THE DEEP END

THYME'S POV:

A place I'd never been, yet my soul seemed to recognize it on some cellular level. A place that ripped a pain so deep and unexplainable from my chest that it left me weeping like a child. What was this agony? It hurt. It hurt so much, a phantom limb of a memory aching for something I couldn't name.

But the warmth from his hug... it was an antidote. It seeped into the cracks of my sorrow, calming the storm as if it were the most natural thing in the world. It felt… familiar. Like a safe harbor I had been searching for my entire life. I wanted to stay in his arms, to anchor myself here forever.

Wait.

Forever?

The word crashed through my brain like a wrecking ball. My internal systems screeched to a halt. I wasn't just hugging him; I was melting into him. Into a stranger. Into a guy I met yesterday. The realization was a bucket of ice water to the face, and I reacted with the grace of a startled cat.

I shoved him away, scrambling backward so violently that my head cracked against the passenger-side window. "This is not happening!" I thought, my brain flashing red alerts. "Abort! ABORT! This is not right, Thyme!"

"Thyme, I…" Meta started to speak, his expression a tangled mess of concern and confusion.

Before he could finish, I cut him off, waving my hands frantically. "Sorry! I didn't mean to push you! I'm just… confused! It's probably the stress, and I think… we… we felt refreshed by the marvelous view outside, and…" Shit. Every word coming out of my mouth was a bigger pile of nonsense than the last. How could I possibly explain this?

"Just forget about it," I finally managed, the only coherent thought I could form. I had to escape. Now. I turned my attention to the most immediate obstacle between me and freedom: the seatbelt. I fumbled with the buckle, my fingers suddenly as thick and useless as sausages. "Shit, this seatbelt is hard to unbuckle," I mumbled, jabbing at the release button with no success. This damn expensive car was holding me hostage.

"Let me help you!"

Meta's voice, calm and reasonable, was the most terrifying sound I had ever heard. He began to shift his body, leaning across the center console.

Shit! Shit! Shit! My panic escalated from a mild tremor to a full-blown earthquake. Why wouldn't this German-engineered instrument of torture release me?! He was getting closer. I could feel the warmth radiating from his body, and my mind, fueled by a thousand romantic dramas, flashed a horrifying vision: the slow-motion shot, the soft lighting, our hands accidentally brushing as he reaches for the buckle, a romantic ballad swelling in the background.

No! I reject this trope! God, please save me from this cliché!

Just as his arm brushed against my side, a glorious CLICK echoed in the car. I was free. I didn't waste a millisecond. I threw the door open, scrambled out, and slammed it shut with a resounding THUD that made the whole car shudder.

My heart stopped.

"Shit, why did I close it like that?" I whispered in horror. I immediately pressed my face against the door, frantically scanning the pristine paint for any signs of damage. I could hear Meta erupt into a booming laugh from inside the car, but I was too busy praying I hadn't just inflicted a multi-million baht scratch on his automotive masterpiece.

When I was reasonably sure I hadn't ruined his car—or my financial future—I didn't dare look back. Cheeks burning with a level of humiliation I didn't know was possible, I turned and ran, fleeing toward the shore as if the devil himself, armed with a repair bill, was chasing me.

"What the fuck is happening to me? Am I going crazy?" I kicked at a small wave, the cold water doing nothing to soothe my frantic thoughts. My voice was a ragged whisper against the sound of the surf. "Why did I suddenly cry? Why does this beach feel like a memory when I've never been here before?" My mind was a tangled knot of confusion I couldn't begin to unravel.

"Sigh." I squeezed my eyes shut, taking a deep breath that hitched in my chest. Calm down, Thyme. Just think. But my brain, refusing to cooperate, immediately seized upon the next available crisis. The gossip.

The curiosity was a physical itch under my skin. I pulled my phone from my pocket, my fingers still feeling clumsy and disconnected. "Wait! Dom mentioned a page," I remembered. I typed 'Uni Pue-uk' into the search bar, my heart thumping a nervous rhythm against my ribs. The page loaded, and the first image stole the air from my lungs. It was me and Meta, a high-quality shot of us running, his hand locked around mine.

My grip slackened. The phone tumbled from my hand, landing with a soft, sickening thud on the sand.

"Shit! My phone!" The scandal was momentarily forgotten, eclipsed by the far more tangible terror of a broken device. "I'm not even done paying the loan for this thing!" I lunged for it, scooping it up and cradling it against my chest. I wiped every single grain of sand from its casing with the hem of my shirt, my breath held until I confirmed the screen was, miraculously, not cracked.

Disaster averted, I turned back to the digital firestorm. The comments were a fresh hell.

"Who is that dwarf with Meta?"

A hot, prickling sensation crawled up the back of my neck. I'm not a dwarf! I wanted to scream. I'm a perfectly normal height! My fingers tightened on the phone as I scrolled, my knuckles white. "Is this for real? Did Meta's taste really drop this low?" "I know that guy. He's the little whore who steals all the attention." I felt small and exposed, like every one of the two-thousand-plus commenters was standing right here, pointing and laughing.

Then, amidst the hate, I found flickers of defense. "No, Thyme would never like someone as arrogant as Meta," one said. Another read, "He probably just felt pity for him." The relief was fleeting, immediately washed away by a new brand of weirdness.

"A new ship! #Methyme!"

"I love the chemistry! Like an innocent, sweet Bottom and a scary, mafia-boss Top!"

My brain stalled. Bottom? Top? What did that even mean? Is it a ranking system? Am I at the bottom because I'm shorter and he's a giant gorilla? It had to be. Confused and vaguely insulted, I opened a new tab, ready to search for the definitive meaning of this bizarre new vocabulary.

"What are you looking at so intensely, Snotty Kid?"

The deep voice, appearing out of nowhere, made me flinch so hard I nearly dropped my phone again. I yelped, spinning around to find Meta standing there, an amused smirk playing on his lips. I clutched the phone to my chest like a shield, hiding the screen.

"N-nothing! And why are you here?!" I blurted out.

He took a slow step closer, his smirk widening. "I saw your face turn red from twenty meters away. What's so interesting? Found another admirer?"

His teasing hit the raw nerve of the "shipping" comments. "No! I wasn't blushing!" I insisted, my voice cracking. "It's… it's the sun! It's hot!"

"The sun," he repeated, his tone laced with disbelief. "Right. It's so hot you look like you're about to solve a crime. Let me see what has you so flustered." He reached out, his hand moving toward my phone.

That was it. The final straw. The combination of the photo, the insults, the baffling shipping terms, and now his relentless teasing created a pressure cooker in my chest that was about to explode. I couldn't breathe. I had to get away.

"Stay back!" I yelped, taking a clumsy step away from him. "I'm just… I'm going for a swim! To cool down!"

It was the worst excuse I'd ever come up with, and we both knew it. Before he could call my bluff, I scrambled over to a large, sun-bleached rock. With the careful reverence of someone handling a holy relic, I placed my phone safely on its flat surface. Then, giving Meta one last, panicked glare, I turned, took two frantic steps toward the water, tripped over nothing, and with a cry of pure, unadulterated humiliation, launched myself into the waves. The splash was enormous and undignified, but as the cool water enveloped me, it was, for a glorious moment, quieter than the sound of his laughter.

The shock of the cold water was a momentary relief, a silent, blue world where no one could stare or whisper or tease. But as I floated there, suspended in the quiet, a stupid, practical thought pierced through my humiliation: I don't have any spare clothes.

Shit. The thought was so mundane, so idiotic, that it was almost funny. I had just launched myself into the ocean out of pure social terror, and now I was going to have to walk back to that multi-million baht car soaking wet. The embarrassment wasn't over; it was just getting started.

I pushed off the sandy bottom, kicking toward the shimmering surface. That's when it happened. A vicious, electric pain shot through my calf, seizing the muscle in a brutal, unyielding knot. My leg folded, instantly useless. Panic, cold and sharp, replaced everything else. The water wasn't shallow here. I had, in my haste, flung myself into the deep end.

Shit! I thrashed, my arms clawing uselessly at the water, but the cramp was an anchor of pure agony, dragging me down. My lungs began to burn, a desperate, primal scream for air that had nowhere to go.

Am I going to die here? The thought was strangely clear amidst the chaos. For a split second, I felt no fear, only a profound, hollow exhaustion. Was I tired of my life? No, not tired... just worn down. Worn down by the constant effort, the endless running, the pressure to be the best just to be seen. I was so used to the feeling of being unwanted that the thought of disappearing didn't feel like a tragedy. It just felt like the end of a long, exhausting race.

My parents wouldn't miss me. The rejection I feared so much had already happened, a deep wound from my childhood that had never healed. My death would just be a final, quiet confirmation of what I always suspected: I was a burden. My sister... she would cry, I know she would. But then, a small, terrible thought surfaced: at least she wouldn't have to defend me anymore. She wouldn't have to carry the secret of why our parents pushed me away, the secret she thinks is better for me not to remember. Maybe she would finally be free. My friends, Dom and Lance, they would be sad, but they are strong. They'd get over it.

The pressure in my chest was becoming unbearable. The world above was a distorted, shimmering memory. And then, the feeling from before, the one that hit me in the car, washed over me again—that inexplicable, heartbreaking sorrow. It was the pain of loss, the ghost of something important being ripped away, and it felt terrifyingly familiar. It felt like the darkness from my lost memory, the abyss of the accident a year ago, was here in the water with me, pulling me back into it.

My vision began to tunnel, the edges darkening. My desperate struggles weakened, the agony in my leg a distant echo to the ache in my soul. The fight was just too hard. The water was too heavy. My life was too heavy. Maybe... maybe just letting go is the only solution that doesn't hurt anyone else. The thought wasn't a decision; it was a surrender. The last bubbles of air escaped my lips, and I let the darkness swallow me whole.