You're Mine, I'm Yours

Part 1

Warning : violence ⚠️

Khaotung's day had started in the worst way possible. He’d been out late with friends, celebrating his latest paycheck from his part-time job. The drinks had flowed freely, and he’d ended up crashing at his friend’s place, forgetting to set an alarm. Now, as the sunlight seeped through the blinds of his tiny apartment, he was jolted awake by the realization of how late it was.

He scrambled out of bed, the remnants of last night’s festivities weighing heavily on him. His head throbbed, and his vision was blurry as he pulled on whatever clothes he could find. Rushing out of his apartment, he barely remembered to lock the door behind him. His bike, an old model that had seen better days, was waiting for him downstairs. He hopped on it, barely taking a moment to gather his wits before pedaling furiously towards the university.

The city streets were a cacophony of morning noise—horns blaring, people chatting animatedly, and the sizzling sounds of street food vendors setting up for the day. The scent of grilled meats and fresh bread filled the air, a tantalizing reminder of the breakfast he’d skipped. Khaotung’s eyes darted to his watch, its hands moving relentlessly forward. He cursed under his breath, the urgency of his situation making him more reckless.

Lost in his thoughts and the desperate need to get to class, he failed to notice a car ahead until it was almost too late. He yanked the brakes, the bike skidding violently, and swerved sharply to avoid the vehicle. But his frantic maneuver sent him careening towards a nearby parking lot.

Bam!

The impact was jarring. Khaotung was thrown from his bike, crashing to the ground with a painful thud. Disoriented and panicked, he scrambled to his feet, his heart pounding as he realized he had collided with someone.

He stumbled over to the man he had hit. “OMG, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” he said, his voice tinged with worry as he tried to help the man up. But the man, clearly enraged, shoved Khaotung away with surprising force.

“Are you seriously kidding me? You fucking hit me!” the man spat, his voice sharp with anger. He was an imposing figure—tall and lean, with a commanding presence. His dark hair was slicked back, and his sharp jawline only added to his intimidating appearance. He wore a crisp black suit, which was now dirtied from the fall.

“I’m really sorry. I lost control of my bike,” Khaotung repeated, trying to defuse the situation.

“Who sent you to kill me?” the man demanded, his tone menacing. He stepped closer, his anger palpable.

Khaotung’s eyes widened. “Wait, seriously? You think I’m here to kill you? I don’t even know who you are. It was just an accident,” he said, frustration edging his voice.

The man’s serious demeanor and the looming threat made Khaotung increasingly anxious. “Who sent you?” he repeated, his voice cold and authoritative.

Khaotung’s irritation and confusion mounted. “Do you think we’re in some kind of movie? Look, I already told you it was an accident. And if you’re okay, let me go. I’m already late for class...” His words trailed off as he noticed the man pull out a gun, pressing it against his forehead.

Panic surged through him. “Stop talking,” the man ordered, the gun’s cold metal pressing against Khaotung’s skin. He dialed a number on his phone.