The Proposal

Okay

"Oh, you probably were in such a hurry to meet your happiness that have come even in time?"

"Why this sarcasm, Gulf? Don't forget that I can still refuse."

"And don't forget that for at least the next fifty hours, I'm still your boss. And believe me, during this period I will have time to turn your already miserable existence into pure hell. Is it clear?"

"More than that."

Ahem-ahem.

The sound of a throat-clearing cough startles both of them.

"Oh, Khun Nanchai? Good morning."

A man of about forty-five, in a formal suit and with a folder of papers in his hand, stands near the door of the immigration office:

"Morning. And you, as far as I understand, are Khun Traipipattanapong and Khun Jongcheveevat, right? Do I remember everything correctly?"

"Oh, yes, Khun Nanchai," Gulf pretends to be a lackey's helpfulness on his face, "you have an excellent memory!"

"Professional."

"That's what I meant."

"Yes, of course."

Well, wow, what a cutie pie, Mew watches with a share of contempt how his boss, a lifelong master of the situation, is now creeping in front of the immigration officer. If only this Nanchai would know that the filling inside this pie is poisonous.

"Come in."

They are both invited to sit down in front of the desktop:

"Such a lot of application forms, you know," an officer begins business communication from a distance.

"Yes, yes, we understand," Gulf immediately picks up, "and we are so grateful that you managed to squeeze us into your busy schedule…"

"Yes. My schedule is really tight. So maybe we won't waste each other's time? And," Nanchai looks at both of them carefully, "did you," he now turns to Mew, "agree to a fictitious marriage so that he," his gaze shifts to Gulf, "would not be deported to China?"

Mew is pointedly silent, and Gulf, feeling that the situation urgently needs to be taken into his own hands, retorts:

"What makes you think so? We... we... love each other and have been for a long time…"

"One person called our service and reported that…"

"One named Prem, right? You know, if this is the case, then you should not pay importance to the words of an employee I've recently fired. He will tell you more nonsense about me. Because of revenge."

"Mhm. I see," Nanchai purses his lips, nodding in false agreement, "but what about you, Khun Jongcheveevat, what can you say? Are you going to confess or not?"

Mew understands that no matter how "stupid" this idea is, if he doesn't say a word in the next thirty seconds, he himself will look even more stupid than Gulf.

"Uhm... uhm."

"So-so-so?" The officer pauses dramatically.

"Um... well…"

"Well? You made it all up, didn't you? To save your boss, right?"

Mew shakes his head, and it's hard to tell if it's a "no" or a "yes". Gulf's gaze is so annihilating that he feels it burning even from a distance.

"So what?"

Taking a deep breath, Mew begins to express himself more clearly:

"To tell the truth, the relationship between me and Gulf is impossible," Nanchai's face reflects 'well, what did I tell you', Gulf is about to tear his fiance with the teeth, "but it happened… We started dating. Long ago. And we want to get married."