Autumn is a second spring

127. Pub

Oreo paused with his hand on the doorknob, the muffled thump of the DJ's music from downstairs vibrating faintly through the floorboards. The pub was old, dimly lit, and nowhere near the bustling heart of the city. Its walls carried the stale smell of alcohol and time, not the trendy, neon glow of the places Boun used to haunt. Oreo frowned, glancing at Yacht beside him.

"I wonder what he is even doing in a place like this," Oreo muttered. His voice carried more worry than judgment.

Yacht's expression tightened. He had already been irritated since they got the call. "Back when Prem was around, we didn't have to babysit him," Yacht said flatly. "Now that Prem is gone, it feels like we are back to cleaning up after him all over again."

Oreo sighed but didn't argue. Yacht shoved the door open without knocking. The creak of the hinges cut through the heavy silence inside the room, startling Oreo more than it did the man they had come for.

Boun sat slumped at a table, alone. No strangers draped over him, no laughter spilling from his lips like the old days. The television screen in the corner flickered with a random music video, its harsh light painting Boun's face pale. In front of him, the table was crowded with empty glasses—evidence of just how long he had been drowning himself here. He held the neck of an almost empty whiskey bottle loosely, his gaze fixed on the television but not really seeing it.

Yacht crossed the room in two long strides and snatched the remote from the table. He clicked the screen off, plunging the room into a quiet so heavy it pressed down on all three of them. Boun didn't react. He didn't even blink.

Oreo chose the softer approach. He walked closer, his footsteps slow, careful, as if he were approaching a wounded animal. He placed a hand gently on Boun's shoulder. "Boun," he said softly.

For a brief moment, a flicker of surprise passed through Boun's tired eyes. Then it was gone, smothered under that same blank emptiness. His voice was rough, almost detached. "What are you two doing here?"

Yacht crossed his arms, his irritation sharp. "We are here to pick you up. To clean up after you. Again."

Boun turned his head slowly toward Y, his expression unreadable. "Don't worry. I won't make a scene. This is the countryside—no paparazzi, no headlines. Just leave me. Go back."

Oreo's chest tightened. He looked at the pile of glasses on the table, then back at Boun. "You have already had too much. Come home with us."

Boun's grip on the bottle tightened before he set it down. His voice cracked just enough to show the truth beneath his act of indifference. "I can't. I don't want Bew to see me like this."

Yacht scoffed, shaking his head. "At least you remember you have got a kid waiting at home."

Oreo shot Yacht a warning glare that silenced him instantly. Without another word, Yacht muttered, "I will wait in the car," and stormed out, leaving the door ajar behind him.

Oreo pulled out a chair and sat across from Boun, his voice gentle. "Come with me. We will figure this out."

Boun let out a bitter laugh, the kind that hurt to hear. His eyes glistened with unshed tears as he mumbled, "I don't even know what I was thinking, Hia... while I was adopting Bew."

Oreo blinked. "What do you mean?"

Boun shook his head, running a shaky hand through his hair. "I should have let you and P' Yacht adopt him. Just like the twins. What made me think I could raise a kid? Back then I was a mess—I drank too much, picked fights, slept around. I wasn't a father. I was barely holding myself together. What gave me the right to promise a child a family?" His voice cracked again, the weight of guilt pressing down hard. "Maybe I did it because I felt guilty. Because P' Alan hated Bew, and I... I was the reason P' Alan died."

Oreo's voice was firm, cutting through the haze of Boun's self-loathing. "Don't do that to yourself. Hia died because he ran from the police and a truck hit him. Yes, you reported his illegal activities. But Hia's death? That wasn't your fault. And his hatred toward Bew—don't you dare take responsibility for that. Hia was unwell, unstable. None of that was on you."

Boun's tears finally fell. He buried his face in his hands for a moment before whispering, "I promised Bew a family. And look at me. I can't even give him that. These past few days, he has been asking about Prem. I don't know how to tell him the truth."

Oreo's heart clenched. He stayed quiet, letting Boun get the words out.

"I haven't told him yet," Boun continued, his voice raw. "How do you tell a three-year-old that the person he loves might never come back? He calls Prem's parents, asks why Prem is in Chiang Mai instead of with us in Bangkok. Every night he waits by the phone, wanting to tell Prem about his day, to show him the stars on his homework. Sometimes he calls, lets the phone ring until it stops. And every time... he looks so disappointed." Boun choked on a sob. "And sometimes, I catch myself hoping Prem will answer. Even though I know—he doesn't owe Bew anything. He doesn't owe me anything."

Oreo reached across the table, resting his hand over Boun's. "At least you know that. It's better this way."

Boun lifted his eyes, bloodshot and searching. "Why?"

Oreo hesitated before speaking, but his words were steady. "Because if they kept in touch, what then? Premis going to move on, Boun. Sooner or later, he will find someone else. Maybe it will be a woman, maybe he will have kids of his own. Do you really think he could keep treating Bew the same way? What if his new partner doesn't like it? What if he pulls away? How will Bew feel then? And what about you—could you stand watching Prem start a family with someone else, while still clinging to him through Bew?"

The silence that followed was heavy. Boun didn't answer. His jaw tightened, and just the thought of Prem smiling at someone else made his stomach twist. He grabbed the whiskey bottle and drained the last of it in one go, wincing as it burned down his throat.

Oreo didn't try to stop him. He knew Boun needed to let it out. He simply reached forward again, his voice low. "Don't worry too much about Bew. He is not alone. We are all here for him. Even today—Ohm picked him up from kindergarten and took him home. We will help you raise him."

Boun let out a broken laugh, shaking his head. "Ohm shouldn't have to. I have already let him down enough as a cousin and as a friend, and he is still out there doing his part."

Oreo squeezed his hand gently. "Then talk to him. Don't keep running from the people who love you. Ohm cares about you—enough to understand, enough to forgive. But only if you let him."

For the first time that night, Boun's blank stare softened, if only a little. The pain was still there, raw and heavy, but Oreo could see the faintest flicker of hope struggling against it.