The blue hour has passed and the dawning emerged — from the first sunlight appearing that day and onwards, this would be an entirely different story for Pongpol Panyamit. For better or more deranged, Khunpol didn’t know yet, he would figure it out soon that noon. “My beautiful only boy,” His mother said as she rearranged his strands of fringe, and Khunpol returned with a soft smile that didn’t reach his eyes. 

“Weren’t you married to Dad at my age?” Khunpol asked instead, diverting his gaze from other hotel guests that were in the lobby as the manager escorted them to the private area of their restaurant. 

“A little bit older than you, not much though, two years.” His mother clicked her tongue, and Khunpol hummed in acknowledgment before throwing glances to his father at his other side. 

“I am eligible for twice the inheritance from your father solely for complying to this nonsense,” Khunpol stated with a skeptical snort, and his father threw him a glance before breaking into a light laughter.

“Oh, that’s the spirit, Khunpol.” His father stopped their tracks and signaled the hotel manager to wait, “Put it on papers, your demands.” His father turned his figure to face Khunpol — something about him being serious made Khunpol tilted his head in mirroring determination, “I will present them to him.”

“I want an additional three resorts in three different continents, and also an additional hotel chain on top of whatever I am going to get in my inheritance, minimum of four stars— no, five stars,” Khunpol listed, “And I want one of his wineries, I don’t care if other cousins were the ones who supposed to get them, I deserve one.” His father broke into another chuckle as Khunpol added, “Don’t give me false hope if you know the old man won’t give me anything.”

“They have been trying to seal this deal for more than a decade, Khunpol, I am pretty sure your stance is strong if you go through with this marriage.” Khunpol made a revolted attempt when the word marriage was mentioned, “Not with that kind of face, though.” 

“I’ll smile when I see grandpa sign the papers.” Khunpol pulled his lips upward just enough, which was returned by another smile by his father as he returned to his track and nodded to the hotel manager. 

What would Khunpol give to not be at where he was at the moment? Almost everything, it probably would mean nothing. The reality hit him when the hotel manager opened the private room’s door and revealed a family of three, mirroring his own family. Pasawee Sriarunotai was sitting in the middle of his own parents with a thin smile that was pressed flatly when he saw their arrival — Khunpol met his eyes briefly before he pried away from Khunpol’s attention. 

Khunpol wondered what Pasawee gets or forfeits in order to go through with the marriage. 

“Oh, Khunpol, are you not a pretty little darling?” Pasawee’s mother cooed almost immediately at the sight of Khunpol, “He’s so beautiful, goodness, Alan— this is my son, Pasawee.” Their eyes met again for the second time and Pasawee held the attention longer. He had the thinly rimmed glasses that Khunpol was pretty sure he didn’t need — or maybe he did, Khunpol only skimmed his file shortly before he got bored. 

Pasawee Sriarunotai, with Khunpol’s best interest and lack of offensive judgment, is a well-behaved kid. Carrying a perfect record and a perfect list of achievements, like a well-designed and well-rounded heir to his family’s empire. He doesn’t smoke, doesn’t do drugs, doesn’t cause any mischief — the most flawless performance on a paper that Khunpol has ever read. He graduated from Princeton with the most immaculate attendance and a valedictorian title with an almost perfect GPA. 

“This is Pongpol,” His mother introduced him as she glanced at Khunpol — Khunpol caught her polite smile flowering on her lips as his mother continued with mentioning his full name, along with his royal honorific. Khunpol has always thought it was mouthful, but the royal family likes having people remember their bloodline is all over the nation, even indirectly. 

“Svasti is so fortunate, having the descendants of House of Vihokratana.” Khunpol had trained himself well not to roll his eyes at the mention of Svasti and House of Vihokratana in the same sentence, and it wouldn't be polite or correct to show distaste in front of his future father-in-law — the thought of having a father-in-law itself had clogged Khunpol’s throat. “Technically, pardon me for the silly question — are you required to notify the royal family regarding this union?”

“Absolutely, we have discussed this matter with the royal advisor,” Khunpol’s mother answered without hesitation, “They had been made aware regarding this planned marriage.” Silly indeed, mayhaps in the following few weeks, the Sriarunotai family will receive a non-disclosure agreement from the royal family’s attorneys that they have no choice but to sign — the amusement will wear off gradually. 

“Ah! Wonderful news, we have been inquiring.” Pasawee’s mother smiled before she added in excitement, “Well, shall we start? There are many clauses that we have to discuss today!” 

—

When Khunpol was a kid, he sometimes dreamed about the water lilies he found at the royal palace. They had a massive pond that was covered in white and was accessible for every member of the royal family — and it was very beautiful. Khunpol, for better or for more exacerbated, was born with a blue blood that passed through from his mother's royal lineage. 

There is always something poetic about it, since his father’s family is perpetually allergic to bad publicity. Something about the royal disgrace image that put a terrible distaste in his grandfather’s tongue — yet he didn’t raise a complaint when Khunpol’s parents decided to marry, for his mother is an aristocrat and  his father — according to his grandfather’s shitty opinion, couldn’t do any better than that. 

Khunpol is the byproduct of merging two families that don’t have aligned principles, which led him to be highly unfavoured by the head of Svasti. Being both fifty-something in line to the throne and the nonessential heir to one of the biggest empires in Thailand, discarding Khunpol by marrying him off to some other conglomerate family does seem like a very thing that his grandfather would have done. 

“Alan, right?” Khunpol blew the smoke from his cigarette as he walked closer to the latter — Alan Pasawee was standing near the lobby outdoor area and due to his height, it wasn’t that much of a work to spot him right away. “Hey,” Khunpol greeted casually as he pointed his chin upward as leaned onto one of the decorative pillars. 

“Hey,” Alan replied shortly and visibly looked taken aback by Khunpol’s sudden presence — that or he hated the smoke. “Khunpol? Is that okay?” 

“What? Do you want to start calling me husband?” Khunpol tilted his head and formed a small playful smirk. “If not— then, Khunpol is fine.” Khunpol decided to give the latter a break as Alan looked like he was about to jump off a building right away — Khunpol gets it, Khunpol does too. 

“You don’t use the Svasti family’s surname,” Alan pointed out instead. 

“A bit personal for our first conversation, no?” Khunpol shrugged and Alan looked apologetic afterward almost immediately, Khunpol almost cooed.

“My apologies for intruding.” 

“No worries.” Khunpol exhaled, “Pongpol Panyamit sounds better than Pongpol Svastisarasin, don’t you think? It rhymes better.” 

“I thought it was a royal preservation thing.” Alan definitely didn’t need prescription glasses, Khunpol noticed when he faced the latter— the future husband, properly and inspected which way the conversation would go.

“It is,” Khunpol said afterward, “Just to be perpetually clear about it, I cannot, under any circumstances, take your last name, Pasawee, unless you want to make an official request letter to the palace and have them, well, reject it eventually.” Khunpol grinned at the end of it. 

“Sure, noted, got it, Khunpol,” Alan said and nodded, before he stretched out his hand, “It is nice meeting you,” Alan added, “You know, it’s refreshing to see you in person after I’ve read your files.”

“Nice meeting you as well, Pasawee.” Khunpol took the hand and did the handshake, “Ah, what do they state in my files anyway?”

“You—.” Alan paused for a second, “You didn’t review them first?”

Khunpol let out a laugh before replying, “You’re so funny, Pasawee. I was told about you and this whole arranged marriage affair a day before they sold it to the media.” Khunpol left a smirk hanging on his lips and savored the way Alan looked at him in an unreadable expression — baffled at his best, but not quite there. “How long have you had this knowledge?” Khunpol decided to ask.

“A bit over six weeks ago,” Alan replied, somewhere guilty even though it wasn’t his fault at all. 

“Good for you.” Khunpol hummed flatly as he opted to put the cigarette back in between his lips. Alan looked like he was about to say something and bit the words back almost immediately at the thought of sharing them with Khunpol. Every movement then was mostly understandable, they are strangers at their best behavior. “Don’t be sorry.” Khunpol formed an amused grin when he met Alan’s eyes, “I hope they do write a five-stars Google review kind of shits for you to digest.”

Alan broke a light chortle, “Yeah, they did.”

Khunpol didn’t say the word liar out loud and concluded in confidence that Alan didn’t need to use glasses, yet instead he responded with another, “Good for you.”

—

“So, horses, huh?” Nattakit Chaemdara looked up from his phone when Chayanon Phaktin seated himself across from Nattakit, “What’s the occasion?” Nattakit then eyed the third person on the table — Khunpol was reading a magazine rather hastily with an expressionless face, the kind that Khunpol used when he was silent judging the situation. The waiter then showed up at the perfect moment to serve them the brunch meals. 

“Khunpol wanted to get married after all.” Nattakit shrugged and ignored the way Khunpol closed the magazine before slamming it to the table — not hard enough to cause a commotion, but Khunpol wasn’t there to be gentle. “He wants to get married angrily, that’s what he is.”

“I heard that his future husband’s a nerd, maybe that’s why he’s so fucking pissed.” Chayanon drew a smirk as he tilted his head to Khunpol’s direction, “A Sriarunotai kid, who graduated Princeton and Wharton? Second-heir to the largest luxury and hospitality goods distributor in Asia-Pacific?” Chayanon taunted with a huge grin, and everyone on the table knows that Chayanon— Thai specifically memorized them to tease Khunpol. “Svasti must’ve celebrated that deal through and through.”

Khunpol had already slumped to the chair, letting his body melted by the heat of the country club they were in — as he threw a glare at Thai from behind his glasses. Drawing a sharp, harsh breath then he said, “Maybe that’s why I don’t feel like celebrating, I was never considered a worthy Svasti after all.”

“I heard you negotiated with your grandfather though,” Nattakit said instead as he nudged Khunpol’s legs. “How did that go?”

“Negotiate— is an exaggerated term, Nex. You know grandfather doesn’t talk to me, let alone to discuss terms and conditions that will benefit my side,” Khunpol replied nonchalantly. No bitterness flowing down in his words like poison, because it is just a truth. “But Dad— goodness blesses his soul, tried to bargain and elevate my stance since I am the sacrificial heir.”

“Assuming it didn’t go well,” Thai added — in fact, the unspoken words that Khunpol didn’t breathe out. 

“Considered was the word used, I believe.” Khunpol tapped the table and stared at the table emptily like the empty promises he was being told, “Grandfather would consider my terms if I behave well throughout the marriage, including the preparations, and be a good Svasti boy.” 

“So trying to be a good Svasti boy, you are now,” Thai whistled, “All the way that you are attending an equestrian competition to support your future husband,” Thai added as he folded his hands in front of his chest, “A nerd, Princeton, equestrian, what’s next? He is close to finding a cure for a terminal illness?” Thai let out a slight scoff, “You are marrying this guy for real?”

“A good Svasti boy—.” Khunpol gritted his teeth as he slowly turned his head to Thai, “—is not allowed to just break billions baht worth of an arranged marriage, Chayanon.” 

“Then make the Sriarunotai guy be the party who breaks it.” Nattakit shrugged it off so casually, it was almost offensive, “Can’t put the blame on you if the nerd is the one who’s asking for it.”

“You’re so adorable, Nattakit, it basically means that I might as well go with the wedding and pray that he fucks well because that guy—.” Khunpol paused briefly as the image of Pasawee ran through his head from their first meeting, “That guy is not going to hurt a fly if his family says not to— let alone break an engagement.”

“You’re so pessimistic, Khunpol, maybe he won’t like you enough to go through with this,” Thai argued.

“Do you know what he said to me when we first met?” Khunpol raised his eyebrows skeptically at both Chayanon and Nattakit. “I asked him, what does he think about the whole marriage thing? Because what? I hope he thinks this is as ridiculous as I do— but no!” Khunpol ranted and almost threw a plate, “He said that it is a duty that he has to perform well.” Repeating Pasawee’s words then didn’t make them less ridiculous, as Khunpol had hoped — it was still the most devastatingly depressing statement that Khunpol had heard. “I could’ve been a demon sent straight from hell and he’d still go through with it because it is a duty that he has to perform well as a son, a grandson, and an heir, so, do the math.” 

“Well, I sure do hope he fucks well then, may the odds be with your asshole, Khunpol.” Thai threw his hands to the air, “Oh wait, do you think he ever fucked anyone?” 

“Based on his perfect attendance rates at both Princeton and Wharton, I’d say the closest think he fucked was his sleeping cycles, but hey— he can always learn.” Nattakit raised his glass of champagne, and got his ankle kicked by Khunpol’s heeled boots. 

“Shit.” Khunpol grunted under his breath and perpetually ignored the whines coming from Nattakit, “Be a good Svasti boy, marry the nerd— a handful to-do-list which makes me so busy until I’m forty years old.”

“Okay so, let me get this clear, that you really are just going with this—.” Thai made a circular motion with his hand, “Whole thing?”

“What choices do I have?” The truth is, Khunpol realized that he had never had one, and even if he did — it was most probably an illusion created for him to hope and hope is a tricky little thing. Khunpol limited himself to hope for only ten seconds each time so the disappointment doesn’t last for ten months, or years. 

Nattakit’s words then hang in the air around him — if Khunpol asks nicely, will Pasawee break the engagement and let him free? No, he cannot be the one who asked, Pasawee needed to act on his own will, otherwise Khumpol would be condemned as well. Be a good Svasti boy — because Khunpol has already brought enough damage. 

Khunpol counted mentally until ten and still he suffocated.

Pasawee is a perfectly good Sriarunotai boy, Khunpol learned with all the resources he could have and couldn’t have. When they met at the hotel after the family meetings, Khunpol gave him a solid six point five and a score of one hundred percent Victorian fuddy-duddy — a morally straight-laced teacher’s pet. “It is what we are supposed to do anyway.” Pasawee had said on their first meeting regarding their marriage, Khunpol had to take a long drag of his cigarette. Again, what choices do Khunpol have anyway?

“That one’s Pasawee,” Khunpol paused a second before pointing his chin at Pasawee’s direction — the three of them had then finished eating and moved to the competition area and Pasawee then was standing on the side of the track with all his equestrian fitted outfit and his horse, all ready to compete. Khunpol could even recognize his parents on the other side of the audience seats. 

Maybe a seven, Khunpol had to do some revision. “You didn’t mention that he is built like that, Khunpol, maybe the odds are with you.” Thai took off his glasses, “He’s kind of hot? He’s hot! The fuck, man?” Thai nudged Khunpol’s arm without any gentleness, as if Khunpol wasn’t looking at the same man. 

“He didn’t look like that last week,” Khunpol defended himself as he dragged his glasses to the top of his head, “He had this oversized blazer on back then and some slacks, his glasses were on and everything.”

“Oh, so you are just saying that his ass wasn’t showing back then!” Thai turned his head to Khunpol’s direction, definitely to judge Khunpol’s early false assessment. 

“For the record, I never said he was ugly and unattractive? I said he’s a nerd and the fact that you think being a nerd is equal to being ugly then it is your fucking fault.” Khunpol smacked the back of Thai’s head. 

“That’s a solid eight point five, Khunpol, let’s be fucking real,” Thai stated instead as he smacked Khunpol’s arm in return.

“Nine,” Nattakit added from the side, “Looks like there are things he fucks other than his sleeping cycle.” Nattakit shrugged when both Khunpol and Thai shot him a look, “And he’s already good at riding horses, you know what I mean?”

“Shit, he’s coming this way with his horse, be cool,” Thai announced and patted Khunpol’s thighs aggressively, “Be cool, yeah, you can totally do that.” Nattakit deadpanned in response. 

Khunpol noticed the way Pasawee carried himself on the track — very much differently from their first meeting. This Pasawee could’ve been triggered if Khunpol pushes the right buttons, if Khunpol knows the right buttons. This Pasawee looked like he would wreck things that didn't go his way — illusions at his finest. Khunpol wondered as he took his glasses off completely, brushed off the fallen fringe on his forehead, and tilted his chin slightly upward. 

Pasawee would be blind not to stop his track, thus Khunpol waved his hand rather lazily and raised his eyebrow when Pasawee did pause and found Khunpol in the midst of the crowd. Khunpol had predicted that he would, as Pasawee waved back rather awkwardly before scanning the rest of the audience and continued his walk. 

“Nine, yeah, solid,” Thai commented right away, and Khunpol brushed it off rather quickly — the point didn’t matter, he wanted to know why this Pasawee didn’t show up on the day they met. Maybe the horses, maybe the adrenaline, maybe the competitive nature, maybe something else, Khunpol thinks that he would eventually figure it out.

When the competition ended then, Khunpol still didn’t understand a thing about equestrian — but he did know that Pasawee won flawlessly. “Sir, this is a restricted area only for—.”

“He’s a Svasti.” Khunpol didn’t even budge when the staff cut the security off, who then hastily let Khunpol into the more private area of the country club. The entire land and golf area is owned by his family, and that was exactly how Khunpol gained information regarding Pasawee’s equestrian schedule from the family’s public relations team, who had encouraged Khunpol to attend for good words. 

“You can use this room to make the call, Sir Panyamit,” The staff said as he opened the door to one of the empty rooms. It was decorated with wooden shelves and fake books, some velvet arm chairs scattered around the room for meetings, Khunpol thought. 

“Thank you,” Khunpol returned as he pressed a couple of bills of five hundred baht into the staff’s hand, “Oh no, it’s fine, I like the room as it is,” Khunpol added when the staff tried to turn on the lights. 

“Thank you once again, Sir, I’ll leave you alone to tend your business.” The door then was shut close and Khunpol let out a deep exhale as he took out his cigarette pack and his lighter. No phone call needed to be made, Khunpol just had to find an excuse to smoke. 

He seated himself on the arm chair, the one that didn’t see the light from the window and counted to ten again. It had been a hell of a week, a couple of weeks, perhaps, Khunpol couldn't be bothered to care. Something sickeningly unpleasant will happen if Khunpol doesn't give in to obedience regarding his billion baht's worth of business deal disguised in the name of marriage — his grandfather would riot if Khunpol messes this up, not just to him, but also to his parents. 

And Khunpol will rot, while Pasawee doesn’t carry fire. They would decay into an abyss, and Khunpol called for it. “You don’t know him yet,” Nattakit said to him in the middle of the competition then, “The worst case is that you are going to marry a good boy with a solid nine who can ride a horse, but again, you have only talked to him once. Be more open minded about Pasawee.” 

He did, and does, but hoping is always a dangerous thing — so Khunpol counted to ten. 

At three, he heard the room being barged in.

At five, the name Alan was clearly being called.

At six — “Min, please.” Khunpol didn’t recognize the voice at first with the desperation leaking out. “You know I can’t let you go.”

At eight, Khunpol stood up and turned his heels, only to find two people kissing each other. One pressed against the bookshelf, the other — goodness, Pasawee, was hovering over the other guy. Khunpol casually then leaned to the wall on his side and silently lit up another cigarette. 

Min — Khunpol had assumed that it was the name of the other guy — was the first to notice Khunpol’s presence as their eyes met in the midst of the make-out session. He immediately pushed Pasawee away in the process, making Pasawee turn his entire figure to Khunpol’s direction. How comical, the way both of them looked like they had just seen a ghost, when it was just Khunpol. 

“Don’t mind me, really, I am merely enjoying this.” Khunpol shrugged it off and waved his free hand, while blowing out the smoke from his lips. “Oh, my apologies, you guys want some privacy, yes?” Khunpol added when both of them froze in their place, “I’ll seek myself out then, have the room freely, gentlemen,” Khunpol said as he drew a wide grin. 

“It’s nice meeting you here,” Khunpol added when he paused his track just across Pasawee, and smirked. Pasawee looked like he’d still jump off the building for an entirely different reason and with an entirely different motive, sharper and more determined, with a tousled hair and swollen lips — Khunpol could work with this Pasawee, the one that has seen something crashed and burned in front of him. 

Khunpol slipped away from the room and closed the door before anyone could catch him up. Khunpol then fished out his phone from his pocket and dialed Nattakit’s number, “I need you to check the guest list that attended today’s competition, specifically the ones on Pasawee’s invitation list.” Nattakit questioned his intention as expected, yet Khunpol was not planning to be secretive about it at all,

“I might have found a way to make the nerd call off the engagement.”

Crash and burn it is then.