Ratch stood behind the cybersecurity club booth, explaining network protocols to a cluster of eager freshmen, but his attention kept drifting across the crowded quad, scanning faces with the kind of restless energy that had been eating at him for weeks. The morning sun beat down on the orientation activities, students weaving between information tables and welcome banners, and somewhere in this chaos of new beginnings was the boy who'd torn his heart out and disappeared without a trace.
Win Sirikul. The name still hit him like a punch to the chest, still made his hands clench involuntarily around the brochures he was supposed to be distributing. A few weeks since Win had dropped the Cambridge bombshell and Ratch had told him to leave, a few weeks since Ratch had ignored every desperate call and message, a few weeks of wondering if he'd been too harsh, too proud, too hurt to see that Win had been falling apart too.
"Excuse me, are there any prerequisites for joining?" one of the freshmen asked, and Ratch forced his attention back to the conversation, plastering on the confident smile that had gotten him through countless presentations and social events when all he wanted to do was punch something or disappear entirely.
"No prerequisites," he replied smoothly, handing over a registration form, "we take students from all backgrounds. The only requirement is genuine interest in learning." The words felt automatic, practiced, while part of him hoped Win might actually show up here, might walk past this very booth and demand to know why Ratch hadn't answered his calls and texts, might finally confront him about the way Ratch had shut him out so completely when all Win had been trying to do was reach out.
His phone buzzed with a message from Bom: Stop looking for him, you already know that would never happen. If you would have answered his calls or texts, things maybe could have been different today.
Ratch glanced over to see his friend manning the adjacent table for the programming club, eyebrows raised in that knowing way that made Ratch want to throw something. Of course Bom had noticed. Ratch had made the mistake of mentioning Win exactly once, three weeks ago when he was drunk and angry and tired of pretending the silence didn't bother him, and now his friends acted like they could read his mind every time his mood shifted.
Mind your own business, Ratch typed back, but he forced himself to turn his full attention to the next group of students, asking questions and taking notes with the kind of focused intensity that usually made people either impressed or slightly intimidated. It was easier than thinking about how Win had looked that last day, rumpled and beautiful and utterly devastated as he'd tried to explain why Cambridge mattered more than what they'd built together.
The morning wore on in a blur of introductions and explanations, Ratch's voice steady and professional even as his eyes continued their automatic sweep of the crowd. He caught glimpses of familiar profiles that made his heart stutter, only to feel the disappointment settle deeper when they turned out to be strangers. By lunch break, he'd convinced himself that Win really wasn't coming—Bom was right, all the hope and praying was for nothing—Win would never show up to confront him about anything—when he caught sight of a familiar profile near the registration tables.
For a split second, Ratch's heart stuttered because there was Win, except something felt wrong. The posture was too confident, too open, the way he carried himself too assured for someone who'd spent their entire summer learning to trust that he was worth wanting. Ratch blinked and looked again, instincts telling him he must be seeing things, because Win didn't move through the world like he owned it, didn't laugh that loudly or gesture that boldly.
Must be imagining things, Ratch thought, shaking his head. Win's got me so messed up I'm seeing him in random strangers now.
That's when he saw him.
Win stood near the coffee cart with another boy, and Ratch's breath caught because there he was, exactly the same and somehow completely different. Still that delicate bone structure that had made Ratch want to trace every angle with his fingertips, still those expressive eyes that could go from shy to challenging in the space of a heartbeat, but there was something guarded in his posture now, something careful in the way he held himself that hadn't been there during their summer.
Ratch's hands stilled on the brochures he'd been organizing, his entire world narrowing to the sight of Win's profile as he laughed at something his companion said. The sound carried across the quad, bright and genuine, and Ratch felt his heart stop because Win was here, Win was actually here at his university instead of halfway across the world at Cambridge.
Why is he here? The question hit him like a physical blow, followed immediately by a surge of desperate hope that made his chest tight. Is this why he was calling? Why he was texting? Was he trying to tell me he'd changed his mind about Cambridge? That he'd chosen to stay?
But something felt off. Win's gestures seemed too animated, his voice too loud, like he was performing rather than simply being, and Ratch's instincts—honed by weeks of analyzing every interaction, every memory, every moment that had led to Win walking away—told him that whatever Win was projecting wasn't entirely real. This wasn't the quiet, thoughtful boy who'd spent hours curled against Ratch's chest, talking about his fears and dreams in whispers meant only for the dark.
Ratch found himself praying silently for Win to look up, to catch his eye, to force a confrontation or acknowledgment or anything that might break the suffocating weight of all this unfinished business between them. But in the split second before their gazes could meet, Win spun around abruptly, turning his back to the cybersecurity booth as if he'd sensed Ratch's attention and couldn't bear to face it.
The dismissal hit harder than anger would have. Win knew he was there—had probably spotted him earlier—and had chosen avoidance over acknowledgment, had decided that Ratch didn't even deserve a nod of recognition after everything they'd shared.
"Ratch?" Bom's voice came from right beside him, concerned. "What are you staring at? You look like you've seen a ghost."
Ratch couldn't speak, couldn't move, could barely breathe as he watched Win disappear into the crowd with his friend, moving with the kind of desperate speed that spoke of panic rather than casual disinterest. His throat felt closed off, his chest tight with a mixture of hope and devastation that left him frozen in place.
"Ratch, seriously, what is it?" Bom pressed, following his gaze to where Win had been standing moments before.
When Ratch still couldn't find his voice, just stood there staring at empty space, Bom put two and two together. His expression shifted from concern to understanding, then to something harder.
"Oh shit," Bom said quietly. "That was him, wasn't it? That was Win. He didn't leave after all."
Bom let out a long breath, studying Ratch's frozen expression. He patted Ratch's back once, firm and final, before stepping away.
"You must feel real stupid right now," Bom said quietly, shaking his head as he walked back toward his own booth. "You fucked up big time, man. Big time."
Coward, Ratch thought, but the anger was edged with something sharper, something that felt uncomfortably like hurt. Still running away from anything that might actually matter.
"You look like you want to murder someone," Natee said, appearing at Ratch's elbow with a concerned frown. "Everything okay?"
Ratch forced his expression back to neutral, though his grip on the table remained white-knuckled. "Fine. Just tired."
Natee didn't look convinced, but he'd known Ratch long enough to recognize when not to push. "Want me to take over for a bit? You could grab some food, clear your head."
"I'm fine," Ratch repeated, but even as he said it, he was planning. The afternoon crawled by with painful slowness, Ratch going through the motions of orientation activities while his mind remained fixed on strategy. He needed to find out Win's schedule, his classes, the places he was likely to frequent. The campus was large but not infinite, and Ratch had three years of experience navigating its social networks and hidden corners. Win might be able to avoid him today, might be able to pretend they were strangers in a crowd of thousands, but they were going to the same university now. They'd cross paths eventually, and when they did, Ratch would be ready. He wouldn't let Win disappear again without getting the answers he deserved, without making it clear that some things couldn't just be ignored or wished away. Yeah, he knew he was wrong for not answering Win's calls or texts, but he wasn't the only one making mistakes here, that's for damn sure.
By the time the closing ceremony began, Ratch had made his decision. He wouldn't chase Win like some desperate ex-boyfriend, wouldn't corner him in public or make scenes that would give the campus gossips something to talk about. But he also wouldn't let Win's avoidance tactics work. If Win wanted to play games, if he wanted to act like they were strangers, then Ratch would remind him exactly what he was trying so hard to forget.
The ceremony dragged on with speeches about new beginnings and endless possibilities, and Ratch found himself scanning the crowd, looking for familiar dark hair and delicate features. He spotted Win eventually, sitting with his friends in the middle section, and for a moment Ratch allowed himself to simply watch. Win looked smaller somehow, more fragile than he had during their summer together, and despite his anger, Ratch felt an unwelcome surge of protectiveness.
Don't, he warned himself. He made his choice just like I made mine. You don't get to care about whether he's eating enough or sleeping well or falling apart without you.
But even as he tried to harden his heart, Ratch couldn't stop noticing the way Win's hands fidgeted with his program, the way his smile seemed just a little too bright, the way he kept glancing around like he was expecting something terrible to happen. It was the same restless energy Win had carried in the early days of their relationship, before he'd learned to trust that Ratch wasn't going anywhere, before he'd let himself believe that someone actually wanted him around.
When the ceremony finally ended and students began to disperse, Ratch lost sight of Win in the crowd. He considered following, considered trying to intercept him at the parking area or the dorm, but something held him back. Maybe it was pride, maybe it was strategy, or maybe it was the growing certainty that Win's avoidance wasn't about indifference—it was about fear.
Good, Ratch thought as he gathered his things and headed toward his own car. You should be afraid. Because I'm not the same person you left behind, and I'm not going to make this easy for you.
The drive home gave him time to think, to plan, to let his anger settle into something more useful. By the time he pulled into his apartment complex, Ratch had mapped out a dozen different approaches, a dozen ways to corner Win without seeming desperate, a dozen strategies for breaking through whatever walls Win had built around himself during their separation.
His apartment felt too quiet after the chaos of orientation, too empty without the constant background noise of university life. Ratch ordered takeout and tried to focus on unpacking the last of his things, on organizing his schedule for the coming semester, on anything that might distract him from the memory of Win's carefully controlled panic when he'd realized Ratch was watching him.
But his mind kept circling back to those few seconds when Win had started to turn, when their eyes had almost met across the crowded quad. What would have happened if Win hadn't bolted? Would there have been recognition, acknowledgment, maybe even the faintest hint of longing? Or would Win have looked right through him like a stranger, like their summer together had been nothing more than a forgettable mistake?
The uncertainty gnawed at him, made it impossible to concentrate on anything else. By the time his food arrived, Ratch had given up any pretense of productivity. He ate mechanically while scrolling through social media, looking for any sign of Win's digital presence, any clue about what he'd been doing for the past few weeks or how he'd ended up at the same university despite supposedly being committed to Cambridge.
It was while browsing one of the campus group chats that Ratch first saw the link. Someone had shared a story from a BL fiction site with a string of heart emojis and the comment: guys this is so beautifully written, I'm already invested in Alex and Kai!
The responses came quickly, a flood of agreement and emotional reactions that made Ratch curious despite himself. OMG the way they met is so romantic, one person wrote. I can already tell this is going to wreck me emotionally, said another. Please update soon, I need to know what happens next! The story was titled "Summer's End" by someone called InvisibleHeart, and the tags—angst, unrequited love, second chances—made something twist uncomfortably in his chest.
Probably just typical overly dramatic internet fiction, he told himself, but he clicked the link anyway, more out of boredom than genuine interest. The site loaded quickly, clean and simple, with the story displayed prominently:
Summer's End - Chapter 1by InvisibleHeart
The music was too loud and the crowd too thick, but I needed the noise to drown out the argument I'd had with my family earlier. I'd found a corner booth at Skyline, nursing a drink I didn't really want, when he appeared.
"Mind if I sit?" His voice cut through the chaos, confident but not arrogant. "Everywhere else is taken."
I looked up to find dark eyes studying me with curious intensity. He was tall, athletic, with the kind of presence that made people notice him—the exact opposite of me. "Sure," I managed, scooting over to make room.
"I'm Kai," he said, sliding into the booth with easy grace.
"Alex," I replied, using the name I always gave to strangers, though something about this one made me want to tell him the truth.
We talked for hours. About music, about university, about the way Bangkok looked from the rooftop bars scattered across the city. He listened like my words mattered, asked questions that showed he was actually paying attention. When I mentioned feeling invisible most of the time, he leaned forward, eyes serious.
"Maybe you're just waiting for the right person to see you," he said.
My heart did something dangerous in my chest. "And you think you're that person?"
His smile was slow, certain. "I'd like to try."
We left together that night, walking through streets slick with summer rain. At my apartment door, he hesitated.
"Can I see you again?" he asked.
I should have said no. Should have recognized that someone like him—confident, magnetic, sure of his place in the world—would never really want someone like me. But the way he looked at me, like I was something precious he'd been searching for...
"Tomorrow," I whispered.
He kissed me then, soft and sweet and full of promise, and I felt myself falling before I even knew I was standing on the edge.
That was the beginning of the most beautiful summer of my life. It was also the beginning of the end.
[To be continued...]
Despite his skepticism, Ratch found himself completely absorbed in the story. The emotional beats were so precise, so achingly familiar, that his hands began to shake as he read.
This is just coincidence, he told himself. People meet in bars all the time. This doesn't mean anything.
But something about the way the story was written, the attention to detail, the way "Alex" described feeling invisible until "Kai" saw him—it felt too real, too specific, too much like...
By the time he reached the ending—"That was the beginning of the most beautiful summer of my life. It was also the beginning of the end"—Ratch felt his breath catch. The story was beautifully written but ominous, promising heartbreak to come, written with the kind of emotional precision that only came from lived experience.
It's probably nothing, he thought, but something about the story nagged at him. The timing of the post—late last night, just hours after orientation. The username, InvisibleHeart, that felt oddly familiar. The way "Alex" described feeling invisible, the setting of a Bangkok bar, the instant connection between strangers—it reminded him of something, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what.
Lots of people feel invisible, he told himself. Lots of people meet in bars. This could be anyone's story.
But the doubt lingered, settling in his chest like a stone.
The comments section was flooded with reactions, readers pouring out their hearts in response to what they'd read. The chemistry between Alex and Kai is amazing, one person wrote. I'm already so invested in their story, said another. That ending gave me chills - I can already tell this is going to be an emotional rollercoaster.
Ratch stared at the screen, something twisting uncomfortably in his chest. The story felt too real, too familiar, but he couldn't quite place why. Maybe it was his conscience messing with him, that had to be it. He was feeling guilty for not replying to Win's calls and texts, and now his mind was playing tricks on him, making every sad love story feel personal. That had to be it.
Without really thinking about it, Ratch found himself typing a comment:
CyberHeart_R: This is beautifully written. Alex's fear of being invisible really hits hard. Some people run because they're scared of being hurt again, and some people push others away for the same reason. Both are just trying to protect themselves, I guess. Can't wait to see what happens next.
He hit send before he could second-guess himself, then closed his laptop with a little too much force, the sharp snap echoing in his quiet apartment. The frustration from the day—seeing Win, being avoided, feeling like he was losing his mind over a stupid story—all of it crashed over him at once.
The story had changed something fundamental in Ratch's approach, had shifted his anger into something more complex and infinitely more dangerous. Win wasn't just running because he didn't care—he was running because he cared too much, because he was terrified of being hurt again, because he'd convinced himself that he wasn't worth the fight. And that was partly Ratch's fault, wasn't it? For shutting him out so completely, for proving Win's worst fears right.
Well, Ratch was about to prove him wrong. Not with gentle persuasion or patient waiting, but with the kind of relentless pursuit that left no room for doubt, no space for misunderstanding, no possibility of pretending that what they'd had meant nothing.
Win wanted to stay invisible? Too bad. Ratch was going to make him impossible to ignore.
As he lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling and trying not to think about Win's avoidance or anonymous stories that felt too familiar, Ratch felt something settle in his chest that hadn't been there since the day Win walked away. It wasn't peace—it was a reminder of what they'd had. The story, whoever had written it, had brought back the memory of that first night, the instant connection, the way it felt to be chosen by someone who usually stayed invisible.
We can still have that type of love, he thought, remembering not just their beginning but everything—lazy afternoons in his apartment, Win's quiet laughter, the way he'd slowly opened up and let Ratch see all his hidden parts. I'm not giving up. I remember how it was from the beginning all the way up until he broke both our hearts. I just need to bring that back for us.
Ratch smiled in the darkness, sharp and certain and maybe a little dangerous.
Message received.