Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The interrogation room smelt faintly to disinfectant and burnt coffee. A single lamp cast a harsh circle of light over the metal table, leaving the corners of the room drowned in shadow. Sat to the table, May sat quietly in her chair, hands on the metal surface but unmoving — of course she’d rather leave them comfortably on her lap but her experience as an attorney told her better than to show any signs of uneasiness. Not that she had anything to hide, at least nothing relevant about the case at hand.

Her dark eyes followed every measured movement of Inspector Phimphakorn Dechaanek as she shuffled the papers before her.

“Khun Metawee, before we begin,” Inspector Phim began, her voice calm but edged, “I must remind you of your rights. You are not required to answer my questions if you do not wish to, and you have the right to have a lawyer present. Do you understand?”

“I’m an attorney, inspector, I do know my rights,” the girl answered steadily with a faint nod.

"Good.” She made a pile with the papers and clasped her hands together, looking straight to the woman before her. “This is not yet an accusation, only questioning for clarification. As you know, two individuals lost their lives in the collision near Rama IV Road three nights ago — Khun Paul Prasert Rattanakul and Khun Oaboom Ingsamug.”

“To this moment and to my knowledge, Khun Ingsamug is still alive though in a delicate state at the hospital, inspector,” May argued, bobbing her head.

“True, my bad,” the inspector quirked an eyebrow. Of course someone like her would know every detail. Either she cared enough about the victims or about their finally state, facing the police. “It is a matter of public knowledge that you were previously… involved with Khun Oaboom. Can you tell me what was the nature of your relationship?"

“There’s no need to beat around the bush, inspector,” the woman replied, smoothly, and licked her lips. “Oom and I dated for three years. After we broke up last year, she met Paul and eventually got engaged.”

“And the nature of your separation, was it friendly?”

“It’s complicated…” Metawee pursed her lips. “Do you always start from the ending?”

The inspector snorted. “Are you going to tell me how to drive my interrogation, Khun attorney?”

“Not at all, seriously,” she smiled, never losing her calm. “But it’s… I think you’ll understand better that way.”

For a moment, Inspector Prim only looked at her in the eyes, searching for anything — a lie, a hint of whatever she was planning or trying. Anything. She very rarely was prone to believe suspects but lawyers… she was sure those would spit more lies than truths. Still, she yielded.

“Very well,” Inspector Phim nodded. “How did you meet Khun Oaboom?”

“Drunk,” her giggle took the police woman aback. “It was back during our uni days, although if you asked Oom she wouldn’t remember it.”

“Oh, really?”

It had been a Friday night. Probably the first and last time Metawee had ever gone partying. She didn’t even want to go, not fond neither of crowds, drunken people nor loud noises — and that was mostly what partying was about. However, it was Mew’s birthday and you see, Mew was Cookie’s best friend. Not that she liked biscuits, but Cookie as in the girl P’Ton, May’s cousin, was infatuated with at the time. He insisted on her being their chaperone and May would have refused but, still feeling guilty about having had a thing with Ploy despite knowing why Ton and her weren’t together anymore, she just couldn’t say no. Family had always been complicated for May after all.

Did I say Metawee wasn’t fond of crowds? The moment she set foot in the bar, she decided she wasn’t keen on people in general. It was briefly after dinner — they’d had sushi, if you wondered, as a last bribe from P’Ton — but people were already out of control. You wouldn’t say those people jumping on tables and screaming were the next generation of judges, lawyers, doctors and engineers of the country.

Metawee had just stepped out of the bathroom in the direction of the bar, purse slung over her shoulder, when three girls blocked her path. Their glittering eyes too fierce for the haze of alcohol clouding them.

“Hey!” One of them yelled over the loud music. It was odd, May thought, how greenish her dyed hair looked under the dark yellow lights, she could swear she’d seen that girl queuing before entering and her hair was an ashy brown. “You think I don’t know?”

Metawee blinked, caught off guard and quite confused by the semi-circle closing around her.

“Excuse me?” The girls were obviously inhebriated, they must have mistaken her for somebody else.

“You are Metawee from Law, aren’t you?” Another of the drunk girls asked, pointing at her with a sharp and long nail. May looked at it as though it was a blade, however.

“Who’s asking?” she replied with a stiff smile.

“Only the woman you’re trying to steal her boyfriend from, you bitch,” the girl with the odd hair stepped up rising an arm but one of her friends stopped her.

“Look, I don’t even know who your boyfriend is. I just wanted to get a drink and go back to my table, okay?”

The lead girl stepped closer, breath sweet and sharp with tequila, making the back of May’s neck prickle.

“You think you can just flirt with whoever you want?” she released fully from her friend and pressed an accusatory finger against Metawee’s shoulder, “What, you that desperate?”

The girl’s lips parted, ready to defend herself, but before she got the chance to say anything, a chaotic voice broke into their corner.

“Ayyy!!! There you are, babe!” Stumbling and glassy eyed, a girl with a sloppy yet cunning smile and a beautiful dark mane stepped between them. “I’ve been looking all over for you!” She was holding two half-empty cocktails like trophies, and somehow managed to spill both all over the girls.

“Oh god...” Metawee blurted out, although her voice was drowned by the loud music.

The girl with the tequila breath let out a shriek as sticky pink liquid splashed down her sequined top.

“What the hell!?” she shouted, trying to shake it off.

But her savior didn’t seem to notice, or maybe she did — and just didn’t care. She was too busy slinging an arm around Metawee’s shoulders, grinning wide enough to split her face in half.

“There you are, baabiii,” she said again, loud enough to draw a few heads from nearby tables. “I can’t leave you alone for five minutes, can I?”

Metawee froze. Her brain lagged behind her body; the girl’s perfume — that sweet, dizzying mix of citrus and gin — flooded her senses to the point she suddenly found herself leaning into the girl’s denim jacket.

One of them scoffed , “Stay out of this, this is between your friend and Mint!”

“My friend? My girlfriend, you mean!” her grin only widened, the glint of mischief cutting through the alcohol haze.

That landed like a small explosion. Even the drunk girls faltered, glancing at each other in confusion, as if wondering whether they were being pranked.

Metawee could feel her ears burning. “For the love of—”

Before the girl could finish her sentence, the girl swayed a little closer, nearly toppling into her.

“Yeah,” she slurred, squeezing her closer, “my very jealous, very taken girlfriend. Can’t even go get us drinks without someone trying to hit on her, and then she’ll sulk and tell me I’m too flirty with everyone...”

“You—” Metawee hissed, eyes darting nervously at the three girls — one of whom looked ready to throw her cocktail glass.

The lead girl — Mint, apparently — folded her arms and raised a brow. “You think that’s funny? You two think you can just—”

“Well, a pleasure to meet you, Pepper,” her savior said brightly, completely mangling the girl’s name. “You seem lovely, we should totally do brunch sometime, yeah?”

Before Mint — or Pepper — could spit out a reply, Oaboom had already caught Metawee’s hand and started dragging her through the crowd, half laughing, half stumbling.

“Wait!” Metawee protested, nearly tripping over her heels as Oaboom wove through a forest of bodies and spilled drinks.

“That was fun,” the girl said cheerfully, her grip firm despite the sway in her steps. “Such nice friends you have. They looked spicy.”

By the time they reached the other side of the dance floor, Metawee had given up fighting her off. The drunk girl stopped, panting a little, hair a gorgeous mess around her flushed face. The lights strobed over her — pink, blue, violet — painting her like a scene from a dream Metawee didn’t want to admit she was having.

She grinned, breathless. “Crisis averted. I am an excellent fake girlfriend.”

“More like an excellent disaster,” Metawee said, trying to keep her voice steady even as her pulse refused to cooperate.

“Same thing,” her savior said, leaning in close, the smell of gin and lime thick between them. “You’re already old enough to let people like that scare you…” She gave Metawee a slow, deliberate once-over — up, down, sideways — a sly smile spreading across her face, “...nong.”

Metawee’s jaw tightened. “I wasn’t scared.”

“Hmm.” she tilted her head, still grinning, eyes half-closed. “You were shaking.”

“I was angry.”

“Then you’re really cute when you’re angry, I couldn’t help myself.”

Metawee’s breath caught, and her savior laughed softly — then swayed again, balance slipping. Instinctively, Metawee caught her by the waist, fingers tightening against the rough denim of her jacket.

“You’re drunk,” she muttered, though she didn’t let go.

“Mm. And you smell nice,” she answered, sinking her nose in the crook of her neck.

“What—?”

“You!”

The shout sliced through the music. The bartender vaulted over the counter, storming toward them with murder in his eyes.

“Shit…” the drunk girl echoed, blinking at him like she was trying to recall if they’d met before.

Metawee stepped back, startled out of the haze that had wrapped itself around her. “What did you do?”

“I—uh,” she started, eyes darting, grin flickering nervously. But before Metawee could get an answer, she was already slipping toward the exit, voice trailing behind her like a battle cry.

“Put it on Oaboom Ingsamug’s tab!”

Metawee blinked, dumbfounded, as the bartender fought against a swarm of bodies to try and catch her, unsuccessfully.

Knowing her back then, she could have never foreseen being in that police office, being interrogated about her. Metawee’s fingernails bit at her palms when Inspecto Phim began making the utmost annoying sounds, showing her impatience.

“You could say the first time we formally introduced to each other was five years ago, at the airport.” Metawee hesitated for a moment. “I was already an attorney by then. She was a flight attendant.”

Phim’s gaze lifted — calm, direct. “You hadn’t seen each other since university?”

“No.” A pause, then a reluctant smile. “I remembered her, though. She had that kind of energy you don’t forget.”

Phim tilted her head slightly. “What happened that day?”

Metawee exhaled. “There was this pilot… I never knew his name. He was harassing her. Touching her arm, keeping her close as they waited for the boarding gate to open. People were looking, but no one moved.”

“But you did.”

“I told him to stop.” The words were clean, clipped, the voice of a lawyer giving testimony. But something in her eyes softened. “He didn’t take me seriously until I mentioned I worked for a firm that handled harassment suits. That got his attention.”

“And that’s when she recognized you?”

Metawee shook her head. “No, she never did. That’s why I’m sure she was too drunk to remember.”

Phim’s pen tapped twice against her notes. “And after that?”

“She thanked me,” a small longing smile appeared on her lips. “She brought me peanuts during the flight and once we landed she came to thank me again, so I used the oportunity to ask her out for a coffee, and that was the start of it.”

“Of your relationship?” Phim glanced up.

Metawee nodded once. “It wasn’t public. She didn’t want it to be. She was worried about how her company would take it and kept saying her grandmother wouldn’t understand. She’d answer calls in the bathroom, whispering excuses about extra shifts or delayed flights.”

“Did that bother you?”

“I didn’t like it,” Metawee admitted, voice quieter now. “But my parents weren’t exactly supportive either so… I didn’t push her. I knew what it was like.”

Phim leaned back slightly, the chair giving a soft creak under her weight. Her eyes didn’t waver. “How long did it last?”

“About four years,” she answered, calmly.

For the first time, Phim’s expression shifted — not surprise, but a faint tightening around the corners of her mouth. Her pen stilled.

“Four years,” she repeated, tasting the number like evidence.

She glanced down at the folder in front of her and began flicking through her notes, through the dates, the chain of events she’d managed to put together. Either the marriage had been quick — and if so, why? — or there was something Metawee wasn’t telling her.

Phim’s fingers tapped once against the page. She didn’t look up when she spoke, but her tone grew deliberate.

“You’re trying to do the math,” Metawee spoke before the inspector could, almost entertained.

“If you met five years ago and your relationship lasted four years—”

“Don’t fret, there was no overlapping.” But Inspector Phim didn’t believe her. “We didn’t have a clean ending.”

Phim raised an eyebrow. “Meaning?”

“She started pulling away,” Metawee said, voice breaking into something less rehearsed. “There wasn’t a moment in which we said it was over.”

Phim had learned, in her years on the job, that the small cracks told you more than the big confessions. The way someone’s thumb brushed the edge of the water cup, or how their eyes would flicker when the victim’s name came up. However, Khun Metawee was still like a statue, steady and calm, safe in her own skin. Attorneys, really…

“Then?” Phim said quietly, but didn’t get an immediate answer. “You said Paul came after you, but now you’re blurrying the lines.”

“Oaboom...” Metawee’s throat worked once before she answered. “She was beautiful. People looked at her. People wanted her.”

“Did that bother you?”

A faint smile crossed Metawee’s face, brittle as glass. “Of course it did. She was a flight attendant. The pilots, the executives… they tried things. Jokes, touches, comments.” Her fingers curled unconsciously on the table. “She’d always dismiss them. Roll her eyes, walk away. But that didn’t make it any less infuriating.”

“Enough to kill?” It was meant as a sort of joke but was only met with Metawee’s icy glare.

“Careful, Inspector, you better have solid evidence if you’ll accuse me of anything.” Then she took a deep breath. “I wasn’t the type to make a scene,” May said. “I’ve always had a distaste for people who loses control easily.”

Phim caught the change in her tone. “Did she?” Metawee rose her eyebrows, seeking for clarification. “Lose her temper easily.”

May laughed softly, without joy. “She was almost… bipolar about it. Some days, she was the sweetest person I’d ever met. She’d take me to the planetarium, make me eat ridiculous amounts of ice cream, fall asleep on my shoulder while we watched bad romcoms…” When she continued, it was quieter. “Other days she’d show up at my work to check who I was meeting, text me constantly to ask where I was and with whom, or appear on my work events uninvited to keep me under control and when I got mad she’d cling to me, kiss me in the hallway where no one could see.”

Phim’s pen scratched the paper, but her gaze was still fixed on Metawee. “Did you ever push back?”

May’s laugh was small, almost embarrassed. “I tried. And when I did, she cried. Said she only did it because she loved me. And I… believed her.”

“Did you love her?”

May looked down at her hands. “For I while, yes, I did.”

“Then Paul?”

May drew in a long breath, fingers tracing the edge of the table as though she were pulling words from somewhere she’d buried deep. “It was my birthday,” she said finally.

Phim’s eyes flicked up, alert.

“We were celebrating at my friend’s restaurant,” May continued. “Oaboom wasn’t supposed to be there. She had a flight back from Seoul and wouldn’t land until the next day. That was the plan.” Her voice caught slightly on the last word. “I didn’t even expect a call. I thought we’d have our own thing after.”

Phim tilted her head. “But she showed up.”

“She did.” May’s lips curved, not quite into a smile. “I thought I was imagining it at first. One second I was blowing candles, the next she was leaning on the doorframe like she’d just walked out of an american movie. Denim jacket, messy hair, that look on her face like she owned the room.”

Phim scribbled something, but she was listening closely.

“She’d never liked my friends,” May went on. “But I understood that was the price for keeping your ex as your best friend. And yet… that night she laughed with them, danced with them, made everyone fall for her. We drank too much and talked too loud. And when the night got quiet…” Her throat tightened. “She even guided me to somewhere we could be alone. It had been a while since we’d… you know.”

Phim didn’t interrupt, just nodded once.

May’s voice went softer, like the memory itself hurt to touch. “She kissed me like she was mine. Like we were okay. I thought…” she exhaled shakily, “I thought it meant something.” Then her jaw tensed. “And then,” she said, “she walked into the restaurant.”

Phim straightened. “What?”

“She walked into the restaurant,” May repeated, eyes fixed somewhere past Phim’s shoulder. “Oaboom. The real one. Just off a red-eye flight, still in her uniform and hair bun. She was so tired but had come looking for me.”

For a moment, the air between them froze.

“Who was with you then?”

“Aioon,” May whispered. “Her twin.”

Phim blinked once, registering. “You’re telling me—”

“Yes,” May cut in, sharper than she intended. “It wasn’t Oaboom that night. It was Aioon. They’d done it before, apparently — swapped places for fun, for convenience,..” She let out a short, humorless laugh. “I’ve always prided myself on knowing her. Every mole, every crease of her face, the way she breathes when she’s tired. But they’re identical. You wouldn’t notice at first. Well… I did. Just too late.”

Her hands curled into fists on the table, knuckles paling against the steel.

“It was a mess,” she whispered. “Oaboom was furious, screaming. Aioon was crying. And I—” She shook her head slowly, as if the memory itself was still fogged in disbelief. “I was just standing there, trying to make sense of what the hell had happened.”

Phim’s pen, which had been scratching steadily, froze midair. Then, slowly, it touched the page again.

“She stopped taking my calls after that,” May said, the sharp edges in her voice giving way to something flat, emptied out. “I tried. For weeks. And then one day, my cousin told me she was seeing the CEO’s son. Paul.”

Phim’s tone softened, measured but careful not to pry too quickly. “And the engagement?”

May pressed her lips together before answering. “I found out through social media.” She forced a shrug, like she’d rehearsed it a hundred times to make it sound casual. It didn’t fool Phim.

“That must have been hard for you,” the inspector said quietly.

May huffed a breath — something between a laugh and a choke. “Not enough to kill anybody, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Phim flipped to the next page in the file, the faint rustle of paper slicing through the silence. Her voice, when it came, was low and deliberate.

“And you didn’t try to do anything about the wedding?”

May let out a short, brittle laugh. “Why would I? She’d moved on. So did I.”

Phim’s eyes lifted, sharp and unblinking. “Then please explain,” she said slowly, “why Khun Oaboom called you twenty minutes before the accident.”

The words hit the air like the slam of a door. May’s stomach clenched. She hadn’t expected them to know. A part of her had prayed the phone had shattered, that the rain, the crash, the chaos had buried that call for good.

Phim didn’t give her time to recover. “The call lasted six minutes.”

Chapter Text

The hum of the old ceiling fan filled the silence between questions, easing the knot inside Aioon’s chest at the same time that it frayed her nerves thread by thread. The sound was steady, mechanical with a high pitched buzz at the end that hurt her ears.

Was all of that really necessary? They had already questioned her about this at the hospital and she hadn’t even been present when the car crash happened. All she’d wanted was to go to the hospital to sit with Grandma and wait for news about her sister. For her brother-in-law it was already too late.

Instead, she was here, answering questions with the patience of a caged animal. What made it worse was the way the officers had looked at her when she walked in, like someone had thrown a ghost through the door. As if they had never seen a pair of twins before. Infuriating.

Inspector Phim broke the quiet with the sharp rhythm of her pen tapping the notepad. Tap. Tap. Tap.

She leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, gaze steady but not unkind. “What kind of relationship do you have with your sister?”

Such a question, asked so lightly. So broad… where should she begin?

They were twins. Aioon, born four minutes earlier in an emergency c-section, had greedily taken most of the nourishment her mother provided to the point it showed when they were born — who’d tried to kill the other. Aioon was heavier, red-faced and loud, a fist already curled in defiance. Oaboom was small, too quiet, her skin pale pink in her immaturity, breathing just a touch too fragile.

Thankfully, Oaboom caught up quickly, as if determined not to let her sister stay ahead. But the immaturity of her lungs and the stressful development left her with a delicate state of health during her childhood. They’d grown up with the sound of wheezing threaded through their summers, hospital corridors over beach trips. Three times a year, at least. Sometimes more. And every single time, Aioon felt a slice of something sharp in her chest.

She could still remember the first time they took Oaboom to the emergency room. The way their mother’s hands shook and the somber expression in their father’s face. A pulmonary problem, the doctors had called it. A fragile system, vulnerable. Aioon never remembered the medical terms. What she remembered were the blue-tinged lips, the way her sister’s fingers clenched around hers.

Aioon let out a dry laugh before she could stop herself. “She was my little sister,” she said, the corner of her mouth twitching. “We lost our parents in a car crash when we were little. Ironically poetic, isn’t it? Considering how all of this has ended.”

The inspector’s pen paused midair. She didn’t comment on the sarcasm, just scribbled something down. The movement made Ai shift in her chair, suddenly aware of her own fidgeting fingers.

“So you were close?”

“Mhm… close,” Ai echoed softly. “I was always the older one. She was the smart one. The loved one.” And she twisted her smile to add, “Grandma’s little miracle. I was the one who… messed things up.”

Phim glanced at her over the notepad. “I’m sure twins have a unique bond.”

“When we were kids, we were be each other on convenience to the point we barely knew who was who anymore,” she snorted. “That was until we drifted apart and I started to impersonate her whenever I got in trouble. It was stupid, I know, and she’d hate me for it.”

“Sibling stuff,” Phim offered kindly, given the circumstances.

“Childish twin shit,” Ai agreed, bitterly. “She’s always hated to have a twin.”

“And you?”

The girl gave the inspector a look, but didn’t answer. “The thing is… that never really changed.” She gave a small, humorless laugh. “Except the stakes got bigger.”

The inspector nodded, leaning back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. The slight movement felt calculated. “So impersonating your sister was something… usual in your dynamic?”

Ai’s jaw clenched. “Just ask what you really want to ask.”

Phim didn’t flinch. Her tone stayed level, clinical. “What’s your relationship with Khun Metawee?”

In that moment, Aioon stiffened so visibly that even the humming light seemed to grow louder. “May?” she whispered.

“Yes. Khun Metawee.”

“She—” Ai hesitated, biting her lip hard enough to sting. “I met her because Oom asked me to keep an eye on her lover. She had just started flying for the new airline, she was paranoid May would cheat on her. Which made no sense because May was…” she pursed her lips, trying to choose the best set of words, “She was the most patient, dedicated woman I’ve ever met.”

The inspector tilted her head. “So you didn’t even know your sister was dating a woman?”

A huff. “When she said ‘lover,’ I assumed it was one of those pilots. I’d never seen her with anyone before and yet she was jealous enough to send me.”

The inspector’s pen tapped once. “So she sent you to play her part as a girlfriend?“

“In her defense…” Ai sighed and stared at the ceiling. “Before this mess, I had only ever dated men. Many men. It never felt—whatever.”

She remembered the first time she saw May. She had expected someone cold. Calculating. Instead, she found her at her office at home with a faint, distracted smile, wearing a distinct suit and immaculate makeup. The moment her eyes rose from the stack of documents on her desk and met Ai’s, everything softened. She lit up, like a whole new personality appearing from behind that poised and professional mask.

May stood, crossed the room briskly, kissed Ai on the lips without hesitation and Ai froze, breath caught somewhere in her chest, letting herself be led by the hand like someone stepping into a story she didn’t know she’d be part of.

“You have questioned her before, right?”

“Khun Metawee?” Aioon nodded at the inspector’s question. “Yes.”

“Then you know what I mean when I say her eyes would split through a person, like she was able to see right through me. I was so sure she’d catch me…” A smile. “But she just… looked at me, like I was exactly who she wanted to see.”

Her voice softened, memory pulling her in. “She asked me if I wanted to do something that night,” Ai murmured. “I thought it’d be dinner, a party...— whatever rich people do. But she just wanted a movie night on the couch. With popcorn. A scary movie she didn’t even like.”

“And then?”

“She fell asleep halfway through,” Ai said, a reluctant smile pulling at her mouth. “I left before morning and of course I yelled at Oom when she picked up — told her she was insane, that May was nothing like what she imagined. She told me to suck it up cause I owed her.”

Their second encounter wasn’t supposed to happen. Ai was helping Kosol and Ben with a bike when May appeared out of nowhere, radiant and very out of place in that dusty parking lot.

“Turns out she was helping Ben with some legal crap,” Ai said. “Apparently, her dad was blackmailing her, threatening to out her relationship. She’d found out one of his friend’s sons had gotten into trouble, and she used it to fight back. I thought it was hilariously petty. Brave. Kind of… cute.”

“Cute,” the inspector repeated flatly.

“Yes,” Ai snapped. “Cute.”

She leaned forward slightly, voice lowering. “That night, she told me she couldn’t keep living in fear of him and I get her, I do.” Aioon took a deep breath and crossed her legs. “May promised Oom that if anyone in her company dared to take measures against her, she’d sue them to their grave. I’d never seen someone talk like that…”

“Was that when you got involved?”

Ai hesitated, color rising in her cheeks. “That’s when she started teasing me. May found hilarious Oom’s worry about her behavior, as if the fact that she could ever look at anybody else but my sister was hilarious.” She squinted, trying to suppress a memory. “You know, May’s always so serious and collected but she has all these sides to her she hides so well from everybody.” A goofy smile appeared on her face before she was abel to hold back. “Ah... she would… We were in public, so she just left.” Her laugh came out shaky. “My friends said Oom’s plan was a terrible idea and I agreed all the way. But by then, it was too late.”

Aioon leaned forward, elbows pressed to the cold metal table, eyes on a crack near the edge rather than on Inspector Phim. She was talking faster now, as though the words might burn her if they stayed inside too long.

“She didn’t believe me,” Ai said quietly. “Oom. About May. She wanted proof, or… I don’t know, maybe she just wanted someone to tell her she was right to be paranoid. So she made me keep seeing her. Said it would only be until she came back from her longer routes. She wanted me to watch May.”

Phim tapped the end of her pen against the folder. “How often?”

Ai’s mouth twisted. “Almost every week. Oom would take shorter flights so she could be home on weekends, and I’d—” she huffed out a breath, “—play the role during the week. They tried to leave a few days between seeing me and her. Like that would make any of it less ridiculous.”

“And May?” Phim’s gaze was steady. “How was she?”

“Perfect,” Ai whispered, then shook her head, regretting the word the second it left her. “She was… sweet. Funny. God, she was sexy without even trying. She’d say something in that calm voice of hers and it’d get under my skin before I could breathe. And every time I saw her, it got harder to push her away.”

Her laugh came out quiet and broken.

“At first, I let her kiss me. Just little kisses. The kind Oom and she always shared, I guessed,” she added with a bitter taste. “But then they got longer, deeper… and I stopped stopping her. I kept telling myself refusing May would just make her suspicious. And I’d be the one who ruined everything.”

Phim raised a brow. “So you continued the relationship.”

“I didn’t continue anything,” Ai shot back, voice dropping. “I just… let it happen. Until one night I was in her bed, half undressed, and I freaked out.” Aioon ran a hand through her head. “May’s birthday was coming, and Oom wanted me there to keep an eye on her ex but I told her I wouldn’t do it anymore. She was furious but she didn’t push.”

The image slammed back into her mind in sharp, dizzying detail: May’s breath against her collarbone, warm and steady. The soft weight of her hand on Ai’s thigh. The little noise May made when Ai arched into her touch, anticipating. She’d touched her like she was her girl, and for a second she forgot she wasn’t.

Till she remembered and the guilt snapped her back like a cold slap.

“Do you think she knew what was going on?”

The question pulled her violently out of the memory. Ai’s head jerked up, glare sharp and sudden. The force of it made Inspector Phim’s pen hesitate midair. Then, the inspector inhaled quietly and scribbled something down anyway, her composure unshaken but the air between them tightening. Ai’s eyes flicked to the notebook, caught the movement of ink, and her throat felt dry.

“I saw May’s posts about her birthday,” she continued, “How excited she was. And I—” she clenched her jaw, “I decided to show up. Just for one night. And I lost control. We lost control.” Aioon leaned back and crossed her arms. “And everything went to hell after that.”

Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. Even the hum of the AC and the ticking of the wall clock seemed to have stilled. That was until Phim finally set the pen down.

“Do you think Khun Metawee hates you?”

Ai’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Wouldn’t you?”

Phim didn’t answer. Instead, she flipped to the final page in the file. “What about Khun Paul?”

Ai’s shoulders slumped. “I barely knew him. After that night, Oom stopped talking to me. She moved out of the house. We didn’t see each other unless Grandma forced us to. I only went to the wedding because of her.”

“You didn’t keep in contact?”

“No.” Her voice was a whisper now. “She didn’t want me there. And honestly… I didn’t know how to be.”

Phim nodded slowly, then rose, gathering the file. Aioon’s wrists were slick against the edge of the table. She stood when the officer gestured for her, and as she stepped into the hallway, the fluorescent lights hit her full in the face.

That’s when she saw her.

Metawee was standing near the end of the corridor, arms folded, blazer still immaculate even in the harsh lighting. Her gaze locked on Ai’s with a force that made something in Ai’s chest twist — guilt, maybe. Or something uglier.

She froze, mid-step.

May didn’t say a word.

Chapter Text

Inspector Phim followed close behind the girl, posture tense, gaze flicking between the two women like someone watching the spark before a fire. She cleared her throat sharply.

“Keep your distance,” Phim demanded, her tone serious and steady. “This isn’t a reunion.”

She didn’t say it out loud, but Ai could hear the suspicion humming beneath every word. She believed they worked together. Or could have. But without proof, Phim could only stand between them for as long as she pleased. Not that if she wasn’t there the tension in the room would ease and they would take the plunge and start chitchatting.

May tilted her chin, a faint smirk touching her lips. She was in full ‘attorney’ mode. “Worry not, Inspector. We’re not hugging,” she said coolly, and Aioon felt the jab like a pin under her skin.

When Aioon sat down in the metal chair next to her, she could swear the tension between them was a living thing. May’s eyes flicked over Ai’s face, down her arms, as if trying to find something familiar there. But instead of the soft warmth Ai had once known, her gaze was cold and left no room for words.

Her throat bobbed. Neither of them said much. A stiff nod. A breath held too long. The small nervous tip-tap of her toes against the floor to fill the space.

It was sad, in a way, how things had changed. Even though she tried to stop memories form coming, in the silence they shared, they’d come like a whisper creeping on the back of her neck. A warm night in Korat, her hand tucked into Metawee’s as they wandered through a night market, fingers brushing against each other without a care in the world. May had insisted on carrying the little paper cup of fried bananas, pouting dramatically every time Ai tried to steal one. Then she’d made her stop by a stall, placed a ridiculous flower crown on Ai’s head, and laughed when Ai rolled her eyes but didn’t take it off.

May had leaned in, brushing their foreheads together, and whispered, “Cute.”

And Aioon had blushed harder than she ever had because if that word could be given to one of them, she’d never would have said it was her. And if she was cute, how could you describe May then?

Now, the contrast between that night and the frozen corridor made Ai’s chest ache. She swallowed hard as the silence stretched, thick and rough, tightening around her throat. Aioon shifted in her seat, metal legs screeching against the tile, but May didn’t even blink. She just stared to an invisible point upfront, shoulders squared, fingers resting on her lap.

She drew in a slow breath, let it out just as carefully. Waited a second more. Two.

“Do you remember that night at the jazz karaoke bar?” Finally, Aioon spoke. “The one with the blind musicians?”

May’s eyebrow twitched, just barely. She remembered. Ai saw it.

“When I sang for you,” Ai continued, fingers curling into her palms. Her voice thinned but didn’t break. “I meant every word. For real.”

Despite her best efforts, May’s smirk faltered and her jaw clenched, the edges of her mask cracking just enough to show the tremor underneath.

“How can you say that?” she snapped, her voice slicing through the quiet like glass. “How can you say that when I was your sister’s girlfriend?”

The air between them burned. Ai stared down at her hands. The words she might have said dissolved on her tongue before they could even form.

Thinking about that moment now, the warm hum of a night that felt strange, like it had never belonged to her life but someone else’s — Oaboom’s for that matter. The little jazz karaoke bar they’d stumbled into after dinner, decorated in a classical style, the ceiling low and the walls soaked in soft amber and bluish light. A singer had been crooning something old and sweet in Thai while a saxophone followed along. May’s mouth agape at the skill of the musician at following the spontaneous singer’s harmony, the sound of her breath bubbling out of her like champagne.

Don’t be afraid of past headaches you’ve had, just hold my hand and don’t be sad… She hadn’t doubt it for a second. The moment the man abandoned the small scenario, she’d stood up leaving her drink behind and climbed the stairs towards the musicians, her pulse hammering in her chest. She could still remember the sticky floor beneath her shoes, the faint tilt of May’s head as she watched her cross the room. She’d asked softly if she could sing, and when they nodded, her hands stopped shaking.

Then she’d looked at May and a whirlwind bloomed inside her chest.

Step into a world that belongs just to us two and see how wide it can open for you. Aioon could still feel the warmth of the microphone bleeding into her lips, her voice barely carrying over the low hum of the band. But with every line, her chest opened wider, her voice steadier. She wasn’t singing to the room, she was singing to Metawee. Just for and to her.

Leave behind the tears that used to fall. In the first row, May had straightened up in her seat, slowly, almost involuntarily, like something invisible was pulling her forward. Rise and follow your heart’s call. The teasing glint in her eyes melted into something quiet and unbearably soft. Her mouth parted, just slightly, as if she’d forgotten what to do with her breath.

An amused and joyful smile slid into Ai’s lips. She could feel the weight of May’s attention pressing against her skin, setting fire to the tips of her fingers, tightening around the microphone. There’s beauty ahead waiting for you to find. And then, without wavering, she took the microphone and stepped down the scenario. Just be brave and take this step with me tonight.

Oh, better things are waiting, this is our world now. Imagine you’re floating in the air somehow. May’s lashes lowered. Her fingers tightened around the edge of the glass she’d been holding, leaving faint fingerprints in the condensation as she saw Aioon approaching and stretching her hand towards her. Let our hearts drift away into this dream, come to me to find a brighter scene.

And she’d taken it.

Millions of stars are shining, casting light on us. Mountains and oceans… Ai guided her to the dance floor and spun her around… filled with love and trust. Good or bad, where we are, it doesn’t matter as long as you’re here with me now and forever. Somewhere only we know.

They’d swayed more than danced, half-drunk on gin and wine and each other’s orbit. May’s forehead had rested against hers; her breath smelled faintly of lime and something floral. Ai had let herself fall into the rhythm of it — soft, slow, nothing complicated as her singing kept flowing soft and harmonious. Her hand on May’s waist. May’s fingers tangled in hers. The bar shrinking to the warmth between them.

Somewhere close, a door slammed shut. The cold metal of the chair pressed against her palms. The soft and tender gaze she remembered was gone, and all that was left was a cooling and detached stare focused everywhere but on her. Like Aioon was a stranger she was forced to tolerate.

Back then, May had looked at her like she was the only person in the room. There had been no walls between them. But all of that had been a dream. It had never been her the one she’d looked at, the one she’d smiled at with such adoration… And while for sure she’d instigated and helped to their actual status, what hurt her the most was knowing that was how it was always mean to be. She was never meant to see the sides of May she’d showed her. She was never meant to know how soft her skin was, or her whispers in her ear, or the warmth of her hand in hers.

She told herself she’d been foolish to believe that it had ever been real. All those nights had only been borrowed time, a pretty lie she’d eagerly stepped into, too hungry for the way May’s eyes softened when they landed on her, too desperate to believe she could be someone worth looking at like that.

Aioon swallowed hard, forcing the lump in her throat down. She could smell May’s perfume —that subtle and floral scent, the same one that used to linger on her own clothes long after she’d left her house, and the familiarity only twisted the knife deeper.

She stared at the floor, at the faint scuff marks on the tiles, because looking at May would break her. The silence between them was deafening, pressing against her ribs, and Aioon wished, selfishly and stupidly, for just one flicker of the gaze that had once felt like it was meant for her alone. But it didn’t come.

A sudden click at the door sliced through the thick quiet between them. Both women turned slightly, but it was Aioon whose stomach sank first. An officer in uniform leaned in through the doorway, expression brisk and neutral.

“Khun Ingsamug,” he said, glancing between the two. “The inspector wants to see you again.”

The words landed like a cold drop of water down her spine. She nodded mutely, pushing herself to her feet. The legs of the chair scraped against the floor, the sound sharp and too loud in the cramped room. May didn’t look at her. Not once.

Aioon hesitated a second too long before following the officer down the narrow hallway. The air outside the room felt even colder somehow, the fluorescent lights overhead buzzing faintly. Her hands were tucked into her jacket pockets, but it was to no avail and she started believing maybe the coldness was born from her insides. Still, she forced herself to focus on the rhythm of her steps, one after another, like if she thought too hard she’d splinter open.

She didn’t expect to see Granny waiting near the end of the corridor. The older woman’s frame looked small against the sterile walls, her cardigan hanging off her. She had never been a big woman but Aioon could swear she looked thinner every day, like she was fading away.

“Grandma?” Aioon whispered, slowing down.

The woman stepped forward, her hands reaching out to grip Aioon’s forearm. There was a flicker in her gaze, not quite a smile but something fragile and bright. “Ai,” she said softly, voice trembling with emotion, “she’s awake.”

Aioon blinked. “What?”

“Oaboom,” Granny breathed out, her lips curving into something shaky, something alive. “She opened her eyes. Just a little while ago. She’s awake.”

The hallway tilted for a heartbeat. The words hit her like a gust of wind, knocking the air out of her chest. Aioon’s fingers curled against the fabric of her jacket. The knot that had been sitting in her stomach for days tightened, then cracked, letting something wild and sharp spill through — relief, disbelief and more things too overwhelming to understand or name.

“She—” Her voice caught. But if Oom was awake and well, what was her grandma doing there? She would never leave her.

Granny’s nod was firm now, tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. “The doctors wanted to check on her a bit more closely still for tonight, they forced me to home for the night.”

Aioon exhaled shakily, her pulse hammering in her throat. For the first time in days, something other than fear filled her lungs.

Chapter Text

Going back to the world must have felt like being born again, except with the light, reality came back in fragments. The beeping of monitors, the weight of her own breath, the sterile scent of disinfectant clinging to the sheets... Everything felt so foreign, like taken form a dream. And to make things even worse, when Oaboom opened her eyes, her throat felt like someone had rubbed sandpaper on it for an hour. She pushed through the pain and the fragility of her muscles, though — through the odd movements of her dry tongue — but the first name that slipped past her lips was not her husband’s.

“May.”

The single syllable cracked in the air like a dry twig.

Across from her, sitting slouched in a chair with bloodshot eyes, grandma had frozen. She’d spent days praying, bargaining with gods she didn’t even believe in, for Oom to wake up. She’d carried with her the hope she would come back to her but she’d never expected her grandchild to go back with the only thought of… that woman.

It was always about that woman.

When Aioon finally arrived, she appeared behind the glass like an elephant in an antiquary, without a care in the world. And barely waiting for the nurses to give her proper equipment to enter the ICU she stepped in. “You’re awake,” she said, forcing her voice not to tremble, right before leaning on her sister.

Oom’s eyes, still fogged with anesthesia and confusion, fluttered toward the ceiling. She had been trying to stay conscious for a while, coming and going from her slumber from time to time, but that was the first time she’d tried to sit up. Of course, she failed. A soft moan escaped her lips. Then her gaze sharpened, and she noticed the IV line in her arm, the hospital gown, the room that wasn’t home.

“What… happened?”

“You need to take it slow,” Ai said carefully, moving closer. “You were in an accident. You’ve been sl—”

“I don’t want to talk to you.” Oom’s voice was a whisper, but it hit like a slap. She turned her head away, her throat tight with pain and something heavier.

Ai bit the inside of her cheek. She wanted to say she’d stayed, she hadn’t left Oaboom’s side. She wanted to say she’d almost died herself inside that waiting room. Instead, she just nodded, quiet and small, and stepped back to leave room to her grandma next to her sister.

“Your sister is right, my dear,” Granny said, calmly reaching to squeeze Oom’s hand. “Take it easy.”

And yet, Oom tried to push herself off the bed. Again, failing miserably — the IV tugged sharply at her skin, and she winced and desisted in the moment. Ai reached instinctively to steady her, but Oom jerked away. She didn’t want her there. However, she didn’t want her to leave either.

Maybe it was for the best, she thought, that Aioon saw her there. Perhaps that was the only way she’d realize of the extent of her actions. How much she had hurt her.

The hours went by slowly, and after consciousness returned they also felt stretched and distorted. The hospital corridor outside was a thin river of footsteps and muted voices, but inside the room, time seemed to fold in on itself. The ceiling was too white. The walls too quiet. The air too clean to be real.

Oom lay half-upright against the pillow, hands resting limply over the thin blanket. Grandma stood to take the first moment to rest in what was probably a week and in her way to the hallway whispered something to the nurses that she didn’t get. Nevertheless, it wasn’t like she’d be left alone.

Ai lingered near the window, pretending to look outside but not seeing anything at all, filling the time and the dark space between them with something better than awkwardness.

It had been an hour, maybe an hour and a half of lonely companionship that Oom’s voice broke the silence. It was so soft it could have been imagined. “Paul.”

Her twin stiffened. Oom’s eyes were too clear now, no longer fogged by sleep. She was awake in the cruelest way a person could be awake. She didn’t ask where he was in that hopeful way people did when they already feared the answer, but like someone who had already begun to understand.

“Ai,” she whispered, her throat scraping with every syllable, “Paul. Where is he?”

Her sister stepped closer, until the edge of the bed brushed against her knee. She wanted to look away, but Oom’s eyes were anchored on hers with such a disquiet she blanked for a moment as the silence stretched thin.

“Oom,” Ai began, and already the words crumpled inside her mouth. “Paul… didn’t make it.”

The world seemed to quiet in that single moment but Oaboom didn’t gasp. She didn’t scream. She just went still. Perfectly, terrifyingly still.

A tear slid slowly down her temple. And another. Then her hands came up to cover her face, as if darkness could make it less true.

Instinctively, the elder sister reached out but she didn’t get to pet her head like she’d done so many times before. Because Oom jerked away. Even in that moment, Oaboom was so far away, her walls were so high, she could barely see her.

“I have to cry,” she whispered into the void between her fingers. “That’s the only thing I can do to give back the love he had for me.” Her voice broke, rough and wet, but not hopeless. Angry, your could say. However, she allowed herself a moment of vulnerability when she released a small and wounded whine: “He loved me, Ai.” And the way she said it, in that voice she’d use when she argued back to their mom when Aioon blamed her for something she’d done, that made the floor crumble under her feet.

She stood there, useless, her throat burning, words stacking up inside her and turning to ash before they could find a way out. They had fought — god, and badly —, they had screamed at the other and spat venom like the worst enemies, too proud to bend and too tired to forgive. but that was the first time in many years Aioon had heard her sister. Not the furious, unreachable storm she’d become. But her Oaboom, the same that disappeared after their parent’s death.

“Unrequited love is the worst way of living,” Oom murmured, and her fingers slid away from her face, wet with tears. “And I made him live like that. Until the end.”

The silence that followed was unbearable. Not just because it was quiet — but because it was honest. Aioon’s lips parted as if to say no, it’s not your fault, but the words died on her tongue. It would have been a lie. Paul had loved her. Oom hadn’t. Not the way he needed, anyway. And it had never been a secret, not for the ones that truly knew Oaboom.

She would have loved to be able to say she never understood why she said yes to marry him but she couldn’t. And because she couldn’t, she did know deep down that this, too, would have never happened if she hadn’t screwed up.

The next day Oaboom received the approval of her doctor to move to conventional hospitalization. And by the time the sun reached its highest point and began its slow retreat, the nurses had drawn the curtains halfway, muting the world in amber light. A pair of footsteps approached the door—measured and heavy, a bit too much for a hospital.

It should have been a surprise for nobody that not even 3 hours since they got dispelled from the ICU, two police officers were already on their threshold. Inspector Phim and his young assistant, a man with ink stains on his fingers and an uncomfortable stiffness in his shoulders, knocked the door and awaited no response before stepping inside.

When Oom heard they’d come to question her, she didn’t hesitate.

“I want Ai here,” she said. Her voice had started to return — not strong, but clear enough.

Ai turned toward her, surprised. But Oom didn’t meet her eyes. She simply adjusted herself against the pillow, gathering the little strength she had like she was stepping onto a stage she couldn’t refuse.

The inspector pulled a chair to the side of the bed, not too close, not too far. “Khun Patanasiri,” she began gently, “I’m sorry to disturb you at a difficult time. But we need to ask about the night of the accident.”

If the mention of such last name hurt Oaboom, she didn’t show it. Aioon definitely flinched at that, however.

“I know.” Her voice was steady. That was what made it worse. “It was my wedding night,” Oom said. “Everything was so loud. The music, the lights, the people... And under all of it, I felt…” She let out a soft, humorless laugh. “Do you know... how much work it takes... to organize a wedding... in less than six months?” The words came out slowly but clearly, not without a great effort. “I guess I though... it’d feel more special... but I just felt anxious.”

Her hands twisted in the fabric of the blanket. “Everyone said I looked radiant, though” she continued. “But inside, it was just… dread. Even till the last minute nothing seemed… to go as smoothly as it should…”

The inspector nodded once. “Go on.”

She told them about the banquet, about the endless smiles and champagne. About how, at some point, when she could finally breath during the party, with all her guests drunk and having fun, she slipped away from the crowd and retrieved her phone. And she called her.

May.

“Why did you?” Inspector Phim asked, eyes bright and proving.

The subtle tilt of Oom’s head, however, was a kind of gesture Aioon had never seen.

“I thought…” she gulped and turned towards the bedside table to try and find some water. Aioon rushed to her and offered her a sip, sitting on the edge of her bed. “If you are here, you must have talked to…” Her eyes met Aioon’s. They didn’t need to speak out loud to understand the other.

“You called your ex lover during your wedding,” Inspector Phim took over. “We know that much. But why? You had just married someone else.”

“Because I’m awful,” she attempted a snort but the ending result was a sound between a gasp and a choke. “She already knew about the wedding,” Oom said softly. “She congratulated me. Politely. Cold.” Finally, a wince. She asked for more water that Aioon fed to her immediately. “I still hoped… God… I still hoped she’d say something.”

But back then, it was Oaboom who had to do the talking in light of Methawee’s brief and sharp answers.

“It could have been us,” she had uttered to the phone, struggling not to spill all her rage and frustration.

She’d felt like a volcano bubbling inside for the whole ceremony and when the heat had reached its breaking point, she knew she’d erupt at any moment. And so, she had ran away to hide where nobody could see, where nobody could hear. Because the truth was that there had not been a moment that day that she hadn’t thought of May, that she hadn’t wondered how would it had been if it was her at her side.

“If only you hadn’t—’” The words were ghosts now.

May’s voice had come through the phone like frost. “Stop.” But she, her princess, her fierce lawyer — her love — was not there with her. “No, it couldn’t. I’m fed up, Oom. I’ve had enough of your despise and anger and jealousy. I only ever asked for you to love me, respect me, and be with me. You did none of that, and I’m the one who broke us?” It had been clean. Precise. Cruel only in its honesty. “You sent somebody else to love me and I fell for her, but I’m the one to blame?”

Oom bit her lip until blood bloomed against her teeth.

“I hung up,” she whispered. “And then I couldn’t breathe. I thought I was going to... pass out right there.”

The inspector listened without interrupting, the sound of her pen scratching against paper the only proof she was still listening.

“That’s when Paul found me,” she said.

Ai felt the air shift at the mention of his name.

“We argued,” Oom whispered. “About May. About how I didn’t love him... the way he wanted me to. And I—” she let out a shaky breath “—I didn’t... lie. He stormed out. I followed.”

The inspector didn’t move. Neither did Ai.

“It was dark,” she continued. “We got into the car. He was raging when he said… he’d take me to May.” She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. “He started speeding. A curb…”

The words fell into the room like stones into a lake, soundless after the impact.

The inspector and her assistent closed their notebooks softly. “Thank you, Khun Patanasiri.”

Oom turned her face toward the window.

“Ingsamug.”

She didn’t cry or make a sound, maybe because of the soreness of her throat but... She just looked emptied out — like a house gutted by fire.

Outside, in the corridor, Ai lingered just close enough to hear the assistant lean toward the inspector.

“But it’s strange, isn’t it? A fight like that, and nobody heard a thing.”

The inspector hummed. “And…” she lowered her voice, “the brakes were altered.”

Ai froze.

“What?” the assistant muttered. “I thought the forensic preliminary—”

“The definitive came this morning,” Inspector Phim said. “Someone here is lying.”