In black jeans paired with a white shirt, Fighter paced back and forth in the living room, occasionally glancing down at the lunchbox of Pad Phet Pla Duk Tod (Spicy Fried Catfish) resting on the dining table. He had spent a week perfecting the dish and now felt fidgety and restless, debating whether to visit Saint at his workplace.
Saint, who had recently bought Fighter a phone, had texted that he would be late again for dinner due to a new project keeping him at work. Fighter had been diligently cooking, hoping Saint would taste his efforts. Today, however, he feared Saint might miss out on the fried catfish if he didn't go see him.
After pacing for several minutes, Fighter finally grabbed the house key, the paper bag containing the lunch box, and his phone, then rushed out of the apartment. As soon as he stepped outside, nervousness and anxiety enveloped him. The bustling streets of Bangkok, filled with people and passing cars, made him tense.
Saint had repeatedly warned him not to go out alone, but Fighter couldn't bear it any longer—he needed to see Saint.
Carefully and attentively, Fighter walked along the sidewalk towards the bus stop, a 10-minute journey from their apartment. Nervousness and the heat of the sun made him sweat as he went.
Reaching the bus stop, he stood at the edge of the shade, waiting anxiously for the bus to arrive. He was about to retrieve his phone from his pocket when he abruptly stopped, recalling a news segment about phone theft he had seen on television.
The bus finally arrived shortly after, and Fighter managed to board first. However, his mind filled with unease caused him to trip on the staircase, landing with his hands on the floor. Quickly regaining his composure, someone behind him cautioned, "Be careful," to which he responded with an embarrassed smile.
Politely showing a piece of paper with Saint's workplace address to the driver, Fighter said, "I would like to stop here." Before taking his seat, he handed the fare to the bus conductor.
Throughout the entire ride, Fighter was fidgety and consumed by negative thoughts. He worried about getting lost, being robbed, missing his stop, or even being kidnapped. The possibility of Saint getting angry also weighed heavily on his mind, causing him to bite his lower lip and furrow his eyebrows in concern.
"We're here, sir," the bus driver's voice snapped him out of his reverie. Fighter hurriedly made his way off the bus, thanking the driver as he stepped onto the pavement.
Fighter lifted his eyes in astonishment at the skyscraper towering before him. He walked towards the building, his gaze fixed on its imposing structure, causing him to trip over a single stair near the entrance.
A guard opened the main door for him. Fighter was about to greet the man but stopped short when he noticed the guard's shocked expression, as if he had seen a ghost.
"S-sir? H-how?" the guard stuttered, visibly perplexed. Fighter furrowed his brows in confusion.
"I'm here for my friend," Fighter replied calmly. The guard nodded hesitantly and allowed him to enter, still wearing a stunned expression.
"That was weird," Fighter muttered to himself, shaking his head slightly as he walked further into the building.
He called out Saint's name, drawing attention from the staff on the ground floor. As Fighter looked around for Saint, a receptionist caught his eye. When their eyes met, the receptionist's shocked reaction was unmistakable.
"Sir, you can ask h— OH MY GOD, SIR?!" the receptionist exclaimed, covering their mouth in disbelief upon recognizing Fighter. Fighter furrowed his eyebrows once more, puzzled by the strange reactions.
As he moved towards the reception desk, Fighter accidentally bumped into a tall, dark, and handsome man. Looking up to meet the stranger's eyes, Fighter found himself taken aback.
"Zee?! Is that you?" the shocked man asked Fighter.
"Who— Augghkk!" Fighter suddenly felt a sharp pain in his head, causing him to clutch it with both hands and groan in discomfort.
"Are you okay, Sir? I mean Z..Zee, wait it can't be," the man said, patting Fighter in concern. Other staff members gathered around, their murmured voices filled with confusion and disbelief. "Is that really him?", "It can't be him.", "Maybe, a look-alike?" and "Sir Zee?" their voices added to Fighter's growing headache.
Fighter struggled to comprehend the situation through the pain, trying to make sense of the strange reactions and the unfamiliar name being called out to him.
Miss Olive, passing by, approached the commotion with curiosity. "What is going on? Sir...Zee?!" she exclaimed, equally shocked at the scene unfolding.
"I'm Fighter! Not Z..Zee! Who... is that?" Fighter burst out angrily, frustrated by the confusion surrounding him. "I want Saint! Where's Saint? Bring me to Saint, please," he pleaded with Miss Olive, his eyes filled with unshed tears.
Miss Olive, sensing Fighter's distress, nodded sympathetically. "Of course, let's find Saint. Follow me," she said gently.
"I'll take care of him, sir," Miss Olive informed the man whom Fighter had bumped into earlier. The man nodded, still wearing a mix of expressions on his face.
"Calm down, Sir. It's alright, I'll bring you to Saint," Miss Olive reassured the panicked Fighter, guiding him towards Saint's location. They entered an elevator together, and Fighter took a deep breath, trying to calm himself before seeing Saint. Throughout the ride, Miss Olive stole glances at him.
"I'm not that Zee or whatever that man's name is. Stop staring at me, ma'am," Fighter sighed in defeat.
"I apologize. But you really do look like him," Miss Olive shared as the elevator doors opened, finally arriving at the second floor.
They arrived at Saint's department, and Miss Olive softly knocked on the door. Someone inside answered, and Fighter stood nervously behind Miss Olive, clutching the paper bag tightly, fearing Saint might not be happy to see him.
"Sir Saint, someone is looking for you," Miss Olive informed Saint as he set aside some papers he had just signed.
"Let them in," Saint replied, sounding surprised.
"Saint..." Fighter started, finally entering the room with a solemn expression.
"Fighter? How? What are you doing he—" Saint began, stunned by Fighter's unexpected appearance, but Fighter cut him off.
"Saint, hug me, please," Fighter pleaded, his face scrunching up as tears threatened to fall. Saint, taken aback by Fighter's sudden presence, glanced around at his bewildered colleagues.
"O-okay," Saint responded hesitantly, approaching Fighter and wrapping his arms around him. Fighter pulled Saint into a tight embrace, letting out a soft sob as he held onto him.
The urge to scold Fighter vanished in an instant, replaced by concern. Saint gently rubbed Fighter's back, trying to soothe him.
"Hey, Fight. It's alright. There... there," Saint cooed softly.
"They're scaring me," Fighter mumbled into Saint's shoulder, his voice trembling with vulnerability.
