Chapter Text
song: different by leejean
Splash splash splash.
The rhythmic hush of waves folding into the shore filled the wide, open stretch of the beach. It was evening and the sun no longer simply set, but seemed to dissolve—slowly, languidly—into the horizon where sea met sky. Cranes chirped overhead. Their distant calls were threading through the evening air. There was no one else except for a solitary figure.
Dressed in a black half-sleeved collared shirt and worn blue jeans, he stood with his arms folded across his chest, posture composed yet distant. His gaze lingered somewhere far beyond the visible, unfocused, as though he were looking through the world rather than at it.
Splash splash splash
The tide rolled in again, spilling over his bare feet. The water was cool, setting a beautiful contrast to the lingering warmth painted across the sky in shades of amber and violet.
To Qin, the cadence of the waves was the only sound that made sense in his already noise-filled overwhelmed life. Noise, in all its relentless forms, had always unsettled him. Perhaps that was why he had chosen to walk away from the excess of his former life—the glittering, suffocating city he once called home—and come here instead. Here, where he didn't have to lose himself to the noise around him anymore.
To begin with, Qin—twenty-five years old corporate slave—had, by all outward measures, a life worth envying back in Bangkok. A stable, generous salary. A respectable position within a well-regarded company. From an outsider’s perspective, everything seemed perfect.
But appearances, as they often do, told only half the story.
Because a good salary and a prestigious workplace did not always translate into a good life—or even a livable one. Not the kind that invited you gently into tomorrow, or gave you something to anticipate beyond mere obligation. At least, not for Qin.
It was not just the sound, it was in the expectations, in the way people mistook capability for endless capacity, never pausing to consider the quiet toll it exacted. It was in the deadlines that rose like closing walls, pressing in without reprieve. In conversations that skimmed the surface without ever meaning anything. In laughter that sounded practiced, rehearsed to perfection yet hollow at its core. Even silence, in the city, was loud—filled with the pressure to become something other than who he already was.
When Qin first stepped into that world, he had believed he could withstand it. And for a long time, he did—by learning how to move with it, how to bend without breaking, how to perform the version of himself the world seemed to prefer.
He pushed forward. He adapted. He told himself it was easier this way, accepting that people would never quite understand him—that his refusals would be overlooked, softened, or simply ignored.
So, he adjusted. And adjusted. Until, one day he could no longer hear himself. Until, when he stood before the mirror, searching for his own reflection—he could no longer recognize who was looking back.
So, he decided. It was enough. At 2:13 a.m., in the stillness of a night that felt heavier than most, Qin drafted his resignation. He sent the email, shut down his work account, and, without allowing himself the luxury of hesitation, booked a one-way ticket to a distant island—somewhere there was sea and silence.
It wasn't the ideal place he had in his mind. Not that it was a place he expected to provide him with the things he was looking for. It didn't have the lavishness of the city he was used to, he grew up in. It didn't have those highly curated, aesthetic cafés or shopping malls people swarmed into. It didn't have spots made for trendy social media posts.
But it had the sea.
The sea made him feel comforted. offered a kind of comfort he had never been able to articulate. The waves and the tides that rolled in, although touched anyone's feet if stood closer but it never felt intrusive. It was just there like the air anyone breathed: without demanding, soothing without overwhelming. They did not press in on him; they did not fade into neglect. They simply existed, and in their rhythm, Qin found space to breathe through the raging storm within him.
The island of Phuma(made up seaside town) was a quiet strip of coastline where mornings smelled like salt and afternoons stretched lazily into evenings.
The kind of place that felt ordinary. The kind of place Qin needed at the moment. The kind of escape he wanted to run away into, even if he hadn’t known it before.
The moment he stepped off the bus at the modest stop by the shore, he didn’t linger. Slinging his travel bag over his shoulder, he moved straight to the sea.
Because, for the first time in a long while—he wanted to breathe again.
As Qin had his eyes closed, and was breathing in the scent of the salt and almost imagined echoes of whalesong, a loud boisterous voice cut through the calm Qin was staying in.
“KHUN!”
Qin’s eyes snapped open. He cast a brief glance over his shoulder before returning his gaze to the sea, dismissing it as someone else’s call. A fish arced out of the water, catching the fading light for a fleeting second—but before he could take a deeper look and see what kind of fish it was, the voice returned, like a wave crashing too near the shore.
“KHUN, I'M TALKING TO YOU!”
A sharp exhale slipped past his lips. He ignored it again, jaw tightening slightly, assuming it came from someone on the raised platform beyond the railing behind him.
For a moment, there was quiet.
But that silence didn't last long before the voice came back again.
“KHUN!” Somehow this time it was decibels higher from the last one and it continued like it demanded attention.
“The one in the black t-shirt and jeans! I'm talking to you, khun!”
Qin closed his eyes realising that the guy was definitely calling him. Drawing in one steady breath, he turned around, irritation already rising in his head.
But the moment his gaze met the stranger’s, for a second, everything seemed to pause. As though time itself had been brushed into stillness, like a painting suspended behind glass.
The man leaned over the railing, balanced on the tips of his toes, grinning with an openness and waving his hand with a force that felt like someone greeting an old friend he hadn’t seen in years, as though Qin were someone already familiar, already his.
“Khun! Here—over here! I'm talking to you!” The guy shouted at the top of his lungs. Realizing the distance between them was too great, the man cupped his hands around his mouth and called again, “Wait there—I’m coming to you!”
Before Qin could respond—or decide not to—the stranger had already turned, hurrying down from the platform. He took the stairs two at a time, then broke into a run across the sand, his flip-flops kicking up grains that clung to his steps.
To Qin, that approaching figure was less a person and more a streak of motion—like a blur of energy. Chocolate-brown hair fell loosely around his face, lifted now and then by the sea breeze. His skin carried the warm tint of sun exposure, and wore a grin widened enough to rival the horizon behind him.
He came to a stop a few steps away, bending forward with his hands braced against his knees, catching his breath from the run.
Qin arched a brow, silent and expectant, waiting for the stranger to explain the interruption he had so insistently begun.
Dressed in knee-length shorts and a full-sleeved grey graphic t-shirt, the man straightened gradually, lifting his head once his breathing steadied.
But the moment his gaze fell on the guy, up too close, his eyes widened in surprise and his lips parted in an expression of awe settling in as though the moment had caught him off guard.
“Woah…”
Qin narrowed his eyes at the guy, clearly confused by the situation.
“Ter looks so adorable,” He said in his cheery voice, his smile stretching from ear to ear, cheeks rounding so fully that his eyes nearly disappeared behind them.
If Qin wasn't annoyed before, he definitely was now. His face was contorted into an expression of disgust.
“Weirdo,” he said flatly, the word devoid of any amusement.
The man's expression changed from awe to that of panic. He flailed his hands in front of him, shaking his head as if he could physically cast the accusation away.
“I mean– I I'm not— I was—You are—” he stumbled over his words, each attempt collapsing into the next.
Qin sighed slowly, the sound edged with fatigue. At this point, he was almost convinced that peace was nothing more than an abstract concept that he created in his mind along the way.
“What is it?” he asked, voice laced with impatience, having reached the end of his tolerance for whatever this encounter was becoming.
That, at least, seemed to ground the other man.
“I just wanted to say—the beach is closing soon,” he rushed out, words tumbling over each other in a single breath. “You should take the bus back to town. There won’t be any buses running late into the night!”
The guy rambled slash explained it in one breath.
Qin blinked. He stayed rooted in his place after hearing that answer as though it hadn’t quite aligned with the buildup that preceded it.
Meanwhile, the other man kept his gaze lowered throughout his hurried explanation. Only after finishing did he straighten, he gulped hard, awaiting the adorable guy's reaction.
“You called me,” Qin started, “came down all the way,” he paused, as if the sequence of events still hadn’t entirely settled into sense.
“Just to tell me this?”
The man's expression softened again and he nodded eagerly, his smile returning with an unguarded warmth, like a puppy seeking approval.
Qin’s brows drew together as another weary sigh slipped past his lips.
“Okay,” he said at last, the word clipped and devoid of further interest. He bent to retrieve his sneakers from the sand, slipping them on with practiced ease before hoisting his travel bag over his shoulder. Without another glance in the stranger’s direction, he turned and began walking toward the exit.
Behind him, the man seemed to realize—belatedly—that he was being left behind.
“TERRR, wait!”
Qin didn't stop. He kept walking until the other finally caught up beside him. Only then did Qin spare him a brief sideways look.
“Why are you using that sweet term on me?” he asked, tone edged with irritation. “We don’t even know each other.”
The man blinked, as if the answer were obvious, and then broke into a wide, unrestrained smile, the warmth spilling out of his eyes. “Because Ter is cute.”
Qin rolled his eyes, his free hand curling into a fist at his side. “Call me that one more time,” he said coolly, “and my fist is going to meet your face.”
The man’s eyes widened in alarm, his head shaking rapidly in protest. “Aow—no, I’m not lying!” he insisted, voice earnest, almost pleading. “Ter is cute. Duang likes Ter. And Duang doesn't want to use harsh words on Ter.”
“Duang?” Qin raised a brow.
“Duang's me!” The guy, named Duang, declared brightly, pointing at himself with unabashed enthusiasm. His grin returned in full force, his entire presence seeming to light up with it, as though even the introduction itself was something to celebrate.
Qin halted mid-step, then turned back, closing the distance between them until he stood directly in front of Duang. He looked straight into his eyes, his gaze carrying a mix of displeasure and morbid curiosity.
“And why do you like me?” he asked evenly. “I’m fairly certain this is the first time we’ve ever met.”
“Because you are cute!” Duang answered without hesitation, “Your face is cute! Your eyes are cute. Your—” Duang's gaze trailed downward, until it settled on Qin's beautiful slender legs. “legs are cute too” He smiled with a disarming sincerity and a head that was clearly filled with some dirty thoughts.
Qin’s patience snapped. With a swift motion, he kicked sharply just above Duang’s ankle. “Bastard.”
Duang let out a startled sound, immediately crouching down as the sting shot through his leg.
Qin, exhaling softly, turned around in the sand—and began walking away once more, intent on ending the interaction. Behind him, Duang pouted, rubbing at his ankle before pushing himself upright again. And despite everything, he called out—undeterred, as if compelled to finish what he had started.
“It’s because you looked like a vintage painting,” he said, voice carrying across the space between them. “Standing there, facing the sea, with the sun sinking into the horizon behind you… it felt like something out of a museum.”
“Like I was enchanted just by looking at you. Like I could keep looking forever and never grow tired.”
Qin halted on his steps. Just for a moment. Something in the way Duang spoke so sincerely about his feelings did something unspeakable to him. But when he glanced back over his shoulder, his expression had already settled into its usual cool detachment.
“Weirdo,” he said, the word quieter this time, though no less certain.
Duang puffed out his cheeks, his pout deepening as he hurried forward to catch up with Qin. By then, they had reached the staircase leading up to the platform, and together they began the ascent—Qin steady and unhurried, Duang a step behind, stealing quick, curious glances at him whenever he thought they would go unnoticed.
“What?” Qin asked at last, catching one of those lingering looks.
“Uh… you don't look like you're from here? Are you here for vacation?” Duang asked honestly, after hesitating for a moment.
Qin spared him a brief glance before returning his attention to the platform ahead. He offered no reply.
The silence stretched.
Duang pressed his lips together, biting lightly at the inside of his cheek. The brightness in his expression dimmed, disappointment flickering through his eyes as his mouth curved into another small, involuntary pout.
By the time they reached the top, Qin set his travel bag down beside a nearby lamppost and exhaled softly. His gaze drifted, almost absently, toward the man who had trailed after him with unwavering persistence—like a puppy that had decided, without reason or permission, to stay.
Qin knew himself all too well.
He didn't entertain someone invading his personal space. He didn’t respond unless he chose to. He didn’t indulge simply because someone asked. He had learned that much—learned to draw his boundaries clearly, to hold them without apology.
And yet…
Looking at Duang right now, he felt like he was almost getting coaxed by his own heart to give in to him.
And so, he did.
“I'm here to stay.”
Duang, who stood a step below him, visibly whipped his head up at the answer. His eyes shone brighter than any stars present in the sky.
“Then can I try to win you over?” he asked, the words rushing out with earnest excitement. “Is it alright if I court you?”
Qin merely blinked. He didn't quite understand how one was even supposed to respond to something like that.
Duang continued speaking, taking the silence as a sign to boost his confidence and say what's on his mind.
“I’m not asking, actually,” he corrected himself, shaking his head with quiet determination. “I’m telling you—I’ll be courting you. I’ll do my best to win you over from now on.”
Qin regarded him for a beat longer before stepping forward, closing the distance between them. He moved until he stood at the edge, then bent slightly, bringing himself level with Duang—close enough for their gazes to meet without obstruction. Smirking dismissively with a smug attitude, he said the next words.
“Good luck with that,” he drawled, the words laced with quiet mockery.
Then, just as easily, he straightened. He stepped back, turned to the side and walked away carrying his traveling bag towards the bus station, leaving behind a very flustered and a very dramatic Duang behind.
Duang felt like his heart flatlined after hearing that. He pressed a hand over his chest and breathed heavily, feeling the heat rush to his cheeks. He was so happy that he got a green signal in pursuing his crush, which had only taken root an hour ago.
A wide grin took over his features. His feet lifted into small, involuntary hops where he stood, energy spilling out of him in quiet bursts before he finally let out a long, relieved exhale. Realising that Qin had already left him standing on his own, Duang scrambled up onto the platform and broke into a run, heading toward the bus stop where Qin was already making his way.
“Ter! Wait for me!”
Under the dipping twilight and rising indigo, two strangers who never knew each other before started writing the chapter of their shared journey which neither of them knew how it was going to unfold.
A path neither could predict.
Only time and perhaps persistence would decide how it would unfold.