The old electric fan died with a mechanical wheeze and a faint scent of burning dust. Santichai froze, his hand still outstretched toward the buttons, hoping for one last gust of air. But the blades merely spun to a slow, pathetic halt.
In the sudden silence, the heat of the third-floor apartment seemed to thicken. Santichai sighed, the sound heavy in the humid room. "Tonight, will be miserable," he whispered to the empty walls. He checked his phone; a severe heatwave was forecasted for the next forty-eight hours.
He did a quick mental calculation of his bank account. Higher floors were cooler, but he couldn't afford the rent. He was used to making do. He lay in the dark that night, heart racing, trying to stay perfectly still so as not to break into another sweat. The sweltering air reminded him of the house his adoptive parents had bought for him—the one they took back without a second thought when his father's scandals ruined them. Santichai hadn't argued then, and he wouldn't argue with the heat now. He simply prepared to survive it.
The next morning, the mall felt like a miracle of cold air. Santichai headed straight for the electronics department, but half the city had arrived before him.
"Is that you?"
Santichai turned to see Dr. KK. The man looked far too comfortable in the chaos of the shopping center.
"Good morning," Santichai said, dipping his head.
"Buying a fan?" KK asked, glancing at the long line. "You don't have AC?"
Santichai shook his head. Suddenly, the crowd surged. A boy behind Santichai shoved forward, sending him stumbling into the woman in front of him.
"Watch it!" she snapped, glaring at Santichai's plain clothes.
"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry," Santichai stammered, his face heating with shame.
KK moved closer, his presence acting as a shield. "Follow me. I'll get you one from the stockroom. You don't have to stand in this mess."
"No, it's okay," Santichai insisted, his pride flaring. "It's almost my turn."
"There were seventy-five fans this morning," KK said, his voice low and factual. "Forty-four are already gone. By the time you reach the counter, you'll be walking home empty-handed."
Santichai stayed in line, clutching his place. But when the salesman announced there were only nineteen units left, the last ticket landed in Santichai's hand. He felt a brief moment of relief until he heard a small sob behind him.
A young boy was looking up at his grandfather. The old man was counting a small pile of crumpled Baht notes; his face etched with worry. "We don't have enough for the air units, son," the grandfather whispered. "We'll just have to be careful."
Santichai didn't think. He turned and pressed the ticket into the boy's hand. "Take it. You need it more than I do."
"Are you sure, Pi?" the boy asked.
Santichai just nodded and hurried away before the lump in his throat could betray him. KK was on his heels instantly.
"Two hours of waiting, just to give it away?" KK asked, catching up.
"Sir, please stop following me," Santichai said, stopping near a fountain.
"I just want to be friends, Santichai."
"We can't be friends," Santichai said, finally looking him in the eye. "We are like two parallel lines, Doctor. We may run alongside each other, but we will never cross. Our worlds are too different."
"Santichai Kittibun," KK said, the use of his full name making Santichai flinch. "I'm a decent guy. Give me a chance."
"How do you know my name?"
"I asked," KK said with a small smile. "And I'm still waiting for a real reason to stay away."
Santichai didn't answer. He turned and disappeared into the crowd.
By 2:00 PM, the spicy Korean stew Santichai was eating in the food court felt like a mistake in the heat. Suddenly, a large cardboard box was slammed onto the table.
Santichai looked up. KK was standing there, his sweatshirt damp with sweat.
"Take it back," Santichai said.
"I drove an hour to find this at another branch," KK said, sitting down. "You can't say no. It's a trade, not a gift."
Santichai paused. "A trade?"
"I'm a busy man. I forget to eat. If my hands shake during surgery because I'm hungry, the clinic gets sued," KK said with a mock-serious expression. "To save the clinic, I need you to bring me a home-cooked lunch every day for a month. Deal?"
Santichai looked at the box, then at the persistent, smiling man. "Mmm... okay."
He reached for the box, but his hand froze.
A few yards away, standing perfectly still near the exit, was Asnee. He wasn't smiling. His face was a mask of cold, possessive fury. He was staring directly at Santichai, his eyes burning with a ten-year-old fire.
Santichai's heart dropped into his stomach. "I... I have to go."
He bolted. He didn't grab the fan. He didn't look at KK. He ran for the bus stop, his lungs screaming. As the bus doors hissed shut and the vehicle pulled away, Santichai pressed his face to the glass.
Asnee was standing on the sidewalk, watching the bus depart. Even over the roar of the engine, Santichai could see Asnee's lips moving, screaming his name into the hot afternoon air.
As the bus pulled away into the shimmering haze of the summer heatwave, Santichai pressed his forehead against the hot glass. For a fleeting second—a mere flash in the chaos of the crowd—he saw Asnee's face with terrifying clarity. He saw the way his lips curled into a snarl and the jagged lines of fury etched at the corners of his eyes. It was the face of a man who had reached his absolute limit. It was the look Asnee wore just before he unleashed his full, devastating wrath.
Santichai pulled back, retreating into the shadows of the bus. He sat quietly, looking down at his hands. He had clenched them together so tightly that his knuckles were stark white, yet beneath the fear, an old, familiar ache throbbed in his chest.
For ten years, Asnee had been his sun—the only light in a world that had always been dark. He was the one who had pulled Santichai out of his shell and forced the world to acknowledge him. Asnee had given him a love Santichai had never known existed, yet that same love had become a cage.
He was a demon in the form of an angel, offering both heaven and hell in a single glance.
Santichai knew he should feel nothing but hatred. He knew he should be relieved to be free. But as the distance between them grew, his heart betrayed him. He missed that demon. He missed the light, even though it burned him. He was a moth, trembling and singed, yet still willing to fly straight into the fire just to feel the warmth of the flame one last time.