Autumn is a second spring

123. Sleepover

The movie flickered across the huge projector screen in the darkened home theatre, voices of the actors from Crazy Rich Asians filling the room. But the three men sitting in front of it barely paid attention. The untouched beer bottles in their hands, the occasional clink when glass met teeth, and the soft hum of the surround system were the only things cutting through the heavy quiet.

Earth leaned back into the couch and let out a sigh. "It's been so long since we sat down like this in peace," he said, his voice softer than usual, as though speaking any louder would crack the fragile stillness that hung in the air.

Prem gave him a small nod, a mechanical agreement that didn't quite reach his eyes. His gaze was on the screen, but it was obvious he wasn't really seeing it. Fluke, meanwhile, didn't respond at all—just raised the beer to his lips and drank slowly, the carbonation fizzing faintly.

They tried—God, they really tried—to concentrate on the movie, on anything that wasn't the unspoken tension filling the space. But the effort was useless. Every second dragged, thick with all the things none of them wanted to be the first to say.

Finally, Earth caved. He turned his head, his brows knitting as he studied Prem's expression. "Are you really okay?"

Prem blinked, slowly turning toward him. "I'm fine." The words came flat, automatic, like a rehearsed line he had said too many times before.

Earth wasn't convinced. He shifted slightly closer. "You didn't feel hurt at all? That P' Boun walked away without saying anything? That he didn't even argue when you brought up breaking up?"

Prem's jaw tightened. He gave a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head. "No. Honestly, I was grateful he didn't fight back. I was too tired to argue with him."

Silence fell again, deeper this time, pressing in around them. Earth's throat tightened with pity—for Boun, for Prem, for the mess of everything. Prem's eyes weren't on the screen anymore. They were on nothing, staring into the kind of emptiness people looked at when they were too full of hurt to focus on anything real.

When Prem spoke again, his voice was thinner, brittle. "Maybe it's because I already felt like I lost everything the moment I saw him proposing to James."

Earth's breath caught. Prem let out another dry laugh that sounded more like a crack in his chest.

"The same man who doubted me," Prem continued, "when I hugged Chris after we won the finals. He accused me of—" His voice faltered for a moment, but he pushed through. "Yet it was him. He is the one I saw, down on one knee, proposing to someone else."

The words dropped like stones into the room. And then—against all odds—a chuckle slipped from Fluke.

Both Prem and Earth snapped their heads toward him, startled. Fluke sat slouched with the bottle in his hand, a mocking smile tugging at his lips.

"What's so funny?" Prem asked, voice sharp, eyes narrowing.

Fluke wiped at his mouth, as if embarrassed by the slip, but the bitter smile stayed. "Sorry," he said. "It's just... your double standards are hilarious."

Prem's shoulders stiffened. "What the hell do you mean by that?"

Fluke shrugged, almost lazily. "What happened during the finals wasn't just a hug, Prem. You ran into Chris's arms, and you kissed him on the cheek. That's what P' Boun saw. He went all the way there to surprise you and instead walked in on... that."

Prem's lips parted, but Fluke didn't stop. The words poured out of him, fueled by the alcohol loosening his tongue.

"It wasn't just him, either. The cameras caught it. The whole internet saw it. Do you know how viral that video went? Fans were shipping you and Chris instead of you and P' Boun. And you—" Fluke tilted his head, smirking bitterly. "You think it's okay for you to jump into another man's arms in front of a stadium full of people. But when P' Boun acts out a proposal scene—something scripted by his employees, something not even real—you call that betrayal?"

His voice had sharpened, the mocking edge twisting into something more cutting. "You want to talk about hurt? Sure, what P' Boun did was questionable, I get it. But you blaming him, while justifying your own intimacy with Chris... that's hypocrisy, Prem."

Prem's teeth ground together. "Chris and I were partners on the court," he bit out. "There was no reason for Hia to feel insecure about us."

Fluke leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "And James was Boun's secretary. There was no reason for you to feel insecure either." He gave a short laugh. "Funny, isn't it? You don't see it when it's you."

Prem stared at him, anger and hurt swirling together in his eyes.

"And let's not forget," Fluke pressed on, "Chris has been in love with you for years. Everyone knows it. Whereas P' Boun and James? They were like Phi-nong. Nothing more."

The words struck like daggers. Prem's eyes filled, turning red at the edges, and he asked, voice breaking, "You are seriously taking his side now?"

Fluke shook his head firmly. "I am not taking anyone's side. I am pointing out the hypocrisy here. You have been keeping score of what P' Boun has done wrong while ignoring what you have done yourself."

Prem's chest rose and fell with uneven breaths. "What are you talking about?" he whispered, a single tear sliding down his cheek.

Fluke's tone softened, but the words carried weight. "Take the concert, for example. You have been complaining endlessly that P' Boun took James to the Loop concert. But do you even remember that you were the one who backed out at the last moment?"

Prem froze.

"Do you know what P' Boun did?" Fluke continued. "He stayed up all night to buy those tickets the second sales opened because they were going to sell out in minutes. He planned the whole night around it—other surprises too. I saw him. I know. That concert wasn't just about the music. It was his way of making up for missing your anniversary because of your training."

Prem blinked rapidly, his throat closing.

Fluke sighed, shaking his head. "I didn't tell you then because I thought it would mean more if you heard it from him. But since you canceled, he and James had to go on a business trip instead. They only went to the concert because James was a fan and P' Boun didn't want the tickets to go to waste."

The room spun for Prem. He sat frozen, every word tearing new wounds open inside him.

"And Bew," Fluke added quietly. "You hated how James was always around him. But do you even know how many times that kid fell sick last year? How many times he ended up in the hospital?"

Prem's lips trembled.

"His kindergarten had so many parent-child activities. How many of them did you attend, Prem?" Fluke's voice cracked slightly, but he pressed on. "James was there because it was his job. Not because he wanted to replace you, but because P' Boun needed help. That's what P' Boun paid him for."

Prem's chest heaved.

"You felt threatened by James because he was always there. But isn't that exactly how P' Boun felt about Chris? You spent all your time with him—in the dorm, at practice, on the court. You hated that P' Boun got jealous, but can't you see it's the same thing? He had every right to feel the way you did."

Earth's eyes darted between them helplessly. The room felt like it was about to collapse under the weight of everything being said. He could see Prem was breaking, his face crumbling under the force of words he couldn't defend against. But Fluke... Fluke didn't look like he was going to stop anytime soon. The alcohol had stripped away his restraint, and years of unsaid truth were spilling out, raw and merciless.

Prem stared at him, trembling, his beer bottle slipping slightly in his grasp. Tears streamed freely now, his voice barely audible as he whispered, "Stop..."

But Fluke didn't stop.