The summer heat hung heavy over Bangkok, rippling the air above the polished hood of Joong’s matte-black Mercedes as it slid to a halt in front of the old townhouse. Dunk was already waiting, a helmet tucked under his arm, sweat-darkened curls clinging to his forehead.

Joong stepped out in black sunglasses and linen, flicking his keys into his palm with a grin. “You’re late,” Dunk said, nodding at the watch on his wrist. Joong didn’t answer—just bumped his shoulder into Dunk’s and walked past him into the house.

Inside, the smell of basil and something spicy lingered from his mother’s cooking earlier. Dunk dropped his helmet by the shoe rack like he always did and made a beeline for the fridge. Joong followed with two bottles of cold water.

It was a Friday, which meant Pond’s rooftop party later. But for now, the house was quiet. Joong’s younger cousin was still at piano lessons, and the staff was gone for the afternoon.

The boys settled into the cool living room, surrounded by quiet luxury: low couches, pale curtains shifting in the breeze, the hum of the ceiling fan blending with the muffled chaos of the city outside.

“You’re not wearing that to the party,” Joong said, pointing at Dunk’s old graphic tee. Dunk just grinned and stretched out his legs, toes nudging Joong’s thigh.

Later, in the golden haze of late afternoon, they took Joong’s car to the outskirts, picking up Phuwin and Pond from the boba shop. Phuwin leaned forward from the backseat, sunglasses perched on his head. “You two living together yet, or what?” he teased. Joong smirked but didn’t answer.

The rooftop was already alive with music and laughter. Strings of lights blinked overhead. People clinked drinks and danced barefoot on the tiles. Joong stayed close to Dunk’s side, occasionally disappearing to greet someone, but always circling back.

At some point, Pond pulled Dunk aside to show him a dumb meme on his phone. Joong watched from across the rooftop, leaning against the railing with a drink in hand, the city glittering behind him. His expression flickered—just a moment—but enough for Phuwin to nudge his shoulder. “You really like him, huh?”

Joong didn’t reply. He just finished his drink in a single tilt and walked off.

Later, when the rooftop began to thin out, and only their close circle remained—legs tangled on beanbags, soft music now playing from someone’s speaker—Joong stood up. “Let’s go,” he said to Dunk, who raised a brow.

“Go where?”

“You’ll see.”

The ride was short. A quiet spot by the river, where the city felt far away. Fireflies blinked near the water. They sat on the hood of Joong’s car, the metal warm beneath them.

Joong tossed a packet of sunflower seeds into Dunk’s lap. “Still your favorite?”

“Yeah.”

For a while, neither said anything. The air smelled like rain, though none had come yet. Dunk leaned back, hands behind him, staring at the stars barely visible through the haze.

Joong watched him in silence.

“You remember that night in Phuket?” he asked suddenly.

Dunk turned, grinning. “Which one? We got drunk every night.”

“The one where you dared me to jump off the pier.”

“And you cried after landing,” Dunk laughed.

Joong didn’t deny it. He leaned back too, until their shoulders were touching. The air buzzed around them—lazy, warm, charged.

“You know,” Joong said, voice low now, “if I asked you to stay tonight… would you?”