In the neon swirl of Bangkok, Joong sat cross-legged on his bed, fingers tapping his phone. He’d downloaded an app called StarMeet, where people connected across countries to talk about music, movies, life. He hadn’t expected much—until a week ago, when someone with the username “dunk_xx” messaged him about a band they both liked.

Dunk lived in China, but the hours he was online were odd. Midnight. 3 a.m. 5 a.m. Yet he was always there. A quiet presence who typed in soft, polite English and sent Joong endless cute stickers on LINE after each conversation.

At first, they talked about music. Then about how Joong liked spicy food, how Dunk admitted he’d never tasted real Thai food. Joong learned that Dunk loved to draw, that he studied online and wanted to be a designer. Dunk knew every emoji by heart and always seemed to hide behind humor when questions got personal.

But Joong didn’t mind. There was something gentle in Dunk’s way of speaking. A warmth. And a loneliness that slipped between the lines sometimes.

Joong tried calling him once through StarMeet’s voice chat. Dunk refused, apologizing so many times Joong had to laugh.

Joong: “You’re shy, aren’t you?” Dunk: “Maybe. Or maybe my voice is a secret. ;)”

Weeks passed. Messages piled up. Joong began looking forward to the glow of his phone. To that little green dot next to Dunk’s name. Sometimes he woke up in the middle of the night just to check if Dunk was online.

He didn’t tell his friends. They wouldn’t get it. They’d call it stupid, an internet fling. But it didn’t feel like that. Dunk was real. Funny. Honest. Well, mostly honest.

Because Dunk was hiding something big.

He wasn’t just someone who liked staying up late. He literally couldn’t go outside in the sun. His body reacted violently to sunlight—a rare allergy. If he stepped outside during daytime, even a few rays could cause burning, blisters, fever. So he’d grown up behind blackout curtains, attending online classes, existing in the glow of screens.

He’d never told anyone outside his family. Not even Joong. How could he? Joong was pure sunshine—sending him videos of Thai street food sizzling under bright skies, telling him stories about weekends out with friends. Dunk feared Joong would see him as broken, or worse, pity him.

But sometimes Dunk wanted so badly to tell him the truth. Like when Joong sent photos of blue skies, or beaches glittering in sunlight, and typed:

“Come visit Thailand someday. I’ll take you everywhere.”

And Dunk wanted to scream, I CAN’T.

One night, unable to sleep, Joong messaged Dunk on LINE.

Joong: “Hey. Can I ask you something?”

Dunk stared at the screen, hesitant.

Dunk: “Sure…”

Joong: “Why are you always awake at night?”

Dunk froze. His fingers hovered over the keyboard. He could lie. Or he could tell Joong that he was trapped in the dark. That daylight was poison. That his whole world existed after sunset.

Instead, he typed:

Dunk: “I just like the quiet. And… stars.”

Joong sent back a row of sparkly emojis.

Joong: “Stars are nice. But I still want to know the real you.”

Dunk’s chest squeezed. He wanted to believe Joong meant that. But secrets had kept him safe for so long.

Their chats went on, each message a piece of a puzzle Joong tried to solve. Each sticker a shield Dunk held up. Until one night, Dunk wrote:

Dunk: “Do you ever wish you could live only at night?”

Joong stared at those words. And somehow, he knew this wasn’t just about staying up late. That there were shadows in Dunk’s life he couldn’t see yet.

He typed slowly, meaning every letter:

Joong: “Maybe I would… if it meant I could be there with you. Tell me… what’s it like where you are right now?”