Roundabout Way to You

36. Corpse

Sarth stood in the middle of the apartment, watching Anwit. He had come over, thinking they would clear the air, maybe even laugh about how ridiculous the past few days had been. But instead, the cold, indifferent person in front of him seemed like a stranger.

Sarth opened his mouth, wanting to say something, anything to bridge the growing distance between them. He wanted to tell Anwit that his feelings weren't part of the 'fake' act anymore—that there was something real between them, something neither of them could ignore.

 He was sure that the attraction was mutual. He could feel it in the way Anwit had looked at him, touched him, laughed with him in the past few weeks. 

But before the words could leave his lips, Anwit's phone rang, slicing through the tension in the air like a sharp blade.

Anwit glanced at the screen, his eyes flickering with an unreadable emotion. His expression hardened as he turned his back on Sarth and answered the call. "You should leave," he muttered over his shoulder, already walking towards the balcony.

Sarth didn't move. He didn't want to. Something was wrong—he could sense it.

 Anwit sounded distant, too distant, and though Sarth couldn't hear the conversation, he could see it all over Anwit's face.

Anwit's calm demeanor didn't last long. His expression darkened, his eyebrows drawing together in a frown. Then his face twisted into something close to shock, and Sarth watched as the color drained from Anwit's face.

Anwit's hand trembled as the phone slipped from his grip, clattering loudly against the tiled floor. He stood there, frozen in place, pale and stricken.

"Anwit?" Sarth called out, his voice filled with concern as he walked over to him. Anwit didn't respond, his chest heaving, his breathing growing more erratic by the second. Sarth gently tapped his shoulder. "Anwit, hey... what's going on? Are you okay?"

Anwit blinked rapidly as though waking from a bad dream, but he didn't meet Sarth's eyes. His hands were shaking, and beads of sweat were forming on his forehead. "I am fine," he muttered, his voice shaky, unconvincing. "I just... I need to go. You should leave."

But Sarth wasn't convinced—far from it. 

Anwit's behavior was alarming, and there was no way Sarth was going to leave him alone like this. He watched as Anwit stumbled into his bedroom, his hands still trembling as he fumbled to change into different clothes. 

Something about this felt wrong, deeply wrong. Sarth could feel it in his gut.

When Anwit emerged a few minutes later, dressed to go out, he stopped in his tracks, seeing that Sarth was still standing there. His eyes narrowed slightly, his voice sharper than before. "Why are you still here? I told you to leave."

Sarth didn't answer. Instead, he asked quietly, "Where are you going?"

Anwit's gaze hardened. "That is none of your business. Just... go."

He grabbed his car keys from the table, clearly prepared to walk out, but before he could reach the door, Sarth stepped in front of him, blocking his way. "You are not in any shape to drive," Sarth said firmly, his eyes locking onto Anwit's. "No matter where you're going, I am coming with you."

Anwit's frustration bubbled to the surface, and for a moment, it looked like he might protest. But then, as if realizing he wasn't in the right state of mind to argue, he let out a sharp breath and dropped his head. His voice, when he spoke, was defeated. "Fine."

Sarth didn't waste a second. He gently but firmly took the car keys from Anwit's hand, refusing to back down. Anwit muttered something under his breath, but Sarth didn't press. 

Instead, he led them both to the car and got into the driver's seat. Anwit handed him an address without looking at him, and Sarth couldn't help but notice how pale Anwit had become, the nervous energy practically radiating off him.

The drive was silent, save for the sound of the tires rolling against the pavement. 

Anwit sat stiffly in the passenger seat, his gaze fixed out the window, his face growing paler and paler with every passing minute. 

Sarth glanced at him from time to time, worry gnawing at him, but he held his questions in check. Whatever had happened during that phone call was serious, and he had a feeling Anwit wasn't ready to talk about it—yet.

When they finally pulled up to the destination, Sarth's brow furrowed as he read the sign at the entrance: it was a hospital. 

He parked the car, watching as Anwit unbuckled his seatbelt with shaking hands. The anxiety was written all over Anwit's face now, and as he got out of the car, he didn't spare a glance in Sarth's direction.

Sarth followed closely behind as Anwit walked into the hospital, heading straight for the mortuary without a word. Sarth's stomach churned, an uneasy feeling settling deep inside him. Why were they here?

Anwit's pace quickened as they neared the entrance to the mortuary, and Sarth had to keep up. They were greeted by Ton, the Mortuary Coordinator, a man with a somber expression who led them inside without question. 

Sarth glanced at Anwit, noticing how his hands were trembling again, how his breath had become uneven. He stayed close, his protective instincts kicking in.

Ton stopped in front of a body draped in a white sheet, standing still for a moment as he glanced at Anwit, silently seeking permission. Anwit gave a tight nod, though his entire body was tense, as if bracing for something unbearable.

With a slow, deliberate motion, Ton pulled back the sheet, revealing the face of the dead man lying beneath it.

Sarth's gaze shifted to Anwit instantly, watching as the shock hit him like a freight train. 

Anwit's face drained of all color, and his knees buckled as the weight of recognition and grief took over. He fell to the floor, his body shaking uncontrollably.

Without thinking, Sarth dropped down beside him, wrapping his arms around Anwit as he held him close. "Anwit... hey... it's okay, I am here," he whispered, though he wasn't sure what else to say. 

His own mind was racing, confused and alarmed. He glanced up at the corpse, trying to make sense of who it was and why it had such a profound effect on Anwit, but the man's face was unfamiliar to him.

Anwit clutched at Sarth's shirt, his breath coming in ragged gasps, unable to form words. He was lost in a whirlwind of emotions—shock, disbelief, grief, all crashing into him like a tidal wave.

Sarth tightened his grip on him, his mind spinning as he stared at the corpse again. Who was this man? What had happened?

But for now, there were no answers—only the sound of Anwit's heavy breathing and the weight of the silence that filled the cold room.

The identity of the dead man hung in the air like a question neither of them was ready to answer.