Masked Devotion

The strange feeling

The bustling streets of Bangkok pulsed with life as Dunk strode through the crowded sidewalks, his white coat a symbol of authority that stood out against the chaotic sea of people. The scent of street food—grilled meats, spices, and fresh herbs—wafted through the air, blending with the exhaust fumes from motorcycles and tuk-tuks. Dunk's steps were purposeful, but his heart raced, not from the exertion, but from anticipation. Today was the day he had been waiting for, planning for, dreaming of for months.

"Kho thot khrap," he said firmly as he maneuvered through the crowd, his alpha presence causing people to instinctively part around him. "Excuse me." His politeness was automatic, ingrained from years of Thai upbringing, but there was an undercurrent of command in his voice. The late afternoon heat clung to his skin, the warmth of the setting sun casting the sky in a shade of pinks and oranges, reflecting off the towering skyscrapers that framed the horizon.

As he rounded the corner, the massive Siam Paragon mall loomed ahead, its glass facade shimmering in the fading daylight. Dunk slowed his pace, his hand slipping into his pocket to retrieve a simple black mask. He glanced around, eyes sharp, and ducked into a narrow alleyway, the dim light casting long shadows against the walls.

His breath quickened, not from nerves, but from the thrill of what was to come. He donned the mask, pulling his hood low over his forehead. For a moment, he stood still, inhaling the scent of the city—the lingering sweetness of jasmine flowers mixing with the earthy aroma of rain-soaked concrete. "You're in control," Dunk whispered to himself, his voice barely audible over the distant hum of traffic.

Emerging from the alley, Dunk was no longer Dr. Dunk, the respected alpha physician. He was just another anonymous figure in the crowd, blending into the sea of fans who had gathered for one reason—Joong.

The buzz of excitement was palpable as he approached the entrance, the hum of voices growing louder. Groups of fans, mostly young women, chatted animatedly in a mix of Thai and English, their scents a swirl of floral perfumes and the faint aroma of snacks from nearby vendors.

"Did you see Joong’s latest interview?" one girl squealed, her face glowing with anticipation.

"Chai! He's so mysterious and captivating," her friend replied, her voice trembling with excitement.

Dunk felt a pang of guilt. Here he was, a 25-year-old alpha doctor, sneaking into a fan meeting like some starstruck teenager. But the pull was irresistible—Joong had captured his curiosity in a way no one else had.

As Dunk joined the queue, the cool, conditioned air from the mall’s entrance began to mingle with the heat of the crowd. His eyes flickered around, alert and watchful behind his mask. What if someone recognized him? What if Joss, his childhood friend, found out? Joss had always been overprotective—almost possessive. He would never understand why Dunk had come here.

The line moved forward, and soon Dunk stood at the entrance to the event hall. His ticket, already slick with sweat from his palm, was handed over to a staff member who gave him a curious glance, clearly wondering why he was masked in an indoor setting. She scanned the ticket and handed it back without a word, her eyes lingering just a moment too long.

"Enjoy the fan meeting, khun," she said with a polite wai, her scent vaguely tinged with jasmine and soap.

"Khop khun khrap," Dunk murmured, his voice low and muffled by the mask.

The hall was vast, its high ceiling lined with banners of Joong’s enigmatic face. His image stared back at Dunk from every angle, those deep, unreadable eyes seeming to follow his every move. Dunk’s heart skipped a beat. He had seen countless photos and videos of Joong, but there was something about the real thing that hit harder—a certain presence that radiated from his image, even from mere posters.