Saint gently maneuvered his car through the bright, sunlit streets of Bangkok, his mind consumed by the events of the morning. The sunlight reflected off the sparkling asphalt as he drove with a soft touch on the accelerator. Approaching an intersection, a red light forced him to slow down and eventually come to a stop.
"Zee... Pruk... Panich..."
Saint whispered to himself, his thoughts still revolving around the shocking revelations of earlier that day. The news had blindsided him, dredging up memories and emotions he hadn't confronted in years. The image of Zee Pruk Panich, attached to the article he had seen, lingered in his mind. The resemblance between Zee and Fighter was uncanny—every feature seemed to match perfectly. The likelihood that Fighter could be Zee was overwhelmingly high.
Saint's grip tightened on the steering wheel as he contemplated the implications. If Fighter was indeed Zee Pruk Panich, it would explain so much—the mysterious similarities, Fighter's reluctance to discuss his past, and the profound grief that seemed to surround him. But it also raised countless questions and uncertainties.
"Fight..."
Saint whispered again, his voice barely audible over the hum of the engine and the distant city sounds. His mind raced with thoughts and emotions stirred up by the morning's revelations. He shook his head in disbelief at what had been uncovered, finding it hard to reconcile the newfound information with the person he knew as Fighter.
The street light above turned green, signaling Saint to proceed, but his inner turmoil lingered. He took a deep breath, trying to clear his mind as he continued driving. Despite the need to return home to Fighter, his thoughts were consumed by the urgency of the situation. His boss wanted to meet Fighter, and the weight of that meeting loomed over him.
As Saint navigated through the streets of Bangkok, his focus shifted between the road ahead and the swirling thoughts in his mind. He couldn't shake the image of Fighter—his gentle smile, his warm embraces—and juxtapose it with the tragic story that seemed to connect him to the Panich family. The idea that Fighter could be Zee Pruk Panich haunted him, filling him with both apprehension and a strange sense of protectiveness.
Saint arrived at the apartment building and headed straight to the rooftop house. Unlocking the door, he entered into the quiet yet orderly home. He looked around, expecting to find Fighter, but there was no sign of him in the living area. Moving towards their bedroom, Saint hoped to find Fighter there, possibly asleep.
Opening the bedroom door, Saint's face softened into a smile at the sight before him. Fighter was lying on their bed, wearing one of Saint's loose shirts and navy blue boxers, cradling supsup in his arms, sound asleep. Saint approached quietly and sat down on the edge of the bed, gazing fondly at the peaceful expression on Fighter's face. He gently brushed Fighter's hair away from his forehead, his fingers tracing the contours of Fighter's features.
As he looked at Fighter, thoughts of Zee's face resurfaced in Saint's mind. He couldn't deny the striking resemblance between them, no matter how he tried to view it. From every angle, there was a noticeable similarity that he couldn't ignore.
He leaned closer, studying Fighter's features intently. Fighter stirred slightly in his sleep, mumbling something unintelligible. Saint's heart ached with uncertainty. Could Fighter really be Zee, the son of the Panich family who had tragically perished in a car fire? The implications were profound, potentially changing everything they knew about Fighter's past and identity.
Saint's hand trembled as he reached out to gently touch Fighter's cheek, tracing the outline of his jawline. Fighter's expression remained serene, unaware of the turmoil in Saint's heart. They had built a life together, filled with love and trust. Now, Saint grappled with the possibility that Fighter might not be who he thought he was.
"Are you really him?" Saint repeated softly, his voice barely above a whisper. He knew he needed answers, but he also feared the consequences of uncovering the truth. Fighter shifted again, turning towards Saint slightly, as if seeking his touch even in sleep.
Saint sighed deeply, conflicted and overwhelmed. He couldn't bear to wake Fighter from his peaceful slumber, yet the questions gnawed at him relentlessly. He pulled back slightly, staring at Fighter with a mixture of love, concern, and apprehension. The truth, whatever it may be, hovered tantalizingly close yet shrouded in uncertainty.
Fighter slowly stirred from his sleep, feeling the gentle warmth of sunlight filtering through the window. He squinted his eyes, gradually waking up to the soft noises around him. As he blinked and adjusted to the light, he found himself looking directly into a beautiful face hovering above him.
Saint's warm gaze met Fighter's, his eyes filled with tenderness and concern. Fighter's heart skipped a beat at the sight of Saint's loving expression, instantly calming his groggy mind.
"Hey, sleepyhead," Saint greeted softly, a gentle smile playing on his lips.
"Saint."
Fighter's voice emerged husky and deep as he spoke, drawing Saint's attention. Saint swallowed nervously, sensing the weight behind Fighter's words.
"You are... early," Fighter remarked, shifting to sit more comfortably. Saint merely hummed in response, closing the gap between them and wrapping Fighter in a quiet embrace. Fighter welcomed the hug with open arms, feeling the warmth and comfort of Saint's embrace enveloping him.
The embrace spoke volumes, conveying a sense of reassurance and love between them. Fighter leaned into Saint's chest, his head resting against Saint's shoulder as they held each other closely.
"Is everything alright?" Fighter rest his chin on Saint's shoulder.
"Fight... How did you become an angel?" The saint's voice was gentle.
"Um..." There was a brief pause as Fighter searched for the right words. "Because I passed away," came the hesitant reply.
"How did you... die?" The saint asked carefully, hoping the Fighter could provide answers.
"I don't know... I can't remember. Memories of past lives vanished as soon as I opened my eyes," the Fighter shared, leaning back from the Saint's embrace.
"And why are we suddenly talking about this?" Fighter asked, narrowing his eyes.
"I wanted to know more about you," Saint replied, smiling sweetly.
"If you're curious about my past life, I'm sorry, I won't be able to answer that," Fighter added firmly.
"It's alright. And also, someone wants to meet you," Saint said calmly.
"Me? Who? Why?" Fighter asked, pointing to himself in surprise. Who on earth would want to meet him?
"My superiors. Maybe they want to befriend you," he casually replied, avoiding the real reason: that the married couple wanted to meet Fighter because he looks exactly like their deceased son.
"Are they your friends?" Fighter inquired.
"Of course!" Saint affirmed warmly.
"In that case, I'm fine meeting them." Fighter stood up to tidy himself. He didn't really want to meet anyone else; Saint was enough for him. But if they were Saint's friends, he was willing to make an exception.
Soon after, Saint received a text message from Mrs. Panich informing him that they were outside the apartment building. He replied, instructing them to come up to the rooftop house where Fighter and he lived.
As Saint vacuumed the carpet, he was startled by a knock on the door. Setting aside the vacuum cleaner, he hurried to answer it.
He opened the door to find a smiling elderly couple waiting outside.
"Please come in, ma'am, sir," Saint said politely, leading them inside. They settled in the living room.
"Thank you, but you really didn't have to," Saint said gratefully as he accepted the basket of fruits the couple had brought.
"It's nothing, Saint," Mrs. Panich assured him warmly.
"I'll go get my... friend," Saint said, heading towards the bathroom door where Fighter was washing his face.
"Fight, they're here," Saint softly knocked on the bathroom door.
"Yeah, wait. I'm almost done," Fighter yelled, causing the guests to gasp and turn towards the source of the voice.
"Honey... that voice..." Mrs. Panich softly whimpered beside her husband.
"I know, honey," Mr. Panich gently caressed his wife's hair.
Saint, witnessing the tender moment between the Paniches, smiled sweetly. He could tell they were good parents, but unfortunately, they had lost their only son.
Fighter finally appeared and quietly walked towards their direction. Saint and the guests were engrossed in conversation, not noticing Fighter's approach.
"I'm sorry," Fighter began, causing everyone to look up at him. The guests froze as they finally saw him.
"My name is Fighter," he introduced himself, clasping his hands together in a polite gesture. He had assumed Saint's friends would be as young as they were and hadn't expected them to be elderly. Fighter took a seat beside Saint, who was seated across from their guests.
On the other hand, Saint shifted his eyes back and forth, observing the interaction between them. Fighter must really not remember anything, Saint thought to himself, noticing Fighter's inability to recognize the elderly couple.
"Uhmm... h-hi," Fighter awkwardly greeted the guests, unsure of their reaction given their unreadable expressions. They stared at Fighter so intensely that he began to feel uncomfortable.
"Fight, these are my superiors, Mr. and Mrs. Panich, and this is Fighter," Saint introduced them, prompting the guests to snap out of their reverie.
"Hi, Fighter," Mrs. Panich greeted with a waie, and her husband did the same.
"So, you both live here?" Mr. Panich asked, scanning the simplicity of the interior of the house. "The rooftop house is a good choice," he complimented.
"Ah, so you both live here?" Mr. Panich inquired, scanning the simplicity of the house's interior. "A rooftop house is a good choice," he complimented.
"Yes, I had a bit of trouble finding a penthouse," Saint shared.
"How did you two meet?" the husband asked again.
"Uhm..." Saint hesitated, realizing the inevitable question. Panicking, he feigned memory loss, pretending to recall their first meeting without revealing the exact details.
"Actually, he's my boyfriend," Saint blurted out, surprising even himself. Fighter looked at Saint, clearly taken aback by the statement.
"Wow! Really? I'm so happy for both of you," Panich exclaimed, genuinely pleased. Saint then reached out and held Fighter's hand, reassuring him silently that everything was okay.
"Where are your...parents..Fight?" Mrs. Panich finally turn to ask.
"Uhmm..." Fighter hesitated, unsure of how to respond, seeking Saint's guidance.
"His parents are... both deceased," Saint replied, fabricating the story. Inside, he cursed himself for lying repeatedly.
"I'm sorry to hear that," Mrs. Panich responded sympathetically. "So, what do you do for work, Fighter?"
"I... I cook," Fighter answered hesitantly. He wasn't sure if it made sense since he wasn't very skilled yet, but it was what he had been doing lately.
"He means he's still practicing cooking," Saint added quickly, relieved to finally give an honest reply.
"Saint, about what I asked you before... Can I see his hands?" Mrs. Panich requested, glancing at Fighter with hopeful eyes.
"Uhmm... yeah," Saint agreed, nodding to Fighter to assure him it was okay.
Fighter was about to extend his left hand, but Mrs. Panich pointed to his right hand instead. He quickly extended his right hand to her. She gently held it and carefully turned his palm upwards. Suddenly, she gasped, noticing a familiar birthmark on Fighter's wrist.
"Honey... his birthmark!" she cried out, recognizing it as the same one her son, Zee, had.
"Oh god!" Mr. Panich exclaimed, equally shocked. He hugged his wife, who was now sobbing and repeatedly calling out their deceased son's name.
"Sa... Saint, what's going on?" Fighter asked, panicking. "What's with my birthmark?"
"You and my son have exactly the same birthmark," Mr. Panich calmly explained.
"I expected this..." Saint mumbled, realizing what Mrs. Panich had wanted to check. He got up to get them a glass of water, trying to compose himself.
___
Their guests decided to head home, as Mrs. Panich couldn't stop crying.
"Saint, what did I do? Will she be alright? I don't understand," Fighter asked, dread filling his voice.
"Hey, hey. Calm down. I want you to listen to me, okay?" Saint said, cupping Fighter's face. Fighter nodded.
"The Panichs think you're their son because you have the same birthmark and look exactly like him. Their son's name was Zee, but sadly, he's already passed away," Saint explained.
"That... that's insane," Fighter replied, bewildered.
"Right..." Saint agreed, feeling the weight of the situation.
A moment of silence enveloped the living room, then suddenly...
"Boyfriend, huh," Fighter smirked at Saint, who was now blushing.
