Autumn is a second spring

114. Footages

Boun could feel his heart pounding violently in his chest as he gripped the steering wheel, eyes fixed ahead but mind completely scattered. The city was still waking up, traffic thin and the sky painted in a dull blue-gray. But Boun's thoughts were anything but calm. His stomach churned with a sick, nervous energy, and each passing second only fed the growing dread in his chest.

He prayed—silently, desperately—that his gut feeling wasn't right. That there was some kind of rational explanation for everything.

After all, Koi had seen him leave the house yesterday. The CCTV footage at home confirmed it too. 

Prem had walked out of the house, smiling, carrying a lunchbox, probably excited to surprise him at the office. And now, here Boun was—racing toward the office like a madman because his heart refused to calm down.

He skidded the car into the company's parking area, barely shutting the door before sprinting into the building. The early morning guards scrambled to greet him, but Boun didn't even glance their way.

He was already banging open the door to the security room on the second floor.

The guard inside—mid-thirties, balding, with a small coffee stain on his shirt—jumped out of his nap with a stifled yelp. His eyes flew wide as they registered Boun standing there, fuming, wild-eyed.

"Khun Boun! I—uh—good morning," the guard stammered, half-rising out of his chair, his eyes darting to the clock as if to convince himself it was still too early for disaster.

Boun didn't respond. "Pull up the CCTV footage from yesterday. Around lunchtime. Show me the main gate, the parking lot, and the elevators. Now."

The security personnel immediately scrambled into action, fingers flying over the keyboard. "Khrab, Khun Boun."

Boun slumped into the chair in front of the screens, his eyes burning from lack of sleep, but sharp with anxious purpose. His jaw clenched as he stared at the black-and-white screen that came to life with footage.

He saw Prem's car arrive through the main gate. His heart thudded harder.

"There," Boun muttered.

He switched over to the parking lot footage, watching Prem get out of the car with a warm smile on his face. The lunchbox tucked under his arm. That damned lunchbox. Boun swallowed tightly, something raw and sharp scraping his throat.

He looked so happy. So... hopeful.

Boun's hands curled into fists on his knees.

He watched Prem enter the elevator, alone. Switched the feed. Saw him reach the top floor. The screen flickered, then showed the hallway outside Boun's office.

There Prem was again—walking with that quiet bounce in his step, glancing around, trying to hide a smile that he just couldn't contain.

Then Boun found the feed from outside the meeting room.

His stomach sank.

There he was—Boun himself—kneeling in front of James, holding out a ring. People clapping. Cameras flashing.

The fake proposal.

He watched Prem freeze at the doorway. His smile faded, slowly at first, then all at once.

And then, without a word, Prem turned.

Boun followed the footage, traced him back to the elevator. Then the parking lot. Boun saw him pause at the trash bin.

Prem had thrown the lunch away. The one that he had prepared with so much love, was thrown away just like that.

Boun's chest heaved as if someone had punched all the air out of his lungs.

His hands trembled as he reached up and rubbed at his eyes. He sat still for a long moment, swallowing down the bile rising in his throat. His face twisted as guilt and helplessness tangled like barbed wire in his chest.

God, what had he done?

The door creaked behind him. The security personnel had returned, face freshly washed but still looking nervous. "Khun Boun?" he asked gently. "Are you... okay?"

Boun didn't answer at first. He stood up slowly, took a deep breath, and walked toward the door. But then something clicked in his mind.

He turned back abruptly. "The trash—yesterday's trash from the parking lot. Is it gone?"

The guard blinked, startled. "Uh, no, Khun Boun. The janitorial staff doesn't start cleaning until an hour before office hours. The bins should still be untouched."

Boun didn't wait for another word.

He bolted from the room, taking the stairs down two steps at a time until he reached the parking area. The air down there was musty and cool, the kind that clung to concrete and oil.

He zeroed in on the trash bin.

It didn't take long—just a couple of minutes digging through plastic bags, ignoring the grime on his sleeves, to find it.

The navy-blue insulated lunch bag.

He recognized it instantly. His heart cracked wide open.

He crouched beside it, brushing off dirt and wrappers clinging to the bag. Slowly, reverently, he unzipped it and pulled out the multilayered thermal lunch box Prem had insisted they buy. The same one Prem used to pack lunch for him in the early days—saying he didn't trust Boun not to skip meals if left to his own devices.

His fingers shook as he twisted open the topmost layer.

The smell hit him first—sour, stale.

The food had gone bad overnight, but he could still see what was inside.

Steamed jasmine rice, perfectly molded into a dome. Stir-fried chicken with Thai basil—his favorite. A side of scrambled eggs with tomato. Even a tiny cup of dipping sauce wrapped with foil.

Prem had cooked this. For him.

Yesterday.

Tears stung his eyes. He bit down on his lip hard enough to taste blood as he sat on the cold concrete floor, lunchbox in hand.

He could almost see it—Prem humming while cooking, tasting the food before boxing it, maybe even writing a small note to slip in (which was probably ruined now). He had planned to surprise him. And instead... he had walked into the cruelest misunderstanding possible.

Boun bowed his head, tears silently slipping down his cheeks, falling onto the metal lunchbox. "What on earth have I done?"

He held it tighter, like it was the last piece of Prem he had left.

"I am sorry," he whispered, voice thick. "God, Pao... I am so sorry."

The guilt was overwhelming, heavier than anything he had ever felt. Because he had known. He had known Prem always felt a twinge of insecurity about James. And still, he hadn't explained. Hadn't reassured him. 

It had been because of the small sense of pride that he got from seeing Prem being possessive of him. But he regretted it. He regretted that hadn't made it clear that the proposal was fake.

He had been so caught up in making things perfect—so focused on planning the real proposal—that he hadn't realized what his actions looked like from the outside.

Now Prem was gone.

He didn't know where. Or if he would even want to come back.

All Boun knew was that he would do anything—anything—to find Prem and make things right again.

Even if it meant tearing down every wall Prem had built around his heart.