The one for me

chapter 5 Win's Hollow Twenty-Two

The insistent blare of the alarm clock shattered the fragile veil of sleep at precisely 9:00 in the morning, its red digits glowing with unforgiving clarity.

Win let out a deep groan, the sound rumbling from the depths of his chest, and he struck the device silent with a decisive slap of his palm. Silence descended upon the room, thick and oppressive, pressing against his ribs like an unwelcome weight. He turned instinctively toward the side of the bed where warmth should have been waiting, but he found only emptiness—no sprawling limbs entangled with his own, no cascade of ginger hair strewn across the pillow like wild fireweed, no faint snores or sleepy mutterings in Thai against the invading light. The sheets lay cool and undisturbed, a stark testament to solitude.

His hand wandered to the bedside table, fingers brushing against a folded scrap of notepaper.

Juju's handwriting sprang forth in bold, messy strokes:

"Do not miss me too much, okay? "

A faint smile tugged at Win's lips for a fleeting moment, softening the hard edges of his features. It was quintessentially Juju—playful in its carelessness, infused with his irrepressible spirit. Yet the tenderness dissolved as swiftly as morning dew.

Tomorrow marked their shared birthday, and Juju would not be there. The realization twisted like a knife in his stomach, extinguishing the smile and hardening his jaw. He forced himself upright, his bare feet meeting the smooth chill of the teak floorboards.

A demanding schedule loomed ahead: an advertisement shoot alongside Alex, his on-screen partner from the wildly successful series Midnight Echoes, whose episodes continued to dominate streaming charts and social media feeds. Win made his way to the adjoining bathroom, where he splashed icy water across his face.

The mirror reflected a familiar visage: short brown hair neatly trimmed just above his dark brown eyes, which today swirled with gathering storm clouds rather than their characteristic icy detachment. His lean physique bore the marks of rigorous gym routines and frequent skipped meals. He dressed with deliberate care, slipping into faded blue jeans that clung comfortably to his slim hips and a loose blue shirt that draped softly over his broad shoulders, its sleeves rolled casually to his elbows. The outfit projected effortless style, serving as subtle armor against the day.

Downstairs in the kitchen, the air hummed with the comforting rhythm of morning preparations. His mother—known affectionately as Cutie by juju , the unwavering light of his life—hovered over a bubbling pot of khao tom, her gentle smile creased with maternal concern.

"V, please sit down and eat something proper," she urged, sliding plates laden with steaming rice porridge toward him.

"You will waste away if you keep rushing like this."

"There is simply no time for a full meal," he replied, his voice still roughened by sleep. He leaned forward to place a swift kiss upon her forehead, drawing in the familiar scents of jasmine soap and home-cooked comfort. He drank milk directly from the carton, savoring its cool, silken path down his throat, and seized a piece of roasted bread, its crust crisp and golden. "I love you," he said tenderly. The door closed behind him with a soft click, leaving her sigh to linger in the air like fading incense.

Sea Entertainment's towering glass edifice shimmered beneath the midday sun, standing as one of Bangkok's premier talent agencies within the relentless machinery of the entertainment industry.

Win arrived at exactly 10:05, where his agent Coco offered a cautious nod—the middle-aged man perpetually marked by a coffee stain on his tie. Within the polished conference room waited the CEO Anuwat, his expression darkening like an approaching storm, and Alex, two years Win's senior, already beaming with a professionally radiant smile.

"Good morning, Win," Alex called out, his voice carrying the warmth of their carefully crafted on-screen chemistry.

"Good morning," Win responded curtly, maintaining a deliberate distance. They had collaborated on sets for an entire year, exchanging scripted kisses before the cameras, yet an invisible barrier persisted between them. Alex embodied vibrant, professional charisma; Win remained a fortress of restrained composure.

"Sit down immediately," the CEO commanded sharply, indicating a sleek leather chair.

"Explain the incident from your live stream. A mysterious man appeared in your house, and now fans are in an uproar with rumors of a boyfriend everywhere."

Alex interjected smoothly before Win could respond.

"It was merely a friend who came to visit Win. There is nothing scandalous about it."

Win's gaze turned glacial, and his words emerged like honed steel.

"He is not merely a friend. He is my best friend. We share a home. This remains a private matter, and it concerns no one else."

A brittle silence fractured the room. Coco stammered hurried apologies to the CEO, whose complexion flushed a deep purple with mounting fury.

"You achieved fame in a single year—as both a singer and an actor—but a two-year contract still binds you firmly. Rules exist for a reason, and they are not optional!"

The CEO stormed from the room, the door slamming with resounding finality.Win merely shrugged, utterly indifferent, his brown eyes devoid of emotion. Following the meeting, Alex approached more closely, his hand grazing Win's arm with an intimacy that lingered too long. Clear interest shone in his eyes.

Win regarded him with cool precision tempered by courtesy.

"Fanservice suffices during filming. Do not become overly touchy with me, whether in private or public." Alex blinked in surprise and withdrew with a nod.The KitKat advertisement shoot stretched interminably under the searing studio lights. Cameras documented their shared chocolate bars and forced laughter scripted for authenticity. Win's phone weighed heavily in his pocket—this marked his thirtieth attempt to reach Juju, each call diverting straight to voicemail. Messages accumulated like desperate pleas:

Where are you? Answer me.

Between takes, he checked compulsively, his brown eyes darting to the unresponsive screen with mounting desperation. The hours dragged relentlessly toward midnight.

His home awaited in oppressive darkness, every echo amplified. He had not retrieved BigEye from boarding, for Juju was absent to wrangle the exuberant golden retriever, dole out treats, and revel in the dog's enthusiastic licks. Win collapsed onto the bed, gripping his phone as if it were a lifeline. Still, no response came. Sleep claimed him only after a fierce internal struggle.

Dawn broke on his twenty-second birthday, heavy and overcast. The phone vibrated insistently, rousing him from uneasy slumber. His heart leaped with desperate hope—Juju? Instead, an outpouring of affection from others only amplified the void.

Calls arrived in rapid succession:

His mother first, her voice rich with syrupy warmth

. "V, my dearest heart! Happy twenty-second birthday—the cake is mango sticky rice, exactly as you prefer. Where has Juju gone? The family awaits you eagerly."

Win responded via voice note, keeping his tone brief:

"I love you beyond measure. I will come soon."

Aimee, Juju's mother, spoke with her melodic French accent.

"My little prince! The studio summons you, and hit songs await. I miss seeing our boys side by side."

Win replied gently: "I miss you as well. Juju seems to have vanished from the earth."

Suk, Juju's father, conveyed gruff affection.

"You reign over the charts. I am immensely proud. Beers this evening?" Win sent a thumbs-up emoji:

"It is a deal."

Messages poured in relentlessly:From fans:

"HAPPY TWENTY-SECOND BIRTHDAY, WINAY! Continue to conquer everything! 💙"

"Birthday king—please release new music soon!"

From friends: "Shared birthday celebration! Where shall we gather?"

"Win dominates age twenty-two—drinks are on me!"Win's responses remained swift: Hearts for the fans, "We will catch up later, my friends" for the others. He placed one final call to Juju, which routed to voicemail once more.

Messages spilled forth in waves of emotion: Angry: "This is the fifty-first call. Have you forsaken me entirely?"

Loving: "Happy twenty-second birthday, you fool. I require your chaos in my life."

Scolding: "Answer, or I shall track you down myself."

Silence answered mockingly.The event venue pulsed with chaos at 11:00 AM—a shopping mall transformed into a frenzy of devotion.

Banners proclaimed WINAY TURNS TWENTY-TWO!, and screams rent the air. Alex arrived unannounced, presenting a gleaming guitar; fans erupted in chants of "Winlex forever!" Win forced a smile onto his face—polished porcelain concealing the emptiness in his eyes. He sliced into the cake amid a barrage of flashing cameras, smearing chocolate frosting for photographs. The proceedings concluded without incident, though it left him inwardly fragile.A notification chimed: The agency's official statement.

"The visitor was a friend—nothing romantic. We respect private lives." Comments surged with collective relief. Win exhaled deeply. Still no word from Juju.

Evening gathered the agency team, college companions, and Alex for a birthday dinner at the seaside hotel. It was their cherished haven for spicy seafood. The true ritual for Win and Juju had always begun with a family feast at home, followed by uproarious gatherings with friends—Juju fueling the revelry while Win accompanied faithfully. Tonight offered only a faint imitation.Alex pressed close—his arm draped casually over Win's shoulders, whispers carrying undue intimacy. College acquaintances cheered "Ship Winlex!" with fervent enthusiasm. Win's genuine friends observed with caution, fully aware of the tempest gathering in his clenched jaw.

The lights in the private suite extinguished abruptly. The door creaked open with deliberate slowness. A cake on wheels rolled forward, adorned with twenty-two flickering candles that cast dancing shadows. In their golden illumination, a pair of piercing blue eyes met his own, striking with the intensity of Mediterranean lightning.