Korn woke to sunlight streaming through his dorm room window and the sound of his phone buzzing softly on the nightstand. For a moment, he was disoriented, still caught between sleep and the memory of last night's events. Then he saw Prem's name on his screen and felt that familiar flutter in his chest.
"Good morning. I hope you slept well. Looking forward to seeing you tomorrow for dinner. Have a great study session today with your friends."
Simple, sweet, and considerate. No demands for immediate attention, no guilt about Korn having other plans. Just... nice. When was the last time Mark had wished him well for time spent with his friends?
Korn smiled as he typed back: "Good morning. Thank you, that's really sweet. Talk to you later."
He was still smiling when his roommate Bew groaned from the other bed. "It's too early for you to look that happy. What happened last night anyway? You came in really late."
"Long story," Korn said, getting up to shower. "I'll tell you later."
An hour later, Korn was settled at their usual table in the law library with Ping, Gun, and Nara, constitutional law textbooks spread between them like battle plans. It should have felt normal, familiar, but everything was different now. The memory of Prem's kiss, the way he'd protected Korn from Mark, the promise of tomorrow's dinner – it all sat in the back of Korn's mind like a warm secret.
"Okay," Ping said, opening his textbook. "Constitutional interpretation theory. Gun, please explain to me why anyone should care about originalism versus living constitution theory."
"Because," Gun replied patiently, "the way we interpret the constitution affects real people's lives. Whether we—"
"Excuse me," a familiar voice interrupted. They all looked up to see Prem approaching their table, carrying several bags from a popular Thai restaurant near campus. He looked polished even in casual clothes, his smile warm but somehow calculated.
"P'Prem," Korn said, half-standing in surprise. "What are you doing here?"
"I thought you and your friends might be hungry during your study session," Prem said, setting the bags down on their table. He began unpacking the food. Pad thai, green curry, som tam, mango sticky rice – enough for all four of them, plus drinks.
"This is..." Ping started, then stopped, clearly unsure how to finish the sentence.
"A lot," Nara finished, eyeing the spread of food with surprise.
Prem smiled at each of them in turn. "Good to see you all again. I hope you don't mind me interrupting your study session."
"Oh wow, is this from Krua Nai Baan?" Ping's eyes lit up as he looked at the containers spread across their table. "I love this place but it's always so crowded."
"Their som tam is amazing," Nara added, momentarily forgetting her suspicions as the aroma of the food filled the air.
"This is really thoughtful, P'Prem," Gun said politely, though his expression remained carefully neutral. "You didn't have to do this."
"I wanted to," Prem replied smoothly. "I know how hard you all work, and I thought you deserved something good." He glanced at Korn with a warm smile. "Besides, I wanted to make sure Korn was eating properly."
"Oh my god, green curry too. And mango sticky rice!" Ping said, examining the containers. He looked up at Prem with genuine appreciation. "This must have cost a fortune."
"Well," Prem said, checking his expensive watch, "I don't want to interrupt your studying for too long. Enjoy the food." He reached over and patted Korn on the head affectionately. "Be a good boy and text me later," he said softly, then leaned down to kiss Korn's temple.
The gesture was intimate, possessive, performed in front of Korn's friends and half the library like he had already established his place in Korn's life.
And then he was gone, leaving them with the food and an awkward silence.
"Wow, he sure moves fast," Ping said finally, breaking the quiet.
"It's different," Nara said slowly. "I'll give him that."
They began eating in relative silence, each lost in their own thoughts. The food was delicious – all perfectly normal choices, nothing flashy or over-the-top. Just a nice gesture from someone who wanted to make sure Korn and his friends were fed during a long study session.
"Not one time did Mark ever try to do anything like that for us, or more or less for you," Ping said finally, voice thoughtful. "Three months of you two... whatever you were doing, and I don't think he said more than ten words to any of us combined."
Korn felt a defensive flutter. "He was just... private."
"Secretive," Nara corrected. "There's a difference. Private is keeping your personal business to yourself. Secretive is acting like your boyfriend and his friends don't exist."
Gun was quiet, methodically eating his pad thai while observing the conversation. "This is nice," he said finally. "The food, I mean. And the fact that he included all of us in the gesture, not just you."
"See?" Korn said, feeling vindicated. "He's nothing like Mark."
"No," Nara agreed slowly. "He's not. The question is whether that's necessarily a good thing or just... different."
Ping shot her a look. "Can't you just let Korn have this? One night of feeling wanted and appreciated? After months of Mark's bullshit?"
"I'm not saying he can't have it. I'm saying we should all keep our eyes open. People who move this fast usually have a reason."
"Maybe his reason is that he likes me," Korn said, surprising himself with the edge in his voice. "Maybe his reason is that he saw someone being treated badly and wanted to help. Why does everything have to be some complicated scheme?"
"Because," Gun said gently, "people who are genuinely good don't usually need to prove it so dramatically. Real kindness is quiet. Consistent. This..." He gestured at the spread of food. "This feels performative."
Korn set down his chopsticks harder than necessary. "So now he's wrong for being nice to you guys? Yesterday you were worried he didn't know me well enough. Today he's too considerate. What exactly would make you happy?"
"Just be careful about getting swept up too fast," Nara said simply.
"And in the meantime, I should what? Push away the first person in months who's actually shown interest in my happiness?"
The table fell silent. Korn could see his friends exchanging glances, that careful communication that happened between people who'd known each other for years. It made him feel excluded, defensive, like they were all on one side and he was on the other.
"We're not saying push him away," Gun said finally. "We're just saying... be careful. Take things slow. Don't let anyone – not Prem, not Mark, not anyone – become your whole world."
Korn's phone buzzed. A message from Prem: "I hope you're enjoying lunch. I know how hard you all work, and I wanted to make sure you were taken care of. See you tomorrow for dinner. - P"
The message was perfect. Thoughtful without being clingy, supportive without being possessive. Everything Mark had never been.
"Look," Korn said, showing them the message. "Does this sound like someone with ulterior motives? He's not demanding my attention or asking where I am or when I'll be free. He's just... being sweet."
Ping leaned over to read the message and made a thoughtful sound. "Okay, I'll admit it. That's actually really nice. Very different from your ex's style."
"Very different," Nara agreed, but she didn't sound entirely convinced.
They returned to studying, but the mood had shifted. Korn found himself distracted, hyper-aware of every comment or reaction from his friends. When Ping made a joke about corporate law being designed to help rich people stay rich, Korn wondered if it was a dig at Prem's background. When Gun mentioned a case about controlling behavior in relationships, Korn felt defensive even though Gun was clearly talking about legal precedent.
By mid-afternoon, his phone had buzzed three more times. Updates from Prem about his own day, questions about how the studying was going, a photo of coffee and pastries with the message "Wishing I could bring these to you, but I don't want to interrupt your work."
Each message was perfectly calibrated – attentive without being overwhelming, sweet without being cloying. And each time, Korn caught his friends noticing. Ping would raise an eyebrow. Gun would glance at the phone screen. Nara would make a small, thoughtful sound.
"He texts a lot," she observed after the fourth message.
"He's just being nice," Korn replied, but even to his own ears it sounded defensive.
"I'm not saying he's not nice. I'm saying he's... very attentive for someone you just met."
"We've talked before. Around campus."
The lie came out easily, and Korn felt a stab of guilt. But what else could he say? That they'd barely spoken before last night? That would just give his friends more ammunition for their concerns. He was tired of defending every choice, every feeling. Why couldn't they just be happy that someone finally wanted him?
"Casual conversations," Gun clarified. "Not deep personal exchanges. There's a difference between knowing someone's name and knowing them well enough to orchestrate a dramatic rescue."
Korn felt frustration building in his chest. "Why can't you just be happy for me? For once in months, someone is treating me like I matter, and all you can do is find reasons to be suspicious."
"Because we care about you," Ping said simply. "Because we watched Mark treat you like garbage for three months while you made excuses for him. Because we don't want to see you get hurt again."
"Prem isn't Mark."
"No," Nara agreed. "He's not. But that doesn't automatically make him perfect for you. It just makes him different."
The conversation was interrupted by another text, this one with a photo attached. Prem standing outside a flower shop, holding a small bouquet of white roses. "Saw these and thought of you. Should I bring them by, or would that interrupt your studying?"
The gesture was romantic, thoughtful, exactly the kind of thing Korn had always wanted from a boyfriend. But looking at his friends' faces, he could see their concern deepening.
"Don't," he said before any of them could speak. "Just... don't. He's asking permission instead of just showing up. He's thinking about my schedule and my commitments. This is what consideration looks like."
He typed back quickly: "They're beautiful, but maybe save them for tomorrow? I want to focus on studying today."
Prem's response came immediately: "Of course. I admire your dedication. The flowers will be waiting for you tomorrow night. Study well."
"See?" Korn said, showing them the exchange. "He respects my boundaries. He's not pushing or demanding attention. He's being understanding."
Gun nodded slowly. "You're right. That is respectful behavior."
"Thank you."
"But Korn," Gun continued gently, "the bar is really low when basic respect feels like exceptional treatment. That says more about what Mark put you through than it does about Prem being extraordinary."
The observation stung because it felt true. Had three months with Mark really damaged his perspective so much that normal courtesy felt like grand romantic gestures?
"Maybe," Korn admitted quietly. "But maybe that just means I should appreciate it more when someone treats me well."
"Just remember," Nara said, reaching over to squeeze his hand, "you deserve to be treated well. Not as a special favor or because someone is trying to prove something, but because that's what you're worth. Always."
The rest of the afternoon passed more peacefully. They managed to get through two chapters of constitutional theory, shared the dessert Prem had brought earlier, and even laughed at Ping's increasingly dramatic interpretations of legal precedent. But underneath the normalcy, Korn could feel the tension of unspoken concerns.
As they packed up their books, Gun turned to him with that careful expression he got when he wanted to say something important.
"Can I ask you something? And please don't get defensive."
Korn nodded, though he was already bracing himself.
"What do you actually know about Prem? Beyond the fact that he's wealthy and confident and treated you better than Mark did last night?"
The question caught Korn off guard. "I... what do you mean?"
"I mean his interests, his family, his goals, his friends. The kind of things you usually learn about someone before you start dating them."
Korn opened his mouth to respond, then realized he didn't have good answers. He knew Prem was in the business faculty, that he had money, that he'd been watching Korn around campus. But actual personal details? Preferences, dreams, quirks that made him human rather than just attractive?
"We'll have time to learn about each other," Korn said finally. "That's what dating is for."
"Usually dating comes after getting to know someone, not before," Nara pointed out gently.
"Sometimes things happen fast," Korn replied. "Sometimes you meet someone and just... know."
His friends exchanged that look again, and Korn felt the familiar spike of irritation. Why couldn't they just trust his judgment? Why couldn't they see that Prem was everything Mark wasn't – attentive, respectful, unashamed to show interest?
"We should get dinner," Ping said, clearly trying to lighten the mood. "All that studying has made me hungry, and Thai food for lunch means I'm craving something completely different for dinner."
"Actually," Korn said, "I think I'm going to head back to my room. I want to rest up before tomorrow night."
It wasn't entirely true. Mostly, he wanted space from their concerned looks and careful questions. He wanted to enjoy the anticipation of his date without constantly having to defend his choices.
"Korn," Gun called as he started to walk away. "We love you. You know that, right? Everything we're saying comes from love."
"I know," Korn replied, and he meant it. But love and trust weren't the same thing, and right now it felt like his friends didn't trust him to make good decisions about his own life.
As he walked back to his dorm, Korn's phone buzzed one more time. But it wasn't Prem.
Mark: "Can we talk please? I just want to explain things to you. You've never been like this before. You've always been willing to hear me out."
Korn stared at the message, feeling a complicated mix of anger and something that might have been pity. After everything that had happened, after the public humiliation and Mint and three months of being treated like a secret, Mark still thought he deserved to be heard out.
He deleted the message without responding.
Across campus, in the business faculty's premium student housing, Prem was reviewing his day's work with satisfaction. Every text had been carefully crafted, every gesture calculated to hit the right notes. Considerate but not overwhelming. Generous but not flashy. Respectful of Korn's commitments while still maintaining presence.
And best of all, he could see it was working. Korn's responses had grown warmer throughout the day, more appreciative. The friends were clearly noticing the contrast with Mark's behavior. Even their skepticism was useful – it made Korn defensive, more likely to dig in and prove them wrong.
This was how it should be done. Not the desperate possessiveness he'd shown with Pin, not the attempts to isolate and control. Instead, he'd make himself indispensable gradually, naturally. He'd be so perfect, so attentive, so different from Mark that Korn would choose to prioritize their relationship over everything else.
And when that happened, when Korn was fully committed and dependent on Prem's affection, then Prem could start expressing his needs more clearly. His need to know where Korn was, who he was with, what he was doing. His need to be the most important person in Korn's life.
But not yet. For now, he'd play the perfect boyfriend. Patient, understanding, respectful of boundaries. The kind of man who sent food to his boyfriend's friends and flowers with permission. The kind of man who would never repeat the mistakes of his past.
Tomorrow night would be the next step. A beautiful dinner, thoughtful conversation, getting to know each other properly. And maybe, if things went well, he'd start sharing some of his own vulnerabilities. Let Korn see the man behind the perfect facade.
After all, the best relationships were built on honesty.
Weren't they?