6

Light poured in through the tall glass windows of the family estate, scattering across polished floors. Despite its vast size, the house felt balanced-large but not ostentatious.

Kay sat at the dining table in the main house, sipping his coffee while scrolling through emails on his tablet. He looked calm-focused-but Amon knew better.

Stepping into the room, Amon adjusted his cufflinks with his usual cool composure, his movements deliberate. "Still working?"

Kay didn't look up. "What's new?"

Amon smirked faintly, his tone dry. "It's called taking a day off, Amkarn. Try it sometime."

Kay's brow twitched. "Did you come here to lecture me before leaving?"

Amon grabbed an apple from the counter, tossing it in his hand casually as he strolled closer. His sharp eyes flicked over Kay, catching the faint tightness in his jaw-an unspoken sign.

"Don't burn the house down while I'm gone," Amon teased, his voice low but edged with that sibling sharpness. He leaned down slightly, resting his hand on Kay's shoulder. "And stay out of trouble."

Kay shot him an unimpressed look. "Who's the older one here Kay shot him an unimpressed look.

Amon straightened with a smirk, turning toward the door. "I'll let you think about that."

Kay rolled his eyes, though a faint smirk ghosted his lips as Amon left. The sound of the door clicking shut echoed through the house, leaving Kay alone with the silence. 

Minutes became hours and then came the night dropping the house in shadows, soft pools of moonlight spilling through the glass panels. The rooms were quiet—too quiet.

Kay was in the study when the knock came. Soft but deliberate.

His eyes narrowed instantly. 

Opening the door, Kay was greeted by Khamron's infuriating smirk. The man leaned lazily against the doorframe, his dark shirt unbuttoned slightly, sleeves rolled up, and a sketchbook tucked under his arm.

"What the hell do you want?" Kay snapped, his tone sharp.

Khamron pushed past him without waiting for an answer, stepping into the study like he owned the place. "Relax, Kay. You look like you need company."

Kay's glare could've cut through steel. "I don't need anything from you. Leave."

Khamron ignored him, his gaze lingering over Kay's sharp features before settling on his slightly rumpled shirt, closing the door behind him. 

"You're always so uptight. It's kind of cute."

"And your skin's warm," Khamron murmured, his voice soft and dark.

"Do you always look this good when you're angry?"

Kay stiffened, his pulse roaring in his ears.

"Almeida-"

But before Kay could finish, Khamron stepped closer. Too close. The air seemed to crackle between them as Khamron lifted his hand, his thumb brushing slowly against Kay's bottom lip.

Kay froze, his body going rigid as Khamron leaned in, his voice soft and wicked.

"Do you have any idea how hard it is not to eat you alive right now?"

Kay's breath hitched sharply, every nerve in his body tensing violently.

Khamron's hand moved lower, fingers brushing over Kay's jawline, trailing down to his neck. Kay's pulse roared in his ears as Khamron's touch burned like fire.

"Stop," Kay said hoarsely, though the warning lacked its usual bite.

Khamron ignored him, his other hand slipping beneath Kay's vest, fingertips gliding against the taut skin of his stomach. The touch was slow, teasing—so light it felt unbearable.

Kay's breathing sharpened dangerously as Khamron's hand slid upward, grazing his chest before dipping back down.

"So tense," Khamron murmured, his lips brushing against Kay's ear. "What would happen if you just let go?"

The words hit Kay like a sledgehammer. He grabbed Khamron's wrist abruptly, his grip trembling as his mind screamed for control.

Khamron smirked, pushing closer until their bodies were flush—no space left between them. His fingers toyed with the waistband of Kay's trousers, grazing the skin just below it.

Kay's pulse spiked violently.

"Stop," Kay growled, shoving Khamron back with sudden force.

Khamron stumbled, his smirk faltering briefly as he caught himself. "You really don't know how to have fun, do you?"

Kay staggered back, his chest rising and falling unevenly as his vision blurred. His heart pounded like a war drum, and the violent impulse roared in his veins, clawing for release.

Khamron's smirk faltered further. "Hey... are you okay?"

Kay didn't answer. His breathing came in ragged bursts as his pulse thundered, his hands shaking visibly now.

"Get out," Kay rasped, his voice barely above a whisper.

Khamron hesitated, concern flickering in his gaze. "Kay—"

"I said get out!"

The shout broke through the air like a crack of thunder. Khamron froze before nodding, slowly retreating toward the door. "Fine. I'm going."

The door closed behind him, leaving Kay alone.

Kay staggered toward the couch, clutching his chest as his vision darkened. His breathing was erratic—too fast, too shallow—as the pulse monitor on his wrist began blaring with an emergency warning.

With trembling hands, he grabbed his phone and dialled the only number he could.

The call barely connected before Kay rasped weakly: "Mon..."

Amon stood backstage at the auction venue, Wen by his side as he reviewed the welcome speech. The hall buzzed faintly with low conversation as guests began filling the space.

His phone buzzed.

Amkarn flashed across the screen.

Amon frowned, answering immediately. "Kay?"

The silence that followed made his stomach drop. Then came the broken voice-soft and strained.

"Mon....."

Amon's blood ran cold.

"Amkarn, stay with me. I'm sending an ambulance."

Without another word, Amon turned sharply, his tone cold and urgent as he addressed Wen.

"Handle the auction."

Wen blinked but nodded. "And Kay?"

Amon's tone was icy. "I'll deal with it."

Silence. A strained breath crackled faintly on the other end.

The room was painfully sterile, the hum of machines blending into the low murmur of voices outside. Kay lay in the hospital bed, his face pale, his breathing steady but faint. An IV dripped quietly at his side, and a monitor beeped rhythmically, tracking his vitals.

Amon stood at the foot of the bed, his arms crossed tightly. His usual composure had cracked faintly, his dark eyes fixed on his unconscious brother.

The door opened quietly, and a doctor stepped inside.

"His heart rate spiked dangerously high," the Doctor Bannarasee explained softly. "The stress triggered an acute episode. It's a result of his condition-Impulse Control Disorder.

"You're aware of this?"

Amon's gaze didn't leave Kay as he nodded. "I know."

She doctor continued. "He needs to manage his stress more effectively. Physically, he's fine, your brother thinks he can handle everything on his own, but that mindset is going to kill him," "This isn't something he can push through. His body is already showing signs of resistance. If this continues, we'll be having a very different conversation."

Amon's jaw tightened, but he gave a short nod. "What does he need?"

Dr. Bannarasee adjusted her clipboard. "He'll be discharged tomorrow, but only under strict supervision. No stressors, no work, no unnecessary strain. If he ignores this, it will kill him."

The doctor left, and Amon finally stepped closer, pulling the chair beside Kay's bed.

After a long moment, Kay's eyelids fluttered, and his gaze slowly focused on Amon's face.

"Mon..." Kay croaked weakly, his voice barely audible.

Amon's lips twitched faintly, though his tone was sharp as ever. "You're a bastard, you know that?"

Kay blinked tiredly, confusion flickering across his face.

Amon's voice was sharp, trembling faintly.

"What am I supposed to tell your siblings, Amkarn?"

Kay blinked tiredly, lips twitching faintly.

"Dramatic."

Amon exhaled sharply, leaning closer. "If you die here, I'm going with you. You'll drag me to hell, and I'll still scold you for being a reckless idiot."

Kay smirked weakly. "You gonna cry, Mon? Always overreacting."

Amon sat back, crossing his arms as his sharp gaze softened just slightly. "You scared the hell out of me, Amkarn."

Wen let out a low whistle from across the phone. "Yeah, Mon, real smooth. Threaten to die with him. That'll really make him want to live."

Amon ignored him. His breathing was slow, controlled, but the weight of his words remained, pressing down on Kay like a vice.

Kay finally exhaled. "…I wasn't trying to die."

Amon's jaw clenched. "Then stop acting like you are."

The silence stretched again, but this time, it wasn't suffocating. Just heavy with things neither of them wanted to say.

Kay sighed, shifting slightly beneath the blanket. "You're dramatic."

Amon scoffed, shaking his head. "And you're exhausting."

Kay's gaze flicked toward the window, where the Bangkok skyline stretched in the distance. His mind was still slow, his body heavier than he liked, but Amon's words lingered uncomfortably. He could feel Wen concern from the phone too, not missing a single detail.

Kay didn't reply, his gaze drifting back to the ceiling as his breathing evened out.

For all the control they had in the world, some things were still fragile.

And Amon would never let anyone-or anything—break Kay.

Amon scowled but didn't move. The silence between them settled heavy, filled with unspoken loyalty.

Back at the studio sat heavy in silence—too large, too empty, the kind of quiet that felt deafening. The golden light of the city glowed faintly through the floor-to-ceiling windows, its warmth failing to reach the corners of the room.

Khamron sat sprawled on the edge of a worn leather chair, elbows propped on his knees, head bowed low. His breaths were uneven—shallow—as he stared at the floor, eyes blank but restless.

His teeth gnawed at his thumbnail, biting it raw until the edge split and bled faintly. He didn't stop. He bit harder, as if punishing himself for the memories playing on loop inside his head.

"Fucking idiot," he hissed under his breath, the words harsh and venomous.

He shoved himself upright abruptly, pacing the length of the studio like a man hunted by his own mind. His shoes scuffed against the paint-streaked floor, and the faint echo of his movements filled the empty space.

Every moment replayed vividly—Kay's sharp, commanding voice snapping at him, the violent shove, the way his body had frozen afterward like the air had been sucked out of the room.

"Get out."

Khamron flinched at the memory, his hands shooting up to his hair as he tugged at the strands roughly, his chest heaving.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" he snarled to himself, his voice breaking at the edges. "You just had to push it, didn't you?"

His frustration boiled over as his hand shot out, swiping a nearby metal stool hard. It crashed against the concrete floor, the sound ringing sharp and violent before settling into silence again.

Khamron froze. For a moment, he just stared at the fallen stool, his breaths jagged, sweat dotting his brow. He turned slowly toward the far corner of the studio, his gaze landing on the small fridge tucked beneath the shelves.

It sat there innocently—closed, quiet—but it might as well have been a monster.

Khamron's throat tightened. His stomach twisted uncomfortably, a dull ache spreading through his core as the familiar feeling of hunger reared its ugly head.

He took a step toward the fridge. Stopped.

His hand clenched into a fist at his side as he grit his teeth, his jaw locking painfully.

"No."

His voice trembled faintly, but he spun away from the fridge like it had burned him, stumbling back toward the centre of the room.

Khamron dropped heavily into the leather chair, slumping against it like all the fight had drained out of him. His chest rose and fell unevenly as his fingers twitched faintly against his knees.

The sketchbook lay abandoned on the floor nearby, half-buried beneath the mess of paper. Khamron's gaze fell on it, lingering reluctantly. After a moment, he leaned forward, pulling it toward him with shaking hands.

The page he'd drawn days ago stared back at him—a rough, unfinished sketch of Kay.

Khamron traced the lines absently, his thumb brushing over the edges of Kay's jaw in the drawing. The details were etched perfectly—sharp, severe, distant. Just like Kay in reality.

His lip curled bitterly.

"You're such a goddamn mess," he muttered, the words barely audible.

The tremor in his hands grew worse, so he brought them to his mouth again, biting at the edge of his thumb like a nervous tic. The taste of copper stung faintly on his tongue.

He stopped when the pain registered, staring down at his hands as if they didn't belong to him. The skin was red and raw, torn in places from where he'd chewed too hard.

"You fucked up," Khamron whispered to himself, his voice low and ragged.

He slumped back into the chair, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes as his body trembled faintly. For a long moment, the only sound in the room was his uneven breathing.

"He hates me now," he choked softly, his voice breaking with bitter finality.

The silence in the room stretched unbearably, pressing in on him like walls closing in. The faint glow of the city outside offered no comfort, its warmth distant and untouchable.

Eventually, Khamron let his hands drop, staring blankly at the ceiling as he whispered hoarsely:

"What the hell are you doing, Almeida?"

The words hung in the air, quiet and broken, as Khamron slumped further into the chair, his gaze empty and his body weighed down by something heavy and invisible.

The studio remained still, the mess on the floor left untouched as Khamron sat frozen in his own exhaustion. The ache in his stomach gnawed faintly, but he ignored it, his mind spiralling deeper into the chaos he couldn't quiet.

Outside the windows, Bangkok buzzed with life—cars passing, lights glowing, the distant hum of people moving about their lives. But here, in the confines of his studio, Khamron sat alone, suffocating under the weight of his thoughts.

The night dragged on slowly, offering no escape, no relief.