10. BURN-OUT

Pheem stopped in front of the mirror, whistling cheerfully. He walked to the wardrobe, revealing the tattoos on his body that clearly reflected his personality. To others, he might seem like a charming tech guy, but the reality was far more dangerous.

Once, his classmates had put him on a list of men no one should approach-not because he had a bad temper, but because he was too friendly and too skilled at playing with hearts.
Before anyone realized it, he could end up giving both his body and heart to someone like him, someone who didn’t truly know how to love.

Pheem had never believed in karma or consequences. Divination didn’t interest him, and he studied palmistry only as an excuse to flirt with those he liked. He never imagined that one day, all the things he didn’t believe in would come back to him in a way that would leave him speechless.

He had lost to Jira-the person who drained him more than anyone else. Conquering him was hard; closing the deal even harder; and now he was even trying to win his heart. The odds of Jira returning his feelings were practically nil, but he wanted to try at least once. If he was going to lose, he wanted it to be because he had given up, not because someone else had defeated him.

With a strong hand, he grabbed a wine-stained shirt that Jira had painted for him. Just then, Mawin pushed the door open without warning.

“What the hell kind of shirt is that?”

he asked with his usual lack of tact, as if daring someone to kick him. Pheem spun around, glaring at his roommate, fed up with his antics.

“It’s a wine-stained shirt, darling,” Pheem replied. “Damn, and you think that’s nice?” Mawin shot back.
“You have no taste, but let me tell you, it’s art,” Pheem said sarcastically.
“You’re blind, buddy. It’s clearly not pretty, yet you insist on praising it,” Mawin mocked. “So, are you coming back to the room tonight or what?” he asked, changing the subject.
Pheem, who was getting dressed, paused to think. If this was a date, a passionate man like him couldn’t let the only opportunity slip away.

“See you tomorrow morning then,” Pheem said.

Mawin smiled mischievously and quickly grabbed the perfume Pheem had lent him earlier, spraying it like a blessing. However, the gesture made the taller man growl harshly.

“Damn it! Why are you putting this perfume on me? Now they’ll probably reject me again!” “Oh, I forgot,” Mawin laughed.

“I can’t change my shirt now,” Pheem complained.

“You’re exaggerating. This time you might get lucky. Look how handsome you are, buddy!” Mawin said, giving him a pat on the back and pushing him toward the door. Pheem, however, stopped in front of the sofa.

“I’m not leaving yet. I have a video call with Ko,” he said.

“Shit!” Mawin exclaimed, quickly backing away at the mention of the third person.

Pheem shook his head, exasperated. He grabbed his laptop from the coffee table and sat down for a relaxed video call. As always, Pheem turned on his camera, while Ko kept his off.

[What’s today’s agenda?] Ko asked bluntly, diving straight into work. “Not much. The R&D team starts next month,” Pheem replied. “Understood,” Ko said.
“Oh, and I’m going to fire a team member,” Pheem added. “Why?” asked Ko.
“Performance issues. No point keeping him,” Pheem explained. In reality, it was just an excuse to fire Mawin and ensure he received compensation quickly. At the same time, Mawin could look for a new job after the mess he had caused earlier. Ko wouldn’t keep him on the team anyway.

“Who are you going to fire?” asked Ko. “Mawin,” Pheem answered.
“Your friend? And now how will I pressure you without him?” Ko joked.

“Damn idiot!” Pheem exclaimed, annoyed. Upon hearing his name, Mawin quickly came over to listen, and upon finding out, he hit the sofa in frustration.

Pheem had to turn the camera to prevent Ko from noticing that they already lived together, something he still didn’t know.

“Alright, I’ll sign the termination. Send me the documents,” Ko said.

Pheem quickly sent the files. While focused on the screen, Ko noticed the shirt he was wearing.

“What the hell happened to your shirt?” Ko asked.

“It’s a wine-stained shirt. Fashion, you know?” Pheem replied.

“No, I just mean the trends these days are weird. I don’t get them,” Ko commented.

“That’s it. Finish the work and send the files. I have to go,” Pheem said, ending the call without waiting for a response and preparing to leave.

 

Jira was waiting on a corner in the Krongwad neighborhood, backpack full of his drawing materials. Although he wasn’t in a hurry to move the relationship forward, he wanted to understand his own feelings toward Pheem. A drawing could reflect the essence of a person and transmit it to the viewer, so it was the tool he would use to decide whether to continue this relationship.

It didn’t matter if his muse was the person he liked, but at least, by drawing Pheem, he should feel something. That was what he needed to find out.

It didn’t take long for the person he was waiting for to appear. Pheem arrived wearing
black-framed glasses, the shirt Jira had painted for him paired with dark jeans. His outfit and demeanor made it impossible for Jira to look away. Pheem still exuded that dangerous Casanova aura, yet was irresistibly attractive.

“You look especially handsome today,” said the smaller boy, stepping forward to adjust Pheem’s shirt.

They locked eyes, and that moment marked the first impression of the day. “Thanks,” Pheem replied.
“Anything I should improve?” Jira asked. “Shall we go?” Pheem said.
“Hand me the tube with the drawings first. I’ll help carry it,” Jira said. When Pheem handed him the tube, he felt his interest in him grow. He didn’t stop there and continued to effortlessly deploy his charm.

“This hand is still free. Can I help you carry anything else?” “So cheesy! No, I won’t let you,” Jira laughed.
First rejection. Pheem blamed the perfume Mawin had sprayed on him.

They walked together to a caf decorated with plenty of plants, creating a relaxed and cozy atmosphere. There weren’t many people, and the place displayed artworks, making this date a new experience for Pheem.

They both stopped in front of a painting hung on the wall, by a well-known queer artist from Thailand.

“Do you like it?” asked Jira.

“Yes, it reminds me of Goya’s The Third of May. The reinterpretation with themes of gender and nationalism raises interesting questions,” Pheem replied.

(*) Francisco Jos de Goya y Lucientes (Fuendetodos, March 30, 1746 – Bordeaux, April 16, 1828) was a Spanish painter and printmaker. His work encompassed easel and mural painting, printmaking, and drawing.

“Wow, how cultured. Did you do the homework?” , joked Jira.

“No, art has always interested me. Look at my tattoos,” said Pheem, lifting his shirt to show a tattoo inspired by Mir * on his side. However, just a few seconds later, Jira lowered the shirt quickly.

(**) Joan Mir i Ferr (Barcelona, April 20, 1893 – Palma de Mallorca, December 25, 1983) was a Spanish painter, sculptor, printmaker, and ceramicist.

 

It wasn’t that Jira was afraid to look, nor that he was embarrassed.

He simply feared the eyes of his close friend, the curator of the art space. Right at that moment, Ing approached them with impeccable timing. “Bold!” said Ing.
“Impossible to kill,” Jira replied jokingly. Ing, who heard him perfectly, chose to ignore it and focused on Pheem instead.

“You’re Pheem, right?” Ing asked.

“Yes,” Pheem replied, greeting her with a wave. Jira took the chance to introduce them.

“This is Ing, my manager-sort of. She organizes pretty much my whole life and she’s also the curator of this exhibition.”

“Nice to meet you. Curating shows is just a passion; my main job is casting. Pheem, you should send me your profile. You’re very photogenic,” Ing said.

“Wow, thanks, but I’m not really into that. Maybe I’ll ask a friend about it,” Pheem answered.

Ing handed him a business card. Jira, watching how things were turning, stepped in quickly to stop the date from morphing into a business meeting. He pulled Ing aside to talk in private.

“You’re going to draw him, right?” Ing asked. “Yes,” Jira replied.
“How about a table in the back? It’s quiet, private, and the light is beautiful,” Ing suggested.

“I still don’t know how to draw him. For now, I want to walk around and look at the works with him,” Jira said.

“But he’s really handsome. Totally your type,” Ing teased with a mischievous smile. “You know everything,” Jira said, playfully pushing her head.
Jira took Pheem through the art exhibition. When the moment felt right, they found a place to sit, chat, and sip some coffee. The caf was decorated with vines and flowers climbing up brick walls, creating a natural but not overly stylized atmosphere – perfect as a backdrop for drawing Pheem.

“Okay, relax. Don’t worry about posing; just act like I’m not here,” Jira said as he set up his drawing materials. He pulled out his sketchbook and began slowly outlining the form he wanted.

“But you are here,” Pheem said.

“Use your imagination, okay?” Jira replied.

Pheem nodded, took a sip of coffee, and watched Jira draw with a softer expression than usual.

If Mawin had been there, he would’ve laughed himself breathless seeing someone like Pheem folding so completely.

Pheem had never spent this much time on anything. It wasn’t that he lacked patience – he simply never wanted to. But with Jira, he didn’t dare complain.

Jira started drawing the upper part of Pheem’s body, beginning at the ear and tracing a line toward his jaw.

“Why are you looking at me? I already told you I’m not here. Don’t forget,” Jira said.

Pheem shrugged and stayed still, letting Jira work. But when Jira felt something wasn’t right, he crumpled the page and started over.

Seeing that, Pheem got nervous and resorted to one of his flirtatious tricks. A vase filled with flowers sat on the table, so he pulled it closer and touched the blooms one by one.

“What are you doing?” Jira asked.

Pheem smiled without explaining. Jira didn’t push for an answer and kept drawing, watching him from the corner of his eye. In that moment, the tall man seemed surprisingly natural as he focused on the flowers. Then he picked up a pale pink carnation and gently tucked it behind Jira’s left ear.

“For you,” Pheem said. Jira lifted his gaze.
“Do you use that trick often?” he asked.

“Never. I just thought you’d look really cute with flowers,” Pheem replied.

Jira tried to hide his shyness and lightly touched the flower behind his ear. He knew exactly what Pheem was doing – but he wasn’t na ve; he was someone who stepped into the game of romance with his eyes open.

He looked down at his sketchbook, but suddenly his hands froze and he couldn’t draw.

To get through it, he started sketching the flowers on the wall as the background and saved Pheem’s portrait for later. After a while, he set his pencil down. Seeing Jira stop, Pheem asked:

“What’s wrong? Aren’t you going to keep drawing?”

“I think I’m happier talking to you than drawing right now,” Jira replied.

“Talking is fine. I didn’t expect to take a drawing of me home anyway,” Pheem said.

 

“That’s enough for today. What do we do now?” “Lend me your hand for a second.”

The one who heard this smiled mischievously before extending his pencil-stained hand. The taller man studied the lines on his palm, now familiar, while reflecting for a moment.

After finding an answer, his attractive face leaned in slowly. “This line reflects your current situation.”
“Really? And what does it say?”

“Well, suppose you’re here and can’t draw me. How about we switch places? I think…” “Let’s draw your room.”
Pheem caught the answer in Jira’s eyes. He pretended to look away but couldn’t resist sneaking a glance to observe his behavior. Seeing Jira touch the flower behind his ear with a smile made his heart skip so many beats that he lost control for a few moments.

‘This is the moment. It’s going to turn out perfectly,’ he thought.

 

The butler entered the room with a bag of clean, pressed clothes, pushing a cart. Ko, who was assembling a new CPU at his desk, looked up for a moment.

“Sir, I think we could only get this much out of the red wine stain,” the butler said.

Ko frowned as he looked at the shirt being shown. The red wine stain had a peculiar shape that suddenly triggered something deep in his mind.

‘That shirt…’ It was the same one Pheem had worn the day he tried to flirt with Jira and Jira threw a glass of wine at him. But that wasn’t the point. What mattered was that Pheem had worn it during the morning video call.

The wine stain alone wouldn’t have been so intriguing, but the lines and the painted design looked strangely familiar, as if he had seen them somewhere before.

“Never mind, leave it as it is,” Ko said gravely to the butler. When he left, Ko jumped up, walked to the coat rack, and stared at the stain on the shirt, frozen.

It took him a moment to react. When he did, he grabbed his car keys and impulsively left the room.

His destination was none other than the Burnout Bar.

He put on sunglasses before getting out of the car. Entering the bar, the bartender greeted him as if he remembered him perfectly.

“Hey, Mr. Red Wine! Burnout again? Want me to find you a partner?” the bartender joked.

‘Mr. Red Wine’ must have been the nickname after the incident with Jira. But that day, Ko wasn’t in the mood for games. He slid onto a tall stool at the bar and ordered a drink.

“No, thanks. Just give me something strong.” “Got it,” said the bartender.
Ben, the bartender, took a bottle of liquor, poured it straight into a glass, and handed it to Ko. “This is pretty strong, you’ll like it.”
Ko wasn’t there because he was burned out or wanted to vent. His only purpose was to uncover the truth about the relationship between Jira and Pheem.

He knew they still kept in touch as friends who understood each other, sharing difficult experiences. But that day, that belief began to crumble.

What kind of friends paint shirts for each other? What friends show that much concern in public? What friends get so angry when I try to interrupt their meetings?

All his doubts had to be resolved that day, and the only person who could answer them was Ben, the bartender.

“I’m in a bad mood today, my boss is unbearable,” Ko began carefully, speaking slowly so as not to raise suspicion.

“The same boss as Pheem and Jira?” Ben asked. Ko nodded slightly. “Yes…”
“I understand. Those two come here a lot,” Ben commented. Ko tried to stay calm.

“Yeah… They really seem like a well-matched couple,” Ko said, casting a line to see if Ben would confirm the theory. If they were really a couple, Ben would take the bait.

“Oh, they’re dating? Not surprising, they’re very sweet,” Ben said.

“Yes, sometimes they come and just sit talking to each other. I’ve never had to find company for them,” Ben added. Ko feigned a slight tremor in his hand as he picked up the glass and took a sip.

“Have they said anything about their boss? Or are they just busy flirting?” Ko asked.

“I don’t know much about their personal stuff, but about the boss, yes, I’ve heard something,” Ben replied.

“Then tell me,” said Ko.

“They just say ‘the boss is a damn idiot.’ Every time they come, they repeat the same thing. You should bring your boss here sometime, see if you can cheer him up,” Ben suggested.

“I’ll think about it,” Ko said.

He raised the glass and drank the liquor in one gulp, leaving it on the bar with a sharp thud. He put money on the counter and left without looking back, leaving Ben confused about the situation.

 

Krongwad was just an excuse for a date. The real destination was Jira’s room.

That day, without obstacles, was truly his day. Pheem, smiling with satisfaction, took the elevator to the sixth floor with the smaller boy. When the doors opened, he could barely restrain himself from picking up Jira and running to room 69 to clear things up. However, he held back, letting it remain a thought.

With a calm fa ade to temper his excitement, he finally followed Jira to his room.

The last time, Ko had barged in and found Jira’s father, so he had to retreat. But that night, with a direct invitation, Pheem wasn’t going to waste the opportunity. He walked through the room, observing, and spoke in a concerned tone.

“Are you comfortable living here?” “Yes, it’s fine. Why?” Jira replied.
“Nothing, just asking. If you want to find another place, tell me. Or, if not, come live with me,” Pheem suggested.

“I heard you already have a roommate,” Jira said.

“No problem, I’ll kick him out whenever you want,” Pheem joked.

He didn’t dare admit that Mawin was the one who had peed on the trophy during the award ceremony. He feared the relationship he had worked so hard to build would collapse. If Jira ever found out, he’d have time to explain.

While exploring the room, Jira’s phone vibrated violently. Looking at the screen, Ko’s name appeared clearly.

It was already very late. Considering it wasn’t the right time to answer, Jira silenced the phone and let it vibrate until the call ended on its own.

Pheem noticed his reaction and felt curious but decided not to ask. Jira knew, and he didn’t want to pressure him.

“It’s Ko, what a pain,” Jira said.

“Aren’t you going to answer?” Pheem asked. “At this hour? Let him forget it,” Jira replied.

Soon, Pheem’s phone also started vibrating. It was another call from Ko, as if some demon was intent on interrupting his happiness. Pheem looked at Jira, seeking his opinion, hesitating whether to answer.

“Ignore him,” Jira said.

“I never ignore his calls; it could be important,” Pheem replied.

“Try it, nothing will happen. Everything has a first time,” Jira insisted.

With those words, Pheem convinced himself and silenced his phone as well. The calls continued, one after another, alternating between both phones…
At first, Pheem felt anxious, worried Ko might have something important to say. But on second thought, Ko could be quite capricious. Maybe he just wanted him to check data in the system. If it were serious, the butler or someone close would have handled it.

So Pheem decided to ignore it completely.

He picked up both phones, which continued to display incoming calls silently, and placed them on the bed, acting as if they didn’t exist. At that moment, there was something far more important.

Slowly, he took off his shirt and tossed it to the floor. He looked at Jira, who was sitting at the edge of the bed. Desire hit him hard, and he could no longer hold back.

Quickly, he unzipped his pants and moved closer to Jira, whose eyes shone with a mixture of calm and anticipation.

The atmosphere between them thickened with a burning tension, a clear sign that a storm of passion was about to erupt.

 

Meanwhile, outside the Burnout Bar, Ko was furious. He had called Jira and Pheem countless times, but neither answered. He waited as the calls kept disconnecting, one after another.

The initial anger transformed into anxiety, and finally, into despair. Ko didn’t even know what he was waiting for…