Morning in Bangkok always carried the aftertaste of humid heat and the scent of fresh pastries wafting from the Lertchai family kitchen. But for Wat, this morning was special. The first day of 12th grade. The final stretch before life would scatter them to different university campuses.

Wat stood before the mirror, perfectly adjusting the collar of his school shirt. His face, as usual, resembled the calm surface of a lake—not a single stray emotion. He checked his watch.

07:15.

He’ll be here in three minutes, flashed through his mind.

Exactly three minutes later, there was the familiar rattle of the fence, followed by a rhythmic tapping on the panoramic living room window. Wat went downstairs, where his mother, an elegant woman with a flawless hairstyle, was already setting out coffee.

"Wat, Sun is here!" she smiled. "Just like the last thirteen years."

A Solar Vortex

Sun burst into Wat’s house like a warm tropical cyclone. His school uniform sat a bit carelessly on him: the top button undone, and a dog-paw keychain dangling from his backpack.

"Hello, Wong family!" he exclaimed, beaming with his signature smile. "Wat, are you ready? Our last 'first bell' is waiting for us!"

Sun walked up to Wat and, without asking permission, straightened his tie—even though Wat had already tied it perfectly.

"You're so serious again. This is 12th grade, not a funeral for our free time. Although... for you, business electives are entertainment."

"Unlike you, I don't plan on wasting time," Wat replied dryly, but he didn't pull away. He allowed Sun to invade his personal space in a way he allowed no one else in the world. "Did you pack your bag? Or are you going to ask me for a pen in every class again?"

"Oh, Wat-Wat, don't grumble," Sun playfully nudged his shoulder. "My mom sent some syrnyky for you. The real deal! With homemade curd cheese. She said a future businessman needs to fuel his brain."

On the way to school, they walked their usual path. Sun gestured wildly, talking about how he helped his father at the clinic over the summer and how he dreamed of finally getting into veterinary school. Wat listened in silence, watching his neighbor’s every move.

He remembered how, in second grade, a group of boys had cornered him for being "too quiet and rich." Back then, little Sun, who was a head shorter than the bullies, had thrown himself into the fight with a cry Wat still remembered: "Don't touch my Wat!"

That day, Sun went home with a bloody nose, and Wat went home with the realization that behind this smiling boy, he would be behind a stone wall. Now, years later, Wat had grown taller and stronger, but the need to protect Sun—now from the cruel world of adults—had become his internal law.

Near the school entrance, chaos reigned. Seniors were taking photos, and teachers were trying to maintain order.

"Look, there are the guys from the football team," Sun waved to someone. "They promised to throw a party after class today. Should we go?"

Wat stopped and looked intently at Sun.

"We have a mock math test tomorrow. And you know your father expects high scores for your admission."

Sun sighed, his shoulders dropping for a moment.

"You’re always so 'proper.' You shouldn't go into business; you should be a judge."

"I just don't want you crying later because you didn't get a scholarship," Wat’s voice softened by only an octave—unnoticeable to bystanders, but to Sun, it meant the highest degree of care.

Sun suddenly stopped, grabbed the edge of Wat’s blazer, and whispered in Ukrainian, just as his mother had taught him:

"Ти зануда, Вате. Але я тебе за це і люблю." (You're a bore, Wat. But I love you for it.)

Wat froze for a second. He didn't know Ukrainian perfectly, but the word "love" was heard often in that household. He quickly looked away so Sun wouldn't notice something far too revealing flickering in his usually cold eyes.

"Just go to your biology room, 'doctor'," Wat tossed back, heading toward the entrance first.

He knew this year would change everything.

Kinn Rattanakul was already waiting for Sun near the entrance to the biology classroom. Kinn was the polar opposite of the composed Wat: he always knew all the gossip, had a perpetually disheveled look, and possessed an uncanny ability to read people like open books.

"Oh, has the 'sweet couple' finally parted ways at the doorstep?" Kinn winked at Sun, peeling himself away from the wall.

Sun rolled his eyes, but a wide smile spread across his face.

"Stop it, Kinn. We just came together. Like we have for the last ten years."

"Right, 'just together,'" Kinn muttered, walking beside Sun into the auditorium. "Except Wat looks at anyone who gets within a meter of you as if he’s drafting a contract for their professional destruction. And you? You light up around him like a Christmas tree."

Sun nudged his friend in the ribs with his elbow as they entered the classroom, which smelled of formalin and old textbooks.

"We’re childhood neighbors, Kinn. Our parents are best friends. We’re like brothers."

Kinn made himself at home at the desk next to Sun and pulled out his animal anatomy notebook.

"'Brothers,' you say? I’ve seen many brothers, Sun. But I’ve never seen a brother adjust a tie so delicately, as if it were a crystal vase. And I don’t know any brothers who learn Ukrainian phrases about love just to say them to a 'mere neighbor'."

Sun froze while pulling out his pencil case.

"How did you—"

"I was standing behind the pillar when you walked in," Kinn interrupted, laughing kindly. "Listen, we’ve been grinding through this science together since M4 (10th grade). I know all your habits: how you bite your pen when you’re nervous about Wat, and how you always buy two bottles of water because you know he’ll forget his."

Sun sighed and rested his head on his arms, slumped over the desk.

"Kinn, he’s Wat. Wong Wiwat. He’s a future business shark. He’s cold, rational, and... he never looks at me the way you’re imagining. To him, I’m just the noisy neighbor who needs saving from fights."

"Uh-huh... and?" Kinn raised an eyebrow, mimicking Wat’s mannerisms quite comically. "Are those all your excuses? Sun, you’re going into veterinary medicine. You’re supposed to recognize reflexes. Well, Wat’s reflex toward you is the total capitulation of his 'cold exterior.' You’re the only one who makes his icy heart beat off-schedule."

Sun wanted to protest, but the teacher entered the room at that moment. However, Kinn's words stuck in his mind like a splinter.

Meanwhile, on another floor...

In the macroeconomics classroom, Wat sat at the front desk. His gaze was fixed on the board, but his thoughts were still swirling around that phrase in Ukrainian.

"You’re a bore, Wat. But I love you for it."

He opened his notebook and, in the margins among the supply and demand curves, barely visibly traced in pencil: "Кохаю" (I love you). Then he quickly crossed it out, feeling the tips of his ears begin to burn.

Wat knew that Kinn, Sun’s overly observant friend, was constantly whispering something in Sun's ear. And Wat didn’t like it. He was used to controlling everything, but Sun’s feelings—and his own—were the only variables that couldn't be fitted into any business model.

The school cafeteria at lunchtime resembled a disturbed beehive. But even in this chaos, Wat maintained his icy aura. He calmly carried a tray with a salad, his eyes searching for a familiar tuft of tousled hair.

He found him. But he didn’t like what he saw.

Lunch Break: A Spark of Jealousy

Sun and Kinn were sitting at a far table. Kinn was telling something animatedly, gesturing wildly, when he suddenly leaned forward and playfully flicked Sun’s nose. Sun burst into laughter, nearly dropping his fork, and gave Kinn a playful shove on the shoulder.

Wat stopped in his tracks. His fingers tightened around the edges of the tray.

"Wat! Come sit with us!" Sun noticed him and waved his hand.

Wat approached and sat opposite them without saying a word. His gaze, cold and sharp as a scalpel, lingered for a moment on Kinn’s hand, which was still resting on the back of Sun’s chair.

"Hey, Wiwat," Kinn smiled his "sly" smile. "We were just discussing how Sun would look great in a white vet coat. Right?"

"He’ll look great in anything if he finally learns his Latin," Wat snapped, not even looking at Kinn. He shifted his gaze to Sun. "Are you finished eating? We don't have much time."

"But I haven't finished my juice yet..." Sun began, but he met Wat’s eyes and instantly fell silent.

"I’ll be waiting for you by the exit in five minutes. We need to discuss this evening’s study session."

As Wat walked away, Kinn leaned toward Sun and whispered:

"Did you see that? He just incinerated me in his mind for touching your nose. Sun, that’s not 'neighborly concern,' that’s territorial instinct."

Evening fell over Bangkok, bringing a long-awaited coolness. In Wat’s room, the air conditioner hummed, creating the perfect environment for studying. Two laptops, stacks of papers, and a large plate of fruit brought by Wat’s mother sat on the desk.

Sun was sitting on the floor, leaning his back against Wat’s bed, absentmindedly flipping through a biology textbook. Wat sat in his chair, focused on macroeconomics, but his attention was scattered.

"Wat..." Sun called out softly. "You’ve been... prickly all day. Even more than usual. Is it because of Kinn?"

Wat put down his pen. The only sound in the room was the quiet hum of electronics.

"Your friend talks too much, Sun. And he takes too many liberties."

"He’s just fun!" Sun turned around, kneeling so he could see Wat’s face. "He helps me not go crazy from all these bones and muscles I have to memorize."

Wat slowly leaned toward him. The distance between them closed to a critical point. Sun caught the faint scent of Wat’s cologne—cedar and sandalwood.

"I can help you too," Wat’s voice became low, almost velvety. "You don’t need Kinn to study. In fact, you don't need anyone except..."

Wat suddenly cut himself off, realizing he had almost said too much. Sun held his breath. His heart was pounding so hard he felt Wat could surely hear it.

"Except whom?" Sun whispered.

Wat pulled back, putting his mask of restraint back on.

"Except a good tutor. Give me your textbook. I’ll check how well you’ve learned the respiratory system of mammals."

Sun exhaled, feeling a mix of relief and a strange disappointment. He handed over the book, but as Wat took it, their fingers brushed. Wat didn't pull his hand away immediately. He held it a second longer than politeness required.

"Дякую, Ват..." (Thank you, Wat) Sun whispered in Ukrainian.

"Будь ласка," (You're welcome) Wat replied in the same language.

Sun’s eyes widened in surprise.

"You... you learned that word?"

"I have a good memory for important things," Wat murmured, diving back into the textbook to hide a faint, triumphant smile.