We're gonna be royals

Thirteenth

In the midst of May, Bangkok greets Gun with extreme humidity with sun emitting heat on top of his head, making him sweat bullets under his clothes. It was the kind of heat that could nearly drive a person insane. Gun turned the air conditioner’s fan to the max and let it flow towards his face. Oh thank goodness for the creator of the air conditioner, the creator  is his lifesaver. He would probably not attempt to go out if there is no air-conditioner. 

Gun let his eyes wander outside, watching different types of vehicles lining up in the middle of road traffic which followed with blaring of honks. Gun shook his head, it was not as if the honking would make the traffic go any faster. Sparing a glance over his shoulder, his eyes landed on his father doing his daily morning routine. Large tablet in his hand, busy tapping and scrolling on the screen. It seemed like a web page of the current stock market based on graphs inclining and declining with a tight expression on his face. 

The sight annoyed him.

Gun turned away and closed his eyes, arm against his forehead. Sigh. It reminded him of the night his mother had left them five years ago. Even amidst the downfall of his marriage, his father had been so busy and kept up in chasing his fame and wealth. He can still remember the moment tears falling from her eyes when she had asked his father to choose between their marriage or his work. And when his father offered no answer, the affirmation was clear in her eyes that she made the right choice. There was no hesitation in her steps the moment she walked out of the house, pulling the heavy luggage behind her with Gun kept running after her. He was young back then. Powerless, so all he could was nothing but cry. 

Suddenly, Gun found himself turned upset at the incessant loud honks outside, at the sun outside, and maybe mostly at himself. Ruffling his hair, Gun huffed grumpily,  “Ae, can you turn down the volume?” 

“Yes, sir” He earned a short reply from the driver.

The melodious symphony of Waltz of the Flowers decreased in volume and soon the pull of the violins sounded mellow in his ear. He can feel heat in his eyes but Gun chinned up, holding it in. He leaned by the car’s window and bit his lips, silently watching a pair of couples riding a motorcycle, trying to pass by through the narrow space between the vehicles. A baby was tightly held by the mother on her chest. The father carefully and attentively turned his motorcycle forward, as if a slight mistake would hurt the people at the back and it made  Gun wonder how lucky it is to be loved like that despite lack of financial support.  

“You’re quiet today.” His father made a remark.

“I’m being myself like usual” Gun answered curtly. 

“Right, before I forget. Tell your friends that I said thank you for making my event successful. I’ve sent them seafood packages to their house” His father pulled over the cover of the iPad and rested it on his lap. It was common in their society as it was known as an act of gratitude by returning them with either expensive gift or food packages with a mere thank you gift card written by the secretary because, apparently, writing a thank you card is too time consuming for the president. 

“Sure. I’ll tell them later” Gun nodded his head. He can feel a stare burning on the side of his face but he didn’t bother to turn around. He is not in the mood to entertain his father today. There is a silence hanging in between them for a moment and Gun has a gist that his father wanted to ask him something. 

Clearing his throat, his father croaked slowly, “About Off Jumpol, is there anything I should know?” His father questioned and they both exchanged glances. It’s like he was being interrogated and Gun was not amused so he was the first one to look away.

“There is nothing” Gun said, pulled his lips in a thin line and stared outside again.  There was a subtle sigh of relief as soon as he said it. The road looked familiar to him and soon, the car is entering the university premise, driving straight to the Faculty of Fashion Design.

“Good. I hope you can keep it that way in the future. I don’t want him to get closer to you, I don’t like it” His father smiled, crossing his legs and pulling at his shirt sleeves, fingers grazing at the cuff link. 

“Well, I also don’t like seeing you with some cheap woman. But would you do anything about it? No. Because my opinion doesn’t matter. In this case, your opinion also doesn’t matter. I’m going to be friends with whoever I want. We’re even now” Gun shot up an eyebrow, trying to compose his face straight. But his tone came out in vain and his father glared at him then.

“Don’t use that tone on me, young man” his father glowered at him and exhaled calmly, “And I’m telling you this for your own good”

Gun hates his tone, as if he was talking to a child when he is no longer one. He is twenty one years old for good sake. He has been growing up under the care of secretaries and maids. He is not the once foolish boy his father used to lie to. This is for your own good. It was the same excuse his father had given his mother every time they fought across the living room. Bullshit. It was never about them but his father. Nothing matters except his father. 

Unknowingly, his fist tightened around his bag strap.

“I know what’s for my own good and what’s the best for me. Off Jumpol is a good friend of mine and I’m going to keep it that way whether you like it or not” Gun unfastened his seat belt. “Ae, drop me here. I can walk from here”

The car stopped moving, parking by the football field. It was three blocks away from his faculty but Gun cannot seem to contain his anger at this moment. Neither can he be the kind son his father would like him to be. And Gun doesn’t really like to disappoint people so it is best that he gets off right now before he lash out.

Before Gun could walk away from the car, his father lowered down the mirror, “I’m going to be out of town for a couple of weeks. Ae will be here if you need anything” his father spoke, not looking at him.

Gun scoffed bitterly. Right, of course there would be a reason when his dad wanted to send him to the university out of the blue. He swallowed the bitter taste on his tongue and looked at his canvas shoes, nodding in dejection. When Gun didn’t offer him any answer, his father took it as a sign for him to leave and told the driver to drive away.

He watched as the car sped down the road, becoming smaller as it went by and the sight saddened him.

A buzz came from his jeans pocket woke him from his daze. Gun took out his phone and saw notifications appear on the screen. His heart dropped reading the article that was sent to him. Suddenly, the ache in his chest returned, clinging like a longtime friend.