18. ECHOES OF IRIS

The Burnout Bar had become a meeting place for many people, and the first couple to arrive was Ing and Jira. The young woman went straight to the counter and quickly ordered her drink.

“An Absolut Vodka, and give me a table number, please,” she said.

The bartender prepared the drink and handed her the table number. Jira asked in a pleading voice:

“Aren’t you going to stay and talk to Pheem?”

“No, I’m tired. You take care of it,” she replied, taking her drink and heading to a quiet corner table near the bar.

Jira sat on a tall stool in front of the bar and ordered his drink while waiting for Pheem.

Ten minutes later, Pheem and Marwin arrived. Marwin wasn’t really part of the meeting, but Pheem feared that if he spent too much time alone with Jira, his heart might falter, so he needed a “hindrance” to watch over him. Marwin accepted the role: he didn’t need to participate in the conversation, just observe from afar.

Pheem let Marwin and Jira greet each other briefly before approaching the bartender to get Marwin out of the scene.

“Phi Ben, give a strong drink to this idiot, not too bitter, and give him a table number,” Pheem requested.

Ben prepared the drink and handed him the number. Pheem used it to get Marwin out of the way quickly.

“Here, go sit at that table.”

“Okay,” said Marwin, heading to the other side of the bar. On his way to his table, he ran into Ing. He had already suspected that Jira would bring a friend, so he wasn’t too surprised.
They greeted and sat down to chat about their burnout problems.

Once Marwin left, Pheem sat on the stool next to Jira and began the conversation casually. “Sorry for bringing him.”
“No problem. What do you want to drink? My treat.”

“Phi Ben, give me the best wine in the house in a glass,” Jira requested. “Sure, wait a moment.”
While they waited, Pheem placed the bag with Jira’s painting nearby. “I saw your painting. I saw it for the first time today. It’s beautiful.”

“It’s because you’re the model,” replied Jira. “When is the exhibition? Are there other events?”
“Not yet, because I still have to paint more. The exhibition will probably be before the end of the year.”

“If you need help, tell me.”

The initial awkwardness turned into relaxation. Jira no longer feared being scolded and opened up more about his feelings.

“Actually, I’m a little stressed. I don’t know if I can survive as a full-time artist. I’ve always had to do other jobs to make money.”

“Do you want me to read your palm?” offered Pheem.

Jira hesitated for a moment before extending his hand. Pheem moved his stool closer to see the palm better. All this did not go unnoticed by Ben.

“Mmm… There are obstacles, you’ll have to fight, but it’s not catastrophic,” said Pheem, tracing the lines of the hand slowly with his fingers.

Then, the switch flipped!

“Wow, the man of red wine! It’s a full office meeting,” said the bartender.

Ben’s voice was the signal of impending disaster. Jira quickly withdrew his hand from Pheem’s as he saw Ko enter the bar. Ko wasted no time and walked straight toward Jira with a threatening attitude.

All eyes turned toward them. The atmosphere among the three was tense. Ko shouted angrily:

“Aren’t you ashamed?! Do you always do this behind my back?!”

Pheem barely existed to Ko; his attention was fixed on Jira. But Jira didn’t respond and avoided his gaze, as if hiding something.

“Do you want a drink to relax?” Ben intervened, trying to calm the situation. But Ko ignored him and refused the offer.
“I’m leaving,” said Ko, turning to walk away.

Jira watched him until he disappeared. Pheem, sitting next to him, asked worriedly: “Do you want to go talk to him?”
“There’s nothing to say. Let him go,” replied Jira.

Less than a minute after leaving, Ko, furious, could not contain his irritation and returned to confront Pheem directly.

“You and me, one on one outside the bar! Now!” “What the hell’s wrong with you?”
“Come out and settle this once and for all.”

The scene embarrassed Jira into silence. Pheem hoped Ko would calm down, but he didn’t. Ko kept waiting for a response, as if ready for a fight.

“Fine, I’ll finish my drink and follow you,” said Pheem.

Ko’s patience ran out. He stepped forward and knocked Pheem’s glass to the ground, breaking it into pieces. The red wine splashed onto Pheem’s and Jira’s clothes.

“Are you coming out?”

“If you can’t control yourself, go to a doctor, don’t come to the bar.”

“If I control you, the problems end,” replied Ko, leaving the bar followed by Pheem.

Ing and Marwin, who had been watching nearby, followed discreetly, eager to see what would happen.

“Who is that? Do you know him?” asked Ing to Marwin, recognizing “K” from their previous visit to the bar.

“It’s Ko,” replied Marwin. “What?!”
Outside the bar, the tension was palpable. Ko hurled insults, and Pheem responded with equal ferocity.

“Seeing your face makes me nauseous.” “Well, yours isn’t much better,” Pheem replied.
At the end of the phrase, Ko threw a strong punch that hit Pheem’s face, making him stagger. His glasses nearly fell off.

Pheem spat blood to the ground and cursed: “Damn you!”

Ko didn’t wait and advanced to strike again. Pheem raised his arm to block, stepping back slightly and planting his feet to resist the attack. He managed to dodge the punch narrowly, moving constantly to avoid being an easy target.

“Don’t do it, I warn you. Don’t do it, damn it!” Pheem shouted.

Three more people ran out. Seeing two men fighting in front of the bar, they didn’t know what to do. Jira wanted to intervene but feared being hit. Ing suggested staying still and observing, as it was unusual.

Pheem’s body moved, raising his hands to attack and block his opponent. But Ko stepped back, throwing punches like someone inexperienced in fighting. He tried to kick, but Pheem jumped back to evade.

It was more of a comical scene than a fierce fight.

“Is that all you’ve got?” Pheem mocked with superiority.

Marwin, fearing blood would flow, ran back to the bar to ask Ben for help. “Phi! They’re fighting! Help me!”
“And what do I have to do with it? Let them. If they calm down, they’ll talk. It’s their problem,” Ben replied calmly, preparing drinks and raising the music volume.

Without help, Marwin returned with several bar patrons.

Instead of intervening or separating the fighters, people just watched, as if it were an exciting sports spectacle.

Pheem tried to knock Ko to the ground. Ko, disadvantaged for being smaller, used his legs to avoid being crushed. He bent and threw an elbow at Pheem’s torso, who screamed in pain, feeling a knot in his stomach.

“Damn cheater!”

Before recovering, Ko punched Pheem’s attractive face. Then he gathered strength to lift Pheem and throw him to the ground, but clumsily failed.

“Who should we cheer for?” asked Ing.

“Pheem! He’s the good one, Ko is the bad one,” suggested Marwin enthusiastically, without taking his eyes off the improvised fight.

Ko took advantage of a distraction to hit his ex-friend in the crotch again. Pheem did not fall behind and counterattacked. The first hit was to the stomach, the second directly to the target.

The crowd’s shouts were deafening, a mix of excitement and horror. Some shouted “Ooooh!” others “Sssss!”

“Go stop them, they’re just hitting the same spot,” said Jira to Ing, his heart racing.

After watching silently, Jira spoke to Ing, whose heart was still pounding. Of course, the young woman was excited to see who would win. By now, intervening made no sense.

“Stop them? Oh no! Like that? They wouldn’t listen to me,” said Ing sarcastically, returning her attention to the fight between the two IT guys, who fought clumsily.

Ko and Pheem lay exhausted on the ground, gasping. They looked up at the sky, where the neon sign of the Burnout Bar shone, blinding them.

“Enough, damn it!”

“You’re the disaster. You know I love him, and you still try to take him?” Ko complained, curled up like a shrimp.

Pheem did not back down and replied:

“You’re the disaster. I met him before you, you took him from me.”

Tall Ko gathered his last strength to rise with difficulty. He limped toward Marwin, leaving Pheem exhausted on the ground.

“Are you okay?” asked Jira worriedly, but Pheem shook his head and brushed the dirt off his clothes.

“It’s nothing.”

Pheem squinted and noticed Jira looking over his shoulder at someone exhausted on the ground. Although hurting as if kicked in the wrong spot, he knew his position.

“Go see him. I’m leaving,” said Pheem, leaning on Marwin to walk. Both walked away without looking back, while their split lips moved to ask:

“I won, right?”

“Judging by the end, it was a tie. But overall, your form was better.” “I knew it, my kick was pretty strong.”
Pheem smiled proudly at Marwin’s compliment. They walked away without looking back.

The chaotic situation from earlier returned to normal. Customers went back into the restaurant, while Jira decided to enter to check on Ko, who was quite battered. He knelt down and asked in a trembling voice,

“Are you okay?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” replied the tall man, his voice broken, feeling pain from his crotch to every part of his body.

“Give me a moment to rest.” “Get up, come on.”

The slender body extended his hand for the other to take and help him up. Ko grabbed the small hand and slowly sat in the middle of the street. He tried to regain control and spat out the blood in his mouth.

After a while, he slowly lifted his face and said briefly, “Can we talk for a moment?”
It was probably the only request he could think of at that moment. “Are you better? Do you need to see a doctor?”
Jira insisted on asking about Ko’s condition, after dragging him to rest in a private area outside the bar. The young man sat on a marble chair, his face pale. He held an inhaler in one hand, breathing it into his lungs. At first glance, he looked very pitiful.

“That damn Pheem hits like the devil.”

“But you started it. And you’re still complaining?” “I just can’t stand seeing you with him.”
The slender body shook his head, exhausted.

“What are we, Ko? You and I are done. It doesn’t matter who I’m with or what I do, it has nothing to do with you.”

Jira tried to explain slowly, knowing that using force or emotions wouldn’t improve things.

“Jira, I don’t understand. Have I been so bad? So bad that I don’t deserve forgiveness?” Ko insisted with the same question he had asked before.

“At first, I only saw my perspective. But now, I think I understand a little of yours.” Jira took a moment to reflect, listening and calming himself before understanding. “There’s no one who’s wrong, you know? We just see things differently.”
Jira liked to create art from unique perspectives, like Georgia O’Keeffe did. Some things, when placed beside others, could appear new and beautiful. A room full of flowers next to the remains of a computer: that’s what Jira saw, but it wasn’t everything. They were too different.

“So, what do you want me to do? I can do anything you ask.”

“I think we should leave it here. Continuing will only hurt both of us.”

Ko was speechless. Before, he had many excuses and pleas prepared, but when facing Jira for real, his mind went blank. Fear began to slip in slowly. He was losing something he loved again, and this time maybe he wouldn’t get it back.

“Did you ever love me?”

That was what the tall man wanted to know. If they really loved each other, shouldn’t they give themselves a chance?

Jira didn’t answer, instead choosing to return the same question. “I have to ask you. Did you ever love me? Truly love me?”
“I swallowed my shame, doing who knows what here. What’s that called?”

Ko straightened up, looking deeply into the eyes of the person in front of him. Hope began to return slowly, only to be abruptly cut when a trembling voice resonated softly in his ears.

“But I don’t want to go back to how it was before.”

Since meeting Ko, Jira had been deceived many times. Although he knew it would happen one day, he still risked temporary feelings. He was tired of facing constant paranoia.

The tall man sighed, feeling disappointed and exhausted.

“Because of my distrust, I don’t like getting involved with people. It’s complicated, dramatic. I think I’ve reached my limit. Say it once. Tell me directly that we won’t reconcile, and I’ll stop.”

Jira looked at him intently. He thought silently, feeling pain, but nodded. “Yes, let’s end it here. It’s for the best.”
And that made Ko’s whole world collapse in an instant. It wasn’t so hard; he just had to go back to the life he had before meeting the other.

…

The insomnia worsened until it began to affect his body. Ko had to schedule a private appointment with a psychiatrist. This time, he fully cooperated. He would do everything the doctor said.

The young man’s life schedule had to be reorganized, with the butler helping manage everything. Swimming was the exercise he chose. Many said that the more tired you were, the better you’d sleep. But for him, it wasn’t like that. No matter how many laps he swam, how many days, it was all the same. Ko even forgot the last time he had slept deeply without waking from a nightmare.

Medical consultations, therapy, behavioral changes-he tried all means to approach the idea of sleeping well. But nothing helped. He improved a little when he entered the secret room and saw Jira’s drawings; it relaxed him, but didn’t make him sleep fully. So he realized afterward that what really influenced him wasn’t the drawings or objects, but a particular person.

A new day arrived. The tall man got out of bed and went straight to the bathroom. He looked at his reflection in the mirror, which showed a gaunt face and dark circles under his eyes. His

thick hands washed with cold water to refresh himself before preparing for an important video conference.

Ko was still wearing a plain black T-shirt. He sat at the desk. The computer screen showed that the person on the video call was Kit.

[How’s it going? Excited?]

Kit was a major investor. That day, his expression seemed more lively, as he felt that good news about the work was coming soon.

After testing the system and adjusting it to perfection, the application in which he had invested so much effort for so long was near completion.

“A little, Phi. I always get excited when we launch something new, but Hivemind is even more.”

[It has to be. It’s such an advanced version.]

Kit had already seen how impressive it was. He was amazed at how much this AI could do, to the point where it was hard to imagine.

“I think once everything is stable, I’ll sell it to someone.”

Ko had planned to retire for a while. In reality, that was his main plan: to use the money from the sale to fulfill the dreams of the person he loved, like creating an art space or whatever they wanted. In the meantime, he would discard his old self, because he didn’t want to live with paranoia anymore.

[You’re launching it today and already talking about selling the app? It can still be developed more.]

“I don’t know, Phi. Suddenly I feel burnout.”

[Burnout can be overcome, because after this, I think we’ll get rich.]

The other spoke enthusiastically, eyes bright. [Have you thought about what you want to do?]

“I just want to sleep, Phi.”

[Come on! You can sleep anywhere in the world.] “Actually… I can only sleep in one place.”
[That sounds serious. If you need help with anything, tell me.] “Thanks, but for now I can solve the problem on my own.”
The meeting between him and Kit ended quickly before moving on to a video call with board members. The day was almost completely consumed by work.

In the early hours of that same night, a tall, slender figure tossed and turned in bed, unable to fall asleep despite trying for a long time. Although the bedroom environment seemed perfectly suitable, his body felt increasingly hard to control. Not knowing how to release the frustration, he got out of bed, took the car keys, and went down without energy. His destination was a particular place.

A black Maserati parked at the familiar apartment building. It had been a long time since he last saw Jira. Although he had tried on several occasions, Jira always avoided him. Not knowing what else to do, he ended up going there every two or three days. Sometimes, when he felt more desperate, he went every day.

He got out of the car with long strides and notified the security guard of his intention before heading up the building. He chose to use the stairs instead of the elevator; at least walking helped prevent his mind from wandering too much. Step by step, he left the fire escape behind until stopping on the sixth floor. He walked down the hall until standing in front of Jira’s apartment door. Knowing the other was okay already comforted his heart.

The tall, slender figure slowly let himself fall to the floor, watching the light filtering through the crack under the door. He didn’t dare get closer, but every time he came, he could sleep deeply for several hours. He slept until morning, before the person inside woke up. Then, he left.

…

Jira worked hard to create pieces while searching for his identity and other sources of inspiration for his next solo exhibition. In the past, the petite person had clung so much to his art that he didn’t look for anything else, but in trying something new, he felt the challenge.
Besides, he always had Ing giving advice. She was the one selecting images for the exhibition, and now there were several that seemed suitable.

Jira burst into Ing’s studio. Lately, he barely went anywhere else. That day, with nothing else to do, he dragged his body there to sit and watch his friend eat meatballs.

His main work progressed alongside the secondary one. He couldn’t abandon the casting work, but he was lucky to have savings from selling his paintings, which allowed him to live a wandering life, seeking inspiration without hurry. Sometimes he planted flowers, other times he painted landscapes, or went out to meet people. Many times he returned to the Burnout Bar to chat with the people there.

“Hey, Marwin got the role.”

“Great, seriously!” Jira clapped his thigh after hearing his friend share the news about the people close to them.

“But couldn’t you talk to Pheem for me? Do it, please. I think he acted really well.”

It wasn’t the first time, but one of many times that Ing insisted on this daily. However, it seemed what she wanted was quite unlikely, as Pheem had already started working as a Content Analyst and seemed very happy with his new position.

“Let him do the work he likes.”

“Ji, you haven’t seen the tape of his audition. He’s the king of seducers, I swear.” “I believe it.”
‘He already tried to seduce me…’

“And how have you been lately?” Ing asked while taking another skewer, until Jira, unable to resist, stole one to eat. The young man responded while chewing the meatballs with enthusiasm.

“I see you every day and you still ask.” “It’s because you look a little dull.”
“Wait!” Ing, fearing a blow, quickly changed the subject.

“Have you thought about which painting you’ll use as the centerpiece?” Speaking of the works for the exhibition, there were new paintings he had created and liked very much. But comparing them, none surpassed the specialty of Pheem’s portrait.

“Pheem’s painting.”

“Okay, I think it’s perfect. And… have you seen that guy Ko lately?”

The moment that name was mentioned, Jira froze. He quickly put the skewer in the bag, without the mood to continue eating.

“I haven’t seen him.”

There was still something weighing on his heart, but he wasn’t sure whether to tell Ing. Since his relationship with Ko ended, it was as if their paths could never cross again. However, deep down, why did he still feel a void, as if something was missing?

“But… he’s been coming to my room.”

“What? He’s still stalking you? What has he done?” “Nothing. He can’t even enter my room.”
Then, Jira began to describe what he had noticed.

“There was a day I opened the door and found him sleeping in front of my room. Some days, he sleeps in the car in the parking lot. He does it very often, and I’m confused.”

“Those idiots are like that. What? Do you pity him?”

There was no response from Jira’s lips, but his attitude allowed Ing to guess his friend’s feelings.

“I understand. Artists and investors can’t be separated. You and he have always been like that.”

“Before, when I was with Ko, yes, I tried to please him so he would support what I was trying to do. But now it’s no longer like that. It’s as if I’ve overcome something and can’t go back to the starting point. Look, I wonder what makes me keep clinging to him.”

It was a bond, a liking, an obsession, or love.

“Or maybe I feel I owe him something. I have a drawing of him that I haven’t finished yet.” “And do you want to draw it?”
“We already finished, I don’t feel like it.” “Don’t tell me you’re lying.”
“I’m serious. And if I owe him something, what should I do?” “That you have to ask yourself.”
“Thanks a lot, you helped me a ton.”

Said Jira sarcastically. Ing grimaced before taking her coffee.

…

As soon as he returned to the room, the slender body threw the backpack onto the bed. He collapsed into the chair, exhausted, and rubbed his face hard.

He walked directly to the desk, opened the drawer, and revealed the drawing of Ko lying on a cloud surrounded by many iris flowers. It was still a sketch, and the paper was covered with transparent tape almost everywhere.

He couldn’t bring himself to throw it away.

After staring at the drawing for a while, he shook his head to shake away scattered thoughts. He put the paper back in the drawer and sat down to draw other things for the exhibition.

The exhibition was near. Jira dedicated all his time to creating works, selecting the best to show. This time, it was different: he didn’t draw Ko, but Pheem. His centerpiece was the portrait of Pheem in the Rage Room, hitting with a baseball bat, paint splattered everywhere.

It was a work reflecting anger, frustration, and vulnerability. Jira looked at it with satisfaction, believing it was perfect for the exhibition.

Night came. Jira woke from a light sleep. He looked at the clock: it was three in the morning. He got out of bed, still sleepy, and walked toward the door. He opened it slowly and saw Ko sleeping in front of his room, back against the wall.

Jira looked at the sharp face still asleep for a moment. Satisfied, he closed the door and returned to the room. His feet walked with determination under the bed to take out the unfinished acrylic painting frame and place it on the easel… It was the portrait of Ko surrounded by iris flowers.

The drawing where he tried to paint the flowers according to the number of times the other came to sleep there.

The sleeping young man was not in the luxurious hotel suite. What he chose to represent was just a man leaning against the wall, sleeping deeply surrounded by a multitude of flowers.

Although they didn’t look each other in the eyes, with no opportunity even to speak, that was enough to make him feel complete, warm, and sometimes longing.

If one day he didn’t come here, the iris flowers would no longer be added. To complete it, he would probably need one more year.

…

A hotel was full of activity with Pheem in charge of producing a series. They were preparing the place to match the atmosphere of the story, which had a touch of the fashion industry.

Although it was noon, thanks to Pheem’s skill, they could adjust the lighting to make it seem like a perfect night.

The tall, slender body of Pheem passed by the set to go around to the back, where the wardrobe was. He knocked on the room door and was given permission by the person inside.

“Pheem… can you stay with me on set? Help me, just today. It’s the first day of shooting, and I’m nervous.”

Marwin, in an elegant suit, showed panic as soon as Pheem entered. Before the makeup team sat him in the chair, both spoke amid several people.

“Nervous about what?”

“If I don’t act well, you might have to act with me.”

“Good. And doesn’t it bother you not acting with me your whole life?”

“If so, better. Do the audition yourself. I’m sure you’ll get the role. Maybe we’ll even act together.”

“Sorry, my career is booming. I don’t want to mix with you.”

Pheem sighed in exasperation at Marwin’s wishes. The tall man looked at his wristwatch, worried about being on time for his next appointment, and cut the conversation.

“I have to go, I have another appointment. Can you stay alone?”

The listener shook his head, making a grimace as if about to cry. Seeing that, Pheem approached and patted his close friend’s shoulder jokingly.

“With that face, you seem relaxed. Good luck, mafioso. I know you can handle it. We’re of fighting blood.”

“Just saying that won’t save me. Before you go, give me encouragement.” “You’re still annoying! When it’s done, I’ll give you a nudge, idiot.”
Marwin jumped up and lunged at his taller friend, hitting him hard in the chest with a headbutt. Tim, surprised, almost…

“Emotional osmosis, the time has come!” “Break a leg…”
Pheem stayed still for a moment. He let Marwin stand there, absorbing the energy. Then, he hugged him briefly for three seconds before letting go.

“I already gave you enough energy, so do well, don’t make me look bad.” “Thank you so much, friend!”
“Work hard, don’t go flirting on set.” “Stop, don’t act all sensitive!”
Marwin shouted in response, showing a sweet smile while raising his hand to wave softly at the friend walking quietly away from the filming set.

Pheem shook his head at his friend’s behavior and left the hotel, heading to his next appointment.

…

Jira planted flowers on the balcony. The iris flowers grew lushly and conveyed the softness and charm of the cultivator.

Jira closed the balcony door, took his bag, and left the room. He wore a particularly beautiful outfit because that day was the last when his artworks would be exhibited.

After taking a taxi to the exhibition venue in the Thonglor neighborhood, the small man entered through the door and went upstairs. Along the way, he could see his paintings displayed around him. It was an exhibition representing his growth and experiences accumulated over the past year.

He liked drawing human bodies. The models were varied, but all the paintings included flowers as an element. However, only one was different, because instead of conveying softness, it was quite the opposite.

Jira stopped in front of the painting showing Pheem’s aggressive posture. Then, the memories of the young man hitting with the baseball bat came to mind. He smiled and looked at the painting for a long time.

“You arrived and don’t say anything.”

Ing’s voice pulled Jira out of his trance. He closed his smile, and his expression turned serious.

“So, then? Did we talk yesterday, did it sell?” Ing nodded. The small man got so excited he wanted to jump for joy. However, he didn’t. Desperation crept in instead.

“But I only missed by forty thousand, this is the best I could do.” “Worth it, huh? Doing all this just to sell a single painting.”
“Well, you’re still new, probably no one dares to invest yet. Those who buy are the ones who really want it, you know? But wait a bit, today is the last day, maybe someone else will buy.”

“And if I don’t sell anything else, what? Do you think I should give up? Maybe go back to looking for a job that pays better?”

“Are you already giving up? Showing your work for the first time and getting this far is already an achievement. The important thing is that you’re finding your own path, above all else.”

Ing spoke to console him, because if she looked back, a year ago she had also been in a bad place, exhausted, without the will to continue. But now, in the present, even if the gallery exhibition wasn’t a resounding success or he didn’t manage to sell his paintings, he still wanted to continue this work.

Because there will be days when you feel discouraged and want to throw in the towel. And other days when you’ll be full of motivation to keep going.
If you still have hope, that day will come eventually.

“Whether you become famous or not, whether you sell or not, whether in the future they recognize you or forget you over time, no one can answer that. But you chose to be an artist, didn’t you? So, what are you complaining about?”

“I know, I’m just a little frustrated, that’s all.”

“Well, deal with your feelings and find a way to keep living to keep painting your works, that’s enough.”

“Okay!”

While cheering each other on and complaining like good friends, Ing’s eyes happened to meet a man who had just entered the exhibition. She quickly nudged Jira and said excitedly:

“Jira, a client!”

Turning, they saw a man walking, observing each painting with interest. “If you put a little charm, I think he’ll buy, come on!”
“Didn’t he already take a painting?”

“Sell him another one, man! Or what, are you going to give it away?” “Even from your friend, you’re going to charge?”
“Especially if he’s a friend, let him pay!”

Jira, tired of arguing with Ing, stepped away from her and went straight toward the tall man to greet him familiarly.

“What courage! Coming on the last day.”

“I’ve been busy with work. Even giving Marwin some encouragement I could only do for a moment.”

“Don’t kill yourself working, man.”

It wasn’t common to coordinate a meeting between them. The Burnout Bar was the place where they usually met on their days off to catch up. But lately, Jira was busy with his art, while the other was thriving at work, with new friends and a new social circle. So only on really important days could they see each other without someone canceling at the last minute.

“Well, and how’s your art going? Doesn’t look like AI is taking your job, huh?”

The man joked. Last year, Jira was on the verge of tears asking him to delete his data from the system because he feared it would take his job.

The truth is, as many say: in the end, it’s people who decide whether they want to consume human-made or AI-created art. There’s no definitive answer, only that the audiences of both are different.

They talked while walking among the paintings, until they stopped in front of one. It was a painting of the tall man, standing among the rubble of a rage-filled room, holding a baseball bat in his hand.

“By the way, did you know they released that AI, huh?” the tall man asked. Jira stopped upon hearing someone else’s name.

“I know something, but I’m not very interested.”

“They say it’s already been sold to others. Both Hive and Hivemind.” His deep voice paused, as if reflecting, before speculating:

“I think this is like a wave coming. Some brands are probably already secretly using Hivemind and quietly firing people. We’ll never know when it will be our turn.”

“They already sold it, they must be swimming in money.”

Jira didn’t expect a response, he just mentioned it because he didn’t know what else to say on that topic. He could proudly say that part of Hivemind’s success was his, although he felt no joy in having contributed to creating something that generated so much fear.

“I suppose something like that.”

“Did he regret it and that’s why he sold it?” “That guy? Ha.”
Pheem just let out a laugh, lifting his gaze toward the painting in front of him.

“He’s just taking a break, living his life for a while. He’ll come up with another evil plan eventually.”

The slender man laughed imagining the other’s face, which wasn’t far from that of a movie villain. He looked up at the painting, which was the highlight of the exhibition.

“I really like your painting, I think it’s the most striking. All the others convey expression through flowers, but yours is the only one with that raw strength. People even asked who the model was… If it weren’t already owned, I’m sure this painting would have sold for a fortune.”

Pheem’s painting wasn’t for sale, only for display. That’s why the earnings for Jira and Ing barely reached forty thousand baht after a year of hard work.

“Even better, get famous fast, man. That way, if one day I’m ruined, I can sell your painting.” “You, ruined? Please, keep it, seriously. I love this painting, you know?”
“But it’s not the centerpiece, right?” Jira choked, feeling he’d messed up. He quickly tried to justify himself.

“At first, I really wanted to choose your painting.”

“Stop, stop. From the beginning I knew that even if you had the courage, you wouldn’t choose my painting.”

The man tried to hide the pain still reflected on his face with a smile. Then, he took a few steps to continue exploring other paintings, as if he didn’t want to stay too long in front of the same one.

Finally, they stopped in front of the most prominent painting of the exhibition. It stood imposing in the center of the gallery, with several benches arranged around it for visitors. Around it, iris flowers decorated the scene. The tall man let himself fall onto one of the benches, and the slimmer one sat beside him. Both contemplated the painting in silence.

It was an image of someone sleeping deeply, surrounded by an immense number of iris flowers.

Pheem tried to decipher the meaning of the painting in his mind, without asking the artist a single question. He just stayed there, sitting, observing in silence for a long while before murmuring:

“Does it already have an owner?”

“No, it hasn’t sold. Are you interested in buying it?”

The one asked paused for a moment while looking at the smaller man. Then he noticed the flash of pain in his eyes as he looked up at the painting. Pheem decided to test the waters.

“Okay, I’ll buy it. How much do you want?” “Again with that.”
“I’m serious. My new job pays a fortune, not counting the money from that guy’s stock sale. I could pay cash right now. Ing would be thrilled, right?”

Saying this, Jira swallowed nervously, visibly tense. “But… why do you want that guy’s painting?”
“That guy’s painting?” The tall man gave a crooked smile, cornering Jira even more. “I’ll buy it anyway. I can do whatever I want with it.”
“That’s not a good idea, man. A year ago you were fighting with him.”

“In the end, he and I never completely broke off, even if I hate him with all my strength.” Jira started thinking, more stressed than when he couldn’t sell his paintings.
“It’s just…”

“Look, suppose a museum comes and offers you a million for this painting. They take care of it like gold, exhibit it, and people come to see it all the time. Would you sell it?”

“That’s exaggerated, it’s impossible.”

“Even if it were possible, you wouldn’t be satisfied, right? Because this painting is something personal, and that’s why you don’t want to sell it.”

“The truth, you’re right. It’s not right, is it? I think I let my emotions take over too much.”

“If someone can be the owner of this painting, it would be him, right?” They looked into each other’s eyes, but the smaller man neither confirmed nor denied anything. At that moment, Pheem extended his hand, as if using a trick that always worked.

“Give me your hand, I’ll read your palm.”

Jira’s round eyes moved side to side, hesitating, but finally he gave in and placed his hand in the other’s. The tall man observed the palm with a serious expression. Not long passed before his deep voice responded:

“I keep saying the same thing: your life will always revolve around that disaster of a person. But don’t overthink it. Follow your emotions as you have so far, and don’t deny yourself.”

The face beneath the black glasses was still full of affection and concern. His lips formed a smile, the same one that had made Jira fall in love that first day.

Even though today their relationship was limited to friendship, he wanted to thank him anyway.

“You’ve been losing money for a long time. How about we recover some of that?”

…

A German car glided easily into the grounds of a house, as the gate was wide open. Several construction vehicles were parked, and the place resonated with the noise of workers and machines.

Jira carried a backpack with a painting slung over his shoulder. The tall man guided him inside a mid-century modern style house that was in the middle of renovation.

Upon entering, they saw that the parquet floor had been completely removed. Several workers were moving equipment, while others measured the space. Jira and Pheem advanced carefully, avoiding scattered tools, until they stopped in an open area that had once been a kitchen.

“Wait here for a moment, I’ll talk to him first.”

Jira nodded, watching as the tall figure went up the stairs to the second floor.

That guy’s room was the only place that hadn’t been touched, modified, or invaded. Even so, the belongings he had brought made the large room look smaller, with things stacked in every corner.

At that moment, the owner of the room was sitting on the floor, assembling pieces of a computer, while the noise of the workers resonated from below because of the renovation.

He was focused on soldering circuits, but suddenly, a small spark jumped, and a burnt smell reached his nose. He frowned, annoyed, and threw the soldering tool to the ground.

“Damn it!”

Ko leaned back, resting his hands behind him in frustration. Knock-knock-knock.

Someone knocked at the door. He frowned. He had been clear: he didn’t want interruptions. If it was urgent, they should call by phone, even if they were on the ground floor.

When he didn’t respond, the knocks came again, twice and three times. Furious, he got up and opened the door abruptly, ready to fight.

“What do you want?” But seeing his ex-friend at the door, he was left speechless. Pheem entered without permission.

“How did you know I was here?”

“Wow, you must have a lot of hiding spots.” “I’m not hiding.”
“Yes, of course. Rich as you are and still unhappy, sitting here dejected,” said Pheem, sitting in the work chair and spinning it like a child. Ko sat at the foot of the bed, looking at him with suspicion.

“What do you want?”

“The painting is beautiful. At some point, you were very happy. Now that he’s gone, you’re sadder.”

Pheem continued to provoke him. His eyes stopped at three paintings leaning against the wall. He immediately recognized Jira’s style.

The first was inspired by Ko in the bathtub.

The second, Ko sleeping with an angel kissing him.

And the third, Ko sleeping on the balcony surrounded by roses. Those paintings were the beginning and the end of their relationship.
“Let’s get to the point. What are you doing here? Are you coming to mock me or what?”

“No, I didn’t want to see you. But someone wants to talk to you. He’s waiting downstairs,” said Pheem.

Upon hearing this, Ko’s face changed: unease, confusion, and perplexity at Pheem’s action.

He knew exactly who he was talking about, but his relationship with Jira was like parallel lines. He had waited for an opportunity, but over time, hope faded until he stopped waiting.

“Why are you doing this?”

“I was the main developer of your AI for a long time. I want to help you develop your humanity… The more resentment, the more sarcasm. I feel happier than in months,” said Pheem with a smile.

“Idiot.”

“No need to scold me, I understand. Do you want to see it or not? If not, I’ll take it back.” “At this point, damn it.”
“Good, then we’re at peace.”

Pheem turned and left the room with a smile on his face. Even when going down the stairs and meeting Jira, he was still smiling.

They looked at each other for a moment before Pheem decided to leave, leaving Jira watching his broad back until he disappeared.

Ko was nervous.

He walked back and forth agitatedly. When the door opened and he clearly saw the other’s face, a torrent of thoughts invaded him.

His body weakened, his knees buckled, and he sat down again at the foot of the bed. Jira also felt uncomfortable at first. Approaching the tall man, his attitude was awkward.
Ko was still wearing a black T-shirt and shorts, with an indifferent expression that showed no concern about anything. But that gave a special sense of normality.

“Feels like a dream,” murmured Ko in a hoarse voice, without taking his eyes off the person in front of him.

A year… long…

He had seen him from afar, but without the opportunity to speak. Now he wanted to hear his voice once more.

“You’re amazing. Wherever you are, your room is always messy,” said Jira. “Want to clean it for me?”
“No.”

“What do you want to talk to me about?”

“I came to sell you a painting,” said Jira, approaching. He removed the bag from his shoulder, unzipped it, and took out the canvas frame. It was the highlight of the exhibition.

Ko looked alternately at the painting and Jira’s face. He wasn’t sure of his feelings: beautiful, overwhelming. He couldn’t define what he felt seeing the painted irises on the canvas for the first time. Looking closely, each iris had different details.

“I displayed it, but no one bought it. I don’t want to sell it to anyone else but you.”

Ko laughed, happy to the point of madness.

He leaned back on the bed, exhausted, smiling widely while looking at the ceiling. Then he sat up to face Jira again.

“In the end, you went back to begging the capitalist. I thought you hated him.” “I hate him, but I want to sell it.”
“Why should I buy it?”

“I painted this painting every time I saw you,” explained Jira, tilting his head curiously.

“You sneaked around, changed cars, and slept under the bedroom or in front of my room. You thought I didn’t know?”

“I couldn’t sleep, so I had to be near you.”

“Every time you came, I watched you. You seemed to sleep so deeply.”

Ko was a planner, but he did foolish things. Every time he went, he tired out his butler contacting car rental companies. Some days European cars, others Japanese or American, new or old, to not draw attention. After Ko parked and fell asleep, Jira would leave his room, take the elevator down, walk to the car, and watch him closely. That eased the pain of nostalgia and longing a little.

Ko listened in silence, admitting it was true, and continued:

“Did you ever think of waking me and taking me to your room to sleep?”

“No, it was better to let you sleep. I like seeing you sleep. You seem less evil, without… poison.”

“You wouldn’t believe how I imagined you.” “How?”
“Sometimes you seemed cute and we hugged all day. Other times passionate, and I wanted to kiss you. Some days I wanted to cry for how terrible you were. I stored those feelings in each iris I painted, that’s why each is different, with different emotions.”

Ko slowly caressed the painting, from the face to each flower. Then he looked up and asked directly:

“How much does this painting cost?” “How much do you want to pay?”
Ko thought for a moment and answered:

“There are two hundred seventy-seven irises in the painting.”

“You came two hundred seventy-seven times. I painted two hundred seventy-seven irises.” “Perfect. I’ll pay two hundred seventy-seven times the price of your previous works I bought.” Jira’s eyes went wide. He calculated mentally but knew it was an enormous sum.
“Under what conditions?”

Ko stood up, approaching until they were only a hand’s width apart. They looked deeply at each other: nostalgia, longing, and fear of losing each other.

“I’ll pay in weekly installments. I’ll make a contract, and you’ll have to come pick up the check in person.”

Ko’s conditions were like a contract that forced them to be together indefinitely. Jira was honest enough with his feelings not to reject them.

Their relationship had been chaotic from the start.

A year in which Jira lived alone but in pain, while Ko was no different. He never slept a full night without being near the person he loved.

“What do you say?” asked Ko.

“I accept,” replied Jira. Ko hugged him tightly. “I’ll take good care of you, I promise.”
“Do you think we’ll last?” “I don’t know.”
“But in the world I created, there’s always a place for someone like you.” The strong arms slowly loosened.
If this were a marriage proposal scene, it would be the moment the human who always longed for love would jump for joy. But Ko didn’t. He had no ring, he didn’t kneel. He just looked at the person who gave him a heart.

He looked until one of the two gave in first.

The End