you in time?” Ayla looks at Tawan.

“Your mother was only asking me if I have any food allergies.”

“Do you?”

Tawan shakes her head. “Not that I know of.”

Frung calls them to show them a few poses they can do. Clicking through a slideshow of photographs of models that look like they were published centerfold. Nothing too complicated. Still, it could be intimidating for anyone not used to being in front of the camera. 

Tawan glances at Ayla, and Ayla flashes a reassuring smile. Tawan could simply stand there, and she’s already picture perfect.

Frung again calls Net over, and they demonstrate a few poses that Frung wants. One with Ayla’s arms around Tawan’s shoulders, their faces next to each other. Ayla thinks that might be the one that ends up framed in Tawan’s bedroom. Another, with Ayla squeezing Tawan’s cheek playfully. Frung asks them to give funny faces at her camera. Ayla will keep that one in hers. 

Net turns on the speakers. The sound of piano keys echo in the studio.

“Have you two slow danced before?” Frung springs the suggestion as Net dims the light a little.

Ayla offers her hand out.

“I don’t know how to dance,” Tawan says.

“We’ll hold each other and sway a little. There isn’t a complicated choreography to follow.” Ayla takes Tawan’s hands to guide it around her waist, and she rests her hands on Tawan’s shoulders. Ayla sidesteps a little, and Tawan follows her well.

“Look at me,” Ayla says, when Tawan seems stuck on watching their feet move.

“I’m afraid I’ll accidentally step on your toes.”

“You won’t.” Ayla lifts her chin up, and when their eyes meet Ayla smiles at Tawan’s nervous and focused face. “Thank you for doing all this for me,” She says eventually.

“It’s nothing.” Tawan looks at her like she’s the most precious thing.

“Not just this,” Ayla risks reminding Tawan that they’re not alone, that Frung is with them, documenting this very moment, and possibly breaking the magic spell that seems to blanket them in a quiet safe haven of a world where it feels like it is only the two of them, away from danger, away from everything. “I know you said everyone is here for me. And you’re here, too, and you braved through meeting everyone I hold dear in my heart. That’s not nothing.” 

“I’ll meet them all eventually. We just sped up the process.” She explains it like it’s a simple fact of life. “I’m happy they all seem to like me.”

They’re still swaying.

“I picked well.” Ayla says.

That gets Tawan to laugh, and Ayla laughs, too.

“You did.”

A click of the camera, and Net’s voice bring them back to reality. “That was beautiful.” Net says, clutching his chest dramatically once again, as he brings the studio lights back to its full brightness. Tawan and Ayla untangle from each other.

“I think we got it,” Frung emerges from behind the camera, “Unless you wanna do one more? How about a kiss?”

Tawan blushes a deep red.

Frung chuckles, “No, then.”

Ayla strikes at Frung’s shoulder playfully.

“Pick the photos you want. I’ll edit it a little. Net will send them to the printers. Then should we have dinner while we wait for that to finish? There’s a French restaurant near here. I know the owner. I’m sure it’s no problem to ask for private seating.” Frung offers.

“I didn’t realize you offer printing services here, too.” Ayla says.

“Who would we trust with your private photographs, huh? It’s my personal printer. Not industry grade by any means, but it can print an 11x14. Get an 11R frame. Then it should be good to display.”

“And if I want something just on my desk then…”

“5R frames.”

Tawan raises her hand, like a student waiting to be called on by her teacher. “Can I have a wallet sized one, too?”

Frung smiles at her, “Net will take note of everything.”

Ploy and Yam have already picked their family portrait, holding an iPad up to show Ayla their choice when she makes her way to the pantry where the two are rice cake and coffee. Ploy alone has enough artistic merit for Ayla to know not to oppose her decision-making process. She hums under her breath when she sees their chosen picture. It’s simple, unassuming, beautiful in its own understated way. They almost look happy. Maybe they are.

Happiness, Ayla finds, is always an afterthought. It only registers after the moment has passed. It is the rarity of the realization of happiness while it is occurring that has Ayla bracing herself for what would come crashing down on her to replace it.

Tawan and Net are in front of the monitor going through the process of picking, too. Net looks like he’s pitching a customer on what would be the best photos as keepsake.

Ayla approaches Frung, wondering how the wedding looks captured by the heartbroken ex-girlfriend of the bride. Frung hands her a small black digital camera. It’s a traditional Thai wedding, and it looks breathtaking, and Kanompang does look undeniably happy. Truly an occasion Frung would regret missing. 

“You have an eye for weddings, too.” Ayla comments.

“You only need to ask and I’ll cover yours.”

Ayla chokes on her saliva. “What?”

“You two are inevitable.” Frung nods towards Tawan’s direction. “It feels like only a matter of time.”

Many things are only a matter of time. Inevitability doesn’t feel like a good thing in this particular instance. 

But Tawan turns to her the moment Ayla is looking at her, without any prompting, like she just senses Ayla is looking and they lock eyes, which they always seem to fall into rhythm into doing and at that Tawan is immediately smiling, eyes turning into crescents and a toothy grin in full display – and if the happiness that swells in Ayla’s chest is inevitable, it also feels like a matter of time before it is all snatched away.

*

A French restaurant with a name like Cou cou should really be a quaint bistro. Simple, casual, inexpensive. But a French restaurant inside a wealthy gated community that is a few minutes drive away from Ayla’s family’s house and Frung’s studio would have a menu without any of the prices on it. A small piece of shiny cardboard without any pictures.

Ploy enjoys the ambiance and decor of the place. She’ll definitely visit at a different time.

Yam orders for them. Bless her heart. She would know best in these kinds of situations. Ayla once looked up the hotel Yam works at in Chiang Mai at a burst of random curiosity to see her. An impulsive thought of wanting to see Yam outside of her. The responsible adult who has a grown up job doing grown up things, who isn’t living in the shadows of her older sister. Just Yam.

Just Yam who gets their table a bottle of red wine, foie gras, a œuf mimosa with truffle, a slow cooked beef in wine, and a duck leg in a special sauce.

Just Yam who would be familiar with French cuisine enough to say the menu items correctly.

She nods at the waiter as he recites their order back to her. She asks to keep the dessert menu, seeing that to require more brains involved in the decision-making. Frung and Net are still in the studio, getting their picture printed and ready. So, their table has two unoccupied chairs.

“They teach you French in Chiang Mai?” Ayla asks when the waiter leaves their private room.

“I was with the dinner service crew for a bit, they needed more people in food and services for a time. And the hotel serves French cuisine every Thursday. So, I did that for a few weeks before I got back into my original administrative spot.”

“They can do that?” Ploy asks, not out of concern, more out of curiosity.

“I dunno. Maybe just initiation for the seemingly sheltered kid from Bangkok who is immediately doing a back office job. I liked it though. It toughened me up a lot, and then they have no choice but to like my tenacity.” Yam shrugs proudly.

Tawan is fiddling with the tablecloth, when the waiter arrives with their complimentary bread and butter.

“Don’t worry, Tawan. We are just as lost as you are.” Ploy turns to her, a reassuring hand on her shoulder to ease the rigid way she’s holding herself up. Like Tawan has to remind herself to breathe. Ayla, beside her too, reaches for a hand over her lap.

“It’s just a bit intimidating, but there are no rules here, right?” Yam looks to the waiter for an answer.

“None at all.” He says, as he pours wine into each of their glasses.

The waiter goes on to explain the standard French seven-course meal, and how Cou cou doesn’t really abide by it as strictly, which is maybe supposed to ease them into dining more comfortably. 

“We arrived on time.” Net has a manila envelope tucked in his arms that he hands to Tawan, an entire arm out crossing the diameter of their table, seeing that Frung took the seat next to Ayla. Net turns to Yam, then. “Tell me you got the boiled egg with truffle. That’s my fave.”

Yam nods smugly. The two of them go on about their wine preferences, swirling their glasses and taking a sniff before a proper sip.

Tawan peeks at the content of the envelope. Ploy urges her to take a few photographs out. Frung’s phone rings as soon as she puts it face up on the table, and Kanompang’s face lights the screen up in a call. Ayla catches it before Frung snatches her phone away. “Let me just take this,” She says as she stands up, the chair’s leg scratching the floor in her hurry.

“I’ll go to the bathroom,” Ayla announces, following soon after her.

Tawan watches the two of them leave one after the other, and Ploy snatches one picture from Tawan’s hand, cooing at it before snapping a photo of it on her phone. 

“How cute are the two of you,” is the last thing Ayla hears her mother say before she’s trudging down the end of the hallway where Frung is absentmindedly marching towards, her phone already to her ear.

“It’s a gift,” Frung says nervously, walking only to have her feet moving, aimlessly. “People give gifts at a wedding.”

Ayla hasn’t yet caught up to her. But it is a short hallway. And narrow, too. They end up facing each other when they both reach the end but Frung doesn’t even see her, her eyes downcast, her mind on the phone call that she even has a gesturing hand up unconsciously.

“Isn’t that what you said you wanted?” Frung asks, sounding defeated.

“I know, I know. But you would still…. even if—no, no, no, it isn’t that at all.”

“Well, if that’s the kind of person you think I am then maybe you shouldn’t have asked me to come to your fucking wedding.” Frung is still trying to keep her voice down, but Ayla hears all the bitterness spill out. Ayla cups Frung’s bent elbow, and Frung brings her hand down, holding Ayla’s arm in order to just hold onto anything. A tether.

Frung swallows, keeping her tears at bay. “Congratufuckinglations, by the way. I wish you two a happy marriage.”

When she ends the call, fat tears spill down her face. Ayla wipes it away with her free hand.

“What a bitch.” Ayla rests her hand on Frung’s cheek.

“That’s me,” Frung tilts her head a little, but she doesn’t allow herself to completely lean into Ayla’s open hand. “You should go back. I’ll tidy up first.” Frung rubs at her face, and Ayla still has her hand on her elbow.

Ayla eventually lets go of her.

Tawan sees them just as they separate, and Frung’s eyes dart between the two of them.

“I’ll handle this,” Ayla says, already marching towards Tawan. Always a situation to be handled. Frung skips over to the bathroom.

Tawan blinks at her when Ayla reaches the door to their private dining. Tawan hasn’t moved an inch, still a curled hand on the door knob.

“The wedding they attended yesterday was her ex-girlfriend’s. Then, there was a call. I don’t know what they were talking about but it sounded like a terrible conversation from Frung’s end. She ended up crying. I was just comforting her."

Honesty slips out easily, surprising Ayla herself. But they can’t unravel just because of a slight misunderstanding, can they? There are other skeletons in her closet much worthy to upend their entire world.

“Is she okay?” Tawan looks down the hall. It’s stiff but genuine. She perhaps hadn’t expected a full blown sob story in a few sentences. But it’s the truth, all laid out, not one bent into a half-lie. Who knew Ayla had that in her.

“She will be,” Ayla, after a successful streak with honesty, lies. She doesn’t have enough conviction in that to make it sound believable at all.

But Tawan is nice enough to go along with that lie. Only that one. This one time when it doesn’t particularly concern them in any big way. Frung is devastated and heartbroken. And she will be for a long time. But she holds it in well. Keeps appearances well. Ayla and her are similar that way. 

They enter their private dining. Tawan lets her in first, and she closes the door behind them quietly.

Tawan wouldn’t be as considerate with the bigger, more life-altering lies Ayla is trying her hardest to hide.

They scooch their chairs closer together. Tawan shows her the photo she picked for the privilege of adorning her wallet. A test shot before her Vogue cover shoot with the butterflies. She is captured mid-laugh. One of Frung’s proudest works (her words). And Ayla’s personal favorite, too, sure. Net must have added it out of the goodness of his heart. If this is only one among many of Frung’s photographs of her, Ayla understands why Tawan would be following them out the door soon after.

“Great choice.” Ayla comments, as Tawan slots it into its place.

Tawan folds her wallet close. “I picked well.” She leans in to press a kiss to her temple, uncaring about the rest of the people in the room.

*

They drive to the direction of Frung’s studio afterwards to retrieve their printed family portrait. Net had the printer run idly while they were having dinner, and it seems in the process of not one person overlooking that particular task, the printer decides to malfunction, as printers tend to do when given an important task and pressed for time.

Ayla hugs Frung as they bid goodbye, having discussed the logistics of possibly having the photograph delivered directly to their home. Net would be happy to do it apparently.

Upon reaching home, they all merrily depart to their own rooms after their long day. 

It was a good day.

“So, your dad…” Tawan lingers by the shelf with Ayla’s own framed photos in their bedroom. All of herself at various stages in life.

“Out of the picture,” Ayla says, even though that’s obvious enough.

“It’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it now.”

But they will eventually have to talk about it.

“He got into an accident. I was 18. Yam was 17.”

Technically, it wouldn’t really be such a big lie. It was an accident. Ayla eventually learned that the bomb wasn’t supposed to go off. That it was only planted as a threat, much like her own bomb scheme with Nam. And somehow during that plan with Nam, Ayla thought it wouldn’t be bad to go the same way he did. In retrospect, it was awful to even consider putting her mother in that same position again. 

When Tawan doesn’t say anything, Ayla thinks she has to explain further. 

“The whole family picture situation is probably because Yam thought I could have almost died. Our last family photo, with all four of us, was when the two of us were preteens, braces and everything. It begs to be updated.”

“You could have died. Yam isn’t wrong.” Tawan states the obvious.

“Hence, the new family photo.” Ayla tries to go lighthearted, and because it obviously isn’t received well, she immediately apologizes. “Sorry for the influx of sad stories today.”

Frung’s, then hers. Maybe it isn’t such a good day after all.

Tawan approaches Ayla, taking her hand in hers, solid and warm and real. “I’ve thought about it. I mean, that could be one of the possibilities for an absentee father.”

“Any possible reason for that is a sad reason, though.”

Tawan gets quiet, looking like she’s holding something back, before eventually saying, “But that’s permanent.”

Death, she means, right? Tawan can’t even acknowledge it directly. For a bodyguard, who works in a field well familiar with being on the brink of death, it’s amusing to see her avoid it. In every capacity whenever Ayla is involved in any way. 

So, Ayla saves her the trouble.

“Yeah. But that’s not the sad part. If I think about it, if he had a choice, he would stay. He just unfortunately didn’t. There are fathers who actively choose to leave their children.”

“That’s my dad.”

Ayla frowns, “What do you mean? I thought your dad owned the security company.”

“Yeah. But if I think about it, if he had a choice, he wouldn’t want me as his daughter. And isn’t that basically the same thing?” Tawan echoes.

“It’s unfortunate that he can’t see how good you are.” Ayla cups her face, thumb rubbing at her cheek.

“Sorry for the influx of sad stories today,” Tawan has the gentlest smile on her face.

“One before bedtime should be okay.” Ayla says, although they’ve already done three.

“That’s your type of bedtime story?”

Ayla shrugs. “What? Little children hear far worse through fairytales.”

“Well, those have happy endings.”

“One can hope.”

The next morning, when the sun has barely risen, Ayla’s phone rings. A reminder that all hope shatters in the hands of a great pretender. Of course, her career catapulted into stardom by one photograph would be ruined similarly by a single picture alone.

Chapter Text

The crisis management team are quick to release an initial statement that they’re looking into the authenticity of the photograph released. In the dead of the night. By a burner account. It’s easy to twist it into a fabricated rumor in order to hurt Ayla’s reputation. A leaked private photo can't be good-natured.

Ayla winces at that particular vocabulary choice, though. Authenticity. That might as well bite them in the ass.

It is from a real past incident. No longer just a moment now. Anything that can negatively impact her image is an incident. Ayla receives Khun Non’s contact information for the first time, and she hates that their first phone call is of him tidying up messy ends for her. 

He sounds kind over the phone. Understanding, polite, and well-meaning. 

“Ultimately, it’s your call. Either press release will have the general public spinning a narrative that we are capable of managing. I trust you know which situation you can control better.”

Ayla likes him already. “No press release. I want to issue a personal statement.”

“I was hoping you would. Posting it this evening would be best. It would keep people on their toes in anticipation. Any later and their impatience would run dry. No need to run the statement by me. But reach out if you need help with anything else.”

“Thanks,” Ayla begins, “And… sorry this is how we’re being introduced.”

“You introduce yourself with your work. I heard the sophomore album already. It’s good. You’re too talented for people to fixate on who you date instead. But unfortunately, rumors are part of a celebrity’s life. Price of fame and all that.”

This must be a company-taught method of boosting morale. She’s heard Nam tell her something close to what Non is saying.

“And I’m paying.” 

With her life. With her soul. With everything she has. Until surely, there’s nothing left of her. 

*

“You’re going to deny it, right?” Tawan asks, when Ayla returns to their room. She’s already dressed, and sitting in front of the desk like she, too, had been busily trying to handle the situation. She must have. 

“It’s easier to admit to it.” Ayla states plainly. It is. She has weighed the advantages and disadvantages of either outcome.

“It’s easier?” Tawan is still doubtful.

“It’s one photo now. Then, people will dig. And they’ll find something which is actually nothing, but they’ll attach their own interpretation and meaning and then it’s going to be a relationship unfolding right on their screens. And I wouldn’t be able to stop it even if I deny everything.”

Ayla wants Tawan to understand, the same way she did last night when she explained the facts of Frung’s matters to her. 

“And in this equation, who am I? Suddenly, I’m your what? Oh, right, just your bodyguard.”

There’s the bitterness that Ayla’s been expecting. 

Tawan herself saw that incident in person last night before it was photographed secretly, and shared to the world without Ayla’s permission. It does look intimate enough from the lens of a third person. That was why Tawan stood there shell-shocked. 

“Can’t you see I’m doing this to protect you?”

Tawan scoffs. “You’re ashamed of me.”

“That’s not true.”

“Sure, it is. The public already favors your relationship with a hotshot photographer who, correct me if I’m wrong here…. you were also apparently previously seeing? What kind of sick joke is it that you made the two of us pose for pictures to be taken by your ex-girlfriend?”

Tawan’s already deep into the internet’s conspiracy theories and stalking and sleuthing. At least, they can have their fun playing detective. There’s plenty of Frung and her on the internet to dig around. Frung and her were never afraid to be seen together previously. They post pictures with the other person. They pose for pictures together. They follow each other. They like each other’s posts. They have even worked together before. The two of them are good friends. 

Who also slept together previously, sure. But that doesn’t need to be public knowledge. Anything in their private lives is private for a reason.

“She’s not my ex-girlfriend. We never had that kind of relationship.”

“But, since you’ll be admitting to the dating rumors, she’s your girlfriend now clearly. Frung did say she can do anything for you. I bet it’ll be basically nothing to her. Just a small favor to ask.”

Ayla’s never heard Tawan’s voice like this before.

“It’s all just for show. We go to a few events, answer a few interviews, let time pass, then the people will forget but they’ll notice… that we no longer talk about the other person, or even interact at all. I’ll delete a few photos of us on instagram. Then from there, we just say we broke up quietly eventually.” 

It’s a good plan. It’s easy for a relationship to disintegrate into nothing under the eyes of the public, under the weight of their great expectations. They notice everything and nothing.

“With a valid sounding excuse. Something like the public attention took a toll on our relationship, or… or, or that we simply grew apart.”

Tawan turns away from her. “And during this I’m supposed to stand in the sidelines and hear the manufactured story of how you two fell in love?”

“This would be just as difficult for me as it would be for you,” is all consolation Ayla can offer. They’re both going to be suffering. It doesn’t even sound remotely close to a consolation.

“Yeah. Sorry. I guess I still have to learn how to deal with the fabricated lies of show business first to deal with it as quickly as you do.”

“Tonight, I’ll post the statement.” Ayla says finally. 

“Yeah.” Tawan turns to face her again, a wet smile on her face. “And tomorrow, I’ll be your dirty little secret.”

“Don’t say it like that.” Ayla can only murmur.

Tawan is aggressively wiping away the tears she hasn’t given permission to fall. “How should I say it? How would you wrap it up in a ribbon and make it presentable? Tell me. You’re the expert here.”

The tears continue to stream down her face anyway. 

Ayla can only watch.

“Don’t worry, I’m sticking around. So, if you’ve got an answer for me, I’ll be here.”

But Tawan doesn’t stay. She leaves their room in a huff. 

In the suffocating air of their disagreement, Ayla feels bad that she’s not crying. She should be crying, too. She should be upset at everything. At her privacy being invaded. At her personal relationships being made for show, for investigating, sensationalized for no reason other than the boredom and self satisfaction of others. 

She should be mad. It should make her angry. Because while what they got and exposed wasn’t real, they came close. Really close. That grainy photo could’ve been of her and Tawan. And Ayla wouldn’t know all the more what to do with herself if that were the case.

So, she actually feels relieved. Then after the relief, she feels nothing. Nothing at all. She’s paying now, isn’t she? The payment is due and they’ve finally reached her. Fame is a deal with the devil after all, and Ayla’s paying.

She’s staring at the floor, waiting for tears to come, for the sadness to hit her out of nowhere, but nothing comes. She balls her hands into fists, her nails digging into the flesh of her palms, and nothing still. 

Ayla feels nothing at all.

*

Frung takes everything into stride.

“Hey, you could’ve at least informed me that we’re dating,” She’s cracking a joke the moment Ayla takes the call.

Even the most offline person in the world would be up to speed if the rumors pointed a spotlight at herself.

“Surprise.” Ayla says monotonously, staring at the ceiling of her room. She’s just about to go back to sleep. Maybe it’ll help clear her mind about things.

“Okay, you’re not taking this well.” 

“Not at all.” Ayla turns to her side, facing the door. She doesn’t know why she’s hoping that Tawan would return suddenly.

“I imagine your company bombarded your inbox.” Frung sounds like she’s taking a sip afterwards.

Ayla considers getting some coffee for herself, too. It’s too early for any of this.

“So, that’s why you’re only calling now, huh.” Ayla says.

Frung always respects her time and space. She knows her well enough to know when she needs it most.

“You handle everything well.” Frung declares confidently, “I imagine this is no different.”

“What else do you imagine?” Ayla asks, suddenly feeling like playing therapist, lying on her back again and closing her eyes. 

Describe your perfect day. A common prompt of her sessions with Khun Mor Bell, her child psychiatrist. 

When she reached her twenties, she got transferred over to an adult psychiatrist and then when she got famous, she got transferred over to a doctor to and for celebrities. 

Ayla misses Khun Mor Bell now, misses imagining a perfect day, as they worked on Fon’s depressive episodes and her acceptance of grappling with grief and uncertainty.

“I imagine you would do everything in order to protect Tawan,” Frung answers.

And it is so simple, really. Thankfully, Frung gets it.

“I’m sorry to put all of this on you.” Ayla keeps finding herself apologizing for everything.

“Nah,” Frung is quick to see Ayla’s decision, agreeing with it, too. “You’re doing me a favor actually. Kanompang might really get out of my case now that I’m going to be in a very public relationship with you.”

“Yes, our very real, and very public relationship will certainly deter any doubters.” Ayla says sarcastically.

“Of course, my love. Send me the timeline of when we fell and would fall out of love. I’ll do everything on my part to make it believable.”

“One picture is believable enough.” 

It captured such an intimate moment. It's good that it’s not such a hard sell.

“We can sell it a bit more, though.” Frung suggests, knowing where her line of thought is at exactly.

“We have to.”

You give them an inch, they’ll take a mile, Nam had said many years ago. Like a cautionary tale to their own relationship. But also, as a warning never to give too much of herself in the process. To anyone. Not to the bosses, who demand more than what is written in the contract. Not to her fans, who would just as easily rip her to shreds if she doesn’t meet their messed up expectations. 

“Don’t make me sound too sweet in your press release. I’m the cool one, remember.”

Ayla snorts, “Sure thing, baby girl.”

“Hey,” Frung protests, “Protect my image, please.”

“I can’t possibly break your fangirls’ fantasies now, can I?”

“You already break their hearts just by being romantically linked to me, sweetheart.”

Ayla laughs for the first time that day. “I’ll make sure not to break their hearts further, babe.”

“You can leave me heartbroken, though. Pencil that in for the future scenario of our breakup.” Frung is absolutely game for everything.

“You’re a bit too enthusiastic for this.”

“Gotta balance it out. I imagine Tawan didn’t take it well.”

Ayla sighs, “You’re right.”

“She’ll come around.” Frung says it easily.

“You imagine that, too?”

“If I try to imagine the opposite…. I mean, if she doesn’t come around, then… maybe she isn’t compatible with the world you’ve chosen for yourself.”

That’s what Ayla is afraid of. Less afraid at the realization that she can choose Tawan over the world. There are no doubts about it. If the current world Ayla lives in and having Tawan in it are incompatible, Ayla would simply choose a different world. 

The only question is if that even exists for her. 

“The statement would go online at 8PM.” Ayla says.

“Cool. I’ll be there to watch the world burn.”

And burn it does.

*

To everyone reading this,

I write to address the circulating image which was implied to be of myself and Khun Frung Siripon. 

It was indeed the two of us, from a private moment that should never have been made public. It was a mutual decision to keep our relationship private, with the intention of protecting our personal lives and our careers down the line.

Our relationship has not affected any professional engagements, nor will it ever occur in the future. Our previous work together, which has also gathered significant attention and scrutiny as a result of the image being posted, was not due to and because of our relationship unlike what some people are falsely claiming it to be. 

Frung is a skilled photographer whose work ethics and standards are not dictated by personal relations. She delivers quality work from pure talent and passion for what she does. I will not stand around and allow her to be twisted into something she is not.

This confirmation could have come from a place of happiness and celebration, instead of being at the cost of being stripped away of our agency and privacy. I understand our roles as public figures, but please allow our private lives to be separate and away from public spectacle. 

I ask that people respect our privacy moving forward. Frung and I respect and care and have immense love for each other. It is a relationship that is important and precious to us both, so I also humbly plead with everyone to refrain from spreading unfounded assumptions, personal attacks, or invasive commentary regarding our relationship’s past, present and future.

I will continue to work hard and passionately. I’ve always wanted to walk a path where I do not become a person I would eventually come to hate. I’ve always been careful and avoided controversies. I do not think of my romantic entanglement as such. Still, there are people who do, who preach about love but only in a particular mold that fits their outdated mindset and worldview. 

For the record, and to avoid further questioning, confusion, or misinterpretation, I will set it here straight. Yes, I am a lesbian. I am not ashamed of who I am, and I am definitely not ashamed of the woman I love. 

I urge everyone to allow people to come out on their own terms, at their own timing. There is no need for intrusion, or unwanted curiosity and fixation, or speculation rooted in an identity that some people can malign intentionally. Let us foster an environment where people can simply be themselves, where people can love who they love regardless of gender – without prejudice or judgment or malice.

Let us live in a world where people can blossom into their full selves and love freely and proudly.

Let us hope for a society that one day can come to a wholehearted and genuine place of acceptance.

Lastly, I apologize for being unable to provide immediate clarity. I apologize for taking time to arrange my thoughts, feelings and reactions regarding the situation. I regret that the duration of my silence may have made things worse, for that I take full responsibility. 

To those who support me–thank you. 

To those who doubt–thank you, as well. 

*

The house is maddeningly quiet. It’s always like this. But Ayla feels bad that Yam is spending her last day at Bangkok with them in such a sullen mood. Yam bought all the ingredients for cake this morning, not knowing no one would be in the mood for sweets. 

But they bake anyway. Ploy and Yam follow Ayla’s recipe from childhood. A simple chiffon cake. Yam wants to bring some back to her hotel co-workers. Ayla only keeps watch, sitting by the kitchen island, sipping on the leftover Thai tea from the other day. Ayla’s forgotten how much she likes this, too.

It could have been a good day.

But instead, Tawan is in a long meeting, cooped up in their room for the entire day now, possibly also ignoring her. Ayla’s ignoring the rest of the world, her phone on airplane mode after posting the block of text that would dictate the direction of her next strategic career moves.

When the cake is in the oven to finally bake, Yam and Ploy make themselves scarce, but not without urging Ayla to make peace with Tawan. They’ve already done enough to distract her. Ayla must face Tawan head on now.

Tawan is still in front of the desk when Ayla comes into their room.

When Tawan doesn’t spare her a glance, Ayla speaks up. “Can we talk?”

Tawan sighs. “Sorry about earlier. My emotions got the best of me. I didn’t really mean anything I said.”

“I’m sorry.” Ayla breathes out, approaching her with quiet steps.

Tawan finally turns to her, “What are you sorry for? You were right. You were being very reasonable. About everything, actually.”

“I’m sorry I can’t be the person who loves you the way you should be loved.”

“What are you even saying?” Tawan stands up, her eyebrows are knitted in worry.

“I’m not ashamed of loving you. Far from it. In every waking moment, I just… love you, without question. But… I don’t know if I’ll be able to shout it out to the world. I don’t know how they’ll take it. They can say awful things about me, heck, to me, and I don’t mind it. I’m used to it. But I can’t have people cast judgment on us, on you. I just can’t have that. I just can’t risk it.”

“Come here,” Tawan pulls her into her arms. “I read your post. I understand that now.”

Ayla circles her arms around Tawan, resting her head on her shoulder.

“Earlier, you said that people already favor Frung and me together, right? But that’s just now. Some day, they’ll find something to nitpick. How she could do better than me. How I only landed those covers because of her. Even if it’s not true. They’ll connect dots that don’t even exist. I can’t have them do that to us.”

She feels Tawan nod.

“I get it.”

“I’m sorry that I have to ask you to endure everything a little while longer.”

Ayla will keep apologizing if she has to. She owes Tawan a lifetime of asking for her forgiveness. Could she ever atone for all her wrongdoings? Would a lifetime even be enough?

“What am I if not enduring?” Tawan pulls away to show Ayla a determined expression on her face. 

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“You know I’m easy to please.”

Tawan kisses her, deliberate and tender and sweet. Everything Ayla doesn’t deserve.

“Be serious.” Ayla says, when they pull apart. Slowly peeling her eyes open, if only to remain in the warmth of that love further.

“I am.” Tawan’s smile greets her. “I love you completely. And you are exactly the type of person who would make the choice to conceal everything in order to protect me.”

Ayla blinks. Tawan definitely doesn’t realize the extent of what she had just said. Would that remain true when Tawan learns everything? Ayla’s hiding truths, from everyone, including Tawan. Would she still love her completely then?

Tawan tilts her head. “Whenever I say I love you, you never say it back.”

Ayla wants to argue, wants to say I said it first, or I’ve been trying to show you for a long time now. But Tawan is right, too. It occurs to her belatedly. That Tawan can love her. That they’re fighting precisely because Tawan loves her.

“I think… I don’t know why—I’m just… still not used to being loved by you.” Ayla confesses, putting it in a way that presents nicely, bow and all. Because the truth of I don’t think I deserve to be loved by you, is awful and ugly, and unfair most of all.

“You’ll have to get used to it. Because I won’t stop doing just that.” Tawan drops a kiss on her cheek, and then the other, then on her lips.

“I love you,” Ayla says, but mostly to the future the two of them can never have. 

She’s already ruined them irreparably.

*

Ayla receives Yam’s message informing her of her safe arrival back at Chiang Mai—their first exchange of messages after a good while.

Yam sends an entire block of text: They love your chiffon cake. Now, they think my sister is a pastry chef and they’re offering you a spot here. I didn’t have the heart to tell them the reality. Take care of yourself, okay? You can tell me anything, you know. Like back in the day when we used to tell each other everything. Even pointless things. I love you, P’Fon.

Ayla types Take care of yourself, too. I love you, Yam, staring at their text thread, thinking it might crumble and everything would be revealed to be a dream. It feels like a dream. 

Yam offering that opening. Like back in the day.

Ayla wants that, too. She aches for it. 

She presses send, and hope builds in her chest. 

Maybe not all is lost after all.

Chapter Text

Tawan starts to feel the distance when the album’s promotional roll out starts.

Although, it’s expected. Ayla poured her heart into the second album. It’s her priority. The release of Pete’s album received mixed reviews. Something new and experimental for the golden boy, but a clear step down for the rookie of the year awardee, the music critics wrote. The winner of the title had to rise up against great expectations.

And even though Ayla only had to rise above her own previous release, she definitely still has to work hard.

‘Stardust’ officially drops tomorrow, but filming for its promotional run has started an entire week prior. Guerilla marketing posters have been up in the streets of Bangkok, Phuket, Chiang Mai and other major cities as soon as the first teaser dropped.

Frung becomes only a footnote in the few interviews Ayla’s done after her coming out. Non filters out questions from the press, but of course, Frung can’t be written out of the narrative entirely. That’s how Tawan learns that Frung can’t make it for Ayla’s album launch.

It’s their fake relationship that has Tawan reading too much on the internet lately. Fans were expecting Frung. The disappointment evident at the tone of their posted tweets. 

The first lull to all the chaos happens surprisingly during the dress and technical rehearsals. A fluorescent lightbulb explodes, which really should’ve been more alarming, but the production calls it a good omen despite needing to replace it within 12 hours because they need it for the next technical run on the actual day of the launch.

Ayla strips quickly out of her performance outfit, changing into sweats.

“Frung’s not coming tomorrow?” Tawan asks, thinking it might be an elaborate plan for a surprise appearance. Tawan does not need or want to be surprised.

“She’s got a gig for Vogue. They flew her out to Taiwan.” Ayla explains.

Tawan nods, “So, if she wasn’t busy, she would have been here.”

“No.” Ayla answers curtly. “Her presence would take away from the album. We’ve decided she’ll send a bouquet of flowers. If that becomes a bigger headline than my album then we’ll adjust accordingly.”

Tawan thinks of canceling her own order of flowers. But it’ll just be a bouquet among many. It’ll hardly make a difference. Tawan double checks if the door is locked before approaching Ayla with open arms. Ayla sinks into her embrace with a deep sigh.

“Tired?” Tawan asks.

Ayla nods.

The door knob rattles, being pried open. Ayla and Tawan quickly separate. Tawan opens the door to see Non. 

He flashes her a smile. “I need Ayla for a few minutes.”

Then the minutes would turn to hours, to days, to weeks and Tawan would feel not just the distance but time wedge a space between them that she can’t cross. Non asks Ayla to transfer to a meeting room to discuss the brief for tomorrow’s event in detail. From the hallway, behind Non, Nana and Typhoon nod at Tawan, with Typhoon swiftly passing her a packed meal before shoving her back in the dressing room, with the two of them following Ayla and Non to the next room.

Tawan did skip dinner. But Ayla did, too. She looks at the food support from fans. A sticker of Ayla’s smiling face pasted on the middle. Then she chances one last look at Ayla walking away, not knowing it’ll be the common sight that Tawan will see of her for the following two weeks.

*

That the album is received well would be an understatement.

Ayla’s fans love it. Or if they’re only pretending to love it, they’re doing a really good job because their enthusiasm has reached even the general public. And the general public seems to be genuinely piqued because there’s a sudden rise in stream count.

The carrier single ‘raindrops’ plays second fiddle only to ‘Stardust’ the last track and namesake of the album, in terms of popularity, which has given Ayla some sort of visibility towards a new demographic of radio listeners in hair salons, and store and restaurant owners. 

It’s a demographic reach that few idols manage to break through. Given it happened in an uncommon way through an idol singer’s slow ballad, but still it’s a breakthrough that the marketing team has taken into account, suddenly boosting the song’s radioplays. 

Only midweek into their second week of promotions, the team has decided to change the performance setlist to cater ‘Stardust’ in order to highlight and boost its exposure.

And the song leaves Ayla more emotionally exhausted than ever.

During a Job Expo event at a mall, Ayla is visibly tearing up as the ending notes of the song play on. Nana holds Tawan back from doing anything impulsive, like jumping on the stage and wiping Ayla’s tears away. Ayla sniffle-laughs into the mic, a static-y sound emitting from the speakers afterwards that has Ayla moving her mic away.

“Whoops. Sorry about that.” Ayla quickly blinks her tears away. “Again, I’m Ayla. That was Stardust. Thanks for having me.”

She bows before exiting the stage.

There’s applause, and a few teary eyed audience members. It seems to be happening more and more frequently whenever ‘Stardust’ gets performed. Well, really, it’s only been added to the setlist for the past three events. But every time, it leaves Ayla and the audience in an emotional wreck. 

It is a sad song. Typhoon ended up crying when Ayla was re-recording it. Tawan wonders if Ayla has a personal attachment to the song that Tawan hasn’t been told about.

At the backstage, the event organizers and staff all ask for photographs. Ayla is happy to pose and smile for the cameras. A little girl, the daughter of one of the event producers, approaches her asking for her autograph.

Ayla happily signs the album. Her first album. A real fan in contrast to a part of the crowd of people who probably just happened to be in the mall at this time, idling around during Ayla’s set for some quick entertainment before going in their own merry way for whatever they intended to do in the first place.

The girl says, “I wanna be just like you,” and the smile on Ayla’s face wavers so inconspicuously that the little child wouldn’t be able to notice, but Tawan does, something she files for later.

In the car, on their way back to Ayla’s condo, Tawan brings Ayla to her lap seeing her doze off, and Ayla reaches for her hand blindly. Tawan takes a quick scan of the car. They’ve ensured the windows are tinted so that they’re not visible from the outside. Still, it’s a creeping worry these days that Ayla is constantly being watched.

Tawan reaches for Ayla’s hand. Her cold, cold hand. Tawan adjusts the air condition settings. Ayla sleeps soundly all the way home.

*

Ayla’s sudden break from her album promotional activity is owed to her menstrual period. The company’s statement deals with it straightforwardly. Anything concerning Ayla is dealt with so much truth and detail that Ayla, upon learning that they divulged her menstruation to the entire world, is distraught.

She hides under the blanket, shoving her phone away.

Tawan laughs, seeing her feet shuffle in frustration.

“Do you want pain meds?” Tawan asks, only having prepared a hot compress.

“I want ice cream.” Ayla peeks her head out of the covers, pouting.

“I got you chocolates, too.” Tawan passes the hot compress over, and Ayla lays it gently over her tummy. “But you should eat first.” She suggests, as she takes a seat at the edge of the bed.

Tawan knows that Ayla just gets lightheaded during her period. A brand deal photoshoot unfortunately coincided with the dreadful days and Tawan has witnessed Ayla powering through it all. Ayla literally told Tawan last night that she started her period because Tawan was starting to get real handsy while they were making out.

Ayla keeps pouting, and really Tawan would let it go if she hadn’t been the one to see her pass out right in front of her. Ayla’s eyes alone could plead with her to do anything, but seeing her lose consciousness again kickstarts a worry and ache in Tawan’s very being.

“Soup? You need to eat before you take some medication.” Tawan offers.

Ayla grumbles. “I’m tough, I don't need pain meds.”

“Fine. But you still need to eat. You haven’t been eating well.”

Ayla seems to know she can’t argue with that. Tawan reheats some soup, and when she returns to Ayla’s room, Ayla’s on her phone again.

“Stop reading stuff on Twitter. That’s bad for you.” Tawan says as she sits down.

“Nana and Typhoon texted me to feel better.” Ayla sits up, facing her phone screen towards Tawan, scrolling to show selfies of the two of them.

“You three have a group chat?”

Ayla smiles proudly, “Of course. Who do you think they complain to when their boss gets pissy?”

“They know you’re my soft spot.”

“I’m happy to be bestowed with such unique privileges.”

“Okay. Say ah.” Tawan scoops a spoonful of mushroom soup.

Ayla opens her mouth, allowing to be fed, even though she would be perfectly capable of feeding herself. She doesn’t appear to be as pale or as sickly as she did this morning. Tawan feels a bit of relief at that, then it is gone just as quickly as it appeared when Non’s name flashes on Ayla’s screen.

Ayla makes a face, before answering the call. She opens her mouth to speak, but that’s all she manages to do. No words escaping from her mouth for a while.

“Of course, of course. No worries. Yeah. Alright, thank you, Non.” Ayla says, which really from the perspective of a person not included in the phone call, is just a whole load of nothing.

Tawan looks at her in anticipation when the call ends.

“Back to work. Effective tomorrow.”

“I’ll say you fainted again. They’ll believe me.”

Ayla kisses her cheek, “They will. So you shouldn’t. I already feel much better, so I should get back to work. That was sweet of you to offer.”

Tawan unknowingly probably has a look on her face that conveys disbelief. It would be the only reason Ayla reassures her further. “I’m tough.” She says, scrunching her face and flexing arm muscles that are surprisingly toned. Must be from all the dancing.

“You are,” Tawan deludes herself into agreeing. Ayla takes the bowl of soup from her. Tawan takes one good look at Ayla’s face. Makeup less, carefree, not put on for the cameras or the stage lights. And Tawan acknowledges, too, all the strength it takes to bring it all together, never letting the mask slip even a little.

“You’ve been getting real emotional during the promo tour,” Tawan states her observation, thinking there’s no other time to ask what’s all that about. 

Tomorrow, Ayla will be back to full idol mode. This soft gooey pliant version of her is only as a result of a health issue. Throughout the entire promotional junket, Ayla doesn’t even turn off idol mode at all, always serious and passionate and driven, turning her charm up to its fullest. 

“Honestly, I should’ve known I’d be getting my period soon just from that.” Ayla huffs, placing her already emptied bowl on the side table.

“Here I was thinking, it's some sort of personal song to you.” Tawan continues watching her, trying to piece her together like a puzzle.

“Every song has a personal attachment. I don’t play favorites.”

“Every single one?”

“Okay. Maybe not all.” Ayla shrugs, reaching for her waist. “Can you show me your boobs please?”

Tawan wrangles away from her hands. “You only wanted ice cream earlier.”

Ayla makes a suggestive face. One plus one equals…?

Tawan’s eyes widen. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Please, your boobs alone will bring me back to a perfect bill of health.” Ayla whines.

Tawan laughs, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

What ends up being more ridiculous is how Tawan ends up topless minutes later, with Ayla on top of her, sucking at her nipples. It should not even be remotely close to sexy considering Ayla’s state earlier, but her eager mouth powered by her menstrual hormones-induced horny brain is really all that it takes to have Tawan giving in.

Ayla always gets what she wants. Tawan likes giving Ayla what she wants.

“You’re definitely feeling much better,” Tawan breathes out, when Ayla finally stops lapping at her breasts.

“Thanks to the power of boobs.”

“Any boob should be okay then.” Tawan tries to scoot away.

“Nooo!” Ayla grabs at them with both hands, pinching a nipple as she scrunches her face at Tawan.

Tawan squirms under her.

Ayla exhales, surging forward to kiss Tawan. “You’re so beautiful.”

“You only ever tell me that when I’m naked. Half naked in this case.” Tawan points out.

Ayla frowns, “Really? Well, I guess… if I tell you every time I think about it, that’s all we’ll talk about.”

“You’ve been talking about boobs for a good five minutes just now.”

“Uh huh. Your boobs. Which really just proves my point.”

Tawan shakes Ayla’s shoulders. “Okay. Stop talking about boobs. If you have a slip of tongue during a schedule tomorrow, you won’t hear the end of it from Non.”

“I don’t see how saying tongue is any better.” Ayla’s eyes are already fixed on her mouth.

“You’re insatiable.” Tawan manages to say before Ayla captures her lips in another kiss, predictably slipping her tongue in Tawan’s mouth. Tawan smirks into their kiss, which registers only later in her very distracted state. It occurs to her belatedly too that it must have been the reason Ayla gets the courage to shove her hand down Tawan’s pants.

“You’re wet,” Ayla draws away just to say, a self satisfied grin is plastered on her face, too.

“I wonder who did it.” Tawan tries to joke. Really, she tries. But she knows the punchline wouldn’t land, not especially when her only audience is already focused on something else.

This is a good enough reason for Ayla to stop wearing press-on nails.

*

A different series of photographs takes the internet’s attention. Not leaked, or stolen, or taken secretly this time. They even unknowingly got it correct. Tawan lifted Ayla briefly in order to have her avoid stepping over a puddle. Tawan held an umbrella over Ayla to shield her from the rain. Tawan had her arm out which Ayla used as support when they stepped out of the radio station building where Ayla had her interview.

It’s raining. Tawan’s protectiveness kicks into high gear because of it.

Ayla’s appearances are public information. Fans are encouraged to show up in some schedules to have a visible show of support in all her activities. It adds to her worth as a celebrity that people will follow her everywhere and anywhere.

Non is still kind enough to lessen Ayla’s schedules for the day. 

Tawan orders pizza to commemorate reaching Ayla’s condo before sundown. Maybe they can start a tradition. Tawan takes it from the assigned security personnel on the ground floor who receives delivery and packages for Ayla as part of the new security protocol. It actually helps ease Tawan’s worries mostly.

Ayla hugs her from behind, as Tawan arranges the food on the table, her arm out to show her what got the internet in a sort of frenzy. Photos of the two of them. Taken from multiple angles. Zoomed in and out, in black and white, and edited into more radiant colors. Ayla’s definitely not wearing that shade of yellow. Tawan turns in place to double check.

“They edited it well.” Tawan comments.

“Apparently we look pretty cute together.” Ayla scrolls at what Tawan thinks is a few more of the same pictures from the moment earlier now posted online.

Tawan pulls her by the waist. “And what would that mean for your PR relationship?”

“Nothing.” Ayla says nonchalantly, “People are just making scenarios in their minds. You’re just an added character in their imaginary doll house where they make people kiss and stuff.”

“And stuff?” Tawan plucks Ayla’s phone from her hands, pocketing it away.

“People are thirsting over you. Do you know what that means?”

“I’d really rather not, I think.”

“Yeah.” Ayla nods slowly, fixing the collar of Tawan’s shirt. “Yeah.”

“I think it’s best if I don’t involve myself in that further,” Tawan starts, catching Ayla’s eyes.

Ayla returns her gaze well, affectionate and understanding. “It’s alright if you can’t help yourself, darling. It can appear as just part of your obligations. Nothing more.”

“I’m scared… it’ll show differently. And it can. I just don’t want to be another plaything they assign emotions to so they can satisfy their delusions.”

Delusions that mostly play out with Ayla and Frung together, for sure. Because the public has been told that’s the truth of the situation. Frung’s beautiful bouquet of flowers for the album launch caused quite a stir, but Ayla only took Tawan’s back to her condo. 

The exercise in restraint on Ayla’s part to keep it to the smallest possible reaction while in a room full of other people—only a small undeniable twinkle in Ayla’s eyes, upon reading the small note that indicated that the flowers were from Tawan. That undeniable twinkle in Ayla’s eyes, perhaps only undeniable to Tawan alone. Tawan likes that. 

“Okay, I understand.” 

And then, Tawan searches Ayla’s eyes. And at this moment, Tawan feels out of her depth. She’s the one that doesn’t understand. Tawan doesn’t know why she can’t decipher what her eyes are conveying. Ayla sometimes says one thing, and means another. It’s fine. Just part of the job description. But Tawan usually can tell what she intends to mean. 

Ayla’s blank eyes evade her before rounding the table to take her seat.

“Would you say this is a date?” Ayla says, and it feels like a misdirection.

Tawan indulges her in every way. “I guess this is the only way we could have it.”

A brief flash of hurt is on Ayla’s face. Tawan catches it. Of course, she does. It suddenly brings her some sense of balance. Tawan knows Ayla. She knows what she feels even when she doesn’t say a single word. 

“I’m sorry,” Ayla says.

Tawan doesn’t mean to be the reason for any of it. The hurt. The apologies. 

Ayla’s been apologizing to everyone. For no reason other than simply being herself. 

For being a woman who loves women. Or a woman. Her public statement never said she loved Frung specifically. Ayla only wrote there is love between them, which okay, Tawan can reason there’s love everywhere actually. Tawan can go as far as to say that she loves Nana and Typhoon and Chanya, too. But Ayla wrote that she loves a woman. That she isn’t ashamed of that. And Tawan reads that as an indirect answer to their argument the morning of the revelation. 

And in that, Tawan recognizes the way Ayla tries to incorporate her small truths in a sea of deceit.

The more ridiculous part is that Ayla has to apologize for being a woman. For the physiological process that happens routinely to every woman. For the debilitating pain it causes her, which is apparently not valid enough, to skip out on important obligations.

Tawan must have been standing there, quietly for a long enough time that Ayla feels the need to offer a solution. “If I get more than three days off, we can travel to a different country.”

Tawan laughs, and when her eyes land back on Ayla, she manages to stop herself. “You’re serious.”

“Yeah.” Ayla starts eating, so Tawan sits down and does the same.

“Where do you wanna go?” Tawan is curious now. Ayla looks like she has it all planned out.

“Definitely a different continent. I’m thinking of Greece. I’m looking into Portugal, as well.”

“So, just somewhere… far.”

“The farther the less likely there will be people who recognize us.”

Tawan notices it now. How well spoken Ayla is. In a world after the leaked-photo-forced-coming-out statement, it becomes more evident. The statement is now buried under promotional pictures for her new album, but Tawan goes back to read it every now and then.

And even when it’s just the two of them, everything Ayla says, and the words she uses are consistent with intentionality. Recognizes, she says. Because no one really knows them. Not the two of them behind closed doors, at least. Tawan used to think it was all just part of the media training. 

“When you get more than three days of rest… that’s… usually not good. As far as I’ve observed.” Tawan points out.

“Yeah.” Ayla laughs, humorless. “Bad track record.”

“What do you wanna do?” Tawan maneuvers them back to a safe topic of conversation.

“I don’t know yet. We can make an itinerary.” Ayla suggests. “I’d love to do anything as long as it’s with you.”

“How about hiking?” 

“As long as it’s not that rough of a trail.”

“You said you’re tough.” Tawan looks at her in defiance.

Ayla pouts, before puffing her chest out and putting on a determined face, holding a slice of already half eaten pepperoni pizza, which is really just silly and cute. “I am.” She says in an even cuter voice.

Tawan believes her.

*

Ayla distances herself well enough after the unfair focus on the idol and her bodyguard. It’s just too many eyes watching, Tawan reasons. That is precisely what she asked. To not be involved further. Still, the consequence of that particular request actually feels… jarring.

Ayla doesn’t even look at her direction. She never catches her eyes anymore. Ayla still talks and laughs with Nana and Typhoon in public. Tawan feels left out of that now. 

In an interview, when a reporter insinuates jealousy from Frung’s end at the viral pictures of Ayla and her bodyguard, Ayla calmly reassures them that there is no such thing. Which is the actual reality. The published headlines still twist it into something else.

So, the distance makes sense. Publicly, that is.

Privately, it doesn’t.

Ayla asks for a night alone, to which Tawan agrees begrudgingly. She can want to be alone. Tawan knows how much Ayla values her solitude, too. Tawan figures it soothes her just a little to be away from everyone and everything. That was always the impression that landed on her in the past. 

That it must fill her with relief to no longer be watched, to no longer be performing.

Tawan wants to be an exception to that. She wants to be the person Ayla can be her authentic self with. Although, Tawan supposes… even a loving gaze is still a gaze nonetheless. 

On the drive to Tawan’s apartment, Nana is the first person to voice out her concern for the situation.

“Everything okay, boss?”

Tawan turns to Nana, knowing she means it as a question regarding Ayla. “Yeah. You know how she gets like that sometimes.”

They do. They’ve all been assigned to drive her home in the past. They’re all familiar with the way she gets quiet and withdrawn the entire way through. Tawan wants to believe this instance is no different.

Because if she thinks of it being based on any other reason, it might just break Tawan.

“See you tomorrow, boss.” Typhoon says when he takes the seat she vacated.

That’s Ayla’s usual send off. Minus the boss part. Ayla’s technically their boss if anything.

Tawan watches them drive away, before buying padkra pao from the small stall near her apartment. The auntie remarking how she hasn’t seen her in a while, and Tawan is sure the auntie doesn’t remember that Tawan has told her previously that she’s working for Ayla.

Ayla’s song is blasting in the stall’s speakers.

Stardust. 

Tawan’s chest swells with pride. In every public event of recent days, the audience turnout has been spectacular. 

After receiving her order, Tawan plays the song on her phone, popping in an earbud in her good ear. She listens to the entire song twice, the exact amount of times needed for her to reach her destination. Upon reaching her apartment building, a familiar neighbor’s shocked face greets her at the gate. They both give each other polite smiles and a curt nod before going their own way.

She turns the television on, just to fill her living space with sound. Ayla could be so full of stories when prompted. Tawan misses it.

She eats her dinner on the couch, finding the dining table too big for a single person. Why did she even get a huge table? Tawan rarely invites anyone over. Ayla invited herself over, but now it feels like a difficult thing to come to fruition. It’s too private. Too personal. They can’t risk being seen that way in public.

Tawan’s phone rings.

Ayla’s smiling face fills the screen.

She answers in a panic, “Are you okay? Tell me you’re okay,” Tawan is sure she sounds frantic.

Meanwhile Ayla just sounds in disbelief. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“The last time we were on the phone…”

Tawan hates the sinking realization. She had spent that night just like she did tonight. And then suddenly Ayla is calling. Tawan can’t stomach a repeat of that night.

“Oh right. Forgot about that. No, I’m fine. Really. I’ll video call you, wait.” 

Just as quickly, Ayla switches them over to a video call.

Upon seeing with her own two eyes that Ayla is indeed fine and is simply seated on her living room couch as well, Tawan bursts in with complaints. “God, you scared me. Why are you calling?”

“I thought I’d say good night.” Ayla smiles. She knows Tawan is weak for her smile.

“That’s it?” Tawan argues weakly. There has to be more to it.

“I don’t know. I guess… I miss you.” Ayla purposefully looks away while saying it.

“You said you wanted a night alone.”

Ayla bites her lip. “About that, you see… I’m wrong.”

“I’ll book a car.” Tawan stands up. 

“I’m sorry,” comes Ayla’s weak voice in admission.

It gives Tawan pause. “For what?”

“For the inconvenience.”

“You’re not an inconvenience.” Tawan reassures her. “If anything, you’re doing me a favor by letting me spend more time with my favorite person in the whole world.”

“Me?” That brings a smile back on Ayla’s face.

“Who else? Of course, you.”

It seems to fuel Ayla to reveal her truth. “We already spend so much time together. I figured you were already sick of me.”

Tawan frowns, “Is that why you’ve been acting that way?” 

Distant. And cold sometimes. 

Ayla purses her lips. “Guilty as charged.”

“I like being together. We can be alone together, too. I just like seeing you. I like being around you. I like existing together.”

“You’ll get bored of me.” Ayla says. Not bitterly. Not truthfully. Just to put it out there.

“That’s really not a bad thing.” 

Maybe maybe Tawan wants to be bored. She doesn’t mind removing the excitement and thrill of everything from the equation. Because in all honesty, she doesn’t think it’ll be gone completely. What she doesn’t actually say is outright denial. There’s no way she’ll get bored of her. Ayla always has a lot of tricks under her sleeve.

“It isn’t?” Ayla questions.

“It’s not.”

It would be a good thing. The boredom. Any good long lasting relationship leads to boredom. Boredom indicates familiarity. It would ease Tawan’s mind if she can no longer get surprised by Ayla. 

So, of course, Ayla chooses this moment to surprise her. 

“You should just live with me then. Test out your theory.”

Tawan blinks at her screen, inspecting the moving pixels. “Is that an offer? My lease ends in two months.”

“It works out perfectly then.” Ayla shrugs.

“Is that an offer?” Tawan repeats.

“Let’s live together.”

Tawan starts moving, looking for a bag to bring more of her clothes. She recounts that small encounter from earlier. “We already are. A little. My neighbor was surprised to see me at my own apartment building.” 

“Let’s live together a lot more.”

Not just an extra toothbrush, and a space in the wardrobe dresser. More than just a drawer of possessions.

Tawan halts in step. “Okay.”

Ayla rubs at her eyes before yawning. “Okay. I’ll wait for you.”

When Tawan arrives at Ayla’s condo (Their condo? The thought makes her giddy), Ayla is sleeping on the couch. She looks so peaceful. Tawan carries her over to the bedroom, careful not to wake her. Ayla only stirs a little in the process, and she only manages to come to some degree of wakefulness once she’s been placed properly in the bed.

“You’re finally here,” Ayla murmurs sleepily.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Tawan sweeps a messy tangle of her from Ayla’s cheek, dropping a kiss there. “I’ll change into pajamas, okay?”

Ayla nods, surrendering back to sleep.

Once Tawan has changed into sleepwear, brushed her teeth and properly settled next to Ayla, Ayla seems to feel around for her. Tawan moves closer and lets Ayla rest between her arm and shoulder.

They feel a lot like living together already actually. 

*

The consequences of living together feel… jarring, too. The only difference really is the knowledge and the permission. They didn’t sign anything, or go into specifics. 

It had been a simple agreement.

Tawan simply brought a bag of clothes then later, a bag of her favorite things: her wrist watches, her coffee cups, the stack of coasters with the elephant on it given to her by her mother, a snowglobe she looks at during the holidays as a replacement for never seeing snow in her life.

Her most favorite in the entire world already exists in that condo unit. 

Even though nothing really changed between them, Tawan feels a shift nonetheless. The consequences of living together reveal that they could only achieve togetherness if they were the only two people in the world.

And Tawan has seen how so many people adore and love Ayla. She knows how Ayla basks in the glory of the chorus of their cheers. So, they feel like an impossibility suddenly.

Frung makes a timely appearance. A reminder all the more that there are not only two players in this game.

Tawan guides her from the parking lot to Ayla’s waiting room. Frung doesn’t say a word until they are effectively confined inside four walls. Ayla is still in an event briefing with Non, and with Nana, and Typhoon guarding them.

“How are you?” Frung asks.

“Good.” Tawan hopes she doesn’t sound like she doesn’t really want to have this conversation. 

“I saw the pictures.”

“Should I apologize?” Tawan doesn’t know why she chooses to be hostile. A lot of people saw the photos.

Frung, a good sport, only laughs. “No. They were pretty. You two look good together.”

Tawan thinks of taking advantage of her kindness at this moment. “Did you two….?”

“What did she tell you? So, I can help build the story better.” Frung seems to think it’s a time for joking around. Tawan folds her arms across her chest, and Frung visibly swallows, taking the matter at hand more seriously. “I mean, it was never like that for us. She only ever has eyes for you.” 

Tawan knows that. She feels it, too. There shouldn’t be any question about it.

“I admit I did harbor a short-lived crush on her for a bit. It’s hard not to.” Frung rambles. Tawan hates hearing it, but it is the truth. “But she’s been set on you since the beginning of time. No one else really stood a chance.”

Tawan takes that in. Does she mean… Well, Sprite did tell her during Ayla’s birthday when they drove past St. Kings that they studied there… but that can’t possibly mean…. Frung doesn’t really mean since then, right? Right? Although Khaotu seems to imply that too when they had breakfast. But, really? That long ago?

Ayla is as good as springing on her heels when she enters the waiting room. Frung is right by the door so Ayla approaches her first with a hug. Tawan wishes she positioned herself there so she got greeted first.

“Your real girlfriend is sizing up your fake girlfriend, by the way.” Frung tattles.

Ayla draws away from approaching Tawan, giving her a playful questioning look and a quirk of an eyebrow.

Tawan exhales deeply. She isn’t sizing her up. She’s only asking questions.

“So, is she a suitable fake girlfriend or should I get rid of her?” Ayla asks, standing beside Tawan now.

Tawan rolls her eyes. “She had a crush on you.”

Ayla gasps in mock surprise. “No way. Are you jealous? Is this jealousy coming from you?”

“Should I be? A little bird also told me you’ve been in love with me since the beginning of time.”

Ayla turns to glare angrily at Frung.

Frung raises her hands in surrender, “Oh c’mon, don’t shoot the messenger.”

“I’ve been in love with you since before the dinosaurs were wiped out by the meteors, yes.” Ayla exaggerates.

“Since St. Kings?” Tawan asks directly.

“Khaotu told you,” Ayla assumes correctly.

“Not directly. I only put two and two together just now.” Tawan holds Ayla’s hand, and she sees Frung’s eyes flit intentionally on their intertwined hands, a knowing smile playing on Frung’s lips. 

Tawan holds Ayla’s hands all the time (read: within confined spaces), so it shouldn’t indicate anything other than simply wanting to hold her hand.

Ayla immediately knows something is up. 

“Frung, what have you done to my girlfriend?” 

“I haven’t done anything.” Frung replies helplessly.

She hasn’t done anything at all. That’s the thing. And yet everyone is rooting for her. For Frung and Ayla. Then, later when she appears publicly supporting Ayla’s performance, scripted and angled perfectly for the cameras, it’ll be everything. Everything Tawan can’t be.

“She hasn’t done or said anything,” Tawan assures Ayla. Not yet. 

Ayla’s eyes land back on her softly. It’s embarrassing to be so affected by something that isn’t even real. 

“You’re it for me.” Ayla tells her, burrowing into Tawan’s neck to whisper more words of reassurance. “There’s no one else for me but you.”

“That means we can circle back on your high school crush, right?” Tawan teases.

Ayla grumbles. “Can we not?”

Frung clears her throat. “I’m still here, by the way.”

“Unfortunately,” Ayla slips away from Tawan’s side.

“Oh, fuck you.” Frung gives Ayla the middle finger.

“Hey, don’t talk to my girlfriend that way.” Tawan glares at Frung.

“You heard her.” Ayla says as she hands Frung a tablet.

Tawan recognizes it as the one that carries the confidential files password-protected four times before it can fully be opened. It feels over the top, but such is anything in the entertainment industry.

Later when Ayla and Frung are in front of the backdrop of the event with microphones in front of them, with reporters barking questions unrelated to the event only mere minutes before, they had already expertly anticipated such a thing to happen. 

There are questions about Frung’s enormously large bouquet of flowers, her work in Taiwan that coincided with Ayla’s album launch, Ayla’s thoughts on collaborating with Frung on a future project, Frung’s opinion on Ayla’s album, her opinion on the viral photos with her bodyguard. 

All are answered precisely with grace and respect. All in the script. 

What they have failed to anticipate however is that one of the biting questions would be about Tawan specifically. Neither of them could speak for her, but once the question lands their way, obviously both of them are stumped for an answer.

“Do you think your bodyguard might harbor secret feelings for you, Khun Ayla?”

Tawan is backstage when it all happens. Non made it that way. Better not to have all three players in the eye of the storm. Tawan agrees, so she only sees the interview through clips online posted almost simultaneously. How the mask slips a little for Ayla. How she scrambles to defend Tawan, unthinking of the implications. 

“She’s a professional. She’s simply performing her duties as my bodyguard.” Ayla answers.

“Still, even professionals could have feelings.” Another reporter insinuates. “Khun Frung, you’re not threatened by such proximity?”

“Ayla could have friends.” Frung confidently states, “I have friendships of my own. Ayla and I feel secure in our relationship. People need not paint our every interaction with other people so maliciously.”

That gets the reporters to pipe down just a little.

It also provides an opening. A small crack in an already fragile ecosystem of pretend. 

If the headlines still frame Tawan as a wedge in between Frung and Ayla after such a public display of their faux relationship, it is that particular question that Tawan thinks will effectively push them further away from each other in the public eye. 

And Ayla will let it all happen.

Words have that kind of power in Ayla’s world. Words become poison.

True enough, another reporter adds another unnecessary comment. A quiet thing finally spoken out loud. 

“Maybe it’s Ayla that has feelings for her bodyguard.”

Ayla stills.

Frung, ever the composed one, supplies the steely protective response the reporters want. “Please don’t talk about my girlfriend that way.”

Now, that’s a headline.

Someone twists Tawan’s bad ear. 

She elbows in the direction where she feels a body looming over her.

Mek doubles over, groaning in pain. “Okay. I deserved that.”

“You knew not to do that.” Tawan offers a hand up.

Mek brings a palm up, refusing, bringing his body upright, but still bent slightly because of pain. “You think someone would attack you here suddenly?”

“I never bring my guard down.” Tawan says.

Mek stands up fully. “That is your bad ear, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“How are you?” He asks, mostly well-meaning.

“Good.”

“I was surprised to see you at the awards show. It didn’t seem like your kinda scene.” Mek confesses, offering a piece of gum.

Tawan takes it, inspecting the packaging. “What reputation have I gotten out there?”

“Morally upstanding. Crime busting. Doing police work almost.”

Tawan pockets the gum when she notices Mek is chewing. “Don’t compare our work to police work.”

“Well, you did help uncover that investment fund scam. That felt like police work.”

That was their assignment before working for Ayla. Chanya likes sleuthing. That’s all. She wants to contribute to the team in a big way even behind the scenes. So that’s what happened. It wasn’t like they were intentionally trying to play good cop. They just happened to be at the right place at the right time. 

When put in that perspective, of course, it is a huge jump. They’ve never considered working for a celebrity before. Definitely not their kinda scene. But Nana and Typhoon don’t complain. In fact, Tawan could say that they really like working for Ayla.

“The cops don’t do their job well. They were truly only adding security but somehow we were cleaning up after their mess.” Tawan replies.

“Okay. Detective work then.”

Tawan doesn’t wanna have a conversation about how detectives are still part of the police workforce. Whatever. Let Mek believe what he wants.

“Ayla pays you well?”

“Yeah.”

“I figured.”

Tawan hates how that comes off. But again whatever. Let Mek believe what he wants.

“What’s with that family, huh?”

“What do you mean?” Tawan wants to take offense at that. But she doesn’t even know what he’s trying to say.

“Khun Yuth’s daughter receiving a bomb threat. Two bomb related incidents in one family. That’s scary.” Mek shrugs. “But if I think about it, then it is precisely your kinda scene.” A loaded beat passes between them. “What? You think we’re still worthy of redemption for what happened back then? What does Ayla say?”

Tawan takes that in, schooling to keep her face neutral. Never mind that the revelation has her world slip off its axis. Mek need not know beyond that. Despite clearly knowing more than Tawan already. Ayla is Khun Yuth’s daughter. The business man they failed to protect, who died from a bomb incident. The bomb incident that left both Mek and her deaf in one ear. The bomb incident that changed Tawan’s life irrevocably.

Ayla. Khun Yuth’s daughter. His daughter…. his family who Tawan, back in the day, wanted to ask forgiveness from.

Are they still worthy of redemption? Of forgiveness? Of love?

“Don’t worry about it.” Tawan taps Mek’s back once, hoping he drops the subject altogether. She doesn’t know how much longer she can hold herself well.

Ayla and Frung come into view, making their way back to the waiting room with Non and the rest of the security entourage and glam team in tow, and Mek takes that as his cue to leave. “I’ll see you around?” He asks.

“Yeah.”

Thankfully, they all monitor the public response to the recently completed interview, so Tawan manages to sneak out without being noticed.

It takes plenty of digging. Yuth protected his private life well. No pictures of his family whatsoever come out of a quick google search. Not one thing about his family for the first five pages of the search result. Ploy comes up in the sixth. Ploy, the event organizer to a department launch. 

Tawan types it in. Yuth, Ploy, Fon, and Yam.

An obituary comes up. Yuth, survived by his wife, and his two daughters, Fon and Yam.

And then the family picture comes up soon enough. Tawan unravels, and laughs wetly. What a sick joke.

There it is. Ayla told her about it. Tawan’s eyes land on Ayla first. Then her sister. Fon and Yam. Pre-teens, braces and all. 

Then she takes stock of the four of them, all smiles, appearing happy. Tawan wishes they were actually happy. Then… she wishes they weren’t. Selfishly. Then maybe she’ll feel less shame and guilt for being the person that was unable to save him.

The event that turned a family of four into three, Tawan could’ve prevented it… she could have but she didn’t. She wasn’t skilled enough, strong enough, fast enough, tactical enough at that time to keep it from happening.

The family she wanted to ask forgiveness from. They were right there. They spent an entire weekend together. She watched them take a new family portrait for goodness’ sake. She loves the daughter of the man she failed to protect. 

What a cruel revelation.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. How’s that for a bedtime story?

Nana’s banging on the door to the toilet stall she occupies.

“Everything okay, boss?” She calls out, voice frantic. “Ayla’s worried.”

Tawan flushes the toilet as she exits the stall just as an excuse, huffing out and glaring angrily at Nana before scanning the area. “Be quiet.”

Nana is thorough. There’s no one else in the toilet if she’s choosing to talk about private professional matters here. But she hates hearing about how Ayla is worrying about her right now. 

“Are you okay? Is there something wrong with the food?” Nana asks, her brows are knitted in worry.

Tawan halts in step at that, “Is there?”

“There’s just been a suspicious gift. P’Chanya looked into it just now, and there’s a particular food delivery from an untraced fanclub. First time sender. No socials or anything of any sort. Just arrived with cute stickers and all that.”

Tawan’s washing her hands just to busy herself with something.

“But don’t worry. Typhoon and I made sure no one eats it. It’s just… Ayla’s looking at it she knows something. It’s strange. But we don’t really know how to approach her about it.”

Tawan gets it then, looking at Nana through her reflection in the mirror. “I’ll look into it.”

“Thank you, boss.”

“Are they done?” Tawan asks.

Nana nods, a blank look on her face, as if deciphering what got Tawan in such a foul mood. “Yeah. Uhm. Ayla’s looking for you actually.”

“Tell Chanya to loop me into the suspicious fanbase deliveries.”

“Yes, boss.” Nana replies, like it’s life or death.

*

“Are you okay?” Ayla sits on her lap cautiously, like a bird perching on a branch deciding if it would be safe enough, or if it would be better to flee to another.

Tawan closes her text thread with Chanya, putting her phone face down on the couch. 

Chanya confirms that the food delivery is a deliberate plot. An innocent middle man caught in between. Untraceable. It wasn’t actually poisoned, but the sauces are glue, and the beverages are mixed with petroleum jelly. It would cause an upset tongue and stomach if consumed. 

It annoys Tawan all the more that it feels like a silly, childish, and immature move.

“No,” Tawan exhales, looking up at the way Ayla’s worried face falls even more.

“What can I do to make you feel better?” Ayla offers, looping her arms around Tawan’s neck.

Tawan’s eyes land somewhere behind Ayla, but it doesn’t focus on anything. Everything is a blur. Where does Tawan even begin?

Ayla seems to take it to mean something from the kitchen. A thing to retrieve. She tries to stand up, and Tawan pulls her back down.

“No. Stay.” Tawan says weakly, enveloping Ayla in an embrace and placing her head on her chest to listen to her beating heart. “Don’t go.”

It sounds a lot like the answer to Ayla’s question.

“I live here. I have nowhere else to go.” Ayla tries to lighten the atmosphere, threading fingers through Tawan’s hair.

“So do I.” Tawan replies.

“I won’t leave you,” Ayla’s voice takes on a reverence Tawan hasn’t heard from her previously. “I’m with you until the end.”

Tawan takes no comfort in that promise though. They’ve ended before they even began.